Dead Secret (9 page)

Chapter 14

Jin jumped up and gave Neva his chair. “Mike okay?” he asked.

Diane held her breath as Neva answered.

“He’s doing good.” Neva’s hair was falling from the clasp that held it up in its casual twist. She smoothed the freed locks behind her ears. “They got him standing up. I just came here to check in; then I’m going home to get something to eat, take a shower and change clothes.” Neva smoothed her wrinkled shirt with her hands as she settled into the chair. “I’m going to spend the night at the hospital. He doesn’t really need me to, but he insists on not telling his parents until he’s well, and I think someone needs to be there.” Her gaze darted from David to Jin, then to Diane, as if waiting for permission.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate having you there,” said Diane.

Neva’s downturned mouth and wrinkled brow looked to Diane as though she still had something to say, but was waiting to be alone with Diane and did not want to ask the others to leave. David’s and Jin’s eyes met Diane’s for a fraction of a second before the two men headed for the door. They were almost out when Jin turned and asked Neva if she’d heard from the company that made Moon Pies.

Neva’s lips curved up in a small smile as she twisted around toward them. “It’s from the nineteen-forties. They sent me a chart and pictures of all their wrappers since 1917. Another database for David.”

“Yeah,” said Jin, “a Moon Pie database. I’m going to enter it into a contest for the least-used database of all time.”

David rolled his eyes and pulled Jin out the door with him.

“Is Mike really okay? You look worried,” said Diane.

Neva nodded. “They got him up and he walked around his room for a few minutes. He’s stiff, sore and really pissed at the guy who stabbed the two of you. The nurses said he’s doing great.”

Neva didn’t say anything more, just sat in the chair looking small and uncomfortable.

“What’s on your mind, Neva?”

“This is really hard. I always keep confidences. I do. I’m good at that. But . . . ” Tears welled up in her brown eyes and she looked like a doe about to make a run for it.

Diane came around her desk and led Neva to the couch. They sat half-turned so they faced each other. Diane rested her injured arm on the back of the sofa.

“But what?” she asked.

Neva took a breath. “Mike’s being sexually harassed.”

Diane didn’t know what she had expected Neva to tell her, but that wasn’t even on the list. She stared at Neva, openmouthed and speechless for a moment.

“What?”

“He asked me not to tell anyone, especially you.”

“Why especially me?”

She shrugged. “He might be afraid you’d think less of him.”

“He should know better than that. Who’s doing it?”

“Look, I know this is a bombshell I’m handing you, but please don’t tell him I told you. He’ll never trust me again. It’s just that Mike’s a really nice guy and deserves better—and now this has happened to him.”

“Who’s harassing him? Someone here?”

“Sort of, but mainly at Bartram University. Dr. Lymon, the geology professor.”

That it was Dr. Lymon also surprised Diane. Dr. Annette Lymon was part of the faculty-exchange arrangement Diane had with various departments at the university—faculty serving as part-time curators in exchange for office and research space. It was a great money-saving system for the museum, which didn’t have a lot of money but did have a lot of space. Mike was Dr. Lymon’s graduate assistant.

“Is he doing anything about it?”

Neva shook her head. “He’s a guy, so he doesn’t believe anyone would take it seriously. But when he turned her down, he lost his assistantship.”

Diane felt fire rise to her face. The wound in her arm tingled from the heat in her skin. “I didn’t know he was losing his assistantship. When did this happen, and why doesn’t he file a complaint? He’s not shy.”

“She came on to him about a month ago. She’s a professor. He’s a student. He says it doesn’t matter, that he can always sling hash until he graduates, and anyway, she’s not on his committee—whatever that means.”

“It means she doesn’t get to judge his dissertation.”

Diane thought for a moment. As she recalled, Annette Lymon was Mike’s major professor. Then she remembered that he had changed the focus of his dissertation from sedimentary structures—Lymon’s expertise—to crystallography several months ago, and changed major professors. Even though that predated the harassment by several months, Diane wondered if it was connected.

There was something about Dr. Lymon that Diane remembered—last month she expressed a desire to step down from her museum post, which was a relief to Diane. It had been clear to her that Dr. Lymon didn’t enjoy working at the museum, even though it virtually doubled her research space. Plus, the manager for the geology collection had come to Diane and complained about Lymon’s work on several occasions since Lymon arrived—something managers rarely did.

“Last month? Was that the first time?” asked Diane.

