“We discovered that our medical examiner said she died by accident in a rather perverted and disgusting fashion,” said Marsha. “What we want you to do is to recant what is in the paper. Our police aren’t stupid. Neither is our ME. You have no business contradicting them. All it’s done is get people to wondering about Ryan Dance. People have called me. People are saying we are rich and we have railroaded some poor boy.” She stopped and her lips quivered. “And my baby did not die in the same disgraceful way that woman did.”
“I know the circumstances of your daughter’s death and those of Stacy’s death are quite different,” said Diane. “Neither of us is responsible for the reporter saying they were similar. But we do know how Stacy died, and she did not die by her own hand. She was killed somewhere else. Her body was staged in that embarrassing way. It was not her doing.”
“It’s your word against our law enforcement people,” said Marsha. “They are good at what they do. They would not have said it was an accident if there was any evidence it was murder.”
“My husband knows two members of the museum board,” said Wendy. “Thomas Barclay and Madge Stewart. He is going to call them and tell them what you’ve been doing.”
“That’s fine,” said Diane. “Call away. I can’t change my findings. But you need to stop and look at the situation. You seem to be under the impression that it’s easy to get someone out of prison. It isn’t. Nothing in what we have discovered can in any way be used to get Ryan Dance’s sentence overturned, or even reviewed, for that matter. And, certainly, the inaccurate reporting in a newspaper can’t do anything for him.”
“And,” added Kingsley, “it is out of our hands. As you point out, the matter falls under the jurisdiction of the Gainesville police. It’s their investigation now.”
The three of them sat for a moment looking at one another, as if groping for something else to say. Finally they stood up. Marsha Carruthers leaned her hand on Diane’s desk.
“I won’t forget this. Ever. I won’t forget.”
Diane wanted to tell her to spend her energies on her living daughter. She wanted to tell her to do something to keep the good memories of Ellie Rose. She wanted to tell her she was so sorry that this terrible thing happened to her and her family. She didn’t say any of those things. Instead she stood up, and she and Kingsley escorted them out of her office.
As Diane watched them go down the hallway toward the lobby, she wondered whether they would have been such good friends had the tragedy of Ellie Rose not bonded them together. Diane and Kingsley walked back into her office to debrief.
“Something was off. Something happened that they didn’t mention,” said Diane as she sat back down at her desk. “Or was this not strange to you?”
“I got the same impression. It was probably the article. If the Carruthers family have been getting crank calls, it would put them on edge. You know how disturbing such things can be. Especially if you are being called a criminal, and the man who killed your daughter is characterized as an innocent victim,” said Kingsley. “I think Marsha is afraid of everything being in the news again, bringing back the intensity of those raw emotions. She is afraid of reliving the nightmare of her daughter’s death again every day and is fighting those who would revive it.”
“It looks to me as if she already relives it every day,” said Diane.
“Privately,” said Kingsley. “Not publicly. That’s what she dreads. Funny, I was watching them. Marsha and Wendy were inside themselves, completely absorbed. I doubt they could even give a general description of what your office looks like. Kathy Nicholson was the only one of them interested in the things around her-your assistant’s office, your office. While we were getting the chairs, she was looking at your Escher prints, your photographs, the fountain. I got the impression Kathy hadn’t wanted to come. I think she would like to break her bond with the other two.”
“What implications does that have?” said Diane.
“I have no idea. Just throwing stuff out. Like you, something bothered me too. But I can’t put my finger on what exactly,” he said. “Maybe it’s that they seemed like the three witches from
“Do you think Marsha or her husband could have killed Stacy?” said Diane. “You see how angry both of them are at us. What emotions must Stacy have brought out in them, poking around in their daughter’s death?”
“I think it’s a possibility the police should look at, but I’m not sure they will,” he said.
He didn’t say the two of them should look into it, but she felt that was what he was thinking. Perhaps she should have asked Marsha what she was doing the day Stacy died. Maybe dug a little deeper. But Diane had wanted to get them out of her office. Marsha Carruthers wouldn’t have answered anyway.
Kingsley left and Diane looked over some budget requests before she headed for the crime lab. She thought about looking in on the meeting of museum curators, but decided she would let Andie handle it. If she were present, it would completely change the dynamics of the meeting.
Diane stopped at the information desk to speak with a docent, when someone touched her arm. She turned to greet them with a smile.
“Kathy Nicholson,” Diane said, trying not to let the smile freeze on her face. “Did you forget something… or perhaps remember something?”
Chapter 31
Kathy Nicholson, sans Marsha and Wendy, stood beside the information desk with her purse on her shoulder. She had on a light wool jacket she hadn’t been wearing in the meeting.
“No, I didn’t forget anything,” she said. “I’d like to speak with you.” She looked around as if she were being watched, or on the lookout, lest she be seen by someone she knew.
“Let’s go to my office,” said Diane.
She told the docent she would see her the next day and led Mrs. Nicholson back to her office and closed the door. Diane didn’t sit behind her desk, but pulled up a chair and sat across from her.
“May I get you a drink?” asked Diane. “I have a refrigerator in the next room with cold sodas.”
“No, thank you, no,” she said. “I have a friend meeting me in your museum restaurant a little later. She said it’s very good.”
“It is,” Diane said.
Diane waited for Kathy Nicholson to speak. Kathy looked at her well-manicured hands a moment and back up at Diane.
“You must be wondering why I’m here,” she said.
“I am,” said Diane. “I hope you don’t intend to try to persuade me to recant, as Mrs. Carruthers put it. It’s not just my findings regarding Stacy’s death, but those of our medical examiner as well.”
“No, I haven’t come for that, but the others think I have,” she said.
“Oh?” said Diane.
“Do you really have all those jobs?” Kathy asked.
“Yes, I do. The forensic anthropology lab is part of the museum. The crime lab is housed here and I run it. I used to be a human rights investigator,” Diane said, hoping that might help Kathy to understand her qualifications.
“They-we-weren’t always like this. We were very happy people. You wouldn’t have known Marsha ten years ago. Wendy either. Ellie Rose’s death changed so much for us. But nine years is a long time, and I am so tired.”
“Of what?” said Diane, gently.
“That’s a good question. Marsha’s grief, I guess. That’s a terrible thing to say, I know. And I know you don’t ever get over something like her daughter’s tragic death. My husband died of cancer and I miss him every day. But… but I don’t”-she frowned as if searching for the right word-“I don’t cover the world with it. I don’t walk through it as if it were syrup. I don’t know.” A small sigh escaped her lips, as if she gave up looking for the right expression. “Wendy told me what you said yesterday-about Marsha losing what it felt like to love her daughter, or something like that. She has, I think. That desperate anguish she felt when they found Ellie Rose’s body is still fresh in her now, just like it was then.”
