Dead Past

by Beverly Connor

  She got out of the shower, dried off, and dressed. The clothes hanging in her closet were a brown linen pantsuit and cream-colored silk blouse. The clothes weren’t as warm as she would have liked, but the suit had been in the closet since fall, and she hadn’t thought to change it for warmer clothes. She finished dressing, folded up her bed clothes, and unlocked her doors. She was at her desk working when Andie came in, followed by Garnett. Good.

  Garnett pulled up a chair and sat down. Several seconds ticked by before he said anything. Diane noted that he looked more rested than she felt.

  “The GBI’s going to be investigating Councilman Adler and the meth lab business,” said Garnett. “He’s in a frenzy, hollering about scurrilous politically motivated accusations. But at least he has something to keep him busy for a while.”

  “Have you identified the face from the first basement victim?” asked Diane.

  Garnett nodded. “One of our former drug unit detectives recognized him as Albert Collier. He was collared many times for drug possession, dealing, using. He was also a former student at Bartram. We’re talking to his associates, trying to discover who the second person in the basement might have been. I’m hoping we can tie the whole thing to Adler and get rid of the son of a bitch once and for all.”

  “How is the commissioner taking all this?” asked Diane. She thought of him in his long black fur-trimmed overcoat, standing out in the snow, trying to make decisions that would appease everyone.

  “I told him that if he visits the museum, he should wear sackcloth and ashes and crawl up the steps. Right now he’s worried about the fallout affecting his chances of reelection.

  It certainly affected my vote, thought Diane. “About the murders,” she said—lest the human cost of all this get lost in the politics. “I think the motive may be revenge for the student deaths.”

  “Murders? You including Blake Stanton?” asked Garnett. “We’re thinking now that he wasn’t involved in the meth lab. Just an innocent bystander like the rest of the students. The university has had some rare books taken from the library, and several departments have reported money missing from petty cash amounting to quite a bit. What they all had in common was Stanton. That’s what he was involved in. Why do you still think the same person that killed McNair killed him?”

  “We all assumed that because he tried to hijack my car while fleeing from the fire, he was involved with the meth lab. His killer may have made the same assumption. At the time of Stanton’s murder, we weren’t aware of his role in the museum thefts. Perhaps neither was the killer. By the time we discovered what were perhaps his true crimes, the deed was done, he was already dead.”

  “How have you come to the conclusion that it was revenge-motivated?”

  “By seeing how profoundly everyone who was touched by this tragedy has been affected. One mother tried to commit suicide, all are devastated. It’s easy to see how someone could hold a great desire—perhaps an overwhelming desire—to make the guilty pay. Among many there is a great need for justice. And among a few there may be a righteous outrage growing from the perception that justice may not be served and the guilty could go unpunished for a horrendous crime.”

  Garnett sighed and bent his head, staring at the slate floor between his feet. “You’re talking about a vigilante. I can’t say I haven’t had the same suspicions. I don’t like it. I would hate having to arrest someone for doing something that in the right circumstances I might do myself,” said Garnett.

  “I know,” said Diane. “I have similar feelings. That’s why I’ve decided to simply collect evidence and turn it over to you. But there’s one thing to remember. If I’m right and someone’s desire to bring vengeance on the guilty was the motive, they were wrong with Blake Stanton. He was probably innocent of those deaths. He was simply a thief.”

  “Yeah, I’d thought of that, too,” said Garnett.

  “I’m reconstructing the skull of the second basement victim with the bones we got from the warehouse. I’ll let you know when I have a face.”

  Garnett nodded. “I’ve been so caught up in sticking it to Adler, that I’ve”—he stood up and shrugged—“I need to get back to work. I’ll keep you informed.”

  Diane started to ask him not to, but she didn’t. After he left, she went to the crime lab to check on things there. Only David was in.

  “How did things go last night? Did any of you get any sleep?” asked Diane. From the bags under his eyes, she thought not.

