Dust to Dust (6 page)

She was taping the last box closed when David and Izzy came in. David Goldstein was a good friend of Diane’s. She had known and worked with him for many years and they shared a common tragedy. While they were working as human rights investigators in South America, many of their friends were massacred. It had made her and David close. Other than Frank, the man Diane lived with, David was the man she trusted most. He was in his forties, balding except for a fringe of dark hair around his head. He had dark eyes and an interesting, paranoid view of the world.

Izzy Wallace had been a policeman on the Rosewood police force and a good friend of Frank’s. He hadn’t liked Diane much at first, but with the unexpected death of his son came a change in his priorities. Observing how Diane and her team collected evidence that actually put criminals behind bars, he decided he wanted to join their team. Neva said he was learning forensics very quickly. Diane noticed he did seem, if not happier, more involved and satisfied with life.

“What are you doing?” David asked.

“I’m taking Marcella Payden’s work to her office in the museum. David, I need you to pack up her computer equipment. And, Izzy, would you mind figuring out a way to pack up her television?”

“Her TV?” said Izzy. “You’re taking her TV? Can you do that?”

“Sure,” said David. “Diane’s powers would let her come into your house and take things away if she wished. Besides, the crime lab could use a large-screen, high-definition television.”

“Seriously,” said Izzy, frowning at David.

“I spoke with her daughter,” said Diane. “She asked that we take Marcella’s work, her computer, and the TV to her office in the museum for safekeeping because of the break-in.”

“Just checking,” said Izzy.

“What have you found?” Diane asked them, making a fruitless effort to dust off particles of Styrofoam peanuts that clung to her clothes.

“I found several bullet casings,” said David. “The road in back of the house is paved, even though it’s a pretty old road—no tire marks. I did trace their getaway through the woods and collected some fiber evidence. That’s about it. One odd thing. I found two broken pottery sherds on the road. Looked kind of archaeological. I collected them. I don’t know if they’re connected to our suspects, but since Marcella is an archaeologist . . .” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

Diane raised her eyebrows. “I wonder if they were looking for Indian artifacts? If they were, I don’t think they made it to this room.”

David shrugged again. “Maybe that was what they were after, but . . . I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. That many guys for some Indian pottery? Is it that valuable?”

“I don’t know either,” said Diane. “Some is, I think. But you’re right. It doesn’t feel quite right. What about you, Izzy? Find anything?”

“I took a couple of casts of shoe prints outside in the dirt. Like David, I found fibers where they rolled around on the ground. I found lots of sequins.” He grinned. “You must have rolled all the way down to the bottom of the bank.”

Diane smiled. “I did. Good work. What’s your sense of what’s going on?” she asked Izzy. “Do you think the attack on Marcella and the break-in early this morning are two separate events or part of the same crime?”

“I don’t know,” said Izzy. “Like David said, it feels strange, but hell, guys will break in to steal just about anything these days. I’m thinking they would’ve been interested in the electronics up here. But maybe they didn’t get this far. I’m with you on the problem of how they knew the house would be empty—maybe they didn’t care. Maybe they knew that just one little old lady lived here. Maybe they saw activity here earlier and her being carried away.” Izzy shrugged. “There’s also the problem of there being no sign of forced entry. Did she leave her doors unlocked? Did she let the attacker in and he left without locking the door behind him? I know some people leave their doors unlocked, but usually not older women living alone away from neighbors, like this house is.”

“I agree,” said David. “Too many questions and not enough information for answers.”

“Besides,” said Izzy, “it’s Hanks’ job to figure this stuff out.”

Izzy had told Diane that some of the Rosewood detectives thought she insinuated herself too many times in their cases. Diane thought it was an unfair accusation. She never interfered in cases unless she was brought in by the detectives themselves. Or in some cases, the perpetrators made sure she was involved.

Since Izzy joined her team, he had become her conscience in that regard—trying to make sure the Rosewood detectives had a good impression of Diane and the crime lab. She started to tell him that the county sheriff didn’t have any problems with how she did her job, but her cell rang. She looked at the display. It was Garnett, Rosewood’s chief of detectives. Diane answered.

