‘‘Gentlemen,’’ said Diane, ‘‘how can I help you?’’ Deputy Marshal Chad Merrick spoke first. ‘‘We were wondering if there is anything more you can tell us about your meeting with Clymene O’Riley.’’ His smile actually did look friendly.
‘‘No. I told you everything we talked about. It was a short meeting,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I got no indication that she was planning an escape.’’
‘‘Did you leave the prison immediately?’’ asked
Deputy Marshal Dylan Drew.
‘‘No. I went by to speak with the prison counselor,
Reverend William Rivers,’’ said Diane. Of course they
knew that already.
‘‘Why?’’ asked Drew.
‘‘I wanted to hear what his opinion was on Clymene
O’Riley. It was a strange story she was telling me,’’ said Diane. ‘‘He’s had more contact with her than
anyone since she went to prison.’’
The marshals didn’t even blink. But Diane noticed
that the DA looked down at the table. Garnett’s expression didn’t change either.
‘‘And what did he think?’’ asked Drew.
Like Diane, the marshals didn’t gesture with their
hands as they spoke. Merrick had his fingers laced
together in front of him. Drew had his arms folded.
He sat back comfortably in the chair. Merrick leaned
forward slightly. Diane’s hands were laced together in
front of her also. They looked each other straight in
the eye as they spoke. The whole thing reminded her
of her visit with Clymene—all trying not to give anything away.
‘‘Rivers wanted to know what the evidence was that
convicted Clymene. I went through it with him,’’
said Diane.
‘‘And why did he want that information?’’ asked
Merrick.
‘‘He didn’t say,’’ said Diane. ‘‘But Clymene had
been a model prisoner and very helpful to the other
inmates, according to Rivers. He had heard from her
and perhaps from other prisoners that the evidence
against her was not very good. I believe he had begun
to doubt her guilt. But I don’t know that for sure.’’ ‘‘Do you think he would have helped her escape?’’
asked Drew.
‘‘I don’t know. I have to tell you, though, Clymene
is very gifted. I daresay she could make you like her,’’
said Diane.
The two deputy marshals looked mildly startled and
greatly skeptical. From the smirks on their faces, Diane
knew they thought she greatly overrated the powers of
Clymene O’Riley. Diane smiled back at them. ‘‘And how about you?’’ asked Merrick. ‘‘Do you
like her?’’
‘‘I don’t dislike her. It would be a stretch to say
that I like her,’’ said Diane. ‘‘She is, after all, a calculating, cold-blooded murderer.’’
‘‘So, do you think she could have made Rivers help
her escape?’’ said Merrick.
‘‘I don’t know. She’s not a wizard. She can’t make
people do things they don’t want to do. She can make
them predisposed to believe her,’’ said Diane. ‘‘How does she do that?’’ asked Drew, frowning
now like he seriously wanted to know the source of
her power.
‘‘You’ll have to ask FBI agent Kingsley. He would
know more about the psychology involved. He says
she’s a natural profiler. She has an uncanny ability to
size people up,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Why didn’t you call me after your visit with her,
as I requested?’’ asked DA Riddmann. Diane could
see the marshals were annoyed at the interruption. Diane glanced at Riddmann. She could also see he
was clearly angry with her. ‘‘Agent Kingsley said he
was going to call you,’’ she said.
‘‘He didn’t,’’ said Riddmann.
‘‘Then something must have come up,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I’m sure he will.’’
‘‘Did Clymene perhaps get to you?’’ asked Riddmann.
‘‘No,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Maybe—’’ he began, but Merrick cut in. ‘‘I understand you had a bit of trouble early this
morning?’’ he said.
Riddmann started to open his mouth, but Merrick
cut him a harsh look. Clearly the marshals weren’t
letting their jurisdiction go just yet. Probably because they didn’t have a body. Probably wondering where I
hid it, Diane decided.
‘‘Yes, I did,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Would you go over it with us?’’ asked Merrick. Diane looked surprised only because it would have
looked suspicious if she hadn’t.
‘‘You think what happened to me has something to
do with Clymene?’’ she asked.
‘‘Just tell us about it,’’ said Drew.
Diane again repeated the incident of awaking in the
wee hours of the morning to the sound of knocking
at her door and slipping in the blood.
‘‘Tell me,’’ said Riddmann, glaring over at the marshals. ‘‘How much blood is in the human body? You
would know that, being a forensic anthropologist,
right?’’
‘‘We each have about ten pints,’’ said Diane. ‘‘And how much can you lose and still live?’’ DA
Riddmann asked.
‘‘Less than three and a half pints. Any more than
that and you are dead,’’ said Diane.
‘‘How much blood would you say was on your
floor?’’ Riddmann asked, leaning forward. From the
glitter in his eyes, Diane could see he was warming to
the way he was building up his argument.
‘‘I would say four pints or more,’’ said Diane not
taking her eyes off his.
‘‘Can you distinguish, say, blood from a blood bank
from fresh blood?’’ he asked.
‘‘Yes. An anticoagulant preservative is added to
stored blood,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Among other things.’’ ‘‘Okay, now . . . ’’ He sat up in his chair and
straightened his tie.
Going in for the kill, thought Diane. What she didn’t