‘‘He could, but how would he know that we would even look at the knots?’’
‘‘Perhaps in the TV interview...’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘I never mentioned the knots—just bones. Most people don’t even know there is such a thing as forensic knot analysis.’’
‘‘Good point.’’ He rose. ‘‘According to the report I read, you haven’t found any physical evidence that links any of the crimes together.’’
‘‘That’s true—none.’’
‘‘You have been very helpful. I assume I can call on you if I need any more information?’’
‘‘Of course.’’
Diane opened a drawer and handed him a card. On it she wrote her cell phone number.
‘‘Another thing. I don’t think this was in any of the reports exactly, but it just occurred to me. He seems to know how to avoid having his calls traced to him—that is, he uses calling cards, or someone else’s E-mail ac count. That took some cheek—one of the E-mail mes sages came from inside the museum in the Internet cafe downstairs from here. He apparently waited for some one to leave their computer a moment and just slipped in and sent his own E-mail. I understand he knew enough to erase it from the person’s sent file.’’
‘‘That’s interesting. You’re right, that wasn’t in the report—not in that way.’’
‘‘Why do you think he is calling me?’’
‘‘I think you are right and that for some reason he wants your approval. I don’t know if you remind him of his mother, sister or the nun who used to rap his knuckles. He might simply think you look like a sym pathetic person. I’m not sure yet.’’
‘‘How should I handle the conversations? Should I push him for information?’’
Kingsley hesitated for a moment. ‘‘Handle it the same way you’ve been doing it—as the firm but kind teacher. I may change my mind when I’ve been over everything.’’
They shook hands, and Diane walked with him to the lab, where they found Chief Garnett engrossed in what was apparently a lengthy explanation from Neva of how one arrives at the shape of a nose from skele tal remains.
Diane had to go to a Raymond Waller’s. She’d and left the museum just before noon to go home and change into a dark navy suit. Elwood Jefferson of the AME Church was conducting the funeral. When she arrived, she sat down by Lynn Webber.
‘‘Raymond had a lot of friends,’’ said Diane. ‘‘He did,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘I’m proud to count myself among them. You know, I work with death all the time and I still don’t understand it. Why do people do it? It’s not something you can take back.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘Raymond was just the nicest, funni est man.’’
‘‘Yes, he was.’’ Diane gazed around at the people gathered to say good-bye to Raymond Waller. Most funeral that afternoon— borrowed Andie’s Honda of the people she didn’t know. About a third of them were white and the rest black. There were several peo ple from the neighborhood that she recalled seeing standing on the side of the road. She saw Chief Garnett and Ross Kingsley in the back. She wondered if Raymond’s murderer was there.
Reverend
Raymond’s
Jefferson gave a stirring eulogy about life and the wickedness that took him early. As moving as it was, Diane was glad when it was over.
The small church was hot, and Diane was relieved to finally get outside. The church had its own ceme tery, and that was where Raymond was buried. A little less than half of the congregation left before the graveside service. Diane stayed. She and Lynn walked together to the grave site and stood across from the family. There weren’t many of them. An older man and woman who looked like they were probably hus band and wife. Two younger women with men who were probably their spouses, and a boy of about thirteen.
After the family said their last farewells and the casket was being lowered, Diane walked with Lynn to give their condolences to the family.
‘‘Have you met them?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘No. Raymond didn’t talk about them much. I got the idea that not everyone got along.’’
Diane held out her hand to the first family member, a very pretty woman dressed in a black cotton suit. She had a head full of dark spirals, brownish green eyes and skin slightly lighter than Raymond’s. She looked like she was probably in her early-to midthirties. Diane introduced herself and was in the middle of expressing her sympathy when the other woman, who appeared to be an identical twin, stepped forward.
‘‘I heard somebody tell us to get in touch with you. You have Raymond’s things. I want you to know, we expect to get them back. Don’t think you are going to get away with them—no, ma’am, we’re going to get them back.’’
‘‘Hello,’’ the first woman interrupted. ‘‘I’m Kather ine Markum and this is my sister, Elisabeth—also known as my evil twin. We’re Ray’s cousins. Momma here was Ray’s momma’s sister. We appreciate your not leaving his valuables in the house to get stolen.’’
‘‘Speak for yourself,’’ said Elisabeth.
‘‘They’re at the museum. My head conservator cata loged them when they were stored,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We also have Mr. Waller’s journal of photographs describ ing his holdings.’’
‘‘We had no idea that Raymond had anything valu able,’’ said Katherine.
‘‘One of my employees tells me that it’s a very good collection.’’
‘‘Don’t you be thinking you’re going to get your hands on it.’’
‘‘Elisa, please,’’ said her uncle. ‘‘This is Ray’s funeral.’’
She ignored him. ‘‘I’ve already had people call wanting to buy them. We’ll be picking them up right