Neva nodded. “It was completely out of the blue.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “She grabbed him by the crotch and propositioned him. Then she got really upset when he turned her down.” Neva leaned forward. “It’s not just that. She came up to me in the parking lot and told me I’d better watch out, that Mike abused his last girlfriend. I didn’t believe her and told her so. Mike shows no signs of being an abuser. My cousin married one, and I know what they’re like. Even when they’re trying to make nice, I know what they’re like.”

“You’re right, it’s not true,” said Diane. “I know what she’s referring to, and I also know it wasn’t Mike. He was trying to help the victim—as was I.”

“I didn’t tell Mike what she said, but if she’s spreading it around . . .”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I know it’s asking a lot, but can you do it without letting Mike know I told you about the harassment?”

Diane nodded. “I’ll fix it.”

She rubbed her aching arm. As she tried to find a comfortable position in which to rest it, Neva’s eyes grew wide with what looked like fear. Diane checked to see if she was bleeding.

“What if it was her?” said Neva.

“What do you mean?” asked Diane.

“Everyone around here knows Mike thinks you’re great. What if she’s jealous of you two and she’s the one who stabbed both of you? I just now thought of that. There has to be a reason that you two were targeted, and I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out something that makes sense.”

Diane couldn’t imagine Dr. Lymon wielding a knife and disappearing like the Shadow, but Neva had a point.

“I’ll discreetly check into it. Don’t worry, Neva. Go and be with Mike and put this out of your mind. It’s something I can fix. If you need to be late in the morning or take a day off, that’s all right. We can call you if we need you.”

Neva nodded and gave Diane a weak smile.

Diane said, “I’m going to have to tell David about the harassment, because I need him to do some investigating. He’ll keep your confidence.”

Neva made a face. “David? He doesn’t exactly . . . well . . . have a lot of finesse dealing with people. I mean—”

“Not in his personal interactions, but I assure you, he can slither around in an investigation and you never know he’s there . . . kind of like our elusive museum snake.”

David’s having any finesse obviously surprised Neva. “Okay. Thanks. Really, thanks. This is so unfair, and I’ve been worried about what to do.” She stood, still looking uncertain. Diane imagined she felt guilty for breaking a confidence. “I’ve got some work to do in the lab,” said Neva as she was leaving. “Then I’m going back to the hospital.” She went out the door, Diane hoped feeling better than when she came in.

When Neva left, it was suddenly clear to Diane that she needed to do two things. First, she picked up the phone and called Kendel.

“Kendel, something has come up. I don’t want to rush you, but have you seen Mike’s proposal yet?”

“Neva brought it by early this morning. I’ve just read it, and I like it. I like Mike, too. He did a great job on the Journey to the Center of the Earth exhibit. The new exhibits he’s proposing are cutting-edge stuff. He has my vote.”

“Okay, thank you, Kendel. Get with the accountant and work it out so that he has benefits.”

For her second task, Diane called David and asked him to meet her in her osteology lab. She arrived before him, and while she waited she opened the box containing the stripped skeleton of Caver Doe that Lynn Webber’s new diener had processed. He had wrapped the skull and each long bone in bubble wrap and put all the hand and foot bones in small boxes. He’d arranged the vertebrae in a separate box and wrapped each rib in thin paper. What surprised her was not so much his meticulous handling of each bone, but that he had separated out the hand and foot bones in boxes labeled left and right. Not easy, unless you happened to be a bone person. Diane began by laying out the bones in anatomical position. Because of his meticulous labeling, it went quickly.

Diane heard the door open and looked up to see David. “Nice wrapping,” he said, walking up to the table.

“Yes, it is. I’ve received bones from medical examiners with many different kinds of packaging, but I’ve never before had them individually wrapped, labeled and divided into left and right.”

David gave a short laugh. “He sided the bones for you?”

Diane didn’t know if the medicine was finally taking effect, or if it was the cathartic effect of good humor, but she felt better, and the pain in her arm was gone.

“Yes, he did. He even stacked the ribs together in order. Got it right too—side and all,” she said, then looked up from the bone she had just laid down. “David, I need you to investigate something—confidentially.”

David cocked an eyebrow. “Okay.”

She told him Neva’s story and of her sudden concern that Dr. Lymon might be the cemetery stabber.

David whistled. “You need to tell Garnett.”

“Yes, I do, but I can’t right now. That’s why I’m asking you to investigate.” She unwrapped the two sides of the pelvis and held them together in front of her. A glimpse told her it was a male pelvis—narrow pelvic basin, narrow sciatic notch. She set them down on either side of the sacrum.

