One Grave Less (6 page)

“I think Thomas just wants to understand why security didn’t catch this person earlier—where he was hiding out,” said Laura, smiling sweetly at Diane.

Diane gave her an amused half smile before she turned to Thomas Barclay. “Was that what you were asking?” she said.

Barclay gave Diane a curt nod.

“He could have worn a jacket or coat over the uniform and blended himself among participants in a class. We have several classes in session every evening. That is one of the challenges for our security people—guarding a place where the public is invited.”

“Perhaps we should close down the classes,” Barclay said.

“This is a museum, not a bank,” said board member Anne Pascal.

Anne’s hands were flat on the table in front of her. Diane got the impression that she wanted to pound them on the wood surface. Anne was one of the newer members of the board and a schoolteacher. Diane liked her for many reasons, but she especially liked her for frequently being at odds with Barclay.

“The classes are of value to the community and they are good for the museum,” said Anne.

Barclay brought his gray bushy eyebrows together as if he were about to turn Anne down for a loan. “But if they pose a problem for security . . . ,” he began.

“I didn’t say they pose a problem for security,” said Diane. “I said they pose a challenge.”

“Same thing,” he said.

“You think so?” said Diane.

That explains so much
, she thought. She didn’t speak it. Laura gave her a brief warning glare. Laura probably knew what Diane was thinking. Her face was easy to read.

“We work from a different dictionary,” Diane said.

Barclay huffed. “You know, you haven’t told us much of anything. Are you withholding information?”

“Of course,” said Diane. “However, I’ve told you as much as the police will allow. They are very concerned about information leaks that would give the thieves an advantage.”

“I’m sure they didn’t mean the board,” he said, taking in the whole group with a nod.

“I’m sure they did,” said Diane. “Let’s face it—in the past the board has been a sieve.”

Out of the corner of her eye Diane saw Madge shift uncomfortably when several members glanced her way. More than once, Madge’s loose tongue with the press had caused Diane problems. Laura, she saw, was about to throw up her hands and give up trying to rein Diane in. Diane didn’t mind making board members uncomfortable—at least, the ones who didn’t contribute anything helpful to the conversation.

Kenneth Meyerson, computer company owner and another member friendly to Diane, cleared his throat.The board members looked over at him, it seemed to Diane, hopefully.

“If I’ve understood everything correctly, the thieves knew the name of a security guard who was on vacation. They knew how to hide in the museum. They had people and tools on hand in case anything went south. And they carried out the rescue—if that’s what it was—quickly, with a fair amount of precision. They sound like professionals, yet they didn’t know the special exhibit didn’t have anything in it.” Kenneth paused and took a sip of the orange juice he had in front of him. “Two things come to mind. Have they hacked into our computer system to discover schedules? And could they have been after something other than the Mayan artifacts, and simply used the special exhibit room as some kind of staging area because they thought it would be empty at night?”

“I’ve asked the curators to inventory their items,” said Diane.

Kenneth nodded. “What is the most valuable thing we have?”

“Other than the dinosaur bones—both real and casts, which would be a clumsy steal—the gemstones,” said Diane. “Mike secures the most valuable of those in a vault. During exhibition hours he has them displayed in such a manner that they can be removed easily for safekeeping in the evening. However, we have other rare items that might be attractive to a collector.”

“Was there a falling out among thieves?” asked Anne. “I’m a little unclear about the two wounded people.”

“I don’t have an answer for that. Neither the police nor I have much information yet. All of us are working on it.”

“Well, if someone has hacked into the system, there is certainly something we can do about that,” said Barclay. “Don’t you have adequate firewalls or whatever you call the damn things?”

“We do,” answered Kenneth. “But a determined, talented hacker can get into anything, given enough time and resources.”

Barclay nodded, looking a little pensive. “Didn’t we have some little hacker get into the system a while back? The one that apparently got into every system in town—except my bank, of course. Might we talk to that little beggar?”

Diane stared at Barclay for a long moment, long enough for him to actually blush and look away. Diane knew all the banks that were hacked, and Barclay’s bank was certainly among them.

“I think he works for the FBI now,” said Kenneth.

“Seriously?” said Barclay.

“Or the CIA. One of the two. He was quite talented,” said Kenneth.

“That’s all the information I have,” said Diane quickly. “I’ll call another meeting when we know more.”

She was eager to get back to the crime lab and see what her team had come up with. She started to adjourn when Barclay looked up at her.

“I have one more item I want to talk about,” he said.

He took out an envelope and tossed it in front of him.

“I got this invitation in the mail and I was surprised that you are using the museum for your own wedding. I think that is an inappropriate use of your authority. Are you using museum staff as well? Will we be reimbursed?”

Diane said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow.

Barclay smiled grimly at her.

“Thomas,” said Vanessa.

Her tone was sharp and all of them gave her their attention, as if she had addressed each of them.

“Having Diane’s wedding in the museum was my idea. She wanted to elope, but I wanted her to have a ceremony here, in the museum. I, with Laura, and Diane’s assistant, Andie, are planning the wedding. Diane hasn’t even seen the invitations.”

Vanessa had caught Barclay by surprise. He stuttered a moment before he found his voice.

“I didn’t realize,” he said. “If you approve, then, of course . . .”

“Is there anything else?” said Diane. “No? Then we are adjourned. Good to have seen all of you.”
Now go away
, she thought.

They filed out. Barclay was out the door first, muttering that he had to get back to the bank.

“Do you have time for lunch?” said Laura when she reached Diane. Vanessa was with her.

“I can make time,” she said. “But I need to go to the crime lab first.”

“That will be fine,” said Vanessa. “There are some things I want to look at.” She smiled and patted Diane’s arm as they left.

