DF08 - The Night Killer (8 page)

Diane breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the Rosewood city limits sign—and the lampposts that lined the streets. She was so tired of the dark. She looked in the rearview mirror again, still seeing only headlights, not the vehicles behind them. Several cars were behind her, more than had been behind her most of the way. She was back in civilization.

Diane made the turn onto Museum Road. She was starting to feel relaxed. It was a pleasant drive—rolling and twisting through the wooded property. Frank would be there waiting on her. She was sure he had left the minute he’d hung up the phone with her. She thought about food, a bath, and sleep; and just as she came out of a dip and over a rise in Museum Road, she almost missed seeing the vehicle that had made the turn off the main road behind her.

Diane hit the accelerator and flew over the rise and around the curve, heading for the museum. The trees lining Museum Road seemed to fly by as she sped to the building, hoping Frank was there, hoping he wasn’t late.

Damn, how did she miss him? She really sucked at detecting a tail.

The immense Gothic edifice that was the museum came into view, well lit by the lights in the parking lot. She could see Frank, David, and the others sitting on the steps waiting.
Well, hell.
Who was following her? She slowed down and pulled in beside Frank’s Camaro in front of the right-hand entrance to the museum. She jumped out of the SUV and ran to Frank.

“Diane . . .” he began, putting an arm around her waist.

“I think someone is following me,” she said.

A set of headlights came over the rise and into the museum parking lot, heading straight for them. Frank, Izzy, and a museum security guard all drew their guns, but held them pointed downward.

It was Slick’s primer-colored Chevy truck.

Damn him.
Diane started marching toward it. Frank pulled her back.

The truck skidded to a stop and Slick rolled down the window. He threw out a plastic grocery sack that broke open on the ground, scattering the contents of Diane’s purse and glove compartment onto the pavement. He glared at Diane.

“I found these in a ditch. You leave me and Tammy alone. We got nothing more to talk about.”

With that, he hit the accelerator and screeched away, leaving black rubber marks on the pavement.

Frank and the others stared after him for a moment. A sound from the pavement attracted their attention. Diane’s lipstick was rolling toward them and stopped at David’s feet.

“Well, that was weird,” said David. He reached down and picked up the lipstick, turning it over in his hand as if it might be something other than what it appeared to be. His dark eyes looked quizzically at Diane.

The others turned to her, obviously expecting some explanation that made sense. She noticed that Hector was with them too. He was in a lab coat. He must have been working late. He and his twin brother, Scott, were technicians Deven Jin had hired for the DNA lab.

“What is this stuff?” Hector asked.

“Things from my purse and glove compartment,” Diane told him.

“How did they end up in a ditch?” he asked.

She smiled grimly. “They didn’t. Look, I’m sorry to drag all of you out of bed.”

“We weren’t in bed,” said David. “We were up worrying about you. Are you all right? Where have you been?” He bent down and picked up the rest of Diane’s things.

“Trying out for a part in the remake of
Deliverance
,” she said, as Frank hugged her close.

He smelled like aftershave. It was a comforting aroma.

“I’m relieved you’re back,” he said. “You want to tell us what happened?”

“In my office. I need to shower and change clothes. First, I need to get these boxes of artifacts to Jonas Briggs’ office. Please, I’ll tell you everything, but I need to get this done first.”

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you need.” His blue-green eyes looked dark under the parking lot lights, but she could still see the concern in them. The others were relieved—and bewildered, but she could see that Frank was still worried.

“I’m all right,” she repeated, looking into his eyes. “Don’t worry about the way I look. I got caught out in a thunderstorm.”

“You look wonderful,” he said.

Frank didn’t let her go for a moment. Diane was inclined to hang on to him too. Feeling safe was like an elixir, an opiate; she could happily drown in the feeling. Reluctantly, she pulled away.

Izzy stared at the hood of her vehicle. “Did you have a wreck?”

