Dust to Dust (7 page)

Jonas stood up, then sat down again. “I just remembered, Marcella told me earlier she found something she wanted to talk to Dr. Fallon about. She didn’t say what it was. I don’t know whether it is related to what happened to her. What with Diane being the museum director and the crime lab director, it could be something about museum business or something from the dark side.”

“The dark side?” asked Hanks.

“It’s what we in the museum call the crime lab,” he said.

Hanks’ back was to Diane, but she could see the round of his cheek change. Apparently he had smiled.

“Would she have mentioned it in a note or diary?” asked Hanks.

“Most of Marcella’s notes were about her work. I don’t know if she kept a diary,” said Jonas.

“Tell the daughter I would like to speak with her when she is up to it,” said Hanks.

“I will,” said Jonas. He rose again and walked out the door.

Hanks turned around and stared at the two-way mirror for a moment. Diane thanked Garnett for allowing her to watch and hurried out to catch up with Jonas. On the way to the police station she had called her museum assistant, Andie, and asked her to make hotel reservations for Paloma and her husband. She needed to tell him.

“Jonas,” said Diane when she caught up with him at the door.

“Diane. I’m glad you’re here,” he said. They walked out together. “Were you behind the mirror? Do they really do that? It’s not just a TV thing?”

“Yes. I was there,” she said.

“Then you heard the questions he asked. Does he really think I had anything to do with this beastly thing?”

“If I had been the one to find her, I would be the one answering questions,” said Diane. “It’s not uncommon that whoever finds a victim becomes a person of interest. It’s just procedure.”

“It’s not pleasant,” said Jonas.

“It’s not supposed to be. It’s just the way it is. I wanted to tell you that I made Paloma reservations at the Latimeer.”

“That’s pretty expensive. Paloma and her husband aren’t rich,” said Jonas.

“The museum is picking it up. I spoke with her today. She called the house. She wanted to stay there, but I thought with the blood on the floor and all the fingerprint powder, it would be easier if they stayed closer to town. It’s also near the hospital.”

“That’s good of you,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I’m sure Marcella will appreciate it,” he said.

“Drive safely,” said Diane.

Jonas nodded and got in his car. It wasn’t until he drove away that she realized what he had said in the interrogation room about seeing the paintings over the sofa. When she and her crew were in the house, there weren’t any paintings over the sofa.

Diane walked back into the police station, past the reception area, past the detectives’ desks, to Garnett’s office. She could see through the window in the door that he was meeting with Detective Hanks. She knocked and entered when Hanks opened the door.

Douglas Garnett had a no-nonsense, no-frills office. The chairs were faux leather and chrome; his desk was gray metal. A long, wood conference table surrounded with wooden chairs sat off to the side. The tan walls were decorated with an array of diplomas, awards, framed newspaper clippings, and photographs of Garnett shaking hands with many politicians from around Georgia.

He rose when she entered and waved her to a chair opposite Hanks. The two of them sat back down when she did. Hanks stared at her. It wasn’t exactly daggers coming out of his eyes, but his gaze wasn’t particularly friendly either. Despite what he may have felt, he was having a hard time looking aggressive in his neck brace and with his arm in a sling.

“I was just telling Chief Garnett I don’t want you interfering in my case,” said Hanks.

“Have I interfered?” asked Diane.

“You’re here. What’s the purpose of that?” he asked.

“Just observing,” said Diane. “Comparing witness testimony with evidence gathered from the crime scene. I came back in because of something Jonas said during your interview that may be of importance.”

Hanks sat up straight and leaned forward. “What was that?” he asked.

At least he was eager for any information he could get from her. Diane was glad of that.

“Jonas said that when he arrived at the house, his headlights shined in the window and he could see paintings over the sofa. When my team and I were in the house, there were no paintings over the sofa. I only just a moment ago realized what I’d heard or I’d have mentioned it before he left for the airport.”

