Interesting,
Diane thought to herself. Jonas Briggs, his students and now Sylvia Mercer all thought this was interesting. They saw the science, the puzzle. They wouldn’t be so fascinated if they had seen it through her eyes, the dreadful tragedy of it. If they’d dug grave after grave after grave filled with the bodies of people who once had life and who had loved ones who still mourned them.
Diane thanked Sylvia and left for her own office. In the hallway outside Andie’s office, she was surprised to run into Frank’s ex-wife. Cindy had her blond hair pulled back into a loose twist and was dressed casually, with little makeup.
“Hi. I was just looking for your office.”
“Good to see you again. I hope you and your husband had a good time at the reception.”
“It was great. We really appreciated your invitation.”
Diane directed her through Andie’s office into hers and offered her a seat. “What brings you to the museum today?” She wondered if she sounded too harsh. She hadn’t meant to, but she thought she knew why Cindy was there, and she was growing weary of the pressure.
“I thought it would be more polite to invite you to dinner in person than through Frank. Men often get things muddled.”
“Thank you for your offer. I would like to come, but I’ve had something come up that’s going to take me away from the museum most of the time for a while, so I’m not making any plans.”
Cindy shifted in her seat and gave Diane a wan smile. “I understand. But you have to eat.”
It occurred to Diane that Cindy herself must be under a lot of pressure from her husband for her to be here doing something that so obviously made her uncomfortable.
“I’ll probably be eating here at the museum in the evenings. I’ll be putting in overtime, since I’ll be gone during the day.”
“Of course. Perhaps next week, then.”
“Perhaps, but I’m doing something that will take quite a while.”
She hated to sound so cryptic, especially since it made her sound like she was lying.
“Something rather important has come up and I have to attend to it.” She got out her calendar. “How about next month? Saturdays are usually good for me.”
Cindy’s face hardened. “That will be too late.”
Diane cocked an eyebrow. “Too late?”
“Look, Diane, I’m really no good at this, so I’ll be blunt. I’m sure you’ve guessed anyway. David wants to talk to you about the museum. This . . . this . . . . ”—she searched for words—“opportunity has come his way. It means quite a sum of money. It could pay for Kevin’s college education and then some.”
“He’s been approached by Mark Grayson.”
“More likely, he approached Mark Grayson.” There was such bitterness in her voice that Diane suspected they had had harsh words over it. “He tells me there are plenty of great places for the museum other than this building. I’ve been in the rooms here. None are filled. You could house the entire contents in a much smaller, more modern building.”
“I know what the argument is. It’s the one Mark’s been telling everyone, and it’s wrong. Do you know why Mark is so keen on this?”
Cindy shrugged her thin shoulders. “Something to do with Japan—hotels and golf courses. Mark wants to purchase the building and land through another company and sell it. That’s about all I know. He promised David a substantial commission if he could influence you.”
Through Frank,
thought Diane. And through his son? Surely, Cindy wouldn’t allow that. “Unless the numbers add up to something fantastic for the museum—and right now they don’t—it isn’t going to happen.”
Cindy looked away. Her eyes rested on a photograph of a stalagmite-and-stalactite formation, but Diane doubted she was seeing it. When she brought her head around again, her soft brown eyes were now as hard as flint.
“This is just a job for you. There’s nothing you lose by agreeing to sell, and there is everything to be gained for other people—for us, for Kevin. If you had children, you would understand. You do things for your children. If you care about Frank, you should care about his child.”
Cindy Reynolds’ face suddenly transformed from hard and angry to startled and frightened. Diane realized her own anger must have taken over her face as well as her pounding heart.
“Mrs. Reynolds, I did have a child.” She clutched the locket around her neck. “She’s now dead. Murdered by a man who was willing to kill thousands just to get what he wanted. I am weary and sick of men who think that what they want is more important than anything else in the world. I am singularly unsympathetic to people who are collaborators with that kind of man. If you indeed are a good mother, you won’t use your son to get what your husband and Mark Grayson want.”
