‘‘What’s this about, Mike?’’ asked Diane. He reached for some papers on his desk. ‘‘Neva said the DA told her and the others not to
talk to you or show you the crime scene report.’’ He grinned. ‘‘Of course he didn’t tell her not to talk to me, nor did they tell me not to show you their notes.’’
That was Diane’s team all right. On occasions like this you had to explain exactly all the things you didn’t want them to do, or they would find a loophole in the instructions. She reached for the pages.
‘‘My team can be very sneaky,’’ she said.
‘‘I’ll say. They made the notes and gave them to me with instructions before they spoke with the district attorney. David said they would be warned off from talking to you once the DA had been informed. He was right.’’
A small laugh escaped Diane’s lips. ‘‘David should write a book—a practical guide to paranoia.’’
‘‘Jin wanted you to know that he hated calling Garnett,’’ said Mike.
‘‘He had to,’’ said Diane. ‘‘He didn’t have a choice once he identified the blood.’’
‘‘Well, he’s real bummed out about it,’’ said Mike. ‘‘He kept muttering about how he gets this brand-new DNA lab and the first person he gets in trouble from it is you.’’
Diane shook her head and smiled. ‘‘He did the right thing.’’
She scanned the first page. The information was written in David’s neat hand, listing what was found in her apartment. First was the blood. It was Clymene’s. Jin had mapped the entire pool and took samples from Diane’s clothes. All of it was Clymene’s and it was all fresh blood, not stored blood. The blood trail led down the back stairs of Diane’s apartment and out to Diane’s car, where Clymene’s blood was found in the trunk along with one of Diane’s serrated kitchen knives. The knife had been washed clean with kerosene.
They had so far found no trace evidence that was helpful. The police were alerted by a call from a man using a cell phone who identified himself as a neighbor. However, all the neighbors said they heard nothing until the police arrived. And last: Diane’s tox screen came back positive for a barbiturate—not a high dose, but enough to make her sleep well. No container was found with any barbiturate residue and there were no pills in her house.
She looked at the next page and sucked in her breath. It was the report on the crime scene in White County that Neva and Jin had worked the day before—the body was that of the Reverend William Rivers.
‘‘Oh, no,’’ Diane said aloud. ‘‘She killed him.’’
Diane read Neva’s notes. Rivers was found in his garage next to his car. Blunt-force trauma to the back of the head. One blow. Nothing found at the scene. No unaccounted-for trace on his body. No sign that Clymene had killed him, but Diane believed she had— what kind of coincidence would it be for him to be murdered by someone else on the day Clymene escaped? One interesting item: Neva noted that his car had been vacuumed. The bag from his vacuum cleaner was missing.
Diane had forgotten about the White County crime scene in all the commotion. She just realized that Jin and Neva couldn’t have gotten any sleep.
‘‘Well,’’ said Diane when she finished reading. ‘‘I suppose I’d better go face the music.’’ She stood and handed Mike the pages. ‘‘Better burn these.’’
Mike laughed. ‘‘I’ll eat them right after you leave.’’ He stopped smiling. The perpetual crease between his eyebrows deepened. ‘‘Can I do anything?’’
‘‘What do you have in mind?’’ asked Diane, smiling at him.
‘‘We could run away together. I know some wonderful exotic places.’’ He grinned again.
Mike made a running joke about having a thing for Diane. She didn’t believe it, or rather, she didn’t believe it much. It was more of a friendly flirtation on his part. She never returned it and he never took it beyond talk, which she was glad of. She didn’t want Neva hurt, nor did she want to lose Mike as a caving partner.
‘‘The marshals would hunt us down—not to mention Neva and Frank,’’ she said.
‘‘Guess you’re right, Doc.’’ He walked with her the short distance to the door. ‘‘Good luck.’’
‘‘Thanks, Mike. I know intrigue isn’t in your job description,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Isn’t it? I think it is.’’ He opened the door.
‘‘It should be, with everything that’s going on,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I read today’s paper,’’ he said. ‘‘How is Kendel taking it?’’
‘‘Today’s paper? There’s something in it about the museum? Damn. Do you have one here?’’ she asked.
He retrieved a newspaper from the recycling bin and handed it to her. ‘‘I’m sorry, Doc. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, with everything else on your shoulders.’’
‘‘That’s okay, Mike. I need to know.’’
She took the newspaper. It was the Atlanta JournalConstitution and she had made the headlines.
LOOTED ARTIFACTS AT RIVERTRAIL MUSEUM: IS DIRECTOR BACKPEDALING?
Diane scanned the article. It wasn’t as bad as the one in the Rosewood paper, but it wasn’t good either. Well, for now she’d settle for not as bad.
‘‘Everything is going to be all right,’’ said Diane as she went out the door. ‘‘I’ll make it all right.’’
Chapter 21
District Attorney Curtis Riddmann, Deputy Marshals Chad Merrick and Dylan Drew, and Chief of Detectives Douglas Garnett were sitting at the round table in the crime lab when Diane arrived. Her staff was nowhere to be seen. They were probably in the DNA lab in the basement waiting, thought Diane. David was probably kicking himself for not thinking to bug the crime lab so they could hear what was going on. She smiled inwardly at the thought.
The crime lab wasn’t cozy. With all the glassed-in rooms, white walls, and metal doors, it had a cold, icy look. Diane pulled out a chair across from them and sat down. She wore an off-white linen pantsuit with an ice blue blouse. She saw a blurred reflection of herself in the glass of a cubicle and thought she looked as cold and sterile as her lab—a thought that pleased her at the moment.
The four law enforcement officials sat looking somber. They were seated at the table close together so Diane would be across from all of them. None appeared to be speaking to the others.
The marshals were in jeans, navy T-shirts, and jackets today. DA Riddmann and Garnett were in suits— Garnett looking dapper as usual, and the DA trying hard to. DA Riddmann was not a man who wore suits well. His shoulders and chest were too thin, his hips too wide, and his legs too skinny. Riddmann did have a nice head of brown hair, but it tended to overwhelm his lean face.
I should probably have an attorney, she thought. But lawyering up is tricky when you have to consider publicity—it wouldn’t be good for the crime lab or the museum. Right now headlines and potential headlines were running everything in her life. She had to figure out how to change that.
Diane had called David before she got to the museum and put him in charge of the crime lab while she was under suspicion. She hadn’t liked the sound of those words coming out of her mouth—under suspicion. Damn. Well, that’s what happens when you have a ton of someone else’s blood all over your living room floor.