Dust to Dust dffi-7

by Beverly Connor

  “I got the impression she can be vindictive,” said Kingsley.

  Diane nodded. “Perhaps. But as I said, she won’t lie. And she won’t get caught putting dead rotting fish under his house or frozen shrimp in his curtain rods.”

  Kingsley put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing and spraying his hot tea. “Touché,” he said, when he was able to talk.

  Frank rolled his eyes.

  “Today was a fruitful day,” Kingsley said. “I knew it was a good idea to ask for your help.”

  “I’ll process the evidence we collected, but you’ll have to interview the army of possible suspects Jin pointed out,” said Diane.

  “Perhaps the evidence will point us in a direction,” said Kingsley.

  “Hopefully, the evidence and the new autopsy will give you enough ammunition to get the lead detective to reopen the case,” said Frank. “I’ve heard of the detective you said handled the case. He’s a little lazy and pigheaded, but I don’t think he is dishonest.”

  “For the father’s sake, I’m hoping the solution will clear Ryan Dance of the murder that seems to have started this whole chain of events,” said Kingsley.

  “Maybe you need to start retracing the steps of the young woman, Stacy,” said Frank. “If she was trying to clear her brother, she probably talked to the witnesses and to the family of the victim. They might point you in the right direction.”

  “Oh,” said Diane, “I just had a terrible thought. From what you said, Ellie Carruthers’ family were certain it was Ryan Dance who killed their daughter. What if they were afraid Stacy might be successful in getting Ryan released from prison? They still think he’s guilty. It would be awful if it was someone in Ellie’s family who killed Stacy to stop her.”

  “That’s an unpleasant thought,” said Kingsley, frowning. “I hope it’s not that.”

  “There’s going to be some blowback with the new autopsy,” said Diane. “Is that going to be a problem with your employers?”

  “No. The firm handles blowback. It’s usually good publicity. It shows potential clients that when we take a case, things get done. I think my bosses will like it. The more, the better. Our biggest clientele is defense attorneys.” Kingsley took another helping of sweet and sour chicken and rice. “So, what’s the thing with Jin’s technicians?”

  Diane and Frank chuckled.

  “As you heard, they’re identical twins and a bit eccentric,” said Diane, “and big Elvis fans. They’re also very detail oriented. Their reputation for accuracy was the reason Jin hired them-and the fact that they work very efficiently together. Jin’s extremely picky where the DNA lab is concerned.”

  “Do they really dress like Elvis?” asked Kingsley.

  “Not exactly,” said Diane. “If you saw them, you wouldn’t say to yourself, ‘Those guys are dressed like Elvis.’ You might think they look like they would make good Elvis impersonators. They’re more subtle than Jin portrayed them. I think the main reason they drive him crazy is they are constantly telling him how he could improve the efficiency of the DNA lab, and Jin doesn’t like anybody trying to step into his shoes.”

  “Ah,” said Kingsley. “I see.”

  Kingsley left not long after dinner. Diane promised to get him a report on the evidence as soon as she could.

  “He seemed very pleased,” said Frank after they had cleared the table and put away the food. Diane poured Frank and herself each a glass of wine.

  “It was very sad, but it went well. We’ll see how it goes from here. How was your day?”

  He slipped his arms around her waist and danced her a few steps around the living room floor. “My day was fine. But why don’t we leave the topic of crime aside for the rest of the evening?”

  Diane spent most of the next day working at the museum. She heard from Kingsley midday that the exhumation of the body of Stacy Dance was scheduled for the following day. Diane was about to go home when Andie forwarded a phone call to her.

  “Hello, this is Archaeo-Labs,” said a voice. “We’ve been trying to get in touch with Dr. Marcella Payden without success. Your number is a backup number she has in her file.”

  “Yes, Dr. Payden works here. I’m Diane Fallon, director of the RiverTrail Museum. How can I help you?”

