Dead Past (22 page)

Jin looked at Neva and over at David. “We’ve come up with a theory—hypothesis, to be more precise.”

“An
idea
would be the most accurate,” said David.

“OK, an idea,” said Jin. “What if McNair is mixed up somehow in the meth lab mess?”

“Mixed up how?” asked Diane. If that were true, it would be a sticky wicket, indeed.

Jin shrugged. “Not sure. He could have been investigating it on his own in hopes of cracking it and taking the glory. Found out too much and was killed.”

“Or,” offered David, “he’s in it up to his beady little eyeballs. He’s been spending a lot of money—I know Garnett said that his wife has money, but what if he’s really getting money from a drug operation? What if he’s the shadow the police are all looking for behind the meth cook? He went to great lengths to get all the evidence under his control, you’ll have to admit that.”

“OK,” said Diane, “I’m buying it so far.”

“We have several scenarios to look at,” said Jin. “McNair might have killed the Stanton kid because he was afraid the kid would talk, and then someone killed Stanton for the same reason, or for revenge, or something. Or, there is some other person above McNair in the meth operation who wanted to protect himself. Maybe he thought McNair was being too heavy-handed in taking the evidence and we were going to catch on that McNair was trying to hide something.”

“I think we’re onto something,” said Neva. “I really do.”

“Where are we going to put the DNA lab?” said Jin.

“Let’s find the killer first,” said Diane. “What are you going to do now?”

“David’s trying to find out how McNair was killed. We know the location was the Briar Rose Nature Trail where he jogged. And we know he was shot. David’s getting the details.”

“David?” asked Diane.

“His autopsy is being performed as we speak, but this is what I have so far. He was jogging along his usual trail—a place where few people jog this time of year, especially now, with twenty degree temperatures and snow on the ground. But McNair was a marathoner, always in training. About a half mile into it he was shot in the knee. He fell, rolled around a bit, got the ground bloody, probably screamed, but we won’t know that until we find the killer. He managed to get up and hopped about fifteen feet back to where he came from. He was shot again in the chest and once more in the head.”

“What kind of gun?”

“Don’t know that yet. I imagine the GBI does. We’re going to have to get that from Garnett.”

“No one heard gunfire?”

“I don’t know,” answered David.

“Any footprints in the snow?”

“Presumably, but we don’t know,” said David.

“What are the points of similarity between McNair and Stanton?” asked Diane.

Jin fielded this question. “They were both shot in an isolated place, both were shot in the head, maybe no one heard the gunshots in either case. That’s all we have now.”

“Interesting, but not compelling comparisons,” said Diane.

“I’ll bet they were both shot with the same gun,” said Jin.

“Do we have the autopsy report on Blake Stanton?” asked Diane.

“No,” said David.

“Can you get it for me, along with McNair’s autopsy report?”

“Sure,” said David.

“Good. I’d like to look at the two of them together. I’d also like to know as soon as possible if anyone in the police department recognizes the picture we sent.”

“I can find that out,” said Neva.

Diane started to speak just as her cell phone rang. With the sense of dread that Patrice Stanton had inspired in her, she looked at the caller ID. Unknown caller. Shit. But she couldn’t keep avoiding answering any of her phones.

“Yes,” she said.

“Diane, Frank here.”

Diane grinned. “Frank, it is so good to hear from you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. How about I come over this evening with dinner and stay the night?”

“That would be great. It seems that I’m going to need an alibi twenty-four/seven.”

“What? What are you into now?”

“That’s the point. I’m not into anything. I’ll explain when I see you.”

“All right.” There was hesitation in his voice as he let her off the explanation hook. “See you tonight. Pizza?”

“Pizza’s good.”

When Diane got off the phone with Frank, she asked David, “I don’t suppose you’ve taken that ad out yet about no murders until we recover? I could really use a night off.”

“Darn it. No, I haven’t,” said David.

“You know,” said Jin. “We could be looking at this all wrong. There’s another angle.”

