Dead Guilty (21 page)

The
interior
darkness
of
the
restaurant
that
had
been as comfortable as a familiar blanket now closed
in around her. She searched the faces of the diners
nearest her, but all she could see was flickering faces
illuminated by the table candles. The diners just be
yond
were
merely
shadows
with
spots
of
light,
the
faces swallowed
up by the
darkness. Diane
fished a
pad and pen out of her purse and began scribbling a
note to Mike, who looked at her, frowning.

Frank?
he mouthed.
Diane shook her head.
‘‘I’m not a maniac,’’ the voice said. The sound was

urgent—as
in ‘‘please believe me.’’ ‘‘It’s around a lot
of
people’s
dinnertime.
I
thought
you
might
be
eating.’’ That sounded more rational.

Diane
handed Mike the note and watched his eyes
widen and jaw drop as he read it in the candlelight.
He
jumped
from
his
seat
and
walked
out
of
the
restaurant.

‘‘What
exactly do you want?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I told you. I want you to understand.’’
‘‘You say that, but you never get to the point. What

is
it that you want me to understand?’’
‘‘That
the
law
doesn’t
always
work.
Sometimes
it
can’t work. Sometimes the terrible things people do
aren’t against the so-called law.’’ His voice was getting
louder and his words were coming faster. The rational
ity that he managed to grasp a moment ago was turn
ing to a panicked anger.

