One Grave Less (19 page)

“Yes,” she said. “Our UN liaison.”

“He’s not at the UN any longer. He works for Interpol now. I have a call in to him about the rumors, which he hasn’t yet returned. I’ll try again.” Reading from his notebook, he entered the number on the phone, punching each key hard, as if that would transmit his determination across the airwaves. “This is just bloody ridiculous,” he said again under his breath.

Diane waited. A flutter of fear threatened to invade her stomach. She looked at the dates of the murders. Yesterday. All in one day. Damn, she’d been on a homicidal rampage. In Brazil. At least she had an alibi. She felt marginally better. Still, what the hell was this about? She looked at the name of the town that the complaint originated from. Río de Sangue. She didn’t recognize it. But how fitting. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was Portuguese for River of Blood.

“Yes, Cameron. Thank you for answering.” Gregory put the phone on speaker.

Cameron Michaels was Swiss and had worked as World Accord International’s contact at the UN. Periodically he would visit them in the field and she and Gregory would update him on their progress, or in some cases, lack of progress. He was bright and was fluent in several languages. She was surprised he wasn’t still at the UN advancing upward at a rapid rate. But he also had an adventurous streak. She supposed that was what accounted for Interpol. She wondered what he did there.

“Sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner, but it’s good to hear from you,” Cameron said.

English was Cameron’s second language. His first was French. He was so fluent in English he could be mistaken for a Brit when he spoke it, or a Spaniard when he spoke Spanish. A sudden flash of Ariel breezed through her mind. Ariel had a natural gift with languages. Diane switched her focus back to the phone conversation.

“So, you are Interpol’s UN representative,” Diane heard Gregory say. “Congratulations.”

“Gives me a chance to expand my horizons,” he said. “I still haven’t decided what I want to be when I grow up.” He laughed a happy, mirthful laugh.

“I’ve called you for a couple of reasons,” said Gregory. “You remember Diane Fallon.”

“Of course. It hasn’t been that long,” he said. “How is she?”

“Actually doing well, getting married, all that,” said Gregory.

“Glad to hear it. That was a bad time we had,” said Cameron. “I haven’t played Go since. Don’t have the spirit for it after Father Joe and Oliver.”

“We’re having some strange problems all of a sudden. Diane seems to be on Interpol’s Most Wanted list, or at least their Look-Out-For list.”

“What? Just a minute.” They heard typing in the background, then Cameron’s voice. “This can’t be right.” He came back on the phone. “What’s the girl been up to?” He laughed slightly.

“Minding her own business.” Gregory told him about the other rumors whirling around the three of them—her, David, and Gregory. “And now this. I don’t mind telling you, we are getting rather cross.”

“I don’t blame you. How strange. Is Diane in Brazil?” he asked.

“No, she is in the United States. Rosewood, Georgia, to be exact. And she has all manner of mayors, detectives, and board members to prove it.”

There was a pause.

“Someone has got it in for you. Is it happening to anyone else?” asked Cameron.

“Not that I can discover. I wanted to ask you if you are having problems.”

“None that I’m aware of. Hell. I guess I need to make sure. I haven’t heard anything. But what really bothers me is that someone has hacked into our secure files. That’s not good.”

“What degree of difficulty does that require?” asked Gregory.

“Quite a bit, I would think. It’s not my bailiwick. But I’m going to find out. Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll give the authorities in the town a call—Río de Sangue. Never heard of it.”

“Nor have I,” said Gregory. “Thank you, Cameron. It’s good speaking with you again. I hope all is well.”

“You too, Greg,” he said. “I’ll keep in touch. I have your number here.”

Gregory hung up. Diane didn’t talk to Cameron and it seemed to her that Gregory hadn’t wanted her to. She asked him why.

“I haven’t been telling anyone where I am. Just seems better to keep a low profile. I trust the people who were on our team, but not necessarily their confidants. Until we find out where this is coming from, we need to give out less information than we get. That’s why I didn’t tell him about Simone.”

“So where are we?” asked Diane.