As Diane turned to leave, Martin Thormond came back in, brushing lightly past the departing Madge Stewart, who tilted her head in disapproval and gazed at him suspiciously through narrowed eyes.

Martin looked very much the history professor that he was, in his brown tweed sports coat, well-trimmed beard, and spectacles. But he looked worried.

“What can I do for you, Martin?” said Diane, smiling.

He glanced behind him in the direction of the door before he spoke in a low voice.

“I got a call this morning. It was from a reporter at the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
. . . ,” he began.

“About the fire?” said Diane.

“No, funny, he did not even mention the thieves or the fire. He asked about you.”

“Me?” said Diane. “What about me?”

“Now, I don’t credit it. I know how reporters are. But I thought you should know.”

Diane smiled. “Know what?”

She thought she would have to drag it out of him he was so hesitant to tell her.

“He asked about your involvement with drug smugglers when you were in South America,” he said.

The man moved in the seat of the pickup but appeared not to wake up. Maria knew he would eventually awaken, realize how long his partner had been gone, and go looking for him. She could ambush him in the dark, but she had no idea when he might wake up, and time was their enemy.

She looked down at her new little friend who insisted on being called Rosetta. She was a paradox—a little kid, yet too grown-up. She was going to get home to her mother. Maria would make sure of that.

Maria and Rosetta were hiding behind a thicket of dense foliage. Hiding had its challenges. They wanted to remain obscured from view but they didn’t want to get unwanted creatures on them. The place in which they were secreted was like a curtain of flora hiding them from view of the truck driver. It was a good place to not be seen, but Maria had to do something.

“I want you to stay here, Rosetta. He must not see you. Understand?” Maria said in her raspy voice.

The little girl nodded. “You don’t want him to know who helped you escape. You aren’t going to kill him.”

It was a statement, not judgmental.

“That’s right,” said Maria. “And if I fail, I don’t want you captured.”

“You won’t fail.”

Maria hoped she was worthy of the little girl’s faith. She couldn’t imagine Rosetta alone in the rain forest, but she had the feeling Rosetta could get along out here better than she could.

Maria put the smaller of the guns in her waistband. She picked up the club that had worked so well against Luis Portman and eased closer to the truck. She was fairly sure that when he left the truck in search of Portman he would come down the animal trail they had followed. She selected a secluded spot by the trail to wait.

She picked up a handful of nuts and pebbles and tossed them onto the roof of the pickup. They made a rattle that was loud to her ears but apparently not to the sleeper.

She tossed more. He stirred.

She picked up a larger rock and threw it at the back window. It bounced off and landed in the bed of the truck. The man awoke. She saw him sit up straight and look around. The truck door opened and he got out. Her heart thudded against her ribs. He was a big man.

He had blond hair and sunburned skin and was dressed in the same camouflage and khakis as Portman. She was told before she visited here to wear solid colors rather than camouflage or clothes with designs. Easier to see bugs that get on you. She wondered why these men wore camouflage. It wasn’t to stay hidden. His was desert camouflage. It must be some kind of macho thing.

“Luis, where the hell are you? How long does it take you to take a dump?”

He came walking down the trail, as Maria predicted.

When she was in her cage searching for a way to escape and spied the thick stick lying on the ground, she mentally practiced with it over and over—in her mind swinging it at all the pain points on the body. Swinging hard, not hesitating.

He came closer, easy strides. He wasn’t worried.

Maria gripped her club tight. She listened for his footfalls coming closer to her hiding place.

One. Two. Three.

She swung hard, aiming for his knees.

He went down hard with a yelp and curses. Maria followed through with a strike to an elbow and another to the sacral plexus.

“What the fuck!” he screamed.

Maria was breathing hard and her heart thudded against her chest. She raised the club over her head and aimed at his brachial plexus when suddenly she hit the ground hard. Her club tumbled out of her hands.

The man had her by the ankle and was pulling her to him. His face was red with rage and pain. Maria kicked at him and reached for the gun in her waistband. He found his first and pointed it at her.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked. His hand was shaking. He was having a hard time holding on to the gun—it was the hit to his ulnar nerve.

She stopped moving and thought hard. She had to do something before the pain subsided to the point where he had better use of his hands. But then again, that might take a while. She had hit him pretty hard.

“I know who you are,” he rasped. “You’re that Fallon woman—Julio’s prize catch.”

“Why does he want me?” she whispered. She figured it might be easier to interrogate him when he had the gun. He would feel freer to talk, maybe brag.

“Money. You’re worth a lot of money to some guy he knows.”

“Who in the hell would I be of that kind of value to?” she asked.

“Julio won’t tell us that. He trusts only that bitch he’s with. But I got you now . . . and maybe I’ll make the deal.”

The man spoke good English. He sounded American—Midwestern.

“You don’t know who to deal with,” she said.

“Minor detail,” he said. “I can find out. See, he’s gonna be all panicked that you’ve escaped. He’ll be calling people. Talking. Patia will be screaming and cursing. She’ll let something slip. Or he will. I’ll find out.”

She already had her hand on the gun in her waistband behind her back. She could swing it around and shoot, if she could be sure . . . sure of her aim . . . sure she would be quicker . . . sure she could even shoot the damn thing.

His face was still screwed up with pain. She’d done a number on his knees—at least his right knee. It was hurting him.

He was having a hard time holding the gun. He needed to switch hands. He needed the gun in his good hand.

“What does May third mean?” she asked.

“What do you mean? Why you asking so many questions?” he said.

“Because, damn it, I want to know why this is happening to me. I overheard the head guy, Julio, talking with someone on the phone about May third. That’s some kind of important date. That’s a long way off—past the rainy season. What does May third have to do with me?”

“Julio has lots of deals going, not just you,” he said.

“It has to do with me,” she said. “He was talking only about me.”