“What’s that?” asked Diane.

“Someone could be getting rid of your enemies.”

 

“Someone could be getting rid of my enemies?” said Diane. She didn’t like this angle at all.

“You could have a secret admirer who wants to make your problems go away,” said Jin.

“Let’s say for a moment that this scenario is true,” said Diane. “Then it follows that Patrice is in danger. Well, hell.” She fished the cell phone from her pocket, called Garnett, and relayed Jin’s latest idea.

“It’s just a thought,” said Diane, “and I think it remote, but you might keep an eye on her.”

“She’s already requested that we do so. She heard about McNair and has decided that you will be gunning for her next.”

“Oh, this is just great. You know, Garnett, I do have a reputation to uphold in this town.”

“I know. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Easy for him to say, she thought. “We e-mailed you a likeness of the individual generated from the skull fragments found in the basement,” she said.

“I got it. I’m showing it around now. This is the first break we’ve had in the meth case. Good job.”

“Marcus’ men collected the evidence in the basement,” said Diane. “There have to be more bone parts from there. I have a couple of long bones, a rib, and the skull fragments from the basement, that’s it.”

“Maybe it was all obliterated,” said Garnett.

“Do you know how hard it is to obliterate bone?” asked Diane.

“I’ll check on it,” he said.

“Have you been able to look at any of the other evidence from the basement area?”

“No. McNair’s unit is working on it. They’ll let me know when they have something.” Garnett thanked her again and hung up.

Diane thought he was in rather a hurry to get off the phone.

“Well,” said Diane, “Patrice had the same idea . . . but she’s asked for police protection from me.”

The three of them laughed. She didn’t think it was funny.

“I’ll be going through the books we brought from the Cipriano apartment,” said Diane, “while you guys work on the other two cases.”

The books were stacked in boxes in one of the glassed-in workrooms of the crime lab. The ones David had already gone through were on the table. He had made a list of the titles, authors, copyright dates, editions, and subject matter. She scanned the list, looking for a title, a name, or anything that might sound like the phrase Jere Bowden thought she heard. Nothing sprang from David’s page of notes.

Diane continued where he left off. She flipped through the books, looking for margin notes or anything stuck between the pages. She went through about twenty books and . . . nothing. David was right. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you have a hard time finding it.

She had started on a second boxful when Neva came into the room.

“I got a call from one of my sources,” she said. “I have some information.” She dragged up a chair and sat down. “It was another jogger who found McNair on the path. He said when he parked his car he saw a guy walking up the road. He was wearing a synthetic black winter coat and bill cap that matched, jeans, and work boots. He had graying dark hair, from what he could see. He noticed him because he didn’t look like either a jogger or hiker. Does that sound familiar?”

“That’s the description of the guy Jere Bowden saw at Joana Cipriano’s apartment,” said Diane.

“That’s what they are thinking at Homicide,” said Neva.

“So the murders
are
tied together somehow,” said Diane. “How? We haven’t found any evidence that Joana was involved in anything criminal.” For that matter, she thought, they didn’t really know if McNair was involved in anything illegal.

“I suppose it could be a coincidence,” said Neva. “I mean, after all, it’s not like those are unusual clothes. You could go around the city and find a half dozen men dressed like that this time of year.”

“I supposed they asked Joana’s ex-husband if she knew McNair?” said Diane.

“They did, and he said he’d never heard of him. Neither had her mother or her friends,” said Neva.

“Did the witness have any other information?” asked Diane.

“Just that he thought the hat was new or the guy was a dork.”

“Excuse me?” said Diane.

“The bill on his cap was straight, not curved. You know, you have to train your cap bill to have that curve in it. Most new hats don’t have it. It’s dorky to not train your cap bill.”

“Of course.” Diane had rolled up many a baseball cap bill and stuck it in a glass to get that curve in it. “If he saw the bill of the cap, did he see a face?”

“Partial face. The guy’s collar was pulled up and he had his head turtled down and his hands in his pocket as though he was cold.”