“Nowhere at the moment. I’ve gone over in my mind what this could be about, who benefits from our disgrace, who we have offended, what was going on with Simone. The only thing I’ve discovered is that I need more information. To that end, I’m going to try my hand at speaking with Simone’s parents. Put my diplomatic skills to the test. Perhaps I can pry out of her brother where she might have put the things of Oliver’s that she kept.”

The two of them sat staring at each other for several moments. Gregory broke the silence first.

“We were investigators. Top-notch. Was there something going on around us that we completely missed?”

“I don’t know,” said Diane. “We are still assuming that Simone is connected with the rumors. We don’t know that.”

“No, we don’t. Quite a coincidence, however,” Gregory said.

“And this latest Interpol thing originated in Brazil.” She got on the other computer and looked up the location on a map. “Near Peru,” she said. “About six hundred miles southeast of the mission, but still in Brazil. Everything seems to point to our time there.”

Gregory nodded.

“Could it be drugs?” asked Diane. “Could someone have been dealing in drugs and we not know it?”

“As hard as that is to imagine, one must consider it as a possibility,” Gregory said. “We were out in the field a good deal of the time. Someone could have timed their activities to correspond to when we were gone from the mission. However, the other members of our team would have noticed something. And certainly Father Joseph or the nuns would have.”

“Maybe Oliver did,” said Diane. “Maybe that’s what the drug-soaked bag was about. Perhaps that’s what Simone was investigating.”

Gregory pressed his lips together in a tight line. “She wouldn’t have just taken up whatever investigation he may have been conducting, if that’s what she was doing, unless she thought it had something to do with his death.”

They looked at each other again for a long time. Gregory’s gray eyes took on a steely appearance. “It was one of us?” he said.

“But it was ex-bloody-dictator Ivan Santos who massacred the people at the mission.” Diane spoke through gritted teeth, defying Gregory to perhaps clear the man she had hated all this time.

“Yes, yes, it was Santos. But was there something else involved too? Could he have been doing a favor for someone?” said Gregory.

“That’s what Simone said: ‘It was one of us.’ I’ve been pushing that to the back of my mind every time I think about it. Damn it to hell, if that’s true.”

Diane was silent for a long time.

“How do we find out if it’s true?” she asked.

She felt helpless. As if this would be important to Ariel’s memory to find the whole truth and she wasn’t up to it—just as she hadn’t been up to protecting Ariel. She suddenly felt like crying.

Gregory stood. “I’m going to see Simone’s family. I’ll come back with answers.”

Diane locked the door to Gregory’s office behind them. The two of them threaded their way through David’s maze of equipment. She wondered what he was working on. She wondered if she should ask. On the way up to the first floor she gave Gregory the keys to her SUV. He had a lot of experience driving in the United States, so she wasn’t worried that he would run into someone by driving on the wrong side of the road.

On the way to her office she met Chief of Detectives Douglas Garnett.

“Just the person I was looking for.” He smiled. “Did you know there is an international warrant out for your arrest?”

Diane eyed Chief Garnett. He didn’t look like a man who was about to take her into custody.

“I just found out,” she said. “Gregory Lincoln called a contact we have at Interpol about it.” She walked across the lobby with him, threading through the visitors, heading for her museum office.

“You have an airtight alibi—I saw you here yesterday.” He laughed. “Detective Warrick is trying to track down that town—Río something. It looks like they may not have telephone service. Strange that they seem to be connected to Interpol.”

“I think someone picked a place on a map and hacked it into Interpol’s system. I doubt the village even has a police force.”

As they walked, Diane noticed a few people looking at her, then turning quickly away. She didn’t think much about it until a docent did the same thing. Odd.
But people are probably hearing about Madge
, she thought.

“You and your British friend got any ideas what this is about?” Garnett said. “I hate having my people spend their time tracking down places that aren’t there.”

“Not a clue, so far. But Gregory is good at this,” said Diane. She sighed, exhaling slowly. “What about Madge? Any news?”

“It’s early,” he said. “I doubt Lynn has had time to start on the autopsy.”

“I know. It’s just, well, so terrible, and so sad,” she said.

They walked through the double doors into the administrative wing of the museum and down the hall to her office.

“The Interpol thing, is that what you came here about?” said Diane.

