Diane followed, leaving the door open a crack, and sat down at her desk.
‘‘I’ll get to the point. I’m Clarice Donovan,’’ she said, sitting down in the chair in front of Diane’s desk, scooting it closer at the same time. ‘‘My son is Evan Donovan. He’s been accused of killing the judge that put Bobby away for life. Bobby’s my other son. I know my family’s troubled. It would be what they call
‘‘What is it you think I can do?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘You can look into it. I know they say they got the evidence, but they can’t have. They’ve made some mistake.’’
‘‘Why did you come to see me?’’ repeated Diane.
‘‘The crime lab here did the evidence,’’ she said.
‘‘I’m no longer director of the crime lab,’’ said Diane.
‘‘But you could talk to the person who is,’’ she said.
‘‘But you could look into it. Somebody has to. You can’t just lock somebody up and have no one look into their case,’’ she said.
‘‘People have looked into it. That’s why he’s been arrested. His lawyer will have to—’’
‘‘Haven’t you been listening? His lawyer won’t do anything. The prosecutor and the detectives won’t even talk to me—and now they’re dropping like flies themselves. I don’t know what the world is coming to. It’s just gone crazy.’’
She stopped and took a breath and moved her chair a bit closer to Diane’s desk.
‘‘That’s one good thing about my boys being locked up. They can’t be blamed for what’s going on now. All I’m asking is that you look at the evidence. Surely you can do that. Something is wrong.’’
Diane sat there wondering why in the world she agreed to talk with the woman. There was absolutely nothing she could do for her, and she wasn’t sure how to politely get her out of her office—short of agreeing to do something.
‘‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do. Don’t expect anything. As I said, I’m not in the loop anymore,’’ said Diane.
The woman relaxed back in the chair. ‘‘That’s all I ask.’’
‘‘Why are you so sure he didn’t do it?’’ said Diane.
She leaned forward. ‘‘Because he was at home with me. But who’s going to believe a mother?’’
‘‘Okay. Just remember, I can’t promise anything.’’
The woman nodded, apparently satisfied that she got a positive response from someone. Diane saw her out the door.
‘‘I’m sorry, Dr. Fallon. I couldn’t get her out,’’ said Andie after Mrs. Donovan had gone.
‘‘She’s a determined mother,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m going to do some paperwork.’’
Diane hated paperwork, but after a day like today, paperwork sounded like fun. She went back into her office and shut the door.
She had made her way through all her budget re ports when she heard someone in Andie’s office.
Andie knocked on the door and opened it. ‘‘Detec tive Warrick would like to see you.’’
‘‘Okay, thanks, Andie. Send her in.’’
Janice Warrick walked in carrying a folder. Her short brown hair was ruffled and she smoothed it over.
‘‘Why don’t we sit at the table,’’ Diane said, pulling out a chair.
Janice sat down and laid the folder on the table. A stack of photographs spilled out.
‘‘I got the photographs you asked for,’’ she said. ‘‘I had to take them with my camera phone. It’s a good one, but it’s still a camera phone. I printed them out for you.’’ She gathered them back into a neat stack.
Diane was surprised a phone could hold that many pictures. She took the first one off the stack and looked at it. It was of the kitchen where Jefferies had been found.
‘‘What is this on the floor?’’ Diane said. ‘‘They out lined the body?’’
‘‘Yeah, I didn’t think you guys did that anymore,’’ said Janice.
‘‘We don’t. It introduces an unnecessary contamina tion to the crime scene.’’ Diane frowned. It wouldn’t do to criticize Bryce’s methods; it would only make her look bad.
Diane went through the pictures. ‘‘Where were Garnett’s prints found?’’ she said.
‘‘In the hallway—the foyer, I guess you call it—on that chest of drawers next to that statue—you know, the