  “She uses our labs to identify species-specific protein antigens in bone-tempered pottery sherds.”

  “Yes,” said Diane. “I’m familiar with her work on Texas pottery.”

  “Well, she sent us some pieces from Georgia. Actually, she said it wasn’t archaeological, but relatively modern. And as in the archaeological samples, she wanted to know the species of animal used in the pottery. To tell you the truth, we don’t quite know how to proceed.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Diane. “You don’t do analysis of modern samples? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “No, it’s not that. We did the identification, but… well… the protein antigen is human.”

  Chapter 18

  Diane was dumbstruck for a moment. The caller must have thought she would be, because he waited patiently on the other end.

  “Human?” said Diane. “Did she give you any information about where in Georgia they came from?” But Diane knew. Marcella dug them up in her yard.

  “No,” he said. “She just labeled them Georgia.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” said Diane.

  “Oh, I’m Justin Ambrogi. I’m the technician who runs the samples in the lab.” He cleared his throat. “What I’m wondering is, that is, some of my coworkers think the sherds, because of the human bone in them, constitute a body-legally, that is-and must be reported. I suppose it could be old bones that were used, but don’t the laws about the use of humans and their body parts apply to ancient ones too?”

  “Yes, they do,” said Diane. “You couldn’t have known, but in addition to being director of the museum, I’m also director of the crime lab here in Rosewood, Georgia, and those items will fall under our jurisdiction, at least until we sort out exactly where they came from.”

  “Well, this is convenient, then. I called the right place,” Justin said.

  “Yes, you did. I’ll also give you the name of a Rosewood police detective you can send a copy of the test results to. That way, your lab can be assured you followed proper protocol,” said Diane.

  “Yes. Thank you. To tell you the truth, we ran the tests several times. The first time we thought it had to be an error.”

  “I can see why it would give you pause,” said Diane. She fished in her purse and pulled out Detective Hanks’ card and read off his name and address.

  Diane gave Justin her fax number so he could send her the report directly. She thanked him and put the phone back in its cradle.

  “Okay,” she whispered, “that was odd.”

  She picked up the phone and called Detective Hanks.

  “I got an interesting call from a lab in Arizona,” she said.

  “Oh? What about?” he asked.

  She first explained to him about Marcella’s expertise in North American aboriginal pottery. Then she explained about the bone-tempered pottery of the late-prehistoric sites in Texas that Marcella had studied. She explained that Marcella had used a lab in Arizona to analyze protein antigens in the pottery samples to find out what species of animal contributed their bone to the pottery. She debated whether to explain why archaeologists wanted that data, but decided that would be too much information.

  “She sent them some pottery sherds she found in Georgia. I’m assuming at her place, but the lab didn’t know specifically where the sherds were found. When they ran their test, it came up with human antigens,” she said.

  Just as she had, Hanks remained quiet for a long moment. She assumed he was trying to figure how the heck to process that bit of information.

  “She sent them pieces of broken pots that had human bone crushed up in them? Who would do that?” he asked.

  “Pottery made in the late-prehistoric period had a temperin
g substance added to the clay to keep air bubbles out and keep it from breaking while it was being fired. The additive was usually grit, fiber, shells-stuff like that. Some peoples in Texas used animal bone. Marcella apparently found some pottery sherds in her yard and recognized from their appearance that they were bone tempered. Her daughter said that whoever the artist was who lived in the house at one time was a potter, according to Marcella, and used methods similar to the ones used by prehistoric Indians.” Diane was wondering if she was making any sense at all to Hanks.

  “Okay, this is now officially the weirdest case I’ve ever worked on. I confess, I don’t know what to make of this new information. Were the pots made by the person who lived in the house immediately before Dr. Payden?”

  “I don’t think so. The potter’s shed had fallen into disuse. But I don’t know how long the house sat empty, or the line of ownership of the house, or who lived there before Marcella.”