“Yes. Goose chase that it is, I have to follow through and do the paperwork. It’s a nuisance I could do without. But at least I can say I see the woman every day; she hasn’t had time to go to Brazil for a hit.”

Diane entered through Andie’s office. Andie was hard at work answering the telephone. All lines were ringing off the hook.

“What’s going on?” asked Diane. “Are these questions about Madge?”

Andie looked up at her with wide, harassed eyes. Her reddish übercurled hair added to the hassled look.

“Dr. Fallon, this is just awful. I’ve asked Liam to look into it. I hope you don’t mind. I know you have resources—really, really good ones—but it never hurts to have help . . . a lot of it.”

Liam was Andie’s detective boyfriend. Diane couldn’t imagine what she had him looking into—obviously not Madge’s death. Andie wouldn’t have taken such a giant step as that without permission from Diane.

“Slow down, Andie, and take a breath. What’s this about?” said Diane.

“The news,” she said. “What everyone is calling about.”

Andie clicked several keys on her computer keyboard and turned her monitor around so Diane could see it.

“This is the Atlanta news feed,” said Andie.

The local reporter, an attractive woman with brown hair, wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella, was standing in front of the Rosewood Police Station in the drizzling rain. Diane’s driver’s license picture, looking for all the world like a mug shot, was in the corner of the screen. Diane recognized Pris Halloran, a reporter from a small TV station in Atlanta, but judging from the logo on the screen, she was now on assignment for one of the major networks.

“Dr. Diane Fallon, director of the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History, and director of the Rosewood Crime Lab, is on Interpol’s most-wanted criminals list. According to Interpol, Fallon allegedly murdered four men in Río de Sangue, Brazil. There is an uncorroborated report that the killings were in connection with a drug deal that went bad. It has been rumored for some time that Dr. Fallon was involved in drug smuggling while she was working for a human rights organization in Brazil, but that, as I said, is just a rumor at this point. In a strange note to this story, Fallon was questioned recently in regard to charges of soliciting in the city of Rosewood. So far, neither Diane Fallon nor Rosewood’s chief of detectives, Douglas Garnett, have returned our calls. Odd story, Kimberly. We’ll keep you informed as it unfolds.”

 

Diane slowly sank down in the stuffed chair near her. Garnett’s face was red and contorted, the veins bulging in his swollen neck.

“What the hell . . . ,” he said after a moment.

Diane put her hands over her face. Disaster didn’t begin to describe the situation.
This is not survivable
, she thought.

“Andie, roll the phones over to the secretary and tell her to say that there will be a statement to the press forthcoming. You get on the phone to Kendel and tell her to return from Mexico; she needs to take over as director . . .”

“No,” said Andie.

“Hopefully it will be temporary, but we can’t let the museum grind to a halt while I sort this out.”

“But it will look like you are guilty . . . and you were here yesterday and, by the way, one day is an awfully short time for all this to happen. How long does it take to get someone on an international most-wanted list? This is just wrong in so many ways.”

Diane stood up. “I already look guilty. I need the free time to clear myself. Make the call. Kendel and you will be in charge until I can sort this out. I need to call Vanessa.” She put the tips of her fingers to her eyes and rubbed. “Jesus. First Madge and now this. Vanessa must be beside herself.”

The phone rang again as Diane started for her office.

“
AJC
,” mouthed Andie as she started to tell them that they would hear something from the museum later.

Garnett held out his hand for the phone. “Allow me to talk to the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
,” he said. “I’m sure they are trying to get me anyway.”

Andie looked at Diane and she nodded. Andie handed Garnett the phone.

“Chief of Detectives Douglas Garnett here,” he said.

Pause.

“No, I’m not here to arrest Dr. Fallon. I’m here investigating the most cynically vicious case of identity theft that I have ever had experience with. Dr. Fallon has had her e-mail hacked and stolen. She has been the victim of vicious rumors, and is now the victim of Interpol having their own system hacked. I don’t know who is targeting Dr. Fallon, or even if she is the primary target and not the crime lab or the museum. However, I will get to the bottom of this and I am asking the Atlanta computer crimes and fraud unit for help in the investigation.”