“Hey, Diane. Just giving you a heads-up. Hanks is bringing Jonas Briggs down here for questioning. Thought you might want to observe.”

Diane, still in the change of clothes she kept in her car for emergencies and still with Styrofoam packing peanuts clinging to her, stood in the observation room looking with some apprehension at Jonas Briggs on the other side of the glass in the police interrogation room. Douglas Garnett was standing next to her.

Garnett was his usual well-dressed self: dark charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and light blue silk tie. He was a tall man, fiftyish with thick, graying, well-styled hair and dark eyes. He hadn’t called Diane because he was personally concerned for Jonas Briggs; his concern fell more under the heading of protecting the museum from bad publicity and political repercussions. The crime lab, a really big jewel in Rosewood’s somewhat thorny crown, was housed in the museum building. Garnett and the mayor knew if anything bad happened to the museum because of the crime lab, Diane would move the crime lab out. And having the museum house the lab worked out so well for the city that it was worth the little extra political trouble to watch out for the museum’s welfare. Plus, Garnett owed Diane for pulling him out of hot water. And Diane did have a personal interest in the welfare of Jonas Briggs.

Jonas was sitting there alone, his forearms resting on the table. He was dressed in a light denim jacket, white shirt, and Dockers. He looked worried, but Diane guessed he was worried about his friend Marcella, not the circumstances he found himself in at the moment. Garnett told her that Jonas had waived his right to council. She didn’t think it was a good idea, but Garnett’s help stopped at allowing Diane to talk to Jonas before Hanks did.

Diane’s fears had been correct. Jonas had discovered Marcella Payden, which made him an automatic person of interest.

Diane heard the rattle of the door and Detective Hanks walked into the interrogation room. He didn’t look particularly threatening, with his arm immobilized and his neck in a brace because of his broken collarbone.

Jonas raised his eyebrows at Hanks but didn’t mention Hanks’ condition. He waited for Detective Hanks to speak.

“How well do you know Marcella Payden?” asked Hanks.

“Very well. She is a fellow archaeologist and a friend. I know her family,” replied Jonas.

“Did the two of you get along?” Hanks asked.

“Of course,” Jonas said.

“Were the two of you dating?” asked Hanks.

“Dating? That sounds like such a young term. We went places together and had a good time. Is that what the young do on dates these days? There is an element of romance that goes along with dating, so I guess you could say we were dating,” said Jonas.

“Were you intimate?” asked Hanks.

“Now, young man, that’s a very private question. However, I will answer. No.”

“Did that make you frustrated?” asked Hanks.

Diane felt uncomfortable for Jonas. She wanted to bang on the window and tell Hanks to be more respectful.

Garnett must have felt her frustration. He leaned toward her and said, “He has to ask these questions.”

Diane nodded. But she didn’t have to like it.

Jonas chuckled. “Do I look like I’m nineteen? What kind of question is that?”

“You may have wanted to go faster in the relationship than Dr. Payden,” said Hanks. “Take it to the next level.”

Jonas shook his head. “Next level? Where do you young people come up with these phrases? And go faster? Son, at my age, I’m happy just to go at all. You know, you haven’t analyzed your target audience in forming your assumptions and questions. You’re targeting a different age group from mine.”

“Did you and Dr. Payden have a lot of arguments?” Hanks asked.

Diane had a desire to pound on the window again.
These are trick questions
, she wanted to shout.

“A lot of arguments? As in getting mad at each other? No.”

“What if I told you I had witnesses who heard you and Dr. Payden arguing heatedly just two days ago?”

Diane watched Jonas raise his bushy eyebrows and frown. “Then I would say you had a witness who couldn’t tell the difference between spirited scholarly discourse and arguing,” said Jonas.

“Is that what you call it, ‘spirited scholarly discourse’?” asked Hanks.

“Yes,” said Jonas.

“What did Dr. Payden call it?”

“Marcella called it spirited scholarly intercourse,” said Jonas.

Diane smiled.

“Intercourse?” said Hanks.

