Dead Hunt Part 9

The warren of gla.s.sed-in rooms looked empty. Then she saw Jin and Neva near the elevator. They were carrying crime scene kits and appeared to be preparing to leave. When they saw Diane they set their cases down and walked along the gla.s.sed-in hallway to where she stood. David popped up from a computer station inside one of the rooms. He mouthed a greeting and came out to join them.

"You have a scene to process?" Diane asked Jin and Neva.

Neva nodded. "In White County. How are things with you?"

"Yeah," said Jin, "David said the U.S. Marshals took you and the FBI guy away."

"I said no such thing," said David, frowning at Jin. "I said they left the restaurant together."

"Clymene escaped today sometime after my visit with her," said Diane.

They all walked over to a round table sitting in the corner that they used for debriefing. They all looked so alert. I miss young, I miss young, thought Diane. But then David also looked alert and chipper and he was her age. thought Diane. But then David also looked alert and chipper and he was her age.

"Don't let me keep you," said Diane. "The two of you need to get to the crime scene."

"We'll get there. We want to hear about Clymene first. She escaped? How?" asked Jin.

"Don't know," said Diane. "That seems to be up in the air at the moment. Jin, I want you to search the DNA databases for anyone related to Clymene."

"We looking for her too?" asked Jin. "You saying we're helping the marshals?" He looked so skeptical that Neva laughed.

"The FBI would like us to find her," said Diane.

"You mean Kingsley," said David.

"Same thing," said Diane.

"Jin, can you do it or not?" asked Diane.

Jin looked wounded. "Sure, Boss. I'll start tomorrow."

Diane shook her head and put her hand to her temples. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap."

"You look tired," said David.

"I am. It's been a weary day and instead of getting my morning run in, I had to visit Clymene. The woman is a lot of trouble. Now, Neva, Jin-go. David, tell me about your interviews with Kendel and Marge-and the fire at Golden Antiquities.

Chapter 15.

"I'll start with my interview of Madge," said David. He stretched out his legs, then after a moment sat up straight and stretched. "Let's go into your osteology office. It's more comfortable and you have that little refrigerator with drinks in it. You know, you need to put in a bar."

In Diane's capacity as forensic anthropologist at the crime lab she had an osteology lab in the west wing with an attached office. She punched in her key code for the bone lab, entered, and switched on the light. A newly arrived box of bones from a cold case in Ohio was sitting on a s.h.i.+ny metal table waiting for her a.n.a.lysis. If she hadn't felt so tired she would have started laying them out while David briefed her. Instead she went to her office.

Smaller than her museum office, it had off-white walls adorned only with a watercolor of a wolf, a green slate floor, dark walnut office furniture, a leather chair, and a long burgundy leather couch that David immediately claimed. He stretched out full length with his head on the arm and his hands behind his head.

"Now, this is comfortable," he said.

Diane went to the small refrigerator in the corner that was topped with an artificial green plant because she managed to kill real ones. Besides, there was no sunlight in the room anyway. She got c.o.kes for herself and David. She tossed David his and popped hers open as she sat down in the leather chair near the sofa.

"Did Madge have any useful information?" asked Diane.

"I had to calm her down before I could get much out of her," he said. "She said you told her that Kendel was going to sue her."

"Not exactly right. She asked me if Kendel would sue and I told her that if I were Kendel, I would,"

said Diane.

"Well, it scared her," said David.

"Madge Stewart is babied too much," said Diane.

"It's time she started taking responsibility for her behavior."

David knitted his brows together. "So you're her mother now?"

"No. I'm director of this museum and she made some stupid statements to the newspaper that caused problems that I now have to deal with."

"Just getting things straight," said David. He looked comfortable lying there in his jeans and T-s.h.i.+rt. Diane wished she had taken the couch instead.

"Did you get a coherent answer from her?" asked Diane, sipping on the ice-cold drink. She pressed the cold can to her forehead.

"More or less. She said the reporter called her from the Rosewood Review Rosewood Review and told her that Kendel Williams had knowingly purchased looted Egyptian antiquities for the museum and what did Madge have to and told her that Kendel Williams had knowingly purchased looted Egyptian antiquities for the museum and what did Madge have to say about it. Madge told her that Kendel would be fired," said David.

