Scattered Graves

‘‘There’s one place you can go that may already have quite a bit of information on Jefferies,’’ Frank said.

‘‘Where?’’ asked David.

‘‘Walter Sutton, the ex-mayor,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Of course. He would have investigated Jefferies during the campaign—hell, he would have had him followed.’’

David spent the night at Frank’s. They worked out a plan to interview the ex-mayor, Walter Sutton. It would be a little tricky. Diane didn’t really want the mayor to know exactly what was going on. He tended to be a sieve when it came to information. They de cided to tell him they were helping Garnett. The mayor liked Garnett. Or at least he did the last time they checked. Sutton was not above abandoning people he thought might be a political drag on him. They decided to give him one juicy bit of information to chew on. Diane hoped it would make him more eager to give her information. She had been afraid that Walter Sut ton might not want her to know the length he himself would go to to find information on an opponent.

Diane decided to do the interview herself and to go alone. She liked the idea of keeping David off the radar. Sutton would have it all over town that David was investigating. It didn’t matter if people knew Diane was looking into the murders. Everyone already knew she worked for Garnett’s lawyer.

Diane asked David where he had been holed up. He told her at the museum, in his rooms down in the basement. He’d been eating from the break room and the restaurant. It wasn’t that he was avoiding his home, but his computer in his museum basement of fice was more powerful and was linked to the crime lab—unknown to Bryce.

‘‘There’s another thing we have to find out about,’’ said Diane. ‘‘What Bryce was looking for in Jefferies’ house. I know he was searching for something in par ticular, not just working the crime scene. Pendleton said they talked about some kind of list. If you had Jefferies’ computer, could you find out what’s on it? Janice said it’s encrypted pretty heavily.’’

‘‘Maybe,’’ said David. ‘‘I could give it a try.’’

‘‘Another thing,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We need to tell Ed ward Van Ross what’s going on—at least about Karen McNevin. He’s the acting mayor and he needs to know that Jefferies may have had a judge murdered. Not to mention that his police department may be holding an innocent person for the crime.’’

‘‘That’s a full day you have planned tomorrow,’’ said Frank.

‘‘I know, and I’d better get to bed.’’ She stood up and stretched.

Diane showed David the guest room and wished him good night.

‘‘Get some sleep,’’ she said.

‘‘Actually, I feel better. It’s good to get it off my chest. It’s been worrying me, especially now—the an niversary. My dreams haven’t been good lately.’’

‘‘You trust David?’’ said Frank when they were in bed.

Diane was lying with her back up against his chest— spoons, she’d heard her grandmother call it. It felt comfortable and safe.

‘‘Where did that come from?’’ said Diane. ‘‘Of course I do.’’

‘‘Sometimes he’s a little strange, and I wonder if he could have gone vigilante on us. I don’t think he did, but it has crossed my mind.’’

‘‘He wouldn’t,’’ said Diane. ‘‘No more than I would. He’ll skirt the law—like breaking into a suspect’s home and planting a bug if the circumstances are dire enough. But murder? No. Absolutely not.’’

‘‘How good is he with computers?’’ asked Frank.

‘‘You know how good Mike is at rock climbing?’’ said Diane. ‘‘David is that good with computers.’’

‘‘That good?’’ Frank said.

‘‘Yes. As good as you are a lover,’’ she said, turning over to face him.

‘‘Wow, he’s that good, is he?’’ said Frank. * * *

Diane let David sleep in. For breakfast Frank fixed her one of his good stick-to-your-ribs recipes, oatmeal mixed with fried apples. She left David a note, and she and Frank parted at the door; Frank drove off to Atlanta, and Diane drove to the mayor’s office to speak with Edward Van Ross. She had called ahead and found that Buford Monroe, the old-new chief of police, was there. She supposed that Edward wanted Monroe to hear what she had to say.

‘‘Are you all right?’’ said Edward. His blue-gray eyes were clouded with concern. ‘‘I didn’t have time to ask you about your misadventure at the meeting.’’

‘‘It’s mainly bruises,’’ said Diane, though her face hurt like hell where Delamore had hit her.

‘‘Would you mind telling us about it?’’ said Monroe. ‘‘I’m getting calls, you know, concerned citizens who want to know why a policeman was killed, what we are doing about it. You know how people are. They don’t want to believe there’s a bad cop.’’

Just a bad museum director. Diane had thought it was behind her. She thought since the GBI had done the math for them, she wouldn’t have to deal with it. But apparently they wanted to hear what happened from her lips, maybe to look at her face when she told it, just to make sure. So she told them the story again.

The chief of police pulled on his lower lip as Diane spoke. Edward had no nervous gestures. He sat lis tening, one arm on the table, the other resting on the arm of the chair, his frown deepening as the story progressed.

‘‘Why on earth did you go out on the cliff?’’ said Chief Monroe when Diane finished the story. ‘‘That’s what I don’t understand.’’

‘‘Diane is a caver,’’ said Edward. ‘‘She climbs rocks. I imagine that was a familiar place for her and one

danger—as staying with Dela that didn’t represent more obviously did.’’

The chief looked unconvinced. Not, Diane realized, that he doubted her story, just that he couldn’t imag ine feeling safe and cozy hanging on the side of a cliff.

‘‘Edward is right,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’ve climbed that cliff many times. I was familiar with it.’’