‘‘Okay.
I understand that in theory. Can you give
me an example?’’
He hesitated so long, Diane thought he had hung
up, then he spoke in a calm voice. ‘‘An example?’’
‘‘An example of a terrible thing people can do that
isn’t against the law.’’
He paused for a long moment. ‘‘Oh, I could give
you a hundred examples. Gossip comes to mind—and
bullying, to name just two.’’
‘‘There are legal remedies to both of those.’’
‘‘Right. Not
when you’re
in school.
Besides, legal
remedies are expensive. For most of us, it’s a choice
between a so-called legal remedy and a roof over our
head. There’s no legal remedies for normal people.’’
‘‘So sometimes you have to make your own reme
dies.
Murder
seems
a
harsh
remedy
for
gossip
and
bullying.’’
‘‘Who said anything about murder?’’
‘‘You did. This conversation started from you ob
jecting to my calling all murders evil.’’
He chuckled softly. ‘‘Yes, you’re right. I did. And
you’re right that killing is too harsh for my examples,
but they were just examples. It’s what you asked for.’’
‘‘Then perhaps I wasn’t specific enough. Give me a
good example of a justified killing.’’
‘‘I
have
to
go
now.
I’ll
call
again
and
we’ll
talk
some more.’’
Diane’s
gaze
eased
around
the
room,
looking
for
anything out of the ordinary, anyone leaving, some
thing out of place. Everything looked right.
Mike returned a minute
later, still wide-eyed, but
with a serious look on his face. ‘‘That was . . . you
were actually talking to the killer?’’
‘‘I
don’t
know.
Were
you
able
to
get
hold
of
Chief Garnett?’’
‘‘Yes. He said he’d get on it.’’
Diane wasn’t sure, but unless they were already on
it
they
would
miss
the
opportunity.
Surely,
they
in
cluded her cell in the surveillance.
‘‘What did the guy want?’’ asked Mike.
‘‘I think he wanted me to tell him he was right.’’
‘‘See, that’s why I’m attracted to you.’’
‘‘Mike, explain that to me. I confess, I don’t under
stand why.’’
‘‘It came as a surprise to me too, I’m not usually
attracted to older women. But you’re... interesting.’’
‘‘Interesting?’’
‘‘Yeah.
Smart—not
just
intelligent,
but
clever.
You’re adventurous, you do things, map caves, solve
crimes—nothing scares you.’’
‘‘Lots of things scare me.’’
‘‘Maybe,
but
you
have
it under
control.
Like
just
now
when
that
guy
called.
You
were
so
calm.’’
He
grinned a boyish grin that deepened his dimples. ‘‘You
look good, too. So how about it—will you go out with
me again?’’
‘‘Again? This is not going out. It’s eating together
at the museum. And no, I can’t go out with you. We
can go caving together, but we can’t date.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Three reasons. I’m dating someone else, I’m your
boss and I’m older than you are—by too many years.
Any one of those reasons, for me, is a nonstarter. All
three—well, it isn’t going to happen.’’
He
put
a
hand
on
his
chest.
‘‘You’ve
broken
my
heart.’’
‘‘I doubt it. It’s the hunt you like. Besides, the antic
ipation is often better than the reality.’’
‘‘You know, for guys that isn’t true.’’
Diane laughed. She had been so tense, all her mus
cles
were
still
ready
for
fight
or
flight.
She
relaxed.
The release felt good.
The remainder of the meal, Diane asked Mike ques
tions about the cave he had arranged for them to visit.
‘‘You say it hasn’t been mapped?’’ That information
excited her. She loved cave mapping.
‘‘None of the wild sections have.’’ Mike pushed his
plate to the side and tried to talk Diane into dessert.
‘‘You’ve tried to tempt me enough, I think.’’
‘‘We could share.’’
‘‘Definitely not. Who in the caving club has mapping
experience?’’ she asked.
‘‘I think most everyone has done a little traversing.
If you’re talking serious mapping, you’ve had the most
experience. I’ve had some, and there’s Stan. I know
several would like to learn.’’
‘‘Maybe
that
can
be
one
of
our
goals.’’
Diane
pushed her plate back and gave the waitress her credit
card as she appeared at the table.
‘‘I’ll
get
it,’’
said
Mike,
putting
his
wallet
on
the
table.
‘‘No.
I
appreciate
the
information
on
the
diamonds.’’
‘‘Then let me leave the tip.’’ He fished out several
bills and left them under his tea glass. ‘‘If you can get
the
woman
to
come
in,
I’ll
have
a
look
at
her
diamond.’’
‘‘I’m not sure how I’d manage that.’’ Diane signed
the receipt the waitress brought back, and stood up,
retrieving her purse. ‘‘I do appreciate the information,
and I’m sorry about the phone call.’’
Mike’s smile disappeared. ‘‘That was strange. Do you
think he’s watching you? I’ll walk you to your car.’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘I’m going to my office first
and give Garnett a call. I’ll be fine. I’ve given security
a heads-up.’’
They threaded their way through the tables. As they
passed the trellis garden, an outdoor part of the res
taurant, Diane heard her name called from the dark
ness. She turned, peered into the flickering shadows
and made out Izzy Wallace. He sat at a small table
on the terrace, dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved
shirt,
across from
a
woman that
Diane guessed
was
his wife. She tried to recall her name, but she couldn’t
remember what Frank said it was.
‘‘Izzy. How are you?’’
He stood and introduced his wife, who nodded and
patted her mouth with her napkin.
‘‘We
just
love
this
restaurant.
Such
atmosphere,’’
she said.
‘‘We’re very proud of it. You should come in the
daytime sometime. They have a wonderful salad and
fruit
buffet
and,
of
course,
the
museum
is
open
in
the daytime.’’
Izzy
kept
eying
Mike,
so
Diane
introduced
him.
‘‘This
is
Mike
Seger,
one
of
our
geologists
here
at
the museum.’’
‘‘That
was
a
lot
of
excitement
at
Dr.
Webber’s
house,’’ he said. ‘‘Poor guy nearly wet his pants.’’
‘‘Izzy!’’ cautioned his wife.
‘‘This
business
has
everyone
in
an
uproar,’’
said
Izzy. ‘‘The chief’s hanging a lot on the forensics.’’
Diane felt Izzy was trying to draw her into a conver
sation about the crime scene. Even if it wasn’t inap
propriate, Izzy wasn’t someone she confided in.
‘‘Is he? Well, you two enjoy the rest of your dinner.
The chocolate cake is to die for.’’
She
left
them
and
walked
as
far
as
the
entrance
with
Mike.
He
continued
on
out
the
door,
and
she
used her key to enter the primate room and crossed
over to the lobby. She waved at the security guard on
duty and went back to her office. Before she called
Garnett, she wrote down the conversation with John
Doe Caller, as she named him, as accurately as she
remembered.
When
she
finished,
she
dialed
Garnett’s number.
‘‘There was a little miscommunication with the sur
veillance
guys.
When
they
tapped
your
phone,
they
didn’t make arrangements for your cell. What did he
want?’’
‘‘I wrote it down. I’ll fax it to your office tonight.’’
‘‘That’d be good. I’ll have it first thing. We’ve hired
a profiler to come and take a look at the evidence.
He
used
to
work
for
the
FBI.
Supposed
to
be
real
good. He’ll want to talk to you.’’
‘‘Sure.’’
It
appeared
to
Diane
that
Chief
Garnett
had taken over the sheriff’s case. As she hung up the
phone, she wondered how Braden felt about that. He
couldn’t mind too much; he’d allowed it.
It wasn’t as late as she feared it might be when she
finally
left
for
home.
She’d
still
get
a
good
night’s
sleep and have time to get up early and exercise. Sev
eral people were working late—not just the security
and custodial staff. She saw three of her curators’ cars
in the parking lot. And of course, the cluster of cars
belonging to restaurant patrons. When she unlocked
her car and her dome light came on, she automatically
checked
the
seat,
expecting
to
see
another
gift,
but
both the front and backseat were empty. She got in
the car and drove to her apartment building. As she
pulled into her regular parking space at the curb under
the limbs of a large overhanging tree and turned off
her car lights, her phone rang.
‘‘Hey. It’s Frank. Want some company tonight?’’
‘‘Frank, I’d love...’’
Crack!
At first Diane thought someone had fired a gun. A
moment later when she saw the crack in her window,
she thought a limb had fallen on the windshield. A
split
second
after
that,
another
crack
shattered
the
windshield. She saw a dark shadow wielding a base
ball bat.

