The fragmented skull was like a puzzle, but instead of a picture, she looked for diagnostic details-foramen, canal, fossa, margin, crest-all the road signs that told what bone the fragment was from, and where it should be on the skull. Most of the pieces came from the bones that David, Neva, and Jin had collected at the crime scene. She doubted that McNair could identify small bones, certainly not burned small bones.
She found several fragments that belonged to the first face and glued them in place. It was almost complete now. On the second skull, in addition to the back of the head, she pieced together the entire left cheek, eye socket, and bridge of the nose. She stepped back and observed her work-definitely taking shape. She worked on the reconstruction through the afternoon. By the end of the day she had a significant part of the face complete. By tomorrow it would be ready to scan. She looked at her watch. It was still a decent hour. Tonight she was going to get a good night’s sleep in her own bed.
When Diane arrived at her apartment, she smelled Italian food before she even opened her door. Frank, she thought. She smiled as she put her key in and opened the door.
“God, that smells good,” she said.
“It should,” Frank called from the kitchen. “It’s my famous Frank Duncan Spaghetti Supreme.”
“I’m ready for it. I had a great breakfast in the restaurant, but I skipped lunch,” said Diane.
In the kitchen Frank was stirring a skillet filled with bubbling spaghetti sauce. He was dressed in a casual maroon sweater and tan slacks. She kissed him on the cheek.
“You get home early today?” she asked.
“I did. I finished a big case and figured you probably skipped at least one meal. And I was right,” he said grinning at her. “It’s ready now; you’ll just have time to change and wash up.”
“Then I’d better hurry.” Diane changed into sweatpants and shirt and bare feet, washed her hands, and sat down at her dining table, waiting to be served. He had already poured a glass of red wine. Diane took a sip.
“I could get used to this,” she said.
“So could I. I love getting off early. Can’t wait for retirement.” He kissed the top of her head as he put the plate in front of her. He brought out a salad and Italian bread and sat down.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Diane.
“I expect I’ll reap some benefits.” He grinned at her.
Diane asked about his case as they ate. It was a complicated embezzlement in a large company in Atlanta and reached as far away as Seattle, Washington.
“Getting enough for court is always the tricky part,” he said. “I think we’re ready.”
Diane told him about the explosion case, filling him in on everything that happened since she last saw him.
“David said the GBI is handling the meth lab case now. We’re all relieved they are,” she said.
“They have more clout to subpoena records. That’s the only way they’re going to find out who’s behind the lab-follow the money.” Frank took a sip of wine. “So the thinking now is it’s someone out for justice for the victims?”
“Yes, which is why I told Garnett that I am through investigating. I’m sure he was relieved. I do tend to stick my nose in too much occasionally. Although, what we’ve been doing lately is more armchair detective work.”
“I can see how Garnett would not be enthusiastic about the latest theory of the crime. But it looks like the perp did kill the wrong person and he did hit Jin on the head. That’s the problem with being a vigilante. You skip all the checks and balances.”
“I know,” agreed Diane.
“Why don’t we talk about anything but crime? It seems that’s all we ever talk about. You want to go away for a weekend with me?”
“Love to, but I’m saving all my money for Paris,” said Diane.
Frank laughed. “We could go to the mountains-maybe Gatlinburg. I’ll spring for it.”
“Maybe. That sounds good. Let me get through these cases first. We’re still processing the material from the Cipriano and Stanton murders. And I’m still looking for the items stolen from the museum. I’m out a four-thousand-dollar seashell, among maybe thirty thousand dollars’ worth of other items.”
“Someone would pay that much for a seashell?” said Frank.
“It’s big,” said Diane.
“I know, but… four thousand dollars?”
“It’s also rare.”
“Is it gold?” asked Frank.
“That would be the cowrie shells,” she said.
Just as she was about to reach for another piece of bread to dip in the small plate of olive oil, the phone rang.
“Well, damn,” she said. “I guess I’d better get it.”
She got up and went to the living room. The caller ID said it was the hospital. Diane answered it.
“Dr. Fallon, this is Jesse Kincaid.”
“Yes, Mr. Kincaid. Is Darcy all right?”
“She’s coming along well. She asked me to call. Seems she needs to talk with you about something important and wonders if you could drop by tomorrow morning. She’s told us about it and I advised her to come clean. It’s the only way to make things right.”
Chapter 38
Darcy Kincaid’s room was filled with bouquets of flowers from well wishers.
“Many are from people Darcy doesn’t even know,” said Mrs. Kincaid. “There were so many we gave some away to other patients so there would be a little space in her room. People really like Darcy.” She rubbed her hands together nervously.
She is probably suggesting that I should like her, too, thought Diane.
“The flowers are all beautiful,” said Diane.
Darcy was sitting up in bed. Her mother held her hand. Her father stood just behind Mrs. Darcy at the head of his daughter’s bed.
Darcy’s face was black and blue still, with a hint of green and yellow. Her eyes were swollen, but not as much as they had been, Diane imagined. Her dark hair was neatly combed and fell like a curtain around her shoulders. Diane imagined her mother had combed it for her.
“How are you feeling?” asked Diane.
“Pretty good,” said Darcy. “A lot better than a few days ago.”
Diane pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. “Everyone at the museum is thinking of you.”
Darcy closed her eyes. Diane could see she was trying not to cry. Her father caressed her hair.
“There are some things I need to tell you,” said Darcy, after a moment.
“I’m listening,” said Diane.
“I don’t know where to begin,” she said.
“Just start at the beginning,” said her father. “We’re right here.”
“I met Blake on campus,” said Darcy.
Not that far back, thought Diane. But she listened.
“I was giving a presentation at the library about exhibit planning. He was just… just so nice. I’ve never met anyone like him before. He was so interested in what I did, in the museum.”
Her father cleared his throat in a derisive manner. Darcy threatened to tear up again.
“Go on, honey,” said her mother.
“I thought he was really interested in a museum career, I really did. I took him to all the departments and introduced him to all the collection managers. He asked all kinds of questions. I just thought I was so lucky to have met someone like him who was interested in the same things I was.”
Diane could see from the way her father’s lips were pressed together in a grim frown that he was having to make an effort to keep from commenting.
“I didn’t know about the dinosaur egg, I really didn’t.”
“When did you find out?” asked Diane. Dinosaur egg? Diane wondered if that was the first item he stole.