Kendel looked at Diane with wide eyes, suddenly unsure again. ‘‘Surely they will believe that I didn’t have anything to do with this. The provenances are always reverified after they arrive—verified by someone other than me,’’ said Kendel.
‘‘I will explain our procedures in detail,’’ said Diane.
She walked with Kendel, stopping at Korey’s office. The office was mostly glass. He saw them coming and came out to meet them.
‘‘Korey, would you repack the artifacts?’’ Diane asked.
‘‘Sure thing, Dr. F,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll do it myself. Andie called up here looking for you. Something about some guy from the FBI.’’
Kendel sucked in her breath. ‘‘Oh, no. I’m not ready for this.’’
Diane put a hand on her arm. ‘‘There’s another person from the FBI here for a different reason entirely. I imagine it was he, wondering if I’d gotten lost somewhere among the displays. Why don’t you go to your office and relax. Or spend some time meditating among the collections. I find them calming.’’
‘‘That’s a good idea,’’ said Korey. ‘‘Let Dr. F figure this out. That’s what the Dark Side does.’’
Diane found Ross Kingsley on the terrace drinking coffee and watching the swans on the pond. The early spring weather was still cool. There were buds on the trees but none had blossomed yet. Diane saw a couple of runners in the distance on the nature trail just before they disappeared around a bend.
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ said Diane taking a seat. ‘‘There’s a lot going on.’’
He rose as she sat down and smiled. ‘‘So I’ve been reading.’’ He pointed to a newspaper lying on the table. He set his cup down and turned his chair around to face her. ‘‘I’ve enjoyed your museum. I don’t get much time for things like this. It was very relaxing.’’
‘‘It is—most of the time,’’ said Diane. A waitress came out of the restaurant and Diane ordered a cup of hot tea.
‘‘Mike Seeger gave me a most interesting tour,’’ he said, a knowing glint in his eye. ‘‘He’s obviously taken with you.’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘He just gives that impression.’’
Kingsley laughed. ‘‘I won’t even pretend to know what that means.’’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘‘I’ve been dying to know what in the world Clymene wanted with you. You said she was afraid that one of her guards had married someone like her? Was that an admission of guilt on her part?’’
Diane shook her head.
The waitress came out with a small teapot and a cup. She poured Diane’s tea and left them.
‘‘Clymene didn’t actually admit to anything, but it was my impression that she didn’t care if I thought she was guilty.’’
Diane gave Kingsley an account of the visit. When she finished, he sat back in his chair in amazement.
‘‘Of all the things I imagined she might want to talk with you about, I confess, that didn’t cross my mind. Do you think there is anything in it? She said what— you would think that she could recognize her own kind?’’
‘‘Yes. I think that is as close to an admission of her guilt as you are going to get,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Are you going to check on—what’s her name?— Grace Noel, I suppose Grace Tully now?’’ he asked.
‘‘No,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You are.’’
‘‘Oh?’’ he said, his cup halfway to his lips.
‘‘Some things Grace Tully said made me think that maybe Clymene was right—like maybe her husband is trying to separate her from friends.’’ Diane shrugged. ‘‘You are better equipped to determine if she has married a killer than I,’’ said Diane.
The waitress came out and refilled Kingsley’s coffee and gave Diane a fresh pot of tea.
‘‘Can I get the two of you anything? Chocolate cake? Apple cobbler?’’
‘‘None for me, thanks,’’ said Diane. Kingsley shook his head and the waitress left. ‘‘Sure. I’ll be happy to speak with Mrs. Tully,’’ said Kingsley.
‘‘That was easy,’’ said Diane.
‘‘What you have told me is sufficiently disturbing to warrant a look. Maybe he simply wants a traditional household with a stay-at-home wife; he may be just a controlling guy—or a killer.’’ He gave a short laugh before he took another sip of his coffee. ‘‘Amazing how much credibility we are giving to Clymene’s judgment. Tell me what you think about her,’’ said Kingsley, his eyes glittering. ‘‘I would like to know your impression. Did you find that you liked her?’’
Diane squinted at Kingsley. Like her. ‘‘I think she is very good at what she does,’’ she said. ‘‘I didn’t dislike her. I believe she’s a killer. She knows I believe that, but...’’
‘‘But what?’’ Kingsley leaned forward, smiling.
‘‘But that’s it. I didn’t dislike her. She won over Rev. Rivers, did you know that?’’
‘‘No, I didn’t. You spoke with him?’’ Kingsley said.
‘‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but an interesting conversation. He didn’t seem to know he had been drawn in by her until we talked.’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’ he asked.
‘‘He wanted to know the evidence presented in court against Clymene and I went over it with him. His general comments and attitude were very subtly in defense of Clymene.’’
Kingsley’s brow knitted together in a frown. ‘‘Did he believe the evidence?’’
‘‘Oh, yes. And he was visibly disappointed. I think he himself was surprised at how disappointed. The thing that is interesting to me is I think she knows not only what to say, but what not to say. That’s—’’
‘‘Explain that.’’ Kingsley leaned forward again. Diane had the impression that he wished he was taking notes or recording the conversation.
‘‘I’ve spoken before with felons I’ve helped put in prison. Almost all of them have complained about what an injustice I’ve done them. And if they know anything about my background, they make some kind of jab about the death of my daughter. They’ve enjoyed twisting that knife.
‘‘As you said,’’ Diane continued, ‘‘Clymene is very low-key about proclaiming her innocence. With me, she made a joke of it. She let me know early in the conversation that her lawyer had researched my background. But she never once even alluded to my tragedy—subconsciously I noticed that.
‘‘According to Rev. Rivers, she didn’t proclaim her innocence to him either. With him she was simply helpful. She helped other prisoners in his classes. She didn’t proclaim that she had found religion, which, as you know, is common. She listened to what Rivers had to say. That won him over and that is her special gift. Her methods are subtle and their effect is often subconscious. And that is why I think she’s dangerous and why I think she has killed other husbands—she is so very accomplished.’’
Kingsley sat nodding as she spoke. When Diane stopped he was quiet for a long while.
‘‘Interesting analysis,’’ he said. ‘‘And I agree with it. It’s hard to explain those subtleties to a jury. It’s lucky you found that cotton ball filled with all that evidence.’’ He relaxed, sitting back in his chair. ‘‘You know, I had to study hard to become a profiler—I still have to take workshops to keep up on the latest information. But Clymene is a natural.’’