‘‘Good. Love putting the white-collar guys away. They never expect it. I’ve been chasing a spate of identity theft complaints. Those are always fun to track down. And I got an Atlanta mortgage embezzler who’s been on the run with a few million of his com pany’s money. They picked him up in Hawaii.’’
‘‘Wonder why he didn’t go outside of U.S. jurisdic tion if he went that far,’’ said Diane.
Frank started laughing. ‘‘He thought he had.’’
‘‘You’re kidding?’’ Diane grinned as much at Frank’s mirth as at the humor of the failed escape. She could just see his eyes crinkle and sparkle as he laughed.
‘‘I kid you not. It made my day. Another good an swer for all those kids who ask, ‘Why do I have to learn this? I’ll never use it.’ So, tell me about your day.’’
Diane told him about the progress on the exhibits, but not about the bones found in the farmer’s field. Sliced-up bones weren’t a conversation topic she wanted to have before she went to sleep. They talked for almost an hour. A good end to the day.
The morning brought sunshine and sparkling frost on the ground. It was a great day to be outside and a great day to take the scenic route to work. It was a little longer, but it was her favorite route, especially in the morning when there was little traffic. The nar row road went through a short patch of woods that were beautiful even in winter when most of the trees were bare of leaves. The trees had shades of bark that ranged from dark brown to tan to almost white, interspersed with the greenery of spruce, cedar, and magnolia trees. And you never knew when a doe and her fawn might be grazing along the roadway or dash ing for the woods.
As she drove, Diane listened to classical music on the radio. On the hour, the news came on, and she started to change stations but stopped when she heard that the first item of local news was about the bones. She frowned as the anchor described it as the woodchipper murder and told of the crushed bones of an unknown victim found by Rose County farmer Arlen Wilson and his grandson. Sheriff Canfield explained to a persistent reporter that the bones were only recently found and he didn’t yet know whom they belonged to but that a forensic anthropologist had the bones and it was hoped she would be able to shed light on the identity of the victim. Diane noticed that he was careful not to say
The interviewer asked the sheriff about possible DNA, and he went into a lengthy explanation of DNA and why they might not be able to find any in the bones. Diane had to smile, listening to the lecture she had given him just yesterday. He must be having fun.
She was about halfway to the museum and in the deepest part of the wooded area when she saw blue flashes of light behind her and the intermittent siren that meant to pull over. She found a wide place on the side of the road, pulled her SUV onto the shoul der, and waited with her hands on the steering wheel. She looked in her rearview mirror at the approaching officer. She knew him. Not good. It was Harve Dela more, and he was grinning like he’d just caught his biggest fish ever.
Last year Douglas Garnett, the chief of detectives for the city of Rosewood and Diane’s former boss when she was head of the crime scene unit, had put a repri mand in Delamore’s file for overly aggressive behavior with a suspect. Diane had given a sworn statement as a witness to the incident. Diane was not Delamore’s favorite person.
He looked different than last time she’d seen him— a little leaner, and he’d shaved his head the way a lot of men do these days when they are going bald. Dela more was in a patrolman’s uniform. It was a summer uniform even though the temperature had been near freezing overnight. The term
Diane rolled down her window as he approached. She decided not to say anything until he spoke, asking for her driver’s license, probably her insurance papers, probably the deed to the museum. She really didn’t have time for this. She knew her brake lights were in working order; she hadn’t been speeding; there had been no stop signs or red lights to run. He just wanted to jerk her around.
She turned her head toward Officer Delamore as he bent down to the open window. Before she realized what was happening, he’d reached through the win dow and grabbed her arm with one hand and opened the door with the other. He held her tight through the window as the door swung open. Diane reached be hind her, feeling for her cell phone in the center con sole. She got her fingers on it, but he jerked her hard toward the open door and she dropped it.
‘‘Well, if it’s not the bitch who messed up my life.’’ His voice was a snarl and his face was twisted in some kind of weird satisfied rage.
She was pissed herself. ‘‘What the hell are you doing?’’ Diane screamed at him. ‘‘Have you gone nuts?’’ That reprimand was a year ago. What had set him off now? she wondered.
‘‘Shut up, bitch.’’
Harve reached inside the open door and dragged her out of the vehicle. Her cell phone clattered to the pavement. He looked down at it, smirked, and ground his foot onto the top of it.
‘‘Uh-oh, no signal,’’ he said.
Diane loved this road because she was usually the only one on it. Now she prayed for someone to drive by. But no one did. She was alone.
‘‘Harve, think about what you’re doing. This will ruin you,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I told you to shut up, you damn stupid bitch. You’re going to get what’s coming to you.’’
He had her by her left arm, which meant she had one arm and two legs free. She put them to good use. She kicked his shin hard, kneed him in the groin, and rammed the palm of her right hand into his nose with all the strength she could summon. He didn’t see it coming. He was stunned and let go, and she jerked away. She had been lucky. She’d caught him off guard. It wouldn’t happen again. She had to get away from him.
He was blocking access back into her SUV, so she had to run. She sprinted for the woods, thinking maybe it was a mistake even as she did it. On the one hand, someone might drive by and see her if she ran down the road. On the other hand, he would just run her down with his car.
Harve Delamore was a big guy, but he was all show muscle and not much real working muscle. That would be helpful if she were male. But show muscle or not, testosterone in the male gives muscles a spectacular ad vantage. Harve was stronger by far than she was. But she had stamina, and she could run. Which she did—as fast as she could. Diane could run long distances, and she had another advantage. She knew these woods.
There was one big problem in all that optimism. Harve had a gun. She thought he would be reluctant to shoot her, though; he wanted to hit her. She saw it in his eyes when he held her. He wanted to pound his meaty fist into her face. So maybe he wouldn’t use his gun.
She was in the air, jumping over a fallen tree, when the gunshot roared in her ears. In the same instant, pieces of bark flew off a tree to her right. He was trying to scare her. Or else he was a really bad shot. Right now, either one would do, as long as she could keep running.
It was hard to shoot a moving target in these woods— lots of trees to get in the way. But she had a serious problem. Males run fast for short distances, and she didn’t have enough of a head start. Diane ran faster. She heard
