She started back to her other office but made a detour to the rock lab and looked at Raymond’s dia monds in the safe. Even uncut they shone against the black velvet.
The diamonds kept intruding into her thoughts. That must have been what Steven Mayberry meant when he said his ship had come in—and what Chris Edwards was so happy about. They must have gotten their hands on several valuable diamonds—not only the one in Kacie’s ring. Bet they had more. Raymond had to be a part of it somehow. However unlikely a criminal ring the three of them seemed to be, they must have stumbled into something.
But how in the world did a serial killer fit into all of this? Unless he wasn’t a serial killer. The other thing Chris, Steven and Raymond had in common was the hanging victims. Chris Edwards and Steven Mayberry found them. Raymond Waller helped with their autopsies. That connection was accidental. It came after the Cobber’s Wood victims were dead—or did it, really? Maybe Edwards and Mayberry simply led the sheriff to the people they had killed—but then, how did the man in the hospital play into it? He was there too.
It hit Diane suddenly. Maybe he was supposed to be in the fourth noose, the forgotten victim—but what were the E-mail, phone calls, flowers and the attack in her apartment about? If he was a victim, why didn’t he just walk into a police station instead of calling her?
No matter what scenario she came up with, there was always some part of it that didn’t make sense. She gave up and went back to her museum office.
She’d been going over budget figures for an hour when Garnett called and asked her to meet him and Braden at the hospital.
‘‘He might tell you something he hasn’t told us,’’ he said. ‘‘He was anxious to talk to you before.’’
‘‘You’re not talking to my client.’’
John Doe’s court-appointed attorney stood in front of the door leading to critical care, barring Diane, Sheriff Braden and Chief Garnett from entering.
‘‘Your client,’’ said Sheriff Braden, ‘‘killed three young people barely out of their teens in my county. One of us is going to talk to him.’’
The attorney, Tim Preston, looking hardly out of his teens himself, stood with his arms folded, not moving.
‘‘You don’t know my client did any such thing.’’
‘‘We have your client,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘We’ve matched his DNA with DNA left with the Cobber’s Wood hanging victims.’’
‘‘Did you have a court order to take his DNA?’’
‘‘Didn’t need one. He left his blood all over Dr. Fallon’s apartment,’’ said Sheriff Braden.
‘‘What’s his name?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I don’t know.’’
‘‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’’ asked Braden.
Preston dropped his arms to his side. ‘‘I mean he’s not talking to me either. My client is still in critical condition. If your policemen hadn’t been so quick to shoot a man for holding a cell phone...’’
‘‘He broke into Dr. Fallon’s apartment and attacked her. She barely escaped with her life. My men went in to get him and he drew something from a holster on his side that looked like a gun—after he was or dered to freeze. We aren’t going to have any of this he-was-just-a-poor-innocent-victim business around here,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘Now, we want to know who he is.’’
‘‘He’s not talking—not to you and not to me. That’s the way it is. The doctors are giving his chances of recovery about fifty-fifty right now. If you want him to live to stand trial, leave him alone.’’
‘‘We would like to know who the victims are so we can notify their families,’’ said Diane.
‘‘No. He’s not talking. What part of that aren’t you people getting?’’
‘‘Well, this is a hell of a note,’’ said Sheriff Braden, as he, Diane and Garnett walked back to their cars. ‘‘We have him dead to rights, and can’t even get the son of a bitch’s name.’’
‘‘We’ll get it sooner or later,’’ said Diane. She got in her car and drove back to the museum. As she was parking, her cell phone rang. It was Neva. ‘‘I got a hit on the plastic surgeons’ list.’’
Chapter 40
Neva was sitting at the conference table in the crime lab when Diane arrived. She had several photographs in front of her, along with her drawings of the victims. David and Jin joined Diane at the table.
‘‘What have you got?’’ said Diane.
‘‘First, let me tell you, I bombed out on the tattoo lists. I didn’t really handle it the right way. I cleaned up the photos of the tattoos so they didn’t look like they were on a dead body, and I phrased my questions as if they were missing persons. Not a good idea with this group. They took the attitude that they had a right to be missing. I sort of got a lot of flames on that list.
‘‘Thank goodness, the doctors were more forth coming.’’ Neva turned the photographs around. ‘‘I said from the start that I was trying to identify two sets of bones. I got a bite last night. A plastic sur geon in Buffalo, New York, E-mailed me to give him a call.’’
‘‘He recognized the drawings?’’ asked Diane.
Neva nodded. ‘‘He said they looked like patients of his. I also included photographs of the nasal bone and spine of Blue Doe. I hope that was all right. I thought he might recognize his work, even . . . even though the nose wasn’t there.’’
‘‘Too bad he wasn’t one of those surgeons who ini tials the bones of his patients,’’ said Jin.
‘‘Did he? Recognize his work?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘He said he did a lot of rhinoplasty like the ones that showed up in the bones, and he said the drawings did resemble a particular patient of his. When he found out I was trying to identify bodies, he sent these photographs to my E-mail.’’
