“Dr. Fallon.”
The voice was one of the chaperones standing in line with a group of children. Damn. She didn’t want to be delayed right now. She smiled and walked over to him.
“Dr. Thormond.”
Diane held out her hand to the man standing with twenty or so third graders. Martin Thormond was a history professor she’d met on campus at one of her presentations for the museum. She knew he was angling to be one of the curators she recruited from the university, but his area of expertise wasn’t represented in the museum. The closest museum area to his expertise would be archaeology, and she already had an archaeology curator in Jonas Briggs.
It was odd. When she first presented the idea of university professors serving as curators in exchange for providing them office and research space, it was met with a great deal of skepticism and downright snobbery in some cases. Now, apparently, curator at the RiverTrail museum had become a plum assignment.
“It’s good to see you again,” said Diane. “I see you’ve been tagged for chaperone duty. One of these yours?”
“Michael over there.”
He pointed to a blond-headed kid making faces at two little girls, apparently seeing how wide he could stretch his mouth with his fingers.
“Yep, that’s my pride and joy,” he said.
He laughed and, at the same time trying to keep the rest of his wards in a straight line, caught a dark-headed boy about to make a break for it.
“I tell you, I now have much more respect for a mother duck.”
Diane laughed and muttered some comment about their energy. The level of noise was getting louder as more children arrived. Diane wondered where the docents were.
Some girls in another line were saying tongue twisters to each other.
“Say this,” one said. “She sells seashells at the seashore.”
It was answered by another little girl with perfect pronunciation.
“Now say it real fast.”
That was harder and ended in a fit of laughter.
“Try this real fast. Black bugs blood, black bugs blood.”
That twister erupted in a tangle of words and laughter. The teachers joined in-“Around the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran.”
It sounds as if they have a tongue twister for every department in the museum, thought Diane.
Someone started the old favorite, “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”
An alliteration of p’s again, thought Diane. Why did that tug at her brain?
“… totally unexpected and just so much more work.”
Dr. Thormond was talking the whole time, and Diane didn’t have any idea what he was saying. She nodded, hoping a nod made sense.
“None of us had a clue Dr. Keith was leaving,” he continued.
Dr. Keith… history.
“Are you talking about Shawn Keith?” asked Diane.
“Yes. He’s left us in just the worst time. I’m having to take his classes,” said Dr. Thormond.
“He lives in the basement of my apartment building,” said Diane. “I didn’t know he was moving.”
“He caught everyone by surprise. I can’t believe he was job hunting all this time and none of us knew,” he said.
While Dr. Thormond expressed annoyance at Dr. Shawn Keith’s abrupt departure, Diane was thinking about when she first saw Blake Stanton aiming his gun at Professor Keith’s car. All along she’d thought it was just an opportunistic encounter. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Blake had run to someone he knew and they got into some kind of argument and Blake pulled a gun on Keith. Someone at the university end had to help grease the way for Blake to steal things there. What if it was Keith?
The docents in charge of the groups of children came and they started on their tour. Diane waved at Thormond as he left with his baby ducks, and she detoured up to her crime lab.
Her crew was there. David was at the computer-Diane didn’t know if he was working on a case, one of his databases, or algorithms for working with databases. Neva was at a microscope and Jin was sitting by himself looking glum.
“Those cigarette butts. I could’ve had my DNA lab,” he moaned.
“Jin,” said Diane sharply, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to work. Not everything is high-tech.”
Jin jumped at the sound of her voice. “What do you mean, Boss?” he said.
“You photographed the cigarette butts before you picked them up, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Of course, I did,” he said, a trifle indignant.
“Look at the photographs and find out what kind of cigarettes they are.” Diane stood over him, folding her arms over her chest.
“How will that help us? You can’t nail down a single person with a brand. Hundreds… thousands, maybe millions of people will smoke the same brand.”
“Jin, with those thinking skills, I’m not sure you deserve a DNA lab.”
“Boss!” he cried.