Hanks’ expression changed to one less suspicious of her intentions. “Were the paintings stolen? When? I wonder if Briggs remembers if they were there when he was in the house. Can you call him? Do you have his cell number?” asked Hanks.

Diane fished her cell from her pocket and called Jonas.

“Diane, what’s up? Nothing else happened did it, this soon?” Jonas asked.

“No. Just a question. When you were in the house with Marcella, did you notice anything about the paintings over the sofa, the ones you saw in your headlights a few minutes before?”

“Not that I remember. Let me think.” Jonas was quiet for a long moment.

Diane thought he might have entered a dead zone in cell service; then she heard him whispering to himself, going over the evening’s events, refreshing his memory.

“I remember my headlights shining through her front window, lighting up the back wall. The pictures stood out for me because I had not seen them before. I got out and walked across the yard and up on the porch. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I looked in the window, but didn’t see her. I knocked again, then unlocked the door and went in, started to call out for Marcella, but there she was on the floor. I stayed with her there on the floor. I didn’t know what to do for her.”

There was another long pause. She heard him breathing.

“Yes, I can see it now as I stood on the porch and looked in the window.The paintings were not there! I’ll be damned! The paintings were gone. You mean her attacker was there in the house stealing the paintings as I was walking from my car to the house? The absence of the paintings hadn’t registered until you mentioned it. Damn.”

“What kind of paintings were they?” asked Diane.

“Portraits. Three of them. But I didn’t see them clearly from my car—too far away.”

“You’d not seen them before?” asked Diane.

“No, I’m sure of it. Marcella had a tapestry hanging over the sofa the last time I was there. The paintings were a new addition.”

“What about the hutch?” asked Diane. “Was the pottery in it when you were with Marcella?”

“Yes, it was there. I remember looking at the pottery and thinking how it looked just like authentic artifacts . . . and what a good potter she is. Are you saying the pottery is gone too? That young fellow, Hanks, asked me about it. I didn’t think about the implication until now. Was her attacker hiding in the house while I was there—waiting for me to leave so he could rob the place? You know, Marcella had a lot of work on her computer. If it’s gone . . .”

“No, we have her computer. We’ll talk when you get back,” said Diane. “Thanks for the information. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I’ll call you when I get Paloma and her husband settled. I’m sure she’ll want to get to the hospital right away,” he said.

Diane had the phone’s speaker turned on as she spoke with Jonas so that Garnett and Hanks could hear. When she hung up, Garnett spoke first.

“You see why I’ve found it’s a good idea to have someone from the crime scene listen to the interrogations,” he said. “They often hear things that are important.”

Diane knew he had made that up on the spur of the moment to mollify Hanks. It was effective. Hanks nodded. After all, she
had
noticed something that probably was important. They had also made some progress in separating events that belonged to the attack from events that occurred later in the morning with the intruders.

She also realized Hanks was off his game. He should have asked if the hutch still had its contents when he asked Jonas what was in it. He must have been very uncomfortable, not thinking at his best. He didn’t strike her as a man who liked to load up on painkillers.

“David Goldstein found pieces of broken pottery on the road behind the house,” said Diane. “That’s where the thieves had their vehicle parked and made their getaway this morning.”

“When Marcella Payden was attacked,” said Hanks, “the perp or perps took some paintings. Then the guys we ran into early this morning took the pottery from the hutch, I’m guessing. So, are we looking at art thieves?”

“Maybe,” said Garnett. “But I don’t know. I wouldn’t expect them to be geniuses, but these guys seem pretty incompetent as art thieves. The stolen pottery isn’t even authentic Indian artifacts, if I understand correctly. Is Dr. Payden’s pottery valuable?”

Both Hanks and Diane shrugged.

“She made pottery more for research, I believe,” said Diane. “She tried to re-create methods used by prehistoric American Indians. And she experimented to replicate past phenomena.”

Garnett and Hanks both raised their eyebrows at this and traded glances.