“Thanks, Neva. That’s a good lead. Thank your informant for me.”

“Sure. The police are kind of funny on this one,” said Neva. “Normally, a member of the fire department like McNair would be held in the same regard as a member of the police department. They would pull out all the stops to find his killer. But McNair was considered lower than Internal Affairs because of the way he’s gotten so many good cops in trouble.” She shook her head. “He was a nasty fellow and he’s sure caused a lot of problems. Garnett has to report directly to the mayor every day. They said he’s pulling his hair out trying to deal with all of this—and he has a nice full head of hair.”

“I can imagine. When Garnett gets the report on trace from both the crime scenes, get me a copy. I’m particularly interested in the fiber evidence from all the crime scenes.”

“Sure. You really think you can get Garnett to put in a DNA lab?” asked Neva.

“I don’t know. The museum might do it if the numbers line up the right way.”

“Jin’s really excited. Boy, you know how to reward people for accomplishment—shopping in Paris, DNA lab.”

Diane laughed. “I suppose I do.”

 

“OK, Diane,” Frank said after washing down a bite of pizza with a swallow of beer, “tell me about your day.” His blue green eyes glittered with amusement. “Why do you think you will need an alibi?”

Diane related the entire mess as they sat at her dining table eating pepperoni, mushroom, and sausage pizza. She started with Blake Stanton trying to hijack her car and ended with McNair taking the evidence.

“Now both Blake Stanton and Marcus McNair are murdered. A city councilman would like me to be the killer, for some reason I can’t fathom.”

When she finished, Frank was no longer smiling; his eyes didn’t have that wrinkle in the corners they got when he was amused.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the attempted carjacking?” he asked.

“It paled in comparison to finding Star,” said Diane. She cleared off her oak dining table and threw the pizza box in the trash. She put the other pizza he brought in the refrigerator. Frank always brought more food than they could possibly eat. A consequence, he said of coming from a family with two older brothers and an older sister.

“You are also important to me,” he said when she returned to the table with coffee.

“I know, but it was over, and there would be plenty of opportunities to tell you.”

“It must have been terrifying, facing a crazed kid with a bloody stump and a gun.”

“Scary perhaps. He looked mainly pathetic, except for the gun. But what I really need is to find out who killed him and who killed McNair—and Joana Cipriano. You know, everything we’ve found out about her doesn’t point to a person involved in criminal activity. Actually, I don’t know that McNair was involved in anything criminal. It’s just that I wouldn’t put it past him.”

They moved to her living room. She turned on some music—jazz violin played by Stephan Grappelli—opened up her drapes so they could watch the falling snow, and snuggled up with Frank on her large burgundy and gray striped sofa. She had liked the colors when she got it, but now she wasn’t sure.

“Why don’t you leave it to Garnett and his detectives?” asked Frank, kissing her temple.

“Because they aren’t being accused of murder—twice,” countered Diane.

“Neither are you, really. Just by some crazy woman and a councilman of questionable motives. I know Adler. He’s not aboveboard himself.”

Diane turned her head to face him. “You think he could be involved in something illegal with his nephew?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. But he’s smart enough to make sure nothing leads to him.”

“Would he have his own nephew killed?” asked Diane.

“That I don’t know. Some days I’d say yes. But hiring a hit is dicey. More often than not, it backfires.”

Diane put her hands to her temples. “I’ve got book titles swimming in my head, and I’m not even sure that Joana’s death had anything to do with books. I’m just at a loss. I’ve been locked out of the information on McNair’s crime scene. I need more data.”

“Now, tell me again why you are not leaving this to the detective in charge of the case?”

“Because I have this crazy woman calling me every time I turn around telling me she is going to stalk me the rest of my natural life, and calling my board members and God knows who else and accusing me of murder.”

Frank kissed her lips, then moved his mouth just a hairsbreadth away from hers. “Are you sure you want to talk about crime right now?”