Jin and David, just noticing the hood of the SUV, walked over and examined the huge dent.

“Sort of. Let’s get the boxes in first.” She knew they had a million questions, but it was such a long story, and her muscles were aching, and she wanted to be clean. God, she wanted to be clean.

They each took a box of projectile points and carried them to the second floor, where Jonas Briggs’ archaeology office was located. They stacked the boxes against the wall after Diane moved some of Jonas’ books and journals out of the way. When the last box was delivered from her vehicle, she sat down a moment in Jonas’ chair behind his desk and stared at the boxes, each one neatly labeled in Roy Barre’s hand.

“That place up there gets no cell service,” commented David. “We tried to call the Barres to find out where you were. Their landline was out of order.”

Diane broke into tears. She couldn’t help it. It just came out like water through a broken dam. She put her head down on her arms on Jonas’ desk and sobbed. Frank knelt by her side and put an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t mind Frank or David seeing her cry. They had witnessed her breaking down before. But she was embarrassed to show weakness in front of the others.

“Diane, what’s wrong?” Frank whispered.

She raised her head and sat up. “The Barres are dead,” she said. “The phone was out of order because their murderer cut the wire.”

Diane heard someone suck in a breath.

“Dead?” said Jin. “When?”

Diane stood up, drying her eyes with a Kleenex from Jonas’ desk. “I’ll tell you all about it in my office.”

She locked up Jonas’ office and walked downstairs and out to the parking lot and retrieved the poncho and knife from the SUV. Frank went with her, holding her hand as if she might bolt away at any moment.

She asked one of the security personnel to drive the SUV around the building and park it inside the fence on the crime lab side of the museum.

“I can take it to the barn,” he said, referring to the place where they stabled the fleet of museum vehicles.

“I want it processed for evidence,” said Diane.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Diane stood a moment, watching it leave; then she and Frank walked back into the museum. David, Jin, Izzy, and Hector were in the lobby. They all walked silently together to the east wing, where her office was located.

So much walking. Diane was tired of walking. She’d been doing it all night. She wanted to sleep, but there was a lot to do before she could go home and rest.

Diane’s museum office suite had a shower. She had thought it an absurd luxury at first, but she had used it so many times that it was now a necessity. On more than one occasion she’d been grateful to have it. She was grateful now. Frank and her crew sat in the lounge part of her office while she showered and changed into the clean clothes she always kept on hand.

Diane ran the shower as hot as she dared and stood under the steaming water, letting it run over her shoulders and down her back. She would have stayed until the hot water ran out if they hadn’t been waiting on her. She scrubbed her hair and body until she was almost raw. When she got out, she put on jeans and a white T-shirt and combed her hair slicked back. She wiped the steam off the mirror and looked at herself.
I look androgynous
, she thought. The shower was supposed to refresh her, but she still felt so tired.

The meeting lounge attached to her office had a soft sofa and stuffed chairs, a large round oak table, a refrigerator, and a sink. It was a comfortable place, like a small apartment. Frank, Jin, David, Hector, and Izzy all sat in various chairs in the room. Hector and David sat at the table with Izzy. Jin and Frank were on the sofa. Someone, probably David, had handed out drinks from her refrigerator. While she was in the shower, Frank had mixed her a drink of milk, Carnation Instant Breakfast, protein powder, orange juice, and strawberry yogurt. It was one of her favorite power drinks. She took it and looked at him gratefully. He guided her to the stuffed chair and put her feet on the ottoman. Those at the table pulled their chairs around to face her. Diane took a few sips of the drink before she began telling them her story.

Diane told the story as if giving a report—clear, concise, dispassionate. She captured their attention from the start with the tree falling on the hood of her SUV and the appearance of the skeleton. Their jaws dropped an inch and they stared at her. Hector started to speak. Diane saw Jin giving him a warning glance, apparently sensing that she needed to get it out. Like her tears, the story needed to flow out of her in its own way and time.