“For example, one experiment she did was to make vessels with different-colored glazes, put them on a shelf as they may have been arranged in an aboriginal shelter. She’d tip over the shelf and analyze the breakage pattern of the pottery fragments on the floor.”

“And this tells her what exactly?” asked Hanks.

“When excavating a site, you find a lot of broken pottery. Mapping the location of the pieces and then reconstructing them back into a whole vessel tells you something about how it got broken in the first place. In the example I gave, would the patterns of breakage that have been found at many archaeological sites result if the early people had pottery on shelves or racks in their houses? I know it seems like a lot of work for useless information, but archaeology is a lot like crime scene reconstruction—you keep adding pieces to the puzzle and after a while you have the whole scene. They are trying to reconstruct the past in as much detail as they can discover.”

Diane didn’t think she told it as clearly as Jonas did when he spoke with students or tour groups, but Hanks’ and Garnett’s expressions weren’t entirely glazed over with confusion. Then again, neither had she enthused them to become archaeologists.

“So she didn’t take a lot of care making the pottery pieces if she was going to break them,” said Hanks. “They probably weren’t valuable.”

“I think she did take a lot of care,” said Diane. “She wanted to get as close as possible to matching the kind of vessels the Indians used. I doubt her pots were valuable enough to steal. But it may be the thieves thought they were real. Perhaps someone working on her house saw them, knew there was some money to be had in trading in antiquities, and came back with some of his buddies to steal them. Just a thought,” she said. “Do we know who the body in her backyard was?”

Hanks nodded. Apparently he felt more comfortable sharing, at least in the company of Chief Garnett.

“His name was Ray-Ray Dildy. He was a high school dropout, a day worker, and petty thief. Not much on the ball, so I’m thinking he wasn’t the mastermind, just the muscle. I’m looking into his associations now.”

“Could he have worked on Marcella’s house?” asked Diane. “I noticed her front porches are new, as is the floor in the living room.”

“Could have. I’d like to get her daughter to go through her mother’s receipts,” said Hanks. “They might tell us something.”

Diane had been hesitant to ask. Afraid of the answer. But, she had to know. “How is Marcella?” she asked.

“The doctors have her in an induced coma,” said Hanks. “Something about her brain swelling.”

That was what Diane was afraid of. She didn’t know Marcella well, but to a person of intellect like Marcella the possibility of brain damage could be of greater fear than the possibility of death. Diane needed to find out who did this to her.

No one said anything for a moment. Finally Hanks broke the silence.

“You believe Jonas Briggs is innocent of involvement in the attack, don’t you?” Hanks asked Diane.

“Yes,” said Diane.

“Why?” asked Hanks.

“The same reason I believe Chief Garnett wasn’t involved. I know them both,” said Diane.

“That’s hardly a reassuring answer,” said Hanks. “No offense, sir.”

“It is if you trust my judgment,” said Diane. “But you don’t know me.”

“Is your judgment that good?” he asked.

“I think it is most of the time,” she said.

Hanks actually started to smile.

“Other than the fact that he discovered her and called for help,” Diane continued, “there is no reason whatsoever to suspect Jonas. You might as well suspect me.”

“There is the matter of the arguments that were overheard,” said Hanks.

“That’s nothing,” said Diane. “That is the world they live in. Many academics revel in debate. Marcella is one of them. You might as well use breathing as evidence.”

“The witnesses said they were pretty heated,” said Hanks.

“They may have been perceived that way from an uninformed observer’s perspective, but I’d have to have wit nessed it myself to put any value on it,” said Diane.

“Are you that rigid with all eyewitness testimony?” asked Hanks.

“I don’t really deal in eyewitness testimony,” said Diane. “I collect empirical data. But when confronted with eyewitness accounts, I don’t automatically believe them without corroboration. In this case it would take a lot of corroboration because I’ve known Jonas long enough to be able to judge his character.”

“Interesting perspective,” said Hanks.

Diane wasn’t sure what he meant. No one seemed to have anything else to say at the moment, so she stood and the two of them stood with her.