Diane rolled her eyes. "Is that it? Did the reporter have any other questions for her?" asked Diane. "She asked Madge information about herself. You want my opinion, I think the reporter played up to her ego-or lack of it. Then she asked her about your running of the museum," said David.

Diane frowned. In her meeting with the board she had purposefully ignored the parts of the article that raised questions about her management of the museum. She wanted to keep the board members focused on the real harm of the article to the museum and not think that her anger was in response to things Madge had said about her personally.

Truth was, she didn't care that Madge thought she ran a loose s.h.i.+p or that the crime lab was taking too much of Diane's time and that too much responsibility had been s.h.i.+fted to Kendel. She did care that Madge verified the reporter's accusation about stolen antiquities without having any real knowledge and without thinking about the consequences to the museum or to Kendel.

"What about the reporter?" said Diane. "I suppose you haven't had time to speak with her."

David shook his head. "I haven't tried. I called a buddy at another paper and asked about Janet Boville-that's the Rosewood reporter's name. He said she's an ambush reporter, very aggressive, and he had little respect for her ethics. I was concerned that if I approached her the wrong way, the next article would be 'Museum Director This Reporter,' or something said David.

Panicking-Hara.s.sing equally tabloidlike,"

Diane nodded. "I wouldn't have liked that. Did you find out anything else from Madge?"

"Not directly, but Boville had been tipped off by some informant; I think the informant scripted the questions," said David.

Diane sat up straight and leaned forward with her forearms on her knees. "Why do you say that?"

"Because of the questions she asked Madge-about the UNESCO convention and where the museum stands on its provisions. About whether the provenance matched the artifacts. I thought that one was interesting."

"That is interesting. The informant obviously knew they didn't match," said Diane.

"Yes," said David. "Madge was clueless as to what the questions even meant, much less how to answer them."

"How about Kendel?" asked Diane. "Did she have any helpful information?"

"Yes. She provided a model to work from. Now that I know the lay of the land, so to speak, I'll know where to go to investigate." He took a sip of his drink. "The Pearle Museum in Virginia had a nice collection of twelfth-dynasty Egyptian artifacts that Kendel wanted to get her hands on. She had seen them several years ago, and when you guys inherited the twelfthdynasty mummy, Kendel went back to Pearle and asked if they would like to sell the artifacts. The answer was no." David stopped, sat up, and took another big swig of his drink.

Diane was familiar with the Pearle. It was a good museum, a little smaller than RiverTrail. They belonged to the same a.s.sociations for small museums. RiverTrail, however, was unique in that even though it had a small number of holdings, it had a very large building.

"But they changed their minds?" said Diane. "Kendel had asked them to notify her if they decided to sell the items. The director said he would. In the meantime, he took a job with the United Nations."

"I remember," said Diane. "Noah landed a very good position."

"The new director, Brenda McCaffrey, didn't know about the agreement to contact Kendel and she sold the items to Golden Antiquities to make room, and money, for an exhibit she had worked out with the Greek government," said David. He stopped a moment. "You don't need the history of the pieces, do you, like where they were before the Pearle?"

"I've seen the provenance. Go on," said Diane.

"Good, because you know when Kendel gets started telling you about something . . . Anyway, Kendel found out about the sale to Golden Antiquities and she started negotiations with them. Golden Antiquities has been in business for about thirty years. Started by a man named Randal Cunningham, Sr. He's been gradually turning the business over to his son, Randal Cunningham, Jr. for some time," said David.

"Which one died in the fire?" asked Diane.

"I don't know yet. I'll find out more tomorrow. Kendel dealt with both the Cunninghams, Senior and Junior. She said she examined the artifacts and watched them being packed. She said she didn't notice anything hinky during the transactions. Everything was very routine and normal."

"Nothing unusual whatsoever?" asked Diane.

"I had her close her eyes and revisit each encounter to see if she could remember anything that would be helpful. The only thing she said that I found interesting was that each time she was there she had smelled Jean Patou's Joy. It's a very expensive perfume," said David. "But she never saw the wearer."

"Like hundred-dollars-an-ounce expensive?" asked Diane.