Diane
recoiled reflexively from the banging on her car
that rang like gunshots inside her head. He was now
outside her driver’s side door, flailing with a baseball
bat against her window. Guttural sounds—like some
moaning,
barking,
struggling
animal—came
from
his
throat. The end of the bat crashed through the shat
tered side window. Diane dodged forward in her seat
and
screamed
at
Frank
to
call
the
police.
She
still
held the car key in her clenched fist.
Put the key in
the ignition.

She
tried repeatedly with her shaking fingers to in
sert the key in the slot in the steering column but kept
missing it in the dark. He shoved the bat through the
hole in the window again, missing her head but strik
ing a painful glancing blow off her left shoulder. She
saw another thrust coming, ducked low in the seat to
avoid it, and dropped the key somewhere in the dark.
She ran her hand over the floor searching, trying to
hold back the fear inside her. Under the accelerator
her fingers touched the plastic remote. She clutched it
and pressed the red panic button. The persistent blar
ing horn added to the frenzy, and she had to remind
herself that it was on her side.

‘‘Where
are you?’’ She heard Frank’s voice shouting
from the phone that now lay on the passenger’s side
floor.

‘‘Home,’’
she
yelled,
jerking
open
the
glove
com
partment,
looking
for
anything
that
might
be
a
weapon. ‘‘Inside my car.’’

A
gloved hand reached through the hole in the win
dow, feeling for the door handle. She grabbed at his
arm. He caught her hand and yanked. Diane stabbed
repeatedly at his hand and wrist as hard as she could
with the key clenched in her fist, digging for bone and
tendon.
He
cursed
and
pulled
his
hand
back.
More
angry
than
before,
he
beat
at
the
window
furiously
with the bat until the entire glass was broken out.

‘‘Get
out
of
there,
you
stupid
bitch!’’
he
yelled
above
the
blaring
horn.
‘‘Get
the
fuck
out
of
there
now! I’m going to beat your damn fucking head in!’’

Diane
had no weapon in her car. Not a tire iron,
not a pocket knife, nothing. She had to start the car.
She made for the ignition again, aiming at it with the
key just as he reached in and caught the door handle.
The key slipped in the slot at the same time the door
swung open. Diane turned the key and the car roared
to a start. He cursed her and grabbed her jacket in
the grip of his right hand. She jerked the car in gear
and pressed the accelerator. The car moved forward,
pulling him with it. He ran alongside, holding on to
her
clothes
through
the
open
door,
breathing
hard.
Thank God her seat belt was still buckled.

‘‘You
can’t
get
away.
I’m
goin’
to
kill
you,
you
bitch,’’
he
said
in
as
menacing
a
voice
as
she
had
ever heard.

She
grabbed at the stocking he wore over his face,
pulling it until it stretched. He punched blindly at her
with
the
bat.
Diane
ducked
and
hit
the
accelerator
and the car sped forward, and then she slammed on
the brakes. The door swung wide open. She put the
car quickly into reverse and stomped the accelerator.
The suddenness of the move caught him running for
ward, hit him with the open door and knocked him
to the ground. Diane wanted to run him over as she
backed up her car and saw him lying in front of her.
The temptation was almost too much to resist. While
she hesitated for a second, he scrambled up off the
road, ran toward a Crown Victoria across the street
and
jerked
open
the
door.
She
turned
the
steering
wheel in the direction of his car and floored the accel
erator. But her car responded sluggishly, haltingly, and
his car sped off in the opposite direction before she
reached it.