Cindy gripped the arms of the chair and stood on shaky legs. “I . . . didn’t know. Frank never said anything.” She paused, apparently searching for words. “David doesn’t know I came here. I hope you will not mention it to him, please.”
“I don’t have any reason to ever speak with your husband.”
“Thanks . . . I . . . I can see my way out.” Cindy left through Andie’s office, looking defeated. Diane followed, watching her go out the door.
Andie sat, wide-eyed, at her desk. “Diane, are you all right?”
“I suppose you heard our conversation.”
“I didn’t mean to, but yes. I didn’t know. . . .”
Diane took off her locket and opened it. On one side there was a miniature of the photograph of her and her daughter. On the other was a small picture of Ariel’s dimpled pixie face. She handed it to Andie.
“This is my daughter, Ariel. She died a little over a year ago.”
Andie looked at the photograph with tears in her eyes. “She was a pretty little girl. Look at all that black hair.”
“Yes, she was.” Diane took the locket and put it back around her neck. “I would have told you about her, but it’s been hard to talk about.”
“I can understand that. I’m so sorry.” Andie took a Kleenex from her drawer and blew her nose. “I don’t understand why Grayson is so set on selling the museum. What’s that about?”
“Money, apparently.” Diane shrugged. “I have a feeling something else is going on, but I have no idea what it is.” She started for her office, but turned back to Andie. “Do you remember me asking you at the party if you knew who asked for the ‘Hall of the Mountain King’?”
Andie thought for a second. “Yeah, I remember. . . . It wasn’t on the playlist, you said.”
“No, it wasn’t. Someone left a note for the quartet and signed my name. That piece of music was Ariel’s favorite. She played it all the time on a CD player I gave her.”
Andie’s eyes widened again. “Oh, no. You think someone . . . ? That’s mean.”
“Yes, it is. It could’ve been a coincidence.”
“But what a coincidence. You want me to try and find out who did it?”
“How?”
“I can kind of ask around. See if anybody saw someone leave a note. I can be discreet.”
“Don’t go out of your way, but if there is an opportunity . . .”
“Sure. I’m really sorry about your daughter. That’s so sad.”
“I was hoping to raise her here, occasionally bring her to the museum. I was thinking about asking Milo if we could put in a staff day-care center.” She forced her mind away from that lost possibility. “It’s why I quit forensic work. I couldn’t face the work anymore. But now I find that I need to use my skills to help Frank and his friend’s daughter.” She told Andie about the pit of animal bones and the human talus.
“You’re kidding. You found where that collarbone came from—a clavicle?” She said
clavicle
carefully, as if she were trying to learn a new word. “What was the other bone you said. A talus?”
“Yes. It’s a bone in the foot. The tibia—the shinbone—sits on top of it. It has a pulleylike structure where the tibia rests that allows you to move your foot back and forth. It’s also called an astragalus.”
Andie swiveled her chair around to look at her feet and moved her foot up and down. “So, wow, you think you’ve found the guy?”
“It seems likely. I’m going to be excavating. Jonas Briggs and Sylvia Mercer will be joining me.”
“Didn’t I tell you he’s a nice guy?”
“Yes, you did, and you were right. I’m going to be in and out for the next few days or weeks, depending. You’ll be able to reach me on the cell phone if you need to.”
“OK. Maybe I could go some time and watch?”
“The process is very slow. It could be boring watching.”
“I’d like to see it anyway.”
“Sure. When we get a substantial portion uncovered, you can come take a look. In the meantime, would you have a table put in . . .” Diane thought for a moment. “The room across from the docents’ offices. That’s still empty, isn’t it?”
Andie nodded. “We may have a few things stored there, but not much. You need a place to work?”
“Yes. Better yet, you know that corner room on the third floor, west wing? That’s completely out of the way. Set up something there. And don’t mention this to anyone. I won’t be in tomorrow morning. I’ll be at the Abercrombie farm, excavating the dump site.”
