Spence Barre flipped his phone closed. He was so pale Diane was afraid he was about to faint. He looked over at his sister, who was staring at him with a look of dread, her handkerchief held tight in her hands. For several moments he said nothing.
“That was the highway patrol,” he said finally. He ran a hand down the length of his face and looked from his sister to his brother-in-law, then to Diane. “Roy Jr. has been in an accident on the mountain road.”
Christine sucked in her breath and covered her mouth with the palm of her hand. “Is he. .? Where is he? We have to go see him.”
Brian put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“They didn’t tell me much. You know how they are. They like to tell things in person,” said Spence. “They only said he was taken to the hospital in Rosewood. I don’t know why here and not Helen.”
The three of them looked at one another for a moment, appearing too stunned to know what to do.
“Rosewood has an especially good trauma center,” said Diane, standing up. “I’ll give you directions.” She fetched paper and pen from an end table drawer and began writing directions to get them from the museum to the hospital.
“We appreciate everything,” said Brian. He stood and took the directions from Diane and looked them over.
“It’s not far,” she said.
Spence and Christine managed to rise from the sofa. They clung to each other for a moment, as if fearing they were the only family left, trying to draw strength from each other.
“You say it’s a good hospital?” Christine said to Diane.
“Yes. I’ve had someone I love in there with a trauma and they did wonders for him,” said Diane.
“If they took him to Rosewood and not to Helen, then he’s alive,” said Spence, wrinkling his brow, trying to work out the logic. “If he had died, they would have just taken him to the hospital in Helen, wouldn’t they?”
“I would think so,” said Diane. There’s nothing special about our morgue, she thought to herself.
“That’s good, that’s good,” whispered Christine, as if saying a quiet prayer.
Diane walked with them out of her office, down the hallway. Brian held Christine’s hand. Spence walked with Diane.
“You will help us. Is that what I understood?” said Spence.
“Yes,” said Diane. “I will do all I can.”
“We’re thankful,” Christine said. “I just. . This is just too much.”
Diane could see she was making an effort not to break down.
“He’ll be all right,” whispered Brian.
“I have a short question,” said Diane, as they walked down the hallway of offices. “The killer apparently took a cigar box containing items that belonged to your great-grandfather. It was among your father’s collection in one of the living room display cabinets. Do you know what was in the box?”
Christine looked at Spence. “Yes, I remember it. Daddy didn’t like us playing with it when we were children, so it was put up, away from little hands. You say the killer took it? It was just rocks and a few marbles. Maybe some doodads from Granddad’s childhood.”
“Yeah,” said Spence. “Nothing in it valuable. Just stuff a kid collects. I think there was a bottle cap and a pocket-knife too. Why would he have taken it?”
“Don’t some serial killers take souvenirs?” said Brian.
“Some do,” said Diane. “But it may also be important for other reasons. I would like to know exactly what was in it,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me now. Just think about it and write down what you remember. And when you can, I would like to talk with you about your parents.”
Christine nodded and Diane walked them through the lobby, hardly noticing the bustle of activity, and outside to their gray Toyota minivan. Brian opened the door for Christine and she climbed into the passenger side. Spence opened the sliding door and got in. Brian walked around to the driver’s side. He had to wait for the people in the car beside him to get out before he could get in. They weren’t in a hurry as they organized their kids and gave instructions to behave and not to wander off. The woman stopped and combed her daughter’s hair, standing where Brian needed to open his door. Diane was about to politely explain that they had an emergency, when the woman’s husband intervened.
“Sharon, move out of the man’s way, for God’s sake. He needs to get in his car. Madison’s hair looks fine.”
The woman looked at Brian as though it were he who had admonished her. Pushing her daughter ahead of her, she moved up on the sidewalk to meet her husband. Brian got in the van, started the engine, and drove away.
Diane watched them a moment, then walked back inside, ignoring the flood of tourists who had just arrived on a tour bus. Christine was right: This was so unfair.
Diane didn’t go to her museum office. Instead, she went to the crime lab to check in with David. Izzy was out working on a break-in. Fortunately, crime was slow in Rosewood lately. With Neva on vacation, the lab was shorthanded.
“Were there any prints on the lipstick?” she asked David as he came out of a carrel with a piece of paper in his hand.
