Critical care’s waiting area was a comfortable room with thick carpet and soft sofas and chairs, all in shades of sea green and blue. A giant painting of a stylized ocean in the same colors hung on one wall. All in all, a soothing room.
Christina and Spence were sipping their cups of coffee, not talking, simply waiting for the next time they could go in and see their brother. Spence looked up first, then Christina. Each smiled wanly at Diane as she approached. Spence stood and looked grateful for something to do. Diane understood the emotional pressure they were under. Waiting for news was hard and tiring.
“I came to see how Roy Jr. is doing,” said Diane.
“He’s had a craniotomy,” said Spence. “They don’t tell us a lot.”
Diane started to explain about relieving pressure on the brain, but remembered that Spence was a medical technician and he probably knew.
“It sounds good, though. He’s alive, so there is hope,” said Diane. “I know waiting is hard.”
They nodded.
“Brian is getting us a hotel room across the street,” said Christine.
“That’s a good hotel. They cater to the needs of people who have loved ones in the hospital,” she said. Words of comfort weren’t something Diane was good at. What could one possibly say to comfort a person at a time like this? Was comfort even possible?
“Why did this happen?” asked Christine. “Do you think it had anything to do with what happened to Mom and Dad?”
“I don’t know,” said Diane. “It could be only a terrible coincidence.”
Diane sat down in a chair near the sofa, mainly so Spence would feel free to sit down again. But she also had something she wanted to ask them. She started with the easy part and told them that she would like to attend church services this coming Sunday at Rendell First Baptist and speak with members who knew their parents and the Watsons.
Christine nodded. “That’s a good idea. We can go too.” She looked over at her brother. “People will be more willing to talk if we are there.”
“Sure,” said Spence. “I haven’t been to church in a while. It’ll probably be good for me.”
“I have another request. It’s rather delicate. I know and respect the pathologist here. I would like her to do a second autopsy on your parents,” said Diane.
Christine leaned forward and put a hand on Diane’s arm. Her eyes had a bright, moist look to them. “We want to find out what happened. We’re very fond of Dr. Linden, but he’s not up to this.”
“Linden’s been retired for at least ten years-or more,” said Spence, his face creased in anger. Diane got the idea he wasn’t as fond. “You have to keep up with new technology and techniques that are developed constantly. You think he’s been reading pathology journals these past ten years?” He shook his head. “I’ll see to it; I’ll see that Mom and Dad’s bodies are sent to. .”
Diane handed him a card on which she had written the instructions.
“ ‘Rosewood Hospital, Pathology Department,’ ” he read from the card. “You know this Dr. Lynn Webber, you say?”
“Yes,” said Diane. “I spoke with her before I came here and she’s willing to do the second autopsy. I’ve worked with her on many cases. She’s very competent,” added Diane.
And very high-maintenance, she thought. Sometimes Diane had to walk on eggshells around her. Lynn Webber hated to be contradicted or have anyone step into her territory. She had recently put Diane in a very sticky situation with Diane’s superiors in order to even a score with someone from her past, so Diane had a lot of stored-up capital with her at the moment. But the autopsy request had not been a problem for Lynn. She had been happy to accommodate Diane. Not to mention, Lynn loved to be the one brought in to solve a problem.
“Dr. Webber will have to have authorization from you,” said Diane. “I also have another request.” Diane paused, struggling with how to word it as delicately as possible. “I would like some of my people from the crime lab to be there to collect tissue samples for our use, along with Dr. Webber’s. We are looking for ways of determining postmortem interval-that’s time since death. We are trying to find indicators-biosignatures, if you will-of biological changes that are time-dependent.”
“Why is the pathologist taking samples?” said Christine. “Mama or Dad didn’t drink. . or take pills.” Christine looked alarmed.
Diane had thought Christine and Spence might be upset by her crime lab taking the samples, but not if the pathologist did it.
“We don’t know that the killer, or killers, didn’t drug them in some way,” said Diane.
“They always take samples,” said Spence, frowning at his sister. “It has nothing to do with their character. That’s just how it’s done.” He turned to Diane. “You don’t think the sheriff and Linden determined time of death accurately, do you? Will this help?”
“I’m hopeful that it will,” said Diane. “But, if not for your parents, then perhaps for victims in the future. We’re working on a way to more accurately calculate time of death when there’s not a pathologist available at the scene to determine it right away.”
“So it’s a study,” said Christine. She didn’t seem too happy about her parents being part of an experiment.
“Yes, what we learn from them will be used in the larger study. But I am hoping for some information useful specifically in your parents’ case,” said Diane.
“Even with the sheriff’s bumbling,” said Spence, “you pretty much know the time of death because of the time when you last saw them alive and the time when you returned and found them.”
“Yes,” said Diane. “We have a time window. But your father died sometime-at least an hour-after your mother. I want to know why.”
“How do you know?” said Christine.
“I took pictures with my cell phone camera before I went for help,” said Diane. “I didn’t know if the killer might return and disturb the scene before it could be secured.”
“And you didn’t expect that Sheriff Conrad would do a good job. I think his reputation as an investigator is well-known. I see your reasoning,” said Spence.
“How could you tell from photographs?” asked Christine.
Diane opened her mouth and shut it again. How was she going to word this?
“Christine, honey,” said Spence. “You are putting Dr. Fallon in a difficult situation. She doesn’t want to talk about our parents using the terms forensic specialists use with the dead. She’ll write a report and I’ll look at it, so you don’t have to. It will be easier that way.”
Diane nodded. “Sometimes it’s an awfully cold-sounding way to talk about a loved one,” said Diane.
“I know Mom and Dad would still want to help people, and their research will. Dr. Fallon’s not going to take any more samples than necessary. It’ll be all right,” said Spence.
Christine nodded and the two of them signed the papers that Diane handed them.
“You know, you’ll need Joe and Ella Watson to have a second autopsy too,” said Spence.
“Do you think their children would be willing?” said Diane.
“Oh, yeah,” said Spence. “We called them to give our condolences, and they are as anxious as we are to find out what happened. They don’t like Sheriff Conrad, but didn’t think there were any choices. They trust Dr. Linden, but I think I can persuade them.”
“Okay,” said Diane. “That would be very helpful.”
“We’re going to help all we can,” said Spence. “I’m not convinced that Roy Jr.’s accident isn’t a part of this. If it is, then does that mean it’s not a serial killer? I mean, running somebody off the road isn’t the same as. . well, you know. . as what happened to Mom and Dad.”
“No, it’s not,” agreed Diane. “But I don’t know where it fits.”
Spence nodded and stood up. “I’ll see to it right now, about Mom and Dad,” he said, looking at the card Diane had given him containing contact information for Lynn Webber, “before the sheriff tries to send them to a funeral home. It’d be like him to pick out a funeral home, send them there, and pretend he was just helping us.”
Diane left them with mixed feelings. She believed she’d helped Spence by giving him something to do. But Christine didn’t look as if she were comforted at all by Diane’s visit.
It was good to leave the hospital. Diane hated going there. It sometimes seemed as if it were a regular stop for her. Not just visiting either, but to get care for herself.
There was a cloud cover and it was getting dark earlier than normal. She put on her brights when she could on the drive home. She still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling she was being followed.
“This is just silly,” she muttered to herself. “You are really getting to annoy me,” she told herself.
Still she watched the lights behind her. Everything seemed normal. By the time she turned onto the scenic stretch of highway nearing Frank’s house, people had turned off to go elsewhere and all the headlights behind her had disappeared. She realized that she had let her speed creep up. She relaxed, slowed down, and reached to turn on the radio. With a terrifying crash and a violent jerk sideways, something rammed her from behind.