Beverly Connor - One Grave Too Many

“I can see that you were caught in a bad situation,” said Diane.

“You still don’t see. It was my first year at Harvard. His old man would have gotten me thrown out. In a flash, my whole career gone because of that stupid, drunk son of a bitch. It was his fault. Why should I have to pay for it?”

“Taking the bones won’t clear you. They aren’t the only evidence.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s your fingerprint on the silencer you used when you shot Jay.”

“No. You’re lying. Dad said they just had a partial that they couldn’t match.”

“You didn’t read the report closely, Jake. It was the opinion of that expert that he couldn’t get a match because of the recent court decisions. There’s a good chance they can get enough points of comparison by using another expert.”

“Damn, this isn’t happening.” Dylan slammed his fist on the table. “This isn’t happening.”

“Son, it’s not happening. I can fix this. I can make everything right. You can come out of this and the rest of your life will be good. I promise.”

“Listen to yourself, Jake,” said Diane. “You’re a cop. You’ve seen killers before. He’s a killer.”

“No. He was just defending himself. Everything he did was tied to that one mishap. It won’t happen again.”

“Jake….”

“Dammit, he’s my son.”

Diane glanced at Dylan. He’d quit listening to his father. His eyes were darting back and forth, searching for some way out.

Diane wondered at the wisdom of talking about the fingerprints. This wasn’t going exactly as planned. She wasn’t counting on Dylan being such a loose cannon. But why not? she asked herself. He’s already killed four people. It would have been five if Frank had died.

The plan was straightforward. Everything was being monitored and recorded through a device in the vault. The sheriff and deputies were less than a thousand feet away, sitting in their cars in the museum garage, listening. As soon as the incriminating statements were made, they were supposed to be there to make the arrest. A simple, elegant plan. Vanessa thought so anyway. It was Diane’s version of a queen sacrifice, in which she was the queen. It was good on paper. She’d convinced the sheriff it would work.

If things got a little sticky or out of control, as they now appeared to be heading, she was to use the “safe word,” the word that would summon help immediately. If possible, she was to stay in the vault and lock herself in and wait for the sheriff to arrest them. A simple matter of closing the door. But the execution of it was going awry. With both of them there, she couldn’t figure out how to get them out the door.

She had no doubt about the part of the plan where they would be caught and arrested. But she feared they would kill her before that happened. She didn’t want it to be a real sacrifice.

“Son, they can’t do anything with the partial. Besides, I can get it from the property room. It won’t be a problem. Let’s just take the bones and go. She won’t say anything. She’s just been fired from her job here-no one will believe her.”

“Who fired her?”

“Old Mrs. Van Ross.”

“She likes her. Why would she fire her?”

“She didn’t like the publicity she’s been generating.”

“The old lady fired her? I don’t think so, Dad. The old lady dotes on her. . Damn, you said Sheriff Canfield gave you the photographs of the bones and told you she had the real skeleton in the vault after all, that she’d lied to the press.”

“Yes. Canfield said Janice Warrick wanted to look at the photographs.”

“Shit, Dad. We’ve been had.”

Shit is right, thought Diane. She was in trouble now.

Jake pulled out his gun and pointed it at Diane. “The boy’s right. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Now, I’m sure you’re making a tape somewhere, so give it to me.”

“Jesus Christ, Jake. Put the gun away. You don’t want my murder on your hands. This other can be handled, but not if you kill me. Think about the road you’re heading down, for Christ’s sake.” There. She’d said the safe words twice. Help should be there in less than a minute.

Dylan grabbed Diane and ripped her shirt, looking for a wire.

“It’s not on me,” she held her torn shirt together. “You’re too late. You know how a wire works.”

“You bitch.”

“You murderer.” She stepped back and maneuvered behind the table as Dylan tried to slap her. It was then that she noticed his finger was taped up. He was the one who attacked her in front of her apartment. “Guys, give it up. Aidan Kavanagh’s father is already on his way.”

Dylan froze. Diane used that second to push the heavy table into them. Linc’s words, No heavy lifting, no fights, ran though her brain. Shit, he was going to be mad.

Dylan and his father were knocked off balance, but not down. Jake fired his gun. Like a funky jack-in-the-box, Korey, wielding a knife, jumped out of a large supply box and lunged onto Dylan, grabbing him around the throat from behind with his arm, holding the knife in the air, ready to strike. Diane was as shocked as Dylan and his father.

“Drop your gun or so help me I’ll cut him. Questioning me when it was your sorry-ass son who shot Frank and you knew it.”

Dylan started fighting hard, breaking Korey’s hold. None of this was going down the way Diane had envisioned. Korey had no intention of killing Dylan, but Jake didn’t know that. Jake aimed his gun at Korey.

“No, Jake, don’t!” screamed Diane, lunging at him. There was a deafening explosion. “Oh, God, Korey,” said Diane.

But it was Jake who slumped over, a pool of blood spreading on his chest.

“Dad!” cried Dylan. He pulled away from Korey and went to his father.

Diane was shocked to see it was Frank in the doorway holding a gun. The sheriff came running in with a deputy, pulling Dylan away from Jake and cuffing him.

“Frank? What are you doing out of the hospital?” Diane ran to him, putting an arm around his waist to steady him.

“The sheriff called and told me what you had planned. What in heaven’s name possessed you?”

“How did you get past Linc?”

“I didn’t. I got past Henry,” said Frank as he walked over and knelt by Jake. He felt for the pulse in his neck. “Dammit, Jake,” he whispered.

Korey picked himself up off the floor and stumbled over to Diane.

“Are you all right?” Diane asked him.

“Sure. Just fine. Scared shitless. That’s the last time I do anything like that.”

“How. .?”

“Jonas was worried about your scheme. He didn’t think a lot of it either.”

“You could have gotten killed.”

“Don’t I know it. We all need our heads examined.”

Diane stood on the third floor of the west wing of the museum in the middle of her new forensic lab. Laura and Vanessa Van Ross had insisted she get back into forensics. It didn’t take much convincing. She really had missed it in the past year. Digging the animal pit was a help in a strange sort of way. So was being able to give the Kavanaghs back their son-and getting Star out of jail.

Adding a forensic unit to the museum turned out to be a popular idea. Aidan Kavanagh’s father had made a large donation to it; so had Vanessa. It was stocked with the most modern equipment, and Diane had renewed her forensic affiliations, resubscribed to her forensic journals. She wished Ariel was with her, but the pain of her absence wasn’t as sharp and the memory of her face brought a smile before it brought a tear, and that was a welcome improvement.

Diane sat down at her desk in the lab and reread the letter Frank and Star sent her from Hawaii. His gift to Star for going back to school. Frank sent a picture of Star and Kevin on the beach. Diane wondered if Star would recover from the loss of her family. Frank was trying so hard to give her a life.