The Night Killer

“Aren’t you going home tonight?” asked Diane.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything before I left.”

Diane smiled at her. “If you wait on me, you’re likely to be here all night.” She told Sierra she had done a good job relieving Andie today, and received a broad, very white-toothed smile in return.

“I don’t mind extra work,” Sierra said. “Anytime you need me for something, I’m willing.”

Diane smiled at her. “How fast do you read?”

If Sierra thought that an odd question, she didn’t show it.

“Unfortunately, I’m slow. I mean, I remember everything; I’m just not a speed-reader. But you know, up in Archives, Mikaela Donovan and Fisher Teague both read really fast.”

“Really? Thank you, Sierra. That’s extremely helpful,” said Diane.

That elicited a smile that almost blinded Diane.

Sierra rose from behind Andie’s desk, straightened the objects on it, looked at it wistfully, and started collecting her things.

“If you are willing, there are often projects to work on. Andie is working on the webcam project for schools.

I have a whole in-box full of project proposals from curators and exhibit planners. If I come across one that I would like to follow up on, I’ll let you help with it.”

“That would be just great,” said Sierra. “I would love that. Thanks, Dr. Fallon.”

The two of them walked down the hall together. It was getting late but the night lighting hadn’t yet come on in the museum and they still had visitors leaving. Soon the museum itself would close, but the central hallway with its own entrance would stay open for people eating at the restaurant and those who wanted to shop at the museum store, which was where Sierra was going, saying she wanted to buy one of the new T-shirts for her younger sister if the dinosaur tees had arrived.

Diane drove to Rosewood Hospital and rode the elevator up to the critical-care unit’s waiting room. She paused at the door and scanned the room, looking for the Barres, finally spotting Christina and Spence sitting on a sofa against the wall near a window. She held a file folder under her arm with the forms she had printed out.

Chapter 28

Critical care’s waiting area was a comfortable room with thick carpet and soft sofas and chairs, all in shades of sea green and blue. A giant painting of a stylized ocean in the same colors hung on one wall. All in all, a soothing room.

Christina and Spence were sipping their cups of coffee, not talking, simply waiting for the next time they could go in and see their brother. Spence looked up first, then Christina. Each smiled wanly at Diane as she approached. Spence stood and looked grateful for something to do. Diane understood the emotional pressure they were under. Waiting for news was hard and tiring.

“I came to see how Roy Jr. is doing,” said Diane.

“He’s had a craniotomy,” said Spence. “They don’t tell us a lot.”

Diane started to explain about relieving pressure on the brain, but remembered that Spence was a medical technician and he probably knew.

“It sounds good, though. He’s alive, so there is hope,” said Diane. “I know waiting is hard.”

They nodded.

“Brian is getting us a hotel room across the street,” said Christine.

“That’s a good hotel. They cater to the needs of people who have loved ones in the hospital,” she said. Words of comfort weren’t something Diane was good at. What could one possibly say to comfort a person at a time like this? Was comfort even possible?

“Why did this happen?” asked Christine. “Do you think it had anything to do with what happened to Mom and Dad?”

“I don’t know,” said Diane. “It could be only a terrible coincidence.”

Diane sat down in a chair near the sofa, mainly so Spence would feel free to sit down again. But she also had something she wanted to ask them. She started with the easy part and told them that she would like to attend church services this coming Sunday at Rendell First Baptist and speak with members who knew their parents and the Watsons.

Christine nodded. “That’s a good idea. We can go too.” She looked over at her brother. “People will be more willing to talk if we are there.”

“Sure,” said Spence. “I haven’t been to church in a while. It’ll probably be good for me.”

“I have another request. It’s rather delicate. I know and respect the pathologist here. I would like her to do a second autopsy on your parents,” said Diane.

Christine leaned forward and put a hand on Diane’s arm. Her eyes had a bright, moist look to them. “We want to find out what happened. We’re very fond of Dr. Linden, but he’s not up to this.”

“Linden’s been retired for at least ten years-or more,” said Spence, his face creased in anger. Diane got the idea he wasn’t as fond. “You have to keep up with new technology and techniques that are developed constantly. You think he’s been reading pathology journals these past ten years?” He shook his head. “I’ll see to it; I’ll see that Mom and Dad’s bodies are sent to. .”

Diane handed him a card on which she had written the instructions.

“ ‘Rosewood Hospital, Pathology Department,’ ” he read from the card. “You know this Dr. Lynn Webber, you say?”

“Yes,” said Diane. “I spoke with her before I came here and she’s willing to do the second autopsy. I’ve worked with her on many cases. She’s very competent,” added Diane.

And very high-maintenance, she thought. Sometimes Diane had to walk on eggshells around her. Lynn Webber hated to be contradicted or have anyone step into her territory. She had recently put Diane in a very sticky situation with Diane’s superiors in order to even a score with someone from her past, so Diane had a lot of stored-up capital with her at the moment. But the autopsy request had not been a problem for Lynn. She had been happy to accommodate Diane. Not to mention, Lynn loved to be the one brought in to solve a problem.

“Dr. Webber will have to have authorization from you,” said Diane. “I also have another request.” Diane paused, struggling with how to word it as delicately as possible. “I would like some of my people from the crime lab to be there to collect tissue samples for our use, along with Dr. Webber’s. We are looking for ways of determining postmortem interval-that’s time since death. We are trying to find indicators-biosignatures, if you will-of biological changes that are time-dependent.”

“Why is the pathologist taking samples?” said Christine. “Mama or Dad didn’t drink. . or take pills.” Christine looked alarmed.

Diane had thought Christine and Spence might be upset by her crime lab taking the samples, but not if the pathologist did it.

“We don’t know that the killer, or killers, didn’t drug them in some way,” said Diane.

“They always take samples,” said Spence, frowning at his sister. “It has nothing to do with their character. That’s just how it’s done.” He turned to Diane. “You don’t think the sheriff and Linden determined time of death accurately, do you? Will this help?”

“I’m hopeful that it will,” said Diane. “But, if not for your parents, then perhaps for victims in the future. We’re working on a way to more accurately calculate time of death when there’s not a pathologist available at the scene to determine it right away.”

“So it’s a study,” said Christine. She didn’t seem too happy about her parents being part of an experiment.

“Yes, what we learn from them will be used in the larger study. But I am hoping for some information useful specifically in your parents’ case,” said Diane.

“Even with the sheriff’s bumbling,” said Spence, “you pretty much know the time of death because of the time when you last saw them alive and the time when you returned and found them.”