"No. Like five-hundred-an-ounce expensive," said David.

"Wow," said Diane. "So, it's rare?"

"No. It's the second-best-selling scent in the world," said David.

"You're kidding. I've never heard of it. Can that many people afford five-hundred-dollar-an-ounce perfume?" said Diane.

"Well, I think it's the second-best-selling overall since it was created sometime in the thirties. I'm not sure where it stands today. But Kendel says it's very popular still-and you don't have to buy it by the ounce. You can get a fraction of an ounce-like a hundred dollars' worth," said David. "You want me to give Frank a hint?"

"No. I'll look it up when I visit Paris this summer," said Diane.

In a bid to talk Frank's adopted daughter Star into going to college, Diane had offered to take her to Paris and buy her a new wardrobe if Star would go to the university for a year and make at least a 2.7 grade point average. She was beginning to look forward to the trip and was feeling very proud that Star, a troubled girl whose parents had been murdered, was turning her life around.

"So Star's made the grade?" said David. "Good for her."

"So far. She still has the rest of spring semester to go. You know, spring break and all. Frank is planning a trip for the two of them during spring break. He's really nervous she is going to want to go to the beach with her friends instead of with him."

"Spring break is a tradition," said David.

"Sure it is, but I think he's right. Next year she'll have more experience being on her own. All this is new to her," said Diane.

"New? She was on her own when she was on the lam with that guy she called her boyfriend," said David.

"I mean being on her own in a responsible manner, then," said Diane. "Anything else Kendel remembered?"

"The whole transaction was smooth. Not even much haggling," said David. "Last meeting they said they would deliver the items within the week. Which they did, except as I understand it now, they weren't the items."

"Maybe she'll remember more now that her memory has been jogged," said Diane. "Can you keep in touch with the arson investigation at Golden Antiquities?"

"I think so," said David.

"Good. Let's go home. I know it's early for me, but I'm tired. A lot happened today. Things will look fresher in the morning."

Diane closed up her office and lab, and she and David walked through the building to the lobby. She waved at the guard on duty and they walked out the door to the parking lot. It was dusk, the moon was full, and everything had the faintly bluish tint of darkness coming. People were arriving at the restaurant for a late dinner, and many cars belonging to the staff were still parked in the lot. Diane looked up at the colossal building just in time to see the day lighting go off and the night lighting come on. She loved the museum and silently promised she would protect it from scandal. Diane waved to David, got in her car, and drove home.

Diane opened her eyes at the sound of someone knocking on her door. Was she dreaming? She got out of bed. What time is it? What time is it? She looked at her clock: 4:14 a.m. No wonder she felt so sleepy. Not enough sleep. There was that knock again. She looked at her clock: 4:14 a.m. No wonder she felt so sleepy. Not enough sleep. There was that knock again.

She slipped on a robe and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. Great, another power outage. What this time, another squirrel on the wire? Great, another power outage. What this time, another squirrel on the wire?

She walked down the short hallway in the dark toward the living room. As she pa.s.sed the kitchen she stepped in something wet and slick. She lost her footing, slipped, and fell hard on the floor, hitting her head against the wall on her way down.

She lay stunned by the fall. After a moment she became aware that she was lying in a wet pool. The coppery-iron aroma was unmistakable.

Chapter 16.

Diane was trying to rise to her feet just as the door burst open.

"This is the police," shouted a loud male voice she thought she recognized. She felt a surge of relief.

"Dr. Fallon?" he called out.

"Here," said Diane. He switched on the living room light.

The light worked. What about the electricity? The illumination revealed what Diane knew, what she had smelled-blood. The pool in the hallway ran into the dining area and the kitchen. Diane was covered in it. The illumination revealed what Diane knew, what she had smelled-blood. The pool in the hallway ran into the dining area and the kitchen. Diane was covered in it.

"Sweet Jesus," said the policeman, lowering his gun. "What happened, Dr. Fallon? Where are you hurt? Don't try to move."

"I'm all right. It's not my blood," she said. Then whose is it? Then whose is it?

"Is there someone else here?" he asked. "We got an anonymous call about someone being killed. Is there a body?" He looked around the room, squatting on his haunches as if there might be a body hidden under the couch.