  “No,” he answered. “Neva followed Jin home this morning. She said she was going to make him get some rest.”

  “How was he last night?”

  “Good. He seems OK. He’s pissed that someone stole his cigarette butts. He’s convinced they would have broken the case,” said David.

  “I think the perp was convinced also.”

  David nodded and yawned.

  “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?” said Diane.

  “You didn’t get any sleep. I saw the reconstruction you were doing in your lab last night.”

  “Actually, I did get a few hours. I stayed the night in my museum office. Nice and comfy. Why don’t I take you down to the restaurant for breakfast and send you home?”

  “That sounds great. Yeah, I can get behind that idea. By the way, I put some more bones in your lab. We concentrated on retrieving bones last night because we thought that would yield the best results,” said David. “Early this morning Garnett told us that the GBI will be handling the evidence from here on out. So, our plan worked out well. I’m glad to hand it over to them. I wasn’t looking forward to going through all the junk.”

  “I’m glad they are involved, too,” she agreed. “I’ll work on the skull today. I have a feeling that Jin is going to get his DNA lab.”

  “There’s something he wants to know but is afraid to ask,” said David.

  “What’s that?” asked Diane.

  “Does he still get the lab if the police are the ones to break the case?”

  “They’ll probably break it on our evidence, so yes,” said Diane.

  “You’ve already decided on a lab haven’t you?” said David.

  “If you tell Jin, I’ll transfer you to taking care of the dermestid beetle colony for the rest of your life.”

  “He won’t hear anything from me,” said David.

  Diane treated herself and David to a big breakfast in the restaurant. She wished her personal choices weren’t always centered between either food or sleep lately. And she hadn’t even had a run in the past week and a half. Maybe this evening.

  After breakfast she sent David home, and she went back to the museum office to call Juliet’s grandmother.

  Chapter 37

  Diane dialed the number that Laura had given her. After seven rings, an older woman answered.

  “Who is this? I don’t know anyone at a museum.”

  Mrs. Torkel obviously had caller ID. Diane started to speak, but Ruby Torkel started again before she could get a word out.

  “Unless it’s Juliet. Is that you, Juliet? What are you doing calling me from work? Does your boss know you’re calling me from there?”

  Diane smiled. “Mrs. Torkel, I’m Diane Fallon, the director of the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History.”

  “Well, what are you doing calling me?”

  Good question, thought Diane. How am I going to approach this?

  “I’m also the director of the crime lab in Rosewood. . . .”

  “Crime lab? Juliet’s not in trouble is she? She’s not a bad girl,” Mrs. Torkel said, concern evident in her voice.

  “No, Mrs. Torkel, Juliet is not in trouble,” said Diane. “I’m helping to find out what happened to her in 1987.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone for a long moment.

  “She got snatched, that’s what happened.”

  “She was a child and it was a great trauma for her. She is very frightened by what little she remembers.”

  “It’s best n
ot to remember,” said Mrs. Torkel.

  “Her fears are very real. She wants to know what happened so she can get rid of those fears once and for all. What she does remember is blurred and fragmented.”

  “She never remembered anything before. Lord knows the police tried to get something out of her.”

  “Juliet is a lovely young woman now, but she’s haunted by this incident from her past. I’d like to help her; she is a good employee.”

  “What does she do there exactly?” asked Mrs. Torkel.

  “She takes care of our seashell collection and she makes kits to teach schoolkids about seashells,” said Diane.

  “She always did like to collect seashells with me. She calls them mollusks now. I don’t know what that is. What do you want to know?”

  “She told me about a doll that you said she stole,” said Diane.

  “You thinking that had something to do with her kidnapping?”

  “Maybe,” said Diane.

  “I don’t see how. She was kidnapped in Arizona. She got that doll here in Florida.”