“Right now we don’t even have a list of suspects-forget about a perfect match. Get us a pool of possibles to work with.”
“OK, I find out what kind of butts they are and then I get a list of everyone in Rosewood who smokes that brand?”
“Jin, I’ve never seen you feeling this sorry for yourself,” said Diane.
“I let someone sneak up on me,” he lamented.
“You weren’t meant to hear, that’s why they were sneaking. Find a suspect population and then narrow it down. For example, we’re thinking the motive for McNair’s murder might be revenge for the deaths of the students. Who felt the deaths the most?”
“The parents,” he said.
“Who else?”
Jin thought a minute. “The people who had to deal with it. Us.”
“And I’m sure there are more. Where would members of those pools of suspects have been found lately… for long periods of time… smoking cigarettes?”
Jin thought again. “The crime scene. Tent city,” he said.
“Then why don’t you get your sorry self out to where the tent city was and look for cigarette butts?” she said. “In the tent where we were, I noticed several people stepping out to smoke. I’m sure that was true where the coffee tent was also, and where the crowd of onlookers waited, and where the media were set up. If you’re lucky, the cigarette butts you found at the warehouse will be distinctive or uncommon in some way. If you find a match at the tent city, then at least we will be on a trail of clues again.”
“Boss, that’s a good idea. But they will be trampled by now; the DNA will be degraded; they will be mixed in with the butts thrown out by the people dismantling the tents.”
“Right now we are just looking for clues that might point us somewhere; we are not necessarily looking for evidence we can take to court.”
“I’m with you, Boss, but still, there’s a possibility that everyone will have been smoking the same brand.”
“Not necessarily,” said David. “If the brand is Marlboro you’re in trouble; about half the smoking population smokes them. However, that diminishes with age. You get in the twenty-six-plus age group and the percentage falls considerably. Look at your photographs and see if you can figure out what brand you have and go from there. Diane’s right. Get off your sorry butt and do some old-fashioned detective work.”
They all stared at David. Neva spoke first.
“You have a cigarette database, I take it?”
“Of course, I do. Do you know how may perps smoke?” said David.
“But you’ve memorized it,” said Neva.
“No, I looked it up while Diane and Jin were talking.”
Jin jumped up and fetched his photographs and sat down by David. He took a magnifying glass and began examining the images.
“Here’s something. Is that a logo?” asked Jin.
David looked at the picture.
“OK,” he said and clicked through his screen. “I was just looking at these. You’re in luck. Those are Dorals. They’re generic brands-as opposed to the premium brands. They’re smoked mostly by the age group twenty-six and older, and then only by about 5.4 percent of them. You find a Doral smoker at tent city, and they’re definitely someone who needs to be looked at more closely. To qualify as your possible attacker, they will also have to be physically fit. Probably someone who is addicted to tobacco. Look for someone who has to watch their budget or is just frugal by nature-but not so tight as to have to buy the cheaper value brands. And is most likely white.”
“How in the world do you know all that stuff?” said Neva.
“Both the smoking interests and nonsmoking interests keep reams of data on the demographics of smokers,” said David.
“Wow,” said Jin. “This might work. I’ll get on my deerstalker and go collect some more butts.”
“I’ll help,” said Neva.
They left, Jin obviously in a happier frame of mind.
“Good idea,” said David. “It’s a place to start, and something might actually come of it.”
“At least it will get Jin to thinking again. He hates feeling that he made a mistake,” said Diane. “Now, I need to call Garnett. I just found out something that might change our thinking yet again.”
Diane called Garnett from David’s workstation. David sat listening to her as she explained about Shawn Keith and his quick departure from his job.
“I can’t pick him up simply because he’s changing jobs,” said Garnett. “But he did witness a crime and called 911. We interviewed him once as a witness. I’ll bring him in for a reinterview.”
“I know it’s a long shot, but if he was the one helping Blake Stanton steal from the university, he had a motive for killing him.”
“Would Shawn Keith really kill the Stanton kid over a matter of petty theft?” asked Garnett.