  “I can get ownership records from the county courthouse,” he said. “We can probably track down some answers about who lived there when. But does this new stuff help us in any way?”

  “I have no idea,” said Diane. “It doesn’t appear that any pottery was made there in recent years before Marcella moved in. It would seem to be too long ago to be involved in what happened to Marcella, but who knows? At any rate, I asked Justin Ambrogi at Archaeo-Labs in Arizona to send you the report. He also faxed a copy to the museum.”

  “The museum?” said Hanks.

  “Yes, Marcella works for us doing pottery sherd analysis.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. What a twisted case this is. I’m inclined to think this bone pottery thing, although an odd thing for sure, is not related to her attack. But like you said, who knows? We may be looking for a frustrated artist. A mad potter.”

  Diane laughed. “Perhaps,” she said.

  She hung up the phone and stood thinking for a moment. It was a bit of information she didn’t know where to put. After a moment, Andie stuck her head in and said good-bye.

  “Bye, Andie. See you tomorrow.”

  Diane gathered her things together and started for the crime lab, hoping her crew would be there and not out somewhere working on a murder. Halfway there, she got an idea and took the elevator down to the basement where the DNA lab was located.

  Jin was there. So were the twins, Hector and Scott Spearman. They were dressed in jeans and pin-striped shirts with pointed collar flaps open at the neck, revealing gold chains. Hector’s shirt was yellow and Scott’s was green. She knew it was Hector because Hector was the older twin and he always wore a shirt color with a higher wavelength than Scott.

  Hector and Scott started talking immediately. They always appeared as if they were never let out of the lab and had to jump at any opportunity to talk with anyone other than Jin.

  “Hello, Dr. Fallon,” said Scott. “We were just discussing…”

  “The merits of using junk DNA…,” said Hector.

  “For ancestry testing,” said Scott.

  When they were excited they spoke in that alternating way. She thought she might actually get dizzy listening to them, moving her head from one to the other. She understood how it might drive Jin crazy on occasion. They expounded on the disadvantages of using particular strands of DNA often referred to as “junk” because they no longer seemed to serve an active purpose.

  “I’m sure Dr. Fallon didn’t come down here for that,” said Jin. “What’s up, Boss?”

  “I was wondering if you could analyze the DNA in pieces of pottery,” said Diane.

  That stopped the three of them. They stood for several moments just staring at her with completely blank expressions.

  Finally Hector spoke. “It has to be something that was alive.”

  Diane laughed. “I’m sorry, I started in the middle of a thought.” She laughed again. “The pieces of pottery were tempered with human bone.”

  “Who would do that?” said Jin.

  “And why?” asked Scott.

  Diane gave a minilecture on what little she knew of pottery making, similar to the spiel she gave Hanks.

  “I honestly don’t know why the aboriginal inhabitants in Texas used bone for tempering. Nor do I know why the person who once inhabited Marcella’s house did. But do you think you could get any usable DNA out of it?” asked Diane.

  “The firing would have destroyed any DNA,” said Jin.

  “They were fired in a bonfire kiln, which has a much lower temperature than a regular kiln,” she said. “I know it’s still a high temperature, but I was just wondering.”

  “You know,” said Scott, “if the bases of the pots were thick-wouldn’t they have to be thicker than the sides?” He shrugged. “Anyway, if we could find some very thick pieces that just happened to be at a place in the fire where the temperature was lower… like sitting on the ground… I’m just thinking here.”

  “Yes,” said Hector, “perhaps the thick pieces might contain some strands that survived. Of course we would have…”

  “To use Jin’s protocol for shed hair,” said Scott.

  They looked at Jin.

  “What do you think?” Diane asked Jin.

  “It never hurts to try, but I don’t really hold out any hope. But we may get a paper out of it.” He grinned. So did Hector and Scott.

  “I’ll send you some samples,” said Diane. “Thank you.”