“Sure. I’ll do it,” David said. “But just allow me to play the devil’s advocate for a moment, because I know how you like me to be your moral anchor. Aren’t you afraid that Garnett will accuse you of a conflict of interest—protecting the museum by conducting your own investigation?”

Diane picked up a tibia with a compound fracture mid-shaft. “No. The museum wouldn’t be hurt by this. I’m protecting the confidentiality of Neva and Mike—employees of mine. I have no knowledge that Dr. Lymon is the perp. If you uncover evidence that she is, we’ll take that to Garnett.”

David stared at the bone in Diane’s hand. “That break looks like it hurt,” said David.

“It did. Tibias often break through the skin because the shinbone is so close to the surface. According to Webber’s report, he got an infection from the wound.”

David wrinkled up his face. “Poor fellow. Okay, I understand you have no direct knowledge of Dr. Lymon’s guilt, but bear with me. It’s a lead. . . .”

“Perhaps. As I said, if it turns out to be, we’ll tell Garnett.” Diane set the tibia down and lifted the skull from its nest on the doughnut ring.

David stroked his chin. “What do you want me to do?”

Chapter 15

Caver Doe’s clean bones looked like ivory ornaments on the shiny silver table. All of them were present—every bone in each hand and foot, the small hyoid bone from the throat, all the tiny bones of the ear. The diener had done a superior job in preparing them. Diane made a mental note to call and thank Lynn Webber and praise her assistant. To use her own words, flattery went a long way with Lynn.

David stood with his hands in his pockets studying Caver Doe, waiting for instructions as Diane collected her calipers, forms and pen and set them on the table in preparation for the examination. She stuck her forms in her clipboard and looked up at him.

“I want you to investigate Annette Lymon. I want to know if she could have stabbed Mike and me or if she could have had it done.”

“Do you think she could have?” he said.

“You want to start with a preconceived notion of what I think?” said Diane, putting a hand on the dome of Caver Doe’s skull.

“I’m not starting with a preconceived notion. I’m investigating. You’re the first witness. She’s someone you are acquainted with.”

Diane laughed and felt another rush of the sublime brain chemicals that soothed her body and cleared her head. She was glad she had opted for the Tylenol and not the Percocet.

“I can’t see her acting with the finesse it took to stab both of us without our knowing it and then getting away clean. I’ve been going over the faces at the funeral in my mind, and I didn’t see her. I would have recognized her. So would Mike. On the other hand, I wasn’t really looking at the faces.” Diane stopped working and thought for a moment. “Lymon is a good bit shorter than Mike and a couple of inches shorter than me. Not the right height, judging by the angle of Mike’s wound.”

David seemed to ponder that for a moment. “Would she know how to hire it done? Would she know those kind of people? I know that is rather extreme, but . . . would she?”

“I doubt it, but I don’t know that much about her personal life or her background. Maybe she recruited a graduate student to do it.”

“Is it that easy for professors to get their students to commit murder for them?”

Diane laughed. It was starting to sound ridiculous. David chuckled with her. “I wouldn’t have thought so,” she said. “But who knows what hold she may have on someone. When I was in graduate school, there were a few crazy students.”

David’s face sobered. “This harassment—Mike’s probably not the first. You can’t keep it a secret. You know she’ll do it again.”

Diane stared at the blank form on the clipboard as if it had an answer for her. She nodded. “I know. I haven’t decided yet how to handle it. I need information and time. And first I want to know if she was involved in the stabbing.”

“You can’t protect everyone by yourself. I like Neva too, but . . .”

“I can protect people here, and I will.” She said it so vehemently that David was startled. She put the calipers and clipboard down on the table with a clink.

“What’s up with you?” he said.

Diane pressed her lips together and looked away. “First Ariel and all our friends at the mission were slaughtered, then Frank was shot last year, now Mike’s been hurt—again. Except for now, all connected with people I was investigating, so who is the common denominator for all of them?” She turned and stared at David as if daring him not to say it was her.

“The common denominator is men who are willing to kill to get what they want,” said David. “Not you.”

“It feels like me. I know I can’t fix everything, but I can help Neva and Mike. And I can control what goes on in my museum.” She paused a moment, putting a hand to her forehead. “Mike gave me a dynamite job proposal. He didn’t tell me he needed the job because he had lost his assistantship. I gave the proposal to Kendel. She likes it too, so I’m going to hire him.”