  “I thought it might help her remember that time in her life,” said Diane. “Didn’t she get that doll just before she was kidnapped?” It was a guess on Diane’s part, but she had a feeling she was right.

  “Why, yes, she did. She was visiting me just a month before she got kidnapped. She came home with that doll. She was playing with some child she met on the beach. That’s where I live, here on the beach, here in Glendale-Marsh. It was a nice doll and people don’t just give away nice things.”

  “Do you know where the doll is now?” asked Diane.

  “Sure. I got it. I took it away from her. I told her she couldn’t play with something she stole. I was going to give it back to the child she took it from, but I never was able to find out who she was playing with. I asked some of the little girls on the beach, but they didn’t know Juliet. The child might have belonged to a tourist family. We get a lot of them here. They come and rent cottages on the beach. Lots of people come and go here. Will it help Juliet if I send you the doll?”

  “Yes, I think it will help,” said Diane.

  “I want to help Juliet. I don’t see her often enough. She thinks I blame her for her mother’s death. Maybe I did at one time, I don’t know. Anna Marie was my only child, and it’s awfully hard to lose a child. No matter how old they are, they never quit being your child. When Juliet was kidnapped, it just killed Anna Marie—the worry. She never got over it. She wasn’t a strong girl.”

  Mrs. Torkel was silent for a long while. Diane waited.

  “I’ll send you that doll. Let me get a pen and take your address.”

  Diane heard rattling noises as though she was searching in a drawer.

  “Here . . . no, the ink’s dried up. Just a minute.”

  Diane heard her lay the phone down. The television was playing in the background. It sounded like a soap opera. After a minute she was back.

  “Here, this one writes. Go ahead.”

  Diane gave her the museum address.

  “Mrs. Torkel,” Diane asked when she had written down the address, “this question may sound strange, but around the time Juliet was there, did any murders take place?”

  “Here in Glendale-Marsh? Why, no. I don’t know that we ever had a murder. We’re just a small tourist town. People come here with their families. The folks who live here year-round all know each other. No, we never had any murders. Did Juliet say we did?”

  “No, she didn’t. It was just an idea. Thank you for talking with me,” said Diane.

  “Tell Juliet to call me sometime. Georgia’s not that far from Florida. Maybe she can come down to visit me and we can go collecting shells on the beach like we used to.”

  “I’ll tell her,” said Diane. “Thanks again.”

  She hung up the phone and sat in her office thinking. She was expecting to hear that there had been a murder in the Glendale-Marsh area just prior to the time Juliet was kidnapped. She had it so neat in her mind what had happened. She was disappointed that she was wrong. But she would double-check with the Florida crime records.

  Diane went back to her lab to continue her work piecing together bone fragments. The bones were as she had left them—laid out and waiting. The sandbox she used to keep the pieces upright sat on a nearby table holding what she had pieced together so far. Another sandbox holding the first partially reconstructed skull sat next to it.

  David had set the box he brought from the warehouse on the counter. She opened it and laid all the bones out on the table, filling in many of the missing parts of the strange double skeleton. The warehouse evidence contained many of the bones and fragments that were missing.

  The fragmented skull was like a puzzle, but instead of a picture, she looked for diagnostic details—foramen, canal, fossa, margin, crest—all the road signs that told what bone the fragment was from, and where it should be on the skull. Most of the pieces came from the bones that David, Neva, and Jin had collected at the crime scene. She doubted that McNair could identify small bones, certainly not burned small bones.

  She found several fragments that belonged to the first face and glued them in place. It was almost complete now. On the second skull, in addition to the back of the head, she pieced together the entire left cheek, eye socket, and bridge of the nose. She stepped back and observed her work—definitely taking shape. She worked on the reconstruction through the afternoon. By the end of the day she had a significant part of the face complete. By tomorrow it would be ready to scan. She looked at her watch. It was still a decent hour. Tonight she was going to get a good night’s sleep in her own bed.

