Former mayor Walter Sutton was as disappointed as Rikki Gillinick. The citizens of Rosewood did not want him as mayor again. They somehow blamed him too for the corruption in city hall, though Diane wasn’t sure why. Edward Van Ross was pressed into service for a term as mayor. He told everyone it was just until Rosewood got back to normal. Diane wasn’t sure that would ever happen. A group of people actually ap proached her to run in the special election. Diane couldn’t think of anything she had rather not do than run for mayor. She politely declined.
Curtis Crabtree died on the way to the hospital. Shipman clung to life and slowly recovered in the prison hospital. Caleb told Diane and Frank that Crabtree and Shipman tormented him over how they cut up his friend Malcolm and fed him into the wood chipper. The one nice thing that Jefferies had done for Caleb was to tell Curtis and Shipman to lay off— but, Caleb added, that was just so his work wouldn’t be affected.
Diane had asked Colin Prehoda to take Caleb’s case. He loved it. Diane had invited him to lunch in her office and told him about Caleb and what hap pened.
‘‘I can get the kid a medal,’’ he said. ‘‘My wife can get him a movie.’’
Diane frowned. ‘‘For himself, he needs to know that killing wasn’t the answer,’’ said Diane. ‘‘He doesn’t need to go the rest of his life thinking there was no alternative. Everyone needs to know you can’t get off scot-free for murder, no matter what the circum stances.’’
‘‘Was there an alternative?’’ said Prehoda. ‘‘Where could he go in his situation? It’s a valid question, one I can make the jury understand. Have you talked with Vanessa lately? If Jefferies wasn’t already dead, she said she would have killed him. She said she might just dig him up and shoot him anyway. People can’t just go around doing what he did and not expect someone to bite back really hard.’’
‘‘I’m talking about—’’ began Diane.
‘‘I know, you’re talking about the kid’s soul. But my job is to give him a good defense, and I cannot do otherwise. You’ll have to let his grandparents look after his soul,’’ said Prehoda.
‘‘I suppose. He’s a kid with a conscience, and I want him to be able to be happy sometime in his life,’’ said Diane. ‘‘He has a real talent. I don’t think he can ever be happy without some kind of accounting.’’
‘‘Redemption requires atonement?’’ Prehoda shrugged. ‘‘That’s not my jurisdiction. Right now, set tle for his freedom. I can get him out of hard jail time, even though it looks like he premeditated the murders. Jefferies and his gang didn’t give him any options, and they were relentless in their threats to his family. It doesn’t help the prosecution that Jeffer ies had Karen McNevin killed. A lot of us liked her. A lot of us like you and Vanessa. The discovery that he planned to kill the two of you isn’t sitting well with anyone. The kid’s not going to jail over this.’’
‘‘Probably not,’’ she said.
‘‘Besides, you have no evidence physically linking him to any of the murders. You only have his hypo thetical story about what happened,’’ said Prehoda.
Prehoda had been right. He made a deal with the DA that Caleb would get intensive counseling and five years’ probation. But Diane worried, as did Frank, especially when they found out the college classmate Caleb was on a date with that fateful night was Star, Frank’s daughter. Frank sort of freaked out when he learned that.
Jefferies had a file that detailed how Curtis had killed Judge McNevin. Prehoda was right about that too. People were very angry about a well-respected judge being murdered. Suddenly everyone in town knew who John Locke, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and Thomas Hobbes were and what the concept of
‘‘Here’s a dilemma for you,’’ Diane told Prehoda. ‘‘Bryce killed Edgar Peeks. He confessed, and we have the evidence. But he also keeps saying he was framed. We thought he had just gone nuts until I realized that we have the bloodstains on the forceps—along with his bloody thumbprints on them—but we don’t have a trail left by the incriminating bloody bullet that was supposed to have rolled under the chest. I think Bryce did take his bullet away from the scene, but Rikki, in her sneaky little fashion, had a spent bullet from Bryce’s gun that she swabbed in the blood and brain tissue before she dropped it in the evidence bag. That would make not all the evidence against him true, but he did do it.’’
‘‘ ‘For ’tis the sport to have the enginer / Hoist with his own petar,’ ’’ was Prehoda’s only comment, and they enjoyed the rest of the meal talking about the upcoming Neanderthal exhibit.
Diane managed to get her world back to what passed for normal, even if it would take a long time for Rosewood to get back on track. She didn’t think about Jefferies or any of them when she went down to check on how the Pleistocene Room was coming along.
Kendel Williams, the assistant director, had brought back an almost complete Neanderthal skeleton. The brown bones lay in a glass case like Snow White wait ing to be awakened. Neva was working on a facial reconstruction to be shown at the event.
The museum would be having the white-tie party in the Pleistocene Room. Diane was putting the Nean derthal diorama and bones temporarily in the huge room so the Friends of the Museum could get a pre view of the new acquisition at the party.
Henry, who was now a museum intern after school, worked with Jonas Briggs on the exhibit. Diane knew the Wilsons worried about their grandsons Caleb and Henry. The Wilsons were religious people and were having a hard time of it. Diane was sure atonement was on their minds as well.
She didn’t know if justice had been served. She didn’t know anymore if complete justice was possible. She touched the glass case that held the bones of the young female Neanderthal and wondered what she would make of the world now.
Professor Emeritus Alexander de Houten sat in his leather chair twirling the pinky ring on his finger. He pulled it from his finger and angrily threw it in the trash. The anger was directed at himself for miscalcu lating. It was a mistake to trust sociopaths. He thought people free of emotions would carry out his ideas in perfect order. But he hadn’t realized that sociopaths aren’t free of emotions, just empathy. They have plenty of emotions for themselves. They are selfish to their core. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. And Rosewood had been such a perfect place for his plan—small town, easily manipulated, with its own crime lab. Just perfect. He sighed. He should just count himself lucky they didn’t connect him with their unfortunate events.
He turned on his computer and watched as it booted up. He touched his mouse. A screen with text popped up—and a voice.
‘‘What the hell is this?’’ he said loud enough for his secretary to hear and knock on his door.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Beverly Connor is the author of the Diane Fallon Forensic Investigation series and the
