Beverly Connor - Dead Secret

She motioned to Jin and he picked up the receiver to listen. There was the momentary sound of another phone on the line until Jin pressed the mute button.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Taggart?” she said.

“It’s what I can do for you. I’ve been thinking about that mummy exhibit of yours and how much I like the museum. I was considering making a sizable donation.” Emmett Taggart’s voice reflected a man accustomed to being in control, to having his wishes fulfilled, to having people ingratiate themselves to him.

“Kendel Williams takes care of donations,” said Diane in an attempt to disarm him. “She’s not in her office at the moment. I’ve had to clear out the museum because of some unfortunate events. Our lives are very much disrupted.”

There was a pause during which Diane imagined Taggart enjoying the contribution he had made to that disruption. She looked at Jin and held up her legal pad on which she had written the word Emmett in big letters for Jin to see. Jin’s face registered astonishment.

The tone of Emmett Taggart’s voice now reflected a noticeably more insistent quality but with a varnish of civility. “I understand what you are saying, but for the kind of donation I’m thinking about, I’d rather speak to the director.”

“And you would want what in return for this donation? For large donors, we usually name a room after them.”

Distaste was now evident in his voice as he was actually having to ask for something, to justify himself. “I wasn’t thinking of a room. I was thinking of consideration for all the years of good I have done, all the charities I have given to, all the people I have helped.”

“You want acknowledgment?” Diane was almost enjoying this. Rubbing his face in his own arrogance and his guilt. And it had its desired effect. He came back at her on the offensive, with less caution.

“Let’s stop this. You know exactly what I want, and I have enough money to pay for it. You may think I did something in the past that I should be punished for, but anything I might have done has been balanced several times over by all the good I’ve done.”

But Diane was just warming to the challenge. “I’ve just spoken to the family of Jewel Southwell. They have been devastated by her disappearance sixty-three years ago, and are still feeling the effects today.”

“Jewel.” He said the name as if he had just now remembered. Perhaps he had forgotten her name. “She was a waitress with an illegitimate child.”

“No, the child was not illegitimate. Jewel’s husband worked out of town.”

“You wouldn’t have known she was married by the way she acted.”

“She loved life, and her family loved her. I also have a last letter from Dale Wayne Russell. Let me read it to you.” Diane read the poignant last words of Caver Doe. “He expected you to come back for him.”

There was a long, drawn-out silence, but Diane could still hear the old man breathing. When he spoke again, he was not contrite, but he was calmer and sounded sincere, almost pleading.

“Dale was hurt too bad. My cousin was a careless boy. He was going to die anyway. You have to understand. I loved Rosemary too.”

“He was your cousin?”

“I thought you knew that. Yes, he was my cousin. Don’t presume to judge me until you know everything.” His calm had not lasted long, and was replaced by a return of his arrogance and self-justification.

“I know we have three recent murders,” said Diane.

“Blackmailers!” he spit. “Blackmailers!”

“Nothing they did justifies your taking the lives of Jake Stanley, and Flora and Donnie Martin,” said Diane, her own temper now raised. “My mother was thrown in a black hole of a prison as a result of your criminal activities. There is nothing you can do to undo her suffering or to repair my ruined relationship with my family. No amount of money will change any of the evil you have done. You’ve hurt me and people I love and you want my goodwill?”

“About your mother, that wasn’t-”

The blast that exploded through the phone was so loud it hurt Diane’s ear.

“Mr. Taggart? Are you there? Mr. Taggart?” Diane heard the phone click.

Jin rushed into her office as Diane was calling 911.

“That was a gunshot!” he shouted.

“Yes, it was. . ”

“Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?” the calm, businesslike voice of the dispatch operator said.

Diane identified herself and gave her phone number and a description of what had just happened. In talking to 911, she realized that all she knew for certain was that she had been called by a man who claimed to be Emmett Taggart, and that the earsplitting sound she’d heard sounded like a gunshot. She couldn’t even give the caller’s number because her caller ID had been blocked.

“Can you be reached at this number?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yes,” replied Diane.

“Stay on the line, please.”

Diane and Jin looked at each other, not knowing exactly what to think or do. The operator came back on.

“An officer has been dispatched to the scene. He may be back in touch with you later.”

“Thank you,” said Diane.

When she put the phone down she was still stunned. “What do you reckon?” said Jin.

“I don’t know.”

Neither moved for several moments, as if waiting for something. So much had just happened. Emmett Taggart had confirmed his complicity in the deaths of how many people? Five? What was he saying about her mother?

Diane was brought out of her thoughts by the throbbing of her aching jaw. She picked up the ice pack and held it to her face.

Jin stood up and headed toward his lab area. “I’ll fax Caver Doe’s-I mean Dale Wayne Russell’s-letter to Garnett.”

Diane nodded. Her mind went back to worrying about what effect the coming publicity surrounding two violent deaths inside the crime lab would have on the museum. She relived in her mind the events and wondered what she could have done differently.

She tried to get some work done, but gave up. She started to go see how the cleanup was coming when the phone rang. It was Garnett.

“Emmett Taggart has been shot. We have his wife, Rosemary, in custody.”

“I thought he lived in Atlanta. How did the Rosewood police get involved?”

“He and his wife are staying with their grandson, Robert Lamont, who has a farm that lies inside the Rosewood city limits. Mrs. Taggart’s not saying anything. She, uh, only wants to talk to you.”

“Me? I don’t even know the woman. I met her only briefly at Helen Egan’s funeral.”

“I don’t know why, but that’s what she says.”

“You need us to work the crime scene?” asked Diane.

“Get David and Neva to do the work-you and Jin are witnesses.”

“Should I be talking to Mrs. Taggart?”

“She says she won’t talk to anyone else.”

“Okay. Get a search warrant for the entire premises-outbuildings and grounds. Jin can do the outside search.”

“Very well. What are you thinking?”

“I’m just being thorough.”

“How’s your jaw?”

“Hurts like hell. Looks worse.”

Before she left her office Diane checked her appearance in the mirror. Her face was now swollen and badly discolored. She could already hear what Frank was going to say when he saw this. He had been threatening to quit work just to be able to watch after her well-being. She was beginning to think she did need a keeper.

Diane remembered Robert Lamont when she saw him. He was the auburn-haired man who was at the funeral with his running-for-senator uncle, Steve Taggart, and his grandparents, Rosemary and Emmett Taggart. Lamont’s farm was larger than Diane had expected. It reminded her of Tara in Gone with the Wind -the run-down Tara, not Tara in her prime. Not that Lamont’s place was dilapidated. It was more shabby chic. The Greek Revival two-story columned house needed fresh paint, as did all the outbuildings. However, the yard was freshly mowed, the fields looked well-kept, and the black-and-white cows looked contented.