She told them about Slick—though she hadn’t known his name at the time—trying to grab her; about her trek through the woods in the lightning and rain, chased by dogs—or at least trailed by dogs; about the mysterious stranger; about finding the Barres in their home, still in their nightwear, with their throats cut. She described how she and Deputy Conrad went back to the house on Massey Road, and finding that her things had been rifled through. She described meeting Slick Massey and Tammy Taylor. She also told them about the plastic skeleton they tried to pawn off as part of her “delusion.” She took sips of her drink during the story, and by the time the story was done, so was her power drink.

David let out a sigh and rubbed the dark fringe around his mainly bald head. “I don’t know where to start,” he said.

“Well, dang, Diane,” said Izzy, “I figured you were just out of gas somewhere and couldn’t get to a telephone.”

Diane smiled, glad for the levity. Oddly, no one had any questions immediately. Perhaps not odd at all. Like David, none of them knew quite where to start.

“So,” said Hector, “they pilfered your stuff, and he brought it back and threw it at your feet. What was that about?”

“They don’t want anyone investigating the skeleton, I suppose,” said Diane. “And it was also a thinly veiled threat. He was telling me he knows where to find me.”

“The bastard,” said David. “The low- life bastard.”

“Well, who
was
the skeleton?” asked Hector. He had removed his lab coat, revealing a bright blue-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt. He and his brother looked vaguely like Elvis—if one squinted one’s eyes—and sometimes they subtly dressed like him.

“How would she know that?” said Jin.

“I thought maybe someone was missing or something. It’s just really weird,” Hector said.

“You think this stranger you met in the woods might be the killer?” asked Frank.

“I don’t know.” Diane picked up the poncho and rolled-up rain hat on the table beside her.

“Jin, I want you to look this poncho over for any signs whatsoever of blood. The killer would have been drenched in it. It rained hard practically the whole time I was out, but the poncho has a drawstring and stitching.”

“Sure, boss,” said Jin.

She rose from the chair and went to a cabinet where she kept a supply of bags for storing evidence. Oddly enough, there were several times she had use for them here in the museum side. Sometimes it seemed as if the museum and the crime lab were slowly coalescing. She sat back down again and unwrapped the knife.

“I want you to examine this knife. Take it completely apart. I want to know if there’s any blood on it.” She dropped it in the bag. She put the hat in another one. “Look at the hat too. I may have cross- contaminated it, but at the time I didn’t have anything else to wrap the knife in.”

“And why didn’t you turn all this over to the sheriff or, rather, his representative?” asked Frank.

Frank’s face looked stern, but Diane knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t angry. Just concerned.

“In the absence of a warrant, I didn’t think it was right to hand over something that was loaned to me,” said Diane. “Sheriff Leland Conrad spends the least amount of money on criminal justice of any sheriff in Georgia. He runs for election on what he describes as his commonsense approach to crime. And he believes he is right. To him it will be common sense that it was a stranger in the woods in possession of a knife who said he was taking photographs during a thunderstorm who is the killer, rather than any resident of his county. If the man is guilty, that would be fine. If he’s not, the killer gets away and the stranger is stuck in prison.”

“You don’t think Sheriff Conrad will call in the GBI on this?” asked Frank. “This is pretty big.”

“Nothing’s too big for Leland,” commented David.

“His son, Deputy Travis Conrad, is going to try to talk him into it. He said the coroner will back him up,” said Diane. “Maybe they will persuade him. But between now and then, I’m going to process what we have.”

She and Frank stared at each other for a moment. She knew he disapproved. Frank could be a stickler for protocol. Izzy Wallace looked uneasy too.

“It’s not evidence until it’s evidence,” she said. “Right now, it’s just a knife and rain gear that some Good Samaritan loaned me to help me out of a tight spot.”

“You don’t think you’re sort of protecting the guy because he helped you, do you?” said Izzy. “That would be understandable,” he added.