“Yes. Communication between individuals, organizations, or nations,” said Jonas. “You’ll find it’s the first definition in the dictionary. It’s kind of overshadowed by the second definition. Marcella likes the surprise aspect of using the first definition.”

“I see,” said Hanks. “What was the argument about?”

“Let’s see. I believe the topic of discourse was the
definition
of archaeology and how it relates to the proper subject matter of archaeology,” said Jonas.

“That seems pretty basic. Are you telling me you couldn’t even agree on a definition of your own subject matter?” said Hanks.

“It’s an academic thing,” said Jonas.

Diane could see he was getting annoyed with Hanks.

“It’s a common issue with all us archaeologists, one that will never be resolved because we will never completely agree. However, if you think this or any discussion I’ve had with Dr. Payden in any way would drive me to attack her, you’re just being plain silly. Marcella loves academic discussions of all kinds.” Jonas looked at his watch. “I’ll have to leave soon to pick up her daughter at the airport. She and her husband are flying in from Arizona today.”

“Do you know who might have done this to her?” asked Hanks.

“No. Marcella is a nice person whom everyone likes. I can’t imagine anyone doing this to her.”

“There is a large hutch in her living room. Do you know what was in it?” asked Hanks.

“Several pieces of pottery,” said Jonas.

“Indian pottery?” asked Hanks.

“Hanks didn’t go into the house,” said Diane. “How does he know about the hutch?”

“He said he was going to call David Goldstein to see what kind of things your crew found,” said Garnett. “I’m sure he called before he began the interview.”

Diane wondered why Hanks hadn’t called her, but she didn’t say anything.

“. . . pottery she made herself,” Jonas was saying. “It does look very much like pottery from archaeological digs. She experimented with various clays and tempering material. She always signed it to be sure no one ever acquired one of her pots and tried to pawn it off as an authentic prehistoric artifact.”

“Did she have any valuable artifacts in the house?” asked Hanks.

“Valuable to archaeologists as objects of study. She had a few vessels, but as to monetary value . . . to tell you the truth, I really don’t know what the market is for stolen artifacts.”

“There’s a desk in the living room that had been emptied. Do you know what was in it?”

“Nothing. She found the desk in one of the sheds out back of her house and was going to refinish it,” said Jonas.

“You said that when you found her she spoke,” said Hanks. He looked down at his notes. “I believe you said she said, ‘Tiger after all loose moment.’ Is that right?”

“Yes,” said Jonas. “That’s what it sounded like she said.”

“Do you know what that means?” asked Hanks.

Jonas shook his head. “I don’t have any idea.”

“When you drove up, did you see anyone else there or anything out of the ordinary?” asked Hanks.

Jonas shook his head and looked as if he were trying to remember. “I stopped at the gate—or that arch thing. My headlights shined in the house and I could see the paintings on the wall over the sofa, but I didn’t see her, or anyone. I went up to the door and knocked. She didn’t answer. I waited and knocked again. She didn’t come to the door. I knew she was expecting me. The door was locked, but she’d given me a key to look in on her place when she was away. I opened the door, called her name, and went in.”

He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “She was there on the floor and there was blood. I thought she had fallen and hit her head. I called 911 and stayed with her. I talked to her and she came to briefly. That’s when she spoke. It was hard to hear. I may have gotten it wrong.” Jonas hesitated a moment. “Later when I found out someone had attacked her, I tried to remember if I saw or heard anything. I just don’t remember. Everything was fine until I found her on the floor.”

“Thank you for coming down. Please don’t leave town,” said Hanks.

“I have to go to the Atlanta airport to pick up her daughter, Paloma, and her husband,” said Jonas.

“Just make sure you come back,” said Hanks.

Hanks ended the interrogation. It wasn’t as bad as Diane had feared. And it was informative. She found out what was in the empty hutch. If the thieves thought they were valuable artifacts, then they were bound to be disappointed. It was interesting to discover where the desk came from too. Apparently, Hanks didn’t find the note on the back of the drawer important, for he didn’t ask about it. It was also interesting that Marcella had spoken. Diane couldn’t imagine what the words meant either.