Beverly Connor - Dead Past

“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?”

“What crime?” she whispered.

It had been four days since Frank talked her out of investigating the murders and into simply handling the trace evidence from the crimes they themselves processed. She had to agree that this was far more relaxing. However, Jin, David, and Neva were still on the case. Jin was determined to get his DNA lab.

McNair’s murder had an unexpected effect. Patrice Stanton stopped harassing her by phone. Apparently, she actually thought Diane had killed two people already and she didn’t want to be next. Well, thought Diane, whatever works .

Today, Kendel sat in front of Diane’s desk with several sheets of paper in her hand and a large box under her arm.

“We have a researcher who says he is going to petition the Egyptian government to ask for the return of our mummy if we don’t allow him access,” said Kendel.

Diane sighed. “That’s a new tact.”

“I’ll write a letter to the legal affairs department of his university,” Kendel said. “Maybe they have some influence on him.”

Diane nodded.

“I’ll also see if he’s tried this with other institutions.”

“Do that,” said Diane.

“I wouldn’t worry,” said Kendel.

“I’m not,” said Diane. “Lately I’ve had people threatening worse.”

Kendel smiled. “I guess you have. By the way, Whitney Lester’s starting her management training today.”

“I hope she learns something,” said Diane, eying the box. “What else do we have?”

“Mike sent you a gift. He wanted me to give it to you in person.” Kendel handed Diane the box.

Mike was the curator for the geology collection at the museum and her caving partner, and he had on more than one occasion suggested that he would like to be more.

Diane smiled. “What is it? Do you know?” She weighed the box in her hands. “It’s heavy.”

“It is,” said Kendel. “Open it.” Kendel sat back smiling. “It’s something you’ll like.”

Diane cut the tape on the box. Inside was filled with Styrofoam peanuts. She stood and put her hands down in the box, spilling the peanuts all over her desk. She found a roundish object wrapped in bubble wrap. She pulled it out and cut off the wrapping.

“Oh, my,” said Diane, “this is lovely. You’re right, I do like it. I love it.”

She turned it around in her hand and looked at it. It was something Diane had wanted for a long time-a crystal skull carved out of quartz.

Diane set the skull on her desk under a lamp and watched the light play off the surfaces. She placed her fingertips on the top of the skull and caressed it. It was as smooth as glass. The sutures etched into its surface were perfect. It was a beautiful piece. She opened the card that came with it.