office. She could see through the window in the door that he was meeting with Detective Hanks. She knocked and entered when Hanks opened the door.
Douglas Garnett had a no-nonsense, no-frills office. The chairs were faux leather and chrome; his desk was gray metal. A long, wood conference table surrounded with wooden chairs sat off to the side. The tan walls were decorated with an array of diplomas, awards, framed newspaper clippings, and photographs of Garnett shaking hands with many politicians from around Georgia.
He rose when she entered and waved her to a chair opposite Hanks. The two of them sat back down when she did. Hanks stared at her. It wasn’t exactly daggers coming out of his eyes, but his gaze wasn’t particularly friendly either. Despite what he may have felt, he was having a hard time looking aggressive in his neck brace and with his arm in a sling.
“I was just telling Chief Garnett I don’t want you interfering in my case,” said Hanks.
“Have I interfered?” asked Diane.
“You’re here. What’s the purpose of that?” he asked.
“Just observing,” said Diane. “Comparing witness testimony with evidence gathered from the crime scene. I came back in because of something Jonas said during your interview that may be of importance.”
Hanks sat up straight and leaned forward. “What was that?” he asked.
At least he was eager for any information he could get from her. Diane was glad of that.
“Jonas said that when he arrived at the house, his headlights shined in the window and he could see paintings over the sofa. When my team and I were in the house, there were no paintings over the sofa. I only just a moment ago realized what I’d heard or I’d have mentioned it before he left for the airport.”
Hanks’ expression changed to one less suspicious of her intentions. “Were the paintings stolen? When? I wonder if Briggs remembers if they were there when he was in the house. Can you call him? Do you have his cell number?” asked Hanks.
Diane fished her cell from her pocket and called Jonas.
“Diane, what’s up? Nothing else happened did it, this soon?” Jonas asked.
“No. Just a question. When you were in the house with Marcella, did you notice anything about the paintings over the sofa, the ones you saw in your headlights a few minutes before?”
“Not that I remember. Let me think.” Jonas was quiet for a long moment.
Diane thought he might have entered a dead zone in cell service; then she heard him whispering to himself, going over the evening’s events, refreshing his memory.
“I remember my headlights shining through her front window, lighting up the back wall. The pictures stood out for me because I had not seen them before. I got out and walked across the yard and up on the porch. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I looked in the window, but didn’t see her. I knocked again, then unlocked the door and went in, started to call out for Marcella, but there she was on the floor. I stayed with her there on the floor. I didn’t know what to do for her.”
There was another long pause. She heard him breathing.
“Yes, I can see it now as I stood on the porch and looked in the window.The paintings were not there! I’ll be damned! The paintings were gone. You mean her attacker was there in the house stealing the paintings as I was walking from my car to the house? The absence of the paintings hadn’t registered until you mentioned it. Damn.”
“What kind of paintings were they?” asked Diane.
“Portraits. Three of them. But I didn’t see them clearly from my car-too far away.”
“You’d not seen them before?” asked Diane.
“No, I’m sure of it. Marcella had a tapestry hanging over the sofa the last time I was there. The paintings were a new addition.”
“What about the hutch?” asked Diane. “Was the pottery in it when you were with Marcella?”
“Yes, it was there. I remember looking at the pottery and thinking how it looked just like authentic artifacts… and what a good potter she is. Are you saying the pottery is gone too? That young fellow, Hanks, asked me about it. I didn’t think about the implication until now. Was her attacker hiding in the house while I was there-waiting for me to leave so he could rob the place? You know, Marcella had a lot of work on her computer. If it’s gone…”
“No, we have her computer. We’ll talk when you get back,” said Diane. “Thanks for the information. You’ve been very helpful.”
“I’ll call you when I get Paloma and her husband settled. I’m sure she’ll want to get to the hospital right away,” he said.
Diane had the phone’s speaker turned on as she spoke with Jonas so that Garnett and Hanks could hear. When she hung up, Garnett spoke first.
“You see why I’ve found it’s a good idea to have someone from the crime scene listen to the interrogations,” he said. “They often hear things that are important.”
Diane knew he had made that up on the spur of the moment to mollify Hanks. It was effective. Hanks nodded. After all, she
She also realized Hanks was off his game. He should have asked if the hutch still had its contents when he asked Jonas what was in it. He must have been very uncomfortable, not thinking at his best. He didn’t strike her as a man who liked to load up on painkillers.
“David Goldstein found pieces of broken pottery on the road behind the house,” said Diane. “That’s where the thieves had their vehicle parked and made their getaway this morning.”
“When Marcella Payden was attacked,” said Hanks, “the perp or perps took some paintings. Then the guys we ran into early this morning took the pottery from the hutch, I’m guessing. So, are we looking at art thieves?”
“Maybe,” said Garnett. “But I don’t know. I wouldn’t expect them to be geniuses, but these guys seem pretty incompetent as art thieves. The stolen pottery isn’t even authentic Indian artifacts, if I understand correctly. Is Dr. Payden’s pottery valuable?”
Both Hanks and Diane shrugged.
“She made pottery more for research, I believe,” said Diane. “She tried to re-create methods used by prehistoric American Indians. And she experimented to replicate past phenomena.”
Garnett and Hanks both raised their eyebrows at this and traded glances.
“For example, one experiment she did was to make vessels with different-colored glazes, put them on a shelf as they may have been arranged in an aboriginal shelter. She’d tip over the shelf and analyze the breakage pattern of the pottery fragments on the floor.”
“And this tells her what exactly?” asked Hanks.
“When excavating a site, you find a lot of broken pottery. Mapping the location of the pieces and then reconstructing them back into a whole vessel tells you something about how it got broken in the first place. In the example I gave, would the patterns of breakage that have been found at many archaeological sites result if the early people had pottery on shelves or racks in their houses? I know it seems like a lot of work for useless information, but archaeology is a lot like crime scene reconstruction-you keep adding pieces to the puzzle and after a while you have the whole scene. They are trying to reconstruct the past in as much detail as they can discover.”
Diane didn’t think she told it as clearly as Jonas did when he spoke with students or tour groups, but Hanks’ and Garnett’s expressions weren’t entirely glazed over with confusion. Then again, neither had she enthused them to become archaeologists.
“So she didn’t take a lot of care making the pottery pieces if she was going to break them,” said Hanks. “They probably weren’t valuable.”
“I think she did take a lot of care,” said Diane. “She wanted to get as close as possible to matching the kind of vessels the Indians used. I doubt her pots were valuable enough to steal. But it may be the thieves thought they were real. Perhaps someone working on her house saw them, knew there was some money to be had in trading in antiquities, and came back with some of his buddies to steal them. Just a thought,” she said. “Do we know who the body in her backyard was?”
Hanks nodded. Apparently he felt more comfortable sharing, at least in the company of Chief Garnett.