“Yes, indeed. Our girl Tammy Taylor was arrested for shoplifting ten years ago. I e-mailed the mug shot to Frank,” he said, handing the paper to Diane. “Hopefully she hasn’t aged too much.”
Diane looked down at the copy of the mug shot David had printed out. Frank told Diane that if she could come up with a photograph of Tammy, he and Ben would show it at a few free clinics and homeless shelters on their lunch hour. This should make Ben happy. Frank told her that once Ben got something in his head, he wouldn’t let it go until it was solved. Frank said it as if he himself had no such compulsion.
“It still looks like her,” said Diane. “A little younger perhaps, but anyone who has seen her lately would still recognize her. Thanks, David, for running the prints.”
“Sure. How did your meeting go? Must have been short,” he said.
Diane sat down at their debriefing table and looked at the photograph again, wishing there were clues of some kind in the lines of Tammy’s face. David drew up another chair and sat down. She told him about the phone call.
“It’s so sad for them,” she said, looking up.
“Did the highway patrol have any information about what happened?” he asked.
“Not that they would say over the phone,” said Diane.
“I assume they want you to investigate their parents’ deaths,” he said.
“Yes. That’s what I suspected they wanted when they called last night,” she said.
“So when do we start?” said David. He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the chair.
“You’re assuming I said yes,” said Diane.
“Of course,” he said.
“I said I would do what I could. But you don’t have to get involved. I’ve used you enough already,” she said.
David wagged his finger. “It’s hit too close to home,” he said. “This whole thing in Rendell County needs resolving-all of it. You know, the sheriff’s stubbornness is damned dangerous. If there’s a serial killer on the loose-and it looks like there is-what makes him think the guy’s going to stay in Rendell County? We all have a stake in this, and he’d better get his ass on the phone to the GBI, or the FBI, and get some help. If he doesn’t, he needs to be taken to court and removed from office. I know some judges here. I could put a bug in their ear.”
Diane smiled.
“Figuratively,” he added, smiling back.
David was an expert in forensic entomology, as well as every other thing they did at the lab. He unlaced his fingers and set all four legs of his chair on the floor with a loud whack just as the elevator doors opened and Izzy stepped out.
“What the hell was that?” Izzy said. “You having a gunfight in here?” He walked over to the two of them and set his evidence case down on the floor and drew up a chair.
“How’d it go?” asked Diane.
“I was diligently working the break-in at that little jewelry shop on Main and Oglethorpe,” Izzy said. “Lifted lots of prints, even got a few fibers on the door-frame where the perp broke in. I’d packed everything up when the owner came and told me and the detective that it was all a big mistake, and he’s sorry, and he would pay any fines for making said mistake. Detective Hanks was pissed. I wasn’t all that happy.”
“What do you think changed his mind?” asked David.
“I think he discovered that his pissant son was the thief,” said Izzy. “So what’s cooking here?” he asked.
Just as he spoke, Diane’s phone rang. She was hoping it was the Barres, but it was Travis.
“Slick and his girlfriend ain’t at home,” he said. “He got a friend to house-sit the dogs. Said he’s coming back tomorrow. We’ll see. The house sitter did say the old lady was with them and she seemed fine,” Travis added.
“Thanks for looking,” said Diane. She told him that Tammy Taylor was in the system.
“I’m not surprised. What’d she do?”
“Shoplifting,” said Diane.
“I’d of expected more than that,” he said. “I suppose that’s just what she got caught at.”
Diane told him about Roy Jr. Barre’s accident. “I don’t have any details.”
“Oh, God, no. Those poor people. Roy Jr. was supposed to come back and go through his parents’ house again with me. I don’t imagine Spence or Christine will feel like it for a while. I’m just real sorry for their trouble.”
Diane heard another call coming in on her phone, so she told Travis she’d be in touch and switched to the other call. It was Brian McEarnest, Christine’s husband.
“Roy Jr.’s in critical condition,” Brian said. “He’s got head injuries, broken bones, and some internal injuries. The doctors couldn’t tell us much. He’s in intensive care. At least he’s alive, and we’re real thankful for that.” Brian paused a beat. “The patrolman told us he was run off the road by another car.”