ume of
ing suicide,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I kind of thought that,’’ he said.
She took the book and looked at the passage. ‘‘He’s wondering if it is better to struggle on and
‘suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’ or
to end them and sleep. Sleep means death,’’ she said. ‘‘But he worries that if he kills himself, what happens after that might be worse—‘for in the sleep of death
what dreams may come.’ ’’
Izzy was silent for a moment. ‘‘I can relate to that,’’
he said.
‘‘That’s one of the reasons Shakespeare is so often
quoted. He hit upon truths people can relate to today
just as they did in his time,’’ said Diane.
Izzy Wallace was the last person she thought she
would ever be discussing Shakespeare with. ‘‘You and me’s suffered the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune, haven’t we?’’ he said.
‘‘There’s no greater suffering to be had than losing
a child,’’ said Diane.
‘‘No. There’s not,’’ he said. ‘‘That is for sure.’’ It was an unexpected confidence from Izzy, and
Diane didn’t know where to go with it.
‘‘Did you ever think about it?’’ he said.
Diane knew what he meant. She wasn’t sure how
to answer.
‘‘I never wanted to die. I just wanted to stop hurt
ing,’’ she said.
Izzy nodded his head. ‘‘I hear you there.’’ Diane looked up to see David in the doorway. He
had several photographs in his hand.
‘‘Hey, Diane. Did Izzy tell you what we found in
the photographs?’’ he asked.
‘‘No. We were discussing Shakespeare,’’ she said. David looked from one to the other. ‘‘Oh,’’ he said,
as if that didn’t quite compute.
Diane smiled. ‘‘What did you find?’’
‘‘Something that’s rather curious,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s a
small thing. I’m not sure what to make of it.’’
Chapter 32
David came into the room and pulled out one of the chairs at the library table. Izzy moved a stack of books and put them on the floor. Diane noticed that Izzy had one of the notebooks they keep in the crime scene kits and was writing down all the names of the books. She wasn’t sure that was necessary, but she wasn’t going to tell him to stop at this point. He looked to be almost finished.
David sat down by Diane and put three photo graphs on the table in front of her. They showed dif ferent angles of Jefferies’ body lying in the kitchen.
David tapped Jefferies’ arm in one of the photo graphs with his finger.
‘‘We hadn’t noticed it before and it wasn’t men tioned in his autopsy report, but his watch was on upside down. If he looked at it, the six would be at the top. He may have absentmindedly done it himself and just hadn’t noticed, but I have a gut feeling it may have been put on his wrist after he was shot. For what reason I can’t fathom. Jin is going to check it for blood spatters. If there aren’t any, then there’s a good possi bility it wasn’t on his wrist when he was shot.’’
‘‘The ME didn’t notice it when he undressed him?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘If he did, he didn’t see fit to mention it,’’ said David.
‘‘Watches keep coming up,’’ said Diane almost to herself.
‘‘We haven’t found receipts for any of the watches, but Izzy’s tracked down the serial number on the one we have,’’ said David.
Izzy smiled and took a small notebook from his shirt pocket with a flourish of his arm. ‘‘It was purchased at Erinette Jewelers in Atlanta right before the elec tions,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘He bought this watch.’’ Izzy pointed to the photograph. ‘‘And he also bought three wom en’s Carter... Cartier diamond watches—all Tank. I can’t pronounce it.