David smiled. “Have I told you lately that I appreciate your hiring me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I do. We’ve brought more people to justice in the short time I’ve been here than we ever did working in human rights, and that’s been very healing for me.”

Diane understood how he felt. When they worked in human rights investigation, they collected mass amounts of evidence, but rarely were they able to take anyone to court.

“It’s been cathartic for me too.”

David smiled at her. “I’m sure Mike will appreciate a job here as much as I do.”

“He’ll be half-time. His Journey to the Center of the Earth display looks like it will be a big success. The advertising is going well. Early response indicates it’s likely to be just behind the dinosaurs and the Egyptian exhibit in popularity. It’s projected to bring in enough extra revenue to pay his salary. He’s earning his keep.”

“I didn’t think you would hire him if he couldn’t do the job,” said David. “Like I know you didn’t hire me simply because I’m a friend.”

“I know. It’s just . . . ” She shrugged.

“Just what?”

“Nothing. I need to get back to these bones.”

“Jin and I are going down to the restaurant a little later for lunch; you hungry?”

“Thanks. I’ve got some yogurt in the fridge in my museum office. I don’t feel like much more than that.”

“Look, I’ll take you home tonight if you need to take any stronger medication. Is Frank coming over tonight?”

“No. He’s still in Atlanta on a case.”

David started out the door. “I’ll start tomorrow morning on Lymon. I know Garnett’s detectives are questioning Mike’s associates in Geology. They may have picked up on something. I’ll wheedle information out of them.”

“Thanks, David.”

“Sure.” He headed for the door, turned as if to say something, but hesitated. Finally he simply said, “I’ll let you know when I have something.”

Diane focused her attention back to the bones lying on the metal table, forcing everything else out of her mind. She actually knew a lot about Caver Doe just by the things he had with him when he died. She just didn’t know who he was. Nor did she know why he wasn’t rescued, and the question nagged at her.

She picked up the skull and traced her fingers over his frontal bone. Caver Doe had a gracile forehead, more so than when she saw him covered with dried flesh in the cave. If his frontal bone was all she had now Diane would have thought that he was a female. She picked up his mandible and fitted it to the skull and looked at his face. Straight on, it looked like a female skull. His chin had the roundness of a female’s. That was not so uncommon. Not every male had a prominent brow ridge or square jaw. But the placement of other markers—nuchal crests, the zygomatic process, the mastoid process—pointed to male.

She ran a finger along his teeth, counting his dentition. The dental formula for an adult human was two, one, two, three. Two incisors, one canine, two premolars and three molars—the number of upper and lower teeth on one side, thirty-two in all. Caver Doe’s third molars, his wisdom teeth, had not yet erupted, which probably meant he was under twenty-five.

His teeth were uneven—the incisors slightly turned and overlapping, the molars crowded. Had the wisdom teeth erupted, there would have been little room for them. Caver Doe had fourteen gold fillings.

Diane set down the mandible, picked up her calipers and measured all the craniometric points on the face, recording them on her clipboard. Her stomach growled just as she put the skull back down on the doughnut ring. Her arm started to throb again.

She put down her calipers. Yogurt wasn’t going to be enough. She called the museum’s restaurant and asked them to deliver a turkey sandwich, potato chips and Dr Pepper to her museum office. She took off her lab coat and went down to the first floor. The museum was filled with visitors and noise. She always found that satisfying. She stopped in front of the dinosaur room and watched a group of children having their pictures made by the brachiosaur. She smiled and continued down the length of the museum to her office. The restaurant had just delivered the sandwich to Andie when she arrived.

“You doing okay, Dr. Fallon?” asked Andie.

“Fine . . . a little sore.” Diane was getting a little tired of people asking if she was okay, but knew they were just being kind and concerned. She hoped she didn’t sound short when she answered. “I’m going to eat lunch in my office.”

“I won’t put anyone through unless it’s an emergency.”

“Thanks, Andie.” She carried the sack from the restaurant into her office lounge and set it down on the table. After putting on a CD of Native American music, she sat down to eat, listening to the peaceful sounds of flutes and drums. Better than drugs, she thought as the harmonic strains took her to a quiet place in her mind.

The food and music had remarkable restorative powers. Diane felt much better after lunch. She went back to the lab, put on her white coat and resumed working on Caver Doe. She picked up each rib, examined and felt along the shaft for any nicks that might have been caused by a weapon. She gently squeezed the ends of the ribs toward each other to check for fractures. Nothing. Tomorrow she would put them under the dissecting microscope and examine them again. Ribs were one of the best places to look for marks left by weapons. Gunshots and knives to the torso could hardly miss them.