  When Diane arrived at her apartment, she smelled Italian food before she even opened her door. Frank, she thought. She smiled as she put her key in and opened the door.

  “God, that smells good,” she said.

  “It should,” Frank called from the kitchen. “It’s my famous Frank Duncan Spaghetti Supreme.”

  “I’m ready for it. I had a great breakfast in the restaurant, but I skipped lunch,” said Diane.

  In the kitchen Frank was stirring a skillet filled with bubbling spaghetti sauce. He was dressed in a casual maroon sweater and tan slacks. She kissed him on the cheek.

  “You get home early today?” she asked.

  “I did. I finished a big case and figured you probably skipped at least one meal. And I was right,” he said grinning at her. “It’s ready now; you’ll just have time to change and wash up.”

  “Then I’d better hurry.” Diane changed into sweatpants and shirt and bare feet, washed her hands, and sat down at her dining table, waiting to be served. He had already poured a glass of red wine. Diane took a sip.

  “I could get used to this,” she said.

  “So could I. I love getting off early. Can’t wait for retirement.” He kissed the top of her head as he put the plate in front of her. He brought out a salad and Italian bread and sat down.

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Diane.

  “I expect I’ll reap some benefits.” He grinned at her.

  Diane asked about his case as they ate. It was a complicated embezzlement in a large company in Atlanta and reached as far away as Seattle, Washington.

  “Getting enough for court is always the tricky part,” he said. “I think we’re ready.”

  Diane told him about the explosion case, filling him in on everything that happened since she last saw him.

  “David said the GBI is handling the meth lab case now. We’re all relieved they are,” she said.

  “They have more clout to subpoena records. That’s the only way they’re going to find out who’s behind the lab—follow the money.” Frank took a sip of wine. “So the thinking now is it’s someone out for justice for the victims?”

  “Yes, which is why I told Garnett that I am through investigating. I’m sure he was relieved. I do tend to stick my nose in too much occasionally. Although, what we’ve been doing lately is more armchair detective work.”


  “I can see how Garnett would not be enthusiastic about the latest theory of the crime. But it looks like the perp did kill the wrong person and he did hit Jin on the head. That’s the problem with being a vigilante. You skip all the checks and balances.”

  “I know,” agreed Diane.

  “Why don’t we talk about anything but crime? It seems that’s all we ever talk about. You want to go away for a weekend with me?”

  “Love to, but I’m saving all my money for Paris,” said Diane.

  Frank laughed. “We could go to the mountains—maybe Gatlinburg. I’ll spring for it.”

  “Maybe. That sounds good. Let me get through these cases first. We’re still processing the material from the Cipriano and Stanton murders. And I’m still looking for the items stolen from the museum. I’m out a four-thousand-dollar seashell, among maybe thirty thousand dollars’ worth of other items.”

  “Someone would pay that much for a seashell?” said Frank.

  “It’s big,” said Diane.

  “I know, but . . . four thousand dollars?”

  “It’s also rare.”

  “Is it gold?” asked Frank.

  “That would be the cowrie shells,” she said.

  Just as she was about to reach for another piece of bread to dip in the small plate of olive oil, the phone rang.

  “Well, damn,” she said. “I guess I’d better get it.”

  She got up and went to the living room. The caller ID said it was the hospital. Diane answered it.

  “Dr. Fallon, this is Jesse Kincaid.”

  “Yes, Mr. Kincaid. Is Darcy all right?”

  “She’s coming along well. She asked me to call. Seems she needs to talk with you about something important and wonders if you could drop by tomorrow morning. She’s told us about it and I advised her to come clean. It’s the only way to make things right.”

  Chapter 38

  Darcy Kincaid’s room was filled with bouquets of flowers from well wishers.

  “Many are from people Darcy doesn’t even know,” said Mrs. Kincaid. “There were so many we gave some away to other patients so there would be a little space in her room. People really like Darcy.” She rubbed her hands together nervously.