“Keith was a faculty member in the History Department. If he were linked to theft from the university, his career as a college professor would be over. He could never work at a college or university again. He had a lot to lose.”
“I guess you’re right about that. So, you’re changing the theory of the crime again?” said Garnett.
“I’m not changing anything. This is a process. I’m looking at all possibilities,” said Diane.
“OK, I’ll see if I can find him. You say he lives in your building?”
“In the basement,” said Diane.
“Well,” said David, after she had hung up with Garnett, “that’s interesting.”
“It is, isn’t it? We’ll see what Garnett comes up with. In the meantime, I was on my way to Aquatics.”
Diane started out the door, then suddenly turned back to David. “I need to find out if there was a mass murder in either Glendale-Marsh, Florida, or Scottsdale, Arizona, in the summer or fall of 1987. The victims may have been wrapped in clear plastic.”
“What’s this about?” asked David. “A new case?”
“Something private I’m working on,” said Diane.
“Will do,” he said.
Diane left the crime lab and went back down to the first floor and across to Aquatics. When she arrived, there was a commotion going on. A thin older woman with tanned leather-looking skin and blond brown hair up in a bun was arguing with a security guard in front of the fish exhibits. Fortunately, there were only a few people in the room.
“I’m not giving you my package, young man. I don’t even know you.”
Diane recognized her voice.
“Ma’am. I just need to look at it.”
“Mrs. Torkel?” said Diane. “Are you Ruby Torkel?”
The woman and the guard turned around at Diane’s voice. The guard looked relieved.
“Yes. And who are you? How do you know my name?” she said.
“I’m Diane Fallon. We talked on the phone yesterday. Did you come all the way from Florida?”
“I’m here, am I not? You said you wanted to see the doll.”
Diane motioned for the guard to leave. “Is that the doll?” asked Diane.
“It’s not my lunch,” she said.
“I didn’t mean for you to have to bring it,” said Diane.
“If I sent it, there’s no telling how long it would take, and I thought, I haven’t seen Juliet in a while, so I’ll just bring it. But this building is so big.”
“Yes, it is. I was on my way to see Juliet myself. She’s probably in the lab.”
“Gramma, is that you?” Juliet had just come out of the shell room into the fish room. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see you. This woman-Diane Fallon-wants to see that doll.”
“The doll?” said Juliet, looking confused.
“You know, when you were a little girl. The one I took away from you,” said her grandmother.
“You brought it all the way from Florida?” said Juliet. She guided her grandmother out of the way of tourists and toward a corner.
“Of course, from Florida. I didn’t come from Europe. Aren’t you glad to see me?” Juliet’s grandmother said.
“Of course, I am, Gramma.” Juliet gave her grandmother a hug. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. How did you get here?”
“I took a bus. It wasn’t that bad. I slept most of the way. Changing in Atlanta wasn’t fun.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you,” said Juliet. “Have you had anything to eat?”
“Nothing to speak of,” she said.
“Why don’t you take your grandmother to the restaurant?” said Diane.
Juliet nodded. “I’ll do that.”
“First,” said Diane, “I wanted to ask you something. Actually, I came to tell you that I talked with your grandmother and asked her to send the doll. But there is something else I’ve been meaning to ask. When we had dinner the other day you said you are afraid of certain things like new dolls and certain words. What words?”
“It’s silly, really. One of them that absolutely fills me with anxiety is a word I ran into quite by accident in my museum work. It’s the word palim… palim… I’m sorry, it’s very difficult for me to even say it. It is the word… palimpsests. How strange is that?” Juliet laughed nervously.
“Palimpsests? That’s the second time I’ve heard that word lately-where?” said Diane. Then she remembered, that’s why the alliteration of p’s kept tickling her brain. “I remember. The making of palimpsests was possible even with papyri.”
Juliet’s eyes grew round in a look of sheer terror; her face drained of color, she backed up against the wall and screamed before she slid down and held her knees, sobbing.