“How long has he been dead?”
“My guess right now, from the dry feel of his bones, would be over a hundred years. We’ll learn more after some tests on the bones. There’s a possibility he may be a Civil War veteran. That’s just a guess. Probably, someone accidently found the coffin, thought it was cool, robbed the bones, and sent him to college.”
“Interesting,” said David. “Poor fellow gets shot in the head and then a hundred years later gets caught in an explosion and fire. He’s one unlucky dude.”
“Speaking of unlucky dudes,” said Diane, “Tell me about Blake.” She stripped off her gloves, washed her hands, pulled up a chair, and sat down across from David and leaned forward.
“Blake,” sighed David. “Unlucky is right. You know, being born rich should give you an edge, but it didn’t in his case. Now,
“You would if you had his parents,” said Diane. “I actually feel sorry for him.”
“Yeah, so do I. OK, here’s what we know. Blake went from the hospital to arraignment. The judge released him to his parents, even though he is an adult. Money does buy a lot around here. Anyway, he went home with them. Sometime in the night his father woke up. He doesn’t know why. His mother had taken sleeping pills and she was zonked. The father went to Blake’s room and he wasn’t there. He went back to bed.”
“He didn’t look for him?” asked Diane.
“He said his son is an adult,” said David.
“He was released into their custody,” said Diane.
“I didn’t say his parents were consistent.” David rubbed the top of his head. “Look, these chairs aren’t very comfortable. Can I sit on the couch in your office?”
“Sure.” Diane rose and stretched, easing the strain in her back. Followed by David, she went to her Osteology office.
“This is much nicer,” he said, dropping himself onto her stuffed sofa. “Where was I? AWOL, right. Anyway, the father thought the son leaving the house was what woke him up, so he went back to bed-thinking, I suppose, that a one-handed kid just out of the hospital could handle himself.”
“Where did he go?” asked Diane.
“Not far. He was found by the maid in the boathouse, shot in the head-no stippling.”
“What kind of gun?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t find a bullet. No exit wound, so it’s still in his head.”
“Could his father have heard the shot? Is that what woke him up?” said Diane.
“Then why didn’t it wake the entire community? The sound of gunfire carries very well over water. We think maybe the killer used a silencer.”
“Silencer. OK. Then it was premeditated. A hit maybe?”
“I’m thinking that. Someone he was involved with lured him out of the house in the middle of the night and shot him in the boathouse. The boathouse is open on the water end. The killer could have ridden up in a boat, tapped him, and left.”
“Wouldn’t the motor wake everyone up?”
“One would think. The police are canvassing the neighborhood.”
“Was there anything on the body? What was he carrying?”
“He was dressed in sweatpants, sweatshirt, and a coat. He had keys to the house and car in his coat pocket. He had no money, billfold, or credit cards. Those were in his room. Neva found a silver charm of a ballerina slipper on the dock. His parents didn’t recognize it. I don’t think he was expecting to go anywhere but outside for a minute or two. He put on his shoes without socks-in this cold weather.”
“It looks like a hit. The meth lab connection looks like the best bet,” said Diane.
“That’s what Garnett thinks. Of course, his mother thinks it was you.”
“Why?” asked Diane.
“Neva says she just wants it to be you.”
“Anything else?”
“His father recently cut off the kid’s funds after the kid wrecked the father’s car-it was a 1965 Jaguar. Personally, I would have cut off his nose for that. Anyway, Blake still had plenty of spending money.”
“Did he have a job?”
“Are you kidding? No. He was a perpetual student at Bartram. He got good grades, but went from major to major, never getting enough hours in any one department to graduate. He seemed to like the collegiate life.”
“That sounds like he may have been dealing to students.”
“I thought so, so does Garnett, but so far they haven’t found any evidence of it.”
“What does the drug unit say?”
“Not much. They are new, you know. Our esteemed city councilman turned the unit upside down, like he’s trying to do with the rest of the department. Most of the guys working drugs for any length of time moved on. The people there now are just newbies.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Diane. “OK, so the best bet seems a drug-related hit.”
David started to answer when Neva, who looked like she hadn’t slept in a couple of days, entered, escorting Chief Garnett. The osteology lab was actually a part of the museum and it had a digital lock on the door. Diane’s staff knew the combination, but visitors had to be escorted. Diane’s office door was open and he entered. Neva waved and left.
Garnett sat down in a stuffed leather chair that matched the couch where David sat.
“I didn’t expect to see you today,” said Diane. “Is there a break in one of the cases?”
He cleared his throat. “Diane,” he said, “can you give me a rundown on your activities this morning?”
Chapter 25
Diane stared at Garnett for a very long moment.
“You want to know my activities this morning? What happened? Did someone kill Mrs. Stanton?”
“This isn’t a joke,” he said.
And indeed from the look on his face, he wasn’t in a humorous mood. But Diane hadn’t been joking.
“I can see that. I’ve been here all morning. What happened?”
“Marcus McNair was murdered this morning while he was jogging.”
Diane opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. David sat up straight on the sofa, equally speechless. After a moment Diane found her voice.
“McNair, murdered? My God, what is happening? We have very few murders in Rosewood, and now suddenly in less than a week we meet our annual quota?”
“I need to give the commissioner and Councilman Adler your alibi. I don’t think the commissioner actually thinks you are guilty, but as far as the councilman is concerned, you are now a suspect in two cases.”
“Well, hell. OK, after working the Cipriano crime scene until three a.m, I took a nasty phone call from Mrs. Stanton about how she was going to stalk me for the rest of my life. I went to sleep and got up at seven. I had a cold shower to wake me up, ate a bowl of cereal and went outside to go to work, and found my car decorated with KILLER, MURDERER, BITCH, and WHORE written all over it in red spray paint.”
“What?” said Garnett. “Who?”
“I’m thinking Mrs. Stanton. She’s been calling the museum, my board members, and anyone else she thinks can give me a hard time.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“If you’re looking for her to give me an alibi, I wouldn’t count on it.”
“What happened after you found your car vandalized?”
“I called to have it photographed, processed, towed, and painted. I also called Andie to give me a ride to work. She did. I went to my museum office, Patrice called again, I did paperwork-Andie was in the next room. I talked to my security chief and told her to look out for trouble from Patrice in the museum; I called the hospital to check on an employee who was injured in the explosion; I went up to her department and updated her coworkers. On the way to the crime lab, I ran into a board member who had been called by Patrice. She was wondering if I am
