Dead Past (30 page)

“Do you know where the doll is now?” asked Diane.

“Sure. I got it. I took it away from her. I told her she couldn’t play with something she stole. I was going to give it back to the child she took it from, but I never was able to find out who she was playing with. I asked some of the little girls on the beach, but they didn’t know Juliet. The child might have belonged to a tourist family. We get a lot of them here. They come and rent cottages on the beach. Lots of people come and go here. Will it help Juliet if I send you the doll?”

“Yes, I think it will help,” said Diane.

“I want to help Juliet. I don’t see her often enough. She thinks I blame her for her mother’s death. Maybe I did at one time, I don’t know. Anna Marie was my only child, and it’s awfully hard to lose a child. No matter how old they are, they never quit being your child. When Juliet was kidnapped, it just killed Anna Marie—the worry. She never got over it. She wasn’t a strong girl.”

Mrs. Torkel was silent for a long while. Diane waited.

“I’ll send you that doll. Let me get a pen and take your address.”

Diane heard rattling noises as though she was searching in a drawer.

“Here . . . no, the ink’s dried up. Just a minute.”

Diane heard her lay the phone down. The television was playing in the background. It sounded like a soap opera. After a minute she was back.

“Here, this one writes. Go ahead.”

Diane gave her the museum address.

“Mrs. Torkel,” Diane asked when she had written down the address, “this question may sound strange, but around the time Juliet was there, did any murders take place?”

“Here in Glendale-Marsh? Why, no. I don’t know that we ever had a murder. We’re just a small tourist town. People come here with their families. The folks who live here year-round all know each other. No, we never had any murders. Did Juliet say we did?”

“No, she didn’t. It was just an idea. Thank you for talking with me,” said Diane.

“Tell Juliet to call me sometime. Georgia’s not that far from Florida. Maybe she can come down to visit me and we can go collecting shells on the beach like we used to.”

“I’ll tell her,” said Diane. “Thanks again.”

She hung up the phone and sat in her office thinking. She was expecting to hear that there had been a murder in the Glendale-Marsh area just prior to the time Juliet was kidnapped. She had it so neat in her mind what had happened. She was disappointed that she was wrong. But she would double-check with the Florida crime records.

Diane went back to her lab to continue her work piecing together bone fragments. The bones were as she had left them—laid out and waiting. The sandbox she used to keep the pieces upright sat on a nearby table holding what she had pieced together so far. Another sandbox holding the first partially reconstructed skull sat next to it.

David had set the box he brought from the warehouse on the counter. She opened it and laid all the bones out on the table, filling in many of the missing parts of the strange double skeleton. The warehouse evidence contained many of the bones and fragments that were missing.

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.”

 

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.

“About a month ago. The collection manager for the dinosaur fossils said she was missing a fossil raptor egg. I had taken some up to the preparation room where we were working on a fossil exhibit. I returned them all and hadn’t been back down, but I knew Blake had, so I asked him if he’d seen them.”

Darcy stopped talking and Diane thought she was going to cry.

“You need to go on and get this done,” said her father.

Darcy’s lips trembled. “I loved him so much, I really did. I’ve never loved anyone like that before.”

“What did he say when you asked him about the egg?” prompted Diane.

“He confessed. He said I’d caught him, but he hadn’t meant any harm. He said it was just one egg that a collector friend wanted and the museum had so many. I told him he had to get it back. He said he couldn’t. The collector had already paid him for it and that he was connected with some bad people. They would beat him up if he tried to get it back.”

Darcy’s father shook his head. Her mother rubbed the back of the hand she held on to. “It’s all right,” she said.

“Go on,” said Diane. “Did you believe him?”

Darcy’s eyes grew wide. “Yes. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Darcy . . .” Her father couldn’t hold it in any longer. “He was lying to you the whole time. Why can’t you see that?”

“You didn’t meet him, Dad. You didn’t know him like I did.”

“Darcy . . . ,” he said again and shook his head.

Diane could see his frustration. Darcy still didn’t know what Blake was. Her father had probably been trying to tell her.

“Continue your story,” said Diane. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Darcy shook her head. “Just a week before the party he said the collector wanted some of the gemstones from Geology. He threatened him if he wouldn’t get them. Blake said he tried, but Dr. Seger had put some really strict protocols in place while he was gone. He couldn’t get near the vault. Shelly, the geology collection manager, is a stickler for carrying out Dr. Seger’s orders.”

Diane noticed that she sounded a little resentful of Shelly, possibly because in her frame of mind right now, she saw Shelly as putting Blake in danger.

“What did he do?” asked Diane. Though she knew what was coming.

“He asked me to get them. He said he had to get the Van Ross diamond and several other gems or he’d be in real trouble. He was really scared. He said I could put some of the other gems in their place and no one would find out for a while. He said that would give him time to make things right.”

Jesse Kincaid gave a derisive huff.

“Daddy, it’s true.”

“Then what happened?” asked Diane.

“I did what he said. I was so afraid for him. I was supposed to bring them to the party and he would get them from me there.”

“What happened?” asked Diane.

“I got what he wanted, including the Van Ross diamond. I put them in a Ziploc bag . . . but I just couldn’t take them from the museum. When I was leaving I put them in a planter—the one with the really tall palm. They should still be there. I was going to tell him that I would go with him to the police or to his father to get help. They have a lot of money and if he was in trouble, I know they would help him out.”