  “By the way,” said Jin, “I’ve done some analysis on our evidence. That large stain on the floor near the table was a combination of urine and feces, just as you said. Probably the spot where she died.”

  Diane nodded. “Thanks, Jin.”

  She left them and rode the elevator up to the third floor and walked over to the crime lab.

  Neva, David, and Izzy were there. They were getting a lecture on handwriting analysis from a member of the museum archives staff. The sample under discussion was the writing on the back of Marcella’s desk drawer.

  Chapter 19

  “I personally think that you can’t tell much about what slant means in the young,” Lawrence Michaels, one of the museum’s archivists and their only handwriting expert, was saying when Diane walked into the dimly lit lab. “Children, especially early teenage girls, experiment with different handwriting on a whim-for fun. However, in the adult… Ah, Dr. Fallon. Good to see you. I was just explaining that I get a bit of mixed messages from the handwriting on the desk drawer.”

  Michaels was a middle-aged man with striking silver hair. He always dressed in a suit and tie, clothes he apparently found comfortable. Occasionally he wore a bow tie, which Diane thought gave him an entirely different persona. Today he had on a dark brown suit, a light pink shirt with a tie that was a dark shade of pink decorated with small brown fleurs de lis. Diane pulled up a chair and sat down beside David.

  “This is a woman’s hand,” Michaels continued. “She is intelligent and creative-as suggested by the rounded w and the one u. These coiled shapes and counterstrokes that curve in what we might call the wrong way, suggest a self centeredness. The closed a’s and o’s suggest that she is hiding something.”

  He indicated each of the characteristics with a laser pointer that jumped quickly from character to character, making lightning zigzags of neon red on the dry-erase board where he had projected the image of the note.

  “The characters are largest in the middle zone-the ascenders and descenders don’t go much above or below the baseline. This suggests immaturity-could be young at heart. Immaturity doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. The way the letters slant in different directions is a little disturbing. Bottom line, I’m not really sure what you have here. Perhaps an intelligent, creative, selfish, and childishly disturbed woman with something to hide. Or maybe not. This isn’t an exact science. I hope this helps.” He grinned at his audience.

  “No offense,” said Izzy, “but I could have gotten most of that from the words she wrote. What adult, but a disturbed one, writes a message like that on the bottom of a dra
wer? Who did she expect would find it?”

  Michaels shrugged. “The handwriting is consistent with the message. I can say that,” he said.

  “Thank you, Dr. Michaels,” said Diane. “Quite possibly, it does help. What would really help,” Diane said to all of them, “is if we could get an approximate date for when the message was written.”

  “Okay,” said Michaels. “There is one other thing. See the double s in the word missing-how the first s is like an f, only backward? That’s the way kids were taught to write about a hundred years or so ago. That’s called a leading s because it is the first s in the sequence.”

  “Now, see,” said Izzy. “That’s helpful. You should have said that right off.”

  “Sorry,” Michaels said, grinning. He dusted off his hands as if he had been using chalk instead of a laser pointer.

  “Well, I think it’s neat,” said Neva. “Thanks, Dr. Michaels.”

  Neva escorted Lawrence Michaels to the door that was the threshold between the dark side, the crime lab, and the museum proper.

  “I couldn’t help but notice,” David said to Diane when Neva returned, “that you said that quite possibly it does help. What is it you know?”

  The others looked at David in surprise. Apparently they hadn’t taken note of what Diane said.

  Diane explained about the phone call from the lab in Arizona and what they had discovered about the sherds Marcella sent them. “I don’t know that those were sherds she found in her yard, but for now, let’s suppose they were.”

  “Okay,” said Izzy. “That’s a sign of a disturbed person. Crushing up human bones to make pots? It’s downright spooky. Maybe the handwriting guy had something after all.”

  “Yeah,” said Neva. “We have a creatively disturbed, immature woman-writing a secret message on the bottom of drawers doesn’t seem to be a sign of maturity. I think we ought to find out who she is.”