Chapter 24
Whit Abercrombie, with the help of the county road crew under the direction of the sheriff, had constructed a small footbridge across the creek at the point of easiest access in the gully. They’d widened the narrow path that led down one side of the gully and up the other, anchoring stepping-stones every few feet. It was serviceable enough to carry equipment from vehicles parked along the roadway that led to Luther Abercrombie’s cow pasture. Whit had also brought in his farm tractor with a brush hog and mowed a better path from the road to the creek crossing.
It was still relatively early when Diane and her crew finished setting up a tent to serve as a field office and had inventoried the cameras, mapping equipment, digging tools and other assorted equipment. But the early-morning Georgia sun had already heated the air to over ninety degrees. It would only get hotter as the day progressed, and the section they were working in had only saplings for shade.
To Diane’s relief, Jonas’ former students were experienced archaeological field crew, just as he’d promised. They’d brought three more people than the promised four—a total of four men and three women, dressed in cutoffs, tee shirts and sneakers. One of the women was interested in examining a model for taphonomic processes—the study of what happens to human and animal remains after death. For archaeologists, the knowledge means finding cultural clues to people’s lives; for forensic anthropologists, understanding the fate of human remains can mean uncovering clues to their death.
In particular, the student was interested in looking at the differences in bone damage from butchering and from wild-animal scavenging. In the archaeological context, her project translated into the ability to tell human activity from natural phenomena. Diane didn’t mind allowing the archaeologists to conduct research on the animal pit. Whatever information they discovered would be useful to her field too.
“We’ll start by making lanes in the search area. The pit will be the center of the area, but we’ll search all around it first, using a line search pattern. Are you familiar with that?” They all nodded, giving her their full attention.
“Isn’t this method also called a strip search?” said one of the guys, to a round of laughter.
“In a manner of speaking,” said Diane, trying not to smile too much. “It’s called the line or strip method. OK. Look for signs of bone and mark them with a flag—red if you suspect it’s human, green if animal. Yellow if it’s some other object.” She’d feared that some might have a don’t-tell-me-what-I-already-know-how-to-do attitude, but their expressions were attentive and interested.
“Like a ground survey,” said a woman.
“Exactly. I’ve been told that a light layer of dirt was used to cover each load of animals that were dumped—or at least, most of the time. So if we can, I’d like to use those dirt layers to mark different strata. Notice that I’ve tagged some of the trees growing in the pit. Excavate around them. I need to know where the roots go. And we may be cross-sectioning the trees when we’re finished.” Diane paused and looked at the pit. “The human remains here may be linked to a recent homicide. The more time that elapses after that crime, the harder it is to solve. It’s important that you work as quickly as you can and still do a thorough job.”
“We’ll do a good job,” said Jonas.
“Thanks. And I appreciate the willingness of all of you to do this.”
Marking the search lanes didn’t take long. The pit, as Diane called it, was a plugged-up erosion ditch about seven by ten feet. Whit said the runoff had been diverted at a place several feet up from the ditch, and as far as he remembered, this area hadn’t seen much washing out. Diane was glad for that. Digging in a soggy pit that had been filled with animal carcasses didn’t bear thinking about.
When they finished marking the search lanes, the search area was about sixty feet by sixty feet, with the pit in the center. The north section was down a slope through thick underbrush terminating in another erosion gully, which took most of the runoff that used to go into the dump pit.
Starting at one end, they walked slowly down the strips with Diane setting the pace, scrutinizing the ground, using long sticks to gently move away leaves and other detritus to uncover bare ground. Diane wanted to finish this search before they stopped for lunch. She didn’t expect to find any clues dropped by the perpetrator, but did expect to identify bones scavenged and dragged out by animals.
The temperature climbed quickly. It was forecast to reach a hundred today. It felt like it had already topped out. Diane’s tee shirt was wet and her skin hot. She took a drink of water from a boda bag she had slung across her shoulder. She came upon the end of a long bone. It wasn’t human. She sunk a green flag in the ground beside it.
A searcher let out a short laugh. “I found an arrowhead.” His colleagues laughed with him. Under the circumstances, the archaeologists thought such a find to be ironic.