Diane gave the vertebrae a quick look. Most were in good condition, what she expected for a young person. Two of the lumbar vertebrae showed minute signs of a compression fracture, probably from the fall. He would not have been paralyzed, but his back would have hurt like hell. His right tibia was broken, and his right calcaneus—his heel bone—and talus—ankle bone—had compression fractures. He had no fractures on the left side of his body. She checked his arm bones and hands. His right side navicular, one of the carpal bones of the hand, was crushed. The end of his radius where it articulated with the navicular was also fractured with forward displacement—a Smith’s fracture.

Judging by the bones, it looked like he’d fallen, landed on his feet, favoring his right side, then fell backward, catching himself with his hands, again favoring his right side and fracturing his wrist. When he sat in the cavern in pain, Diane wondered if he pondered the foolishness of caving alone. Or did he sit waiting in the darkness, expecting help to arrive?

Or was he with someone? Did his caving partner have some accident on the way to get help, or was Caver Doe deliberately left there to die, with all traces of his partner wiped away, leaving only a lost button behind? Or had Diane imagined the faint lines in the silt? Maybe, but she hadn’t imagined the button.

Her pain came creeping back, so she decided to pack it in and go home early. It was only six o’clock and she was exhausted. She’d just locked the door of her lab when her cell phone rang. She looked at the display.

“Hey, Frank.” Diane walked down the hallway from her lab leading to the dinosaur overlook.

“Diane, why didn’t you tell me you’d been stabbed too? I had to hear it from my partner.” The annoyance in Frank’s voice was clear, even over the cell phone.

“How did he know?”

“He heard it from the Rosewood police. Don’t change the subject.”

No secrets around the police department,
thought Diane. She had forgotten that Frank said his partner was working with a detective here. “I didn’t want you to worry,” she said. “It’s not serious.”

“I heard that you had several stitches.”

“Yes, but I was treated and released.”

“What am I going to do with you?” His voice was softer, more concerned.

Diane smiled into the phone. “What did you have in mind?”

“Don’t change the subject.” He paused. “It’ll be late when I get home. I’ll come over.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s over an hour’s drive. Stay in Atlanta.”

“I’ll see how things shake out here.” There was a pause, but she could hear him breathing. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Frank, you know that because they didn’t know where the knife had been, I had to have blood tests—you know, for hepatitis and other stuff. . . .”

“When I heard what happened, I assumed you would. A couple of years ago I got bitten by a man I was arresting.” He laughed. “You wouldn’t think white-collar perps would do that kind of thing. He was HIV-positive and I had to go through those tests. Don’t worry. We’ll get through it fine. It’s just a precaution.”

Diane stood on the third-floor overlook to the dinosaur room, trying to think of something to say to Frank that would put his mind at ease and at the same time attempting not to tear up over his kindness. “I was just leaving work, on my way home.” The words sounded choked.

As she spoke, she looked across at the hallway connecting to the opposite overlook. Dr. Annette Lymon had just rounded the corner facing Diane and went into the staff lounge. She usually worked for an oil company in the summers, so Diane was surprised to see her. But it was nearing the start of fall term at Bartram, so perhaps she had just gotten back. In any case, Diane was surprised to see her in the museum.

“Try not to worry,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight—it may be late. Call me when you get home.”

“I will.”

Diane slipped her cell back in her pocket, walked around the overlook and headed down the hallway to the lounge. By the time she reached the doorway, she’d rearranged her face into a welcoming smile that she hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. She didn’t want to alert Lymon that she was under investigation, but she did want to stop the rumor that Mike had abused his former girlfriend.

Annette Lymon was standing in front of the candy vending machines, rattling one of the knobs. She raked her hands through her auburn hair to get it out of her face. She was a lean woman with toned muscles and a tan from spending time outdoors. She appeared to Diane to be in her forties, but Diane found the older she got, the harder it was to estimate age—at least in a living person. Dr. Lymon wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and brown trousers. To Diane she looked vaguely as if she might have been going horseback riding.

“Dr. Lymon,” said Diane. “I’m glad I saw you.”

Annette Lymon looked at her and frowned, then smiled thinly, smoothing out the lines around her lips. “Yes, I needed to speak with you too. But, please, what did you want?”