Read Online Dust to Dust by Beverly Connor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beverly Connor
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character.”
“Interesting perspective,” said Hanks.
Diane wasn’t sure what he meant. No one seemed to have anything else to say at the moment, so she stood and the two of them stood with her.
“We’ll have a full forensics report for you as soon as we can,” said Diane.
Hanks thanked her and Diane left the police station. Hanks followed her out to her car.
“I had been told that you are prone to take over a case,” he said. “I didn’t want that happening with this one.”
Diane supposed he was trying to explain his hostility, but he still sounded defensive.
“I don’t know where that rumor came from exactly,” said Diane. “Those times when I have been more involved in a case than my position as a director of the crime lab would dictate that I should, I have been either asked by detectives—here”—she gestured toward the station—“or the perpetrators themselves have pulled me into it by coming after me. I have never just showed up and told a detective that I was taking over his case and would he please hand me his file.”
“I got the impression you were more subtle than that,” he said, almost smiling again.
“There are reasons Garnett occasionally invites me to observe interrogations, and they have nothing to do with any personal interest I might have in the case itself. And he only allows me to observe, nothing else. Today, for instance, I would have advised my friend not to answer your questions without a lawyer present. Not because he was guilty, but because we all know why detectives want to interview people without an attorney present. But Garnett wouldn’t have allowed me to interfere—just observe.”
“That’s very cryptic. Why does he extend that courtesy? He doesn’t to anyone else. Do you get to observe the questioning of all your friends?” asked Hanks.
Diane smiled. “Well, my friends don’t often find themselves in this situation. But the answer is no, not all my friends. Just certain types of friends. After you have been here longer, you’ll figure out why.”
Diane got in her car and left him with a puzzled look on his face. Sooner or later he’d figure out it was not so much about her as it was about the museum and its relation to the crime lab. Garnett and the mayor didn’t want her to tell them to leave and take their crime lab elsewhere.
Diane drove home—home to Frank’s house. She’d left him early this morning when David called and she hadn’t talked with him since. And it was Sunday, the day they usually spent together. She should have told Hanks she was very content to leave his case to him. Did they all think she just went around making work for herself?
Diane parked the SUV in the driveway behind a car she did not recognize. It had Atlanta plates. As she passed by she felt the hood. Warm. It hadn’t been here long.
Frank was a detective in the Metro-Atlanta Fraud & Computer Forensics Unit. It must be for him. She hoped they didn’t want him to go in to work. She walked up to the door of the familiar, old Queen Anne-style house and went in.
Chapter 9
Diane was greeted with the aroma of hot coffee when she opened the door. She walked through the small entry into the living room, where she heard talking. She was going to pass by, let Frank know she was home, go take a shower, and let him get on with his business. Then she recognized the voice.
It was Ross Kingsley, an FBI profiler friend of hers. He and Frank were drinking coffee and laughing over something.
They rose when she entered holding her dress over her arm and clutching her evening bag and heels in her hand.
“Diane,” said Frank, his blue-green eyes sparkling as he spoke, “look who dropped by.”
Something was up. Diane could tell by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her.
She hadn’t seen Ross in several months. When she first met him, she didn’t think he looked like an FBI agent. She still didn’t. He looked like a college professor, with his
“Interesting perspective,” said Hanks.
Diane wasn’t sure what he meant. No one seemed to have anything else to say at the moment, so she stood and the two of them stood with her.
“We’ll have a full forensics report for you as soon as we can,” said Diane.
Hanks thanked her and Diane left the police station. Hanks followed her out to her car.
“I had been told that you are prone to take over a case,” he said. “I didn’t want that happening with this one.”
Diane supposed he was trying to explain his hostility, but he still sounded defensive.
“I don’t know where that rumor came from exactly,” said Diane. “Those times when I have been more involved in a case than my position as a director of the crime lab would dictate that I should, I have been either asked by detectives—here”—she gestured toward the station—“or the perpetrators themselves have pulled me into it by coming after me. I have never just showed up and told a detective that I was taking over his case and would he please hand me his file.”
“I got the impression you were more subtle than that,” he said, almost smiling again.
“There are reasons Garnett occasionally invites me to observe interrogations, and they have nothing to do with any personal interest I might have in the case itself. And he only allows me to observe, nothing else. Today, for instance, I would have advised my friend not to answer your questions without a lawyer present. Not because he was guilty, but because we all know why detectives want to interview people without an attorney present. But Garnett wouldn’t have allowed me to interfere—just observe.”
“That’s very cryptic. Why does he extend that courtesy? He doesn’t to anyone else. Do you get to observe the questioning of all your friends?” asked Hanks.
Diane smiled. “Well, my friends don’t often find themselves in this situation. But the answer is no, not all my friends. Just certain types of friends. After you have been here longer, you’ll figure out why.”
Diane got in her car and left him with a puzzled look on his face. Sooner or later he’d figure out it was not so much about her as it was about the museum and its relation to the crime lab. Garnett and the mayor didn’t want her to tell them to leave and take their crime lab elsewhere.
Diane drove home—home to Frank’s house. She’d left him early this morning when David called and she hadn’t talked with him since. And it was Sunday, the day they usually spent together. She should have told Hanks she was very content to leave his case to him. Did they all think she just went around making work for herself?
Diane parked the SUV in the driveway behind a car she did not recognize. It had Atlanta plates. As she passed by she felt the hood. Warm. It hadn’t been here long.
Frank was a detective in the Metro-Atlanta Fraud & Computer Forensics Unit. It must be for him. She hoped they didn’t want him to go in to work. She walked up to the door of the familiar, old Queen Anne-style house and went in.
Chapter 9
Diane was greeted with the aroma of hot coffee when she opened the door. She walked through the small entry into the living room, where she heard talking. She was going to pass by, let Frank know she was home, go take a shower, and let him get on with his business. Then she recognized the voice.
It was Ross Kingsley, an FBI profiler friend of hers. He and Frank were drinking coffee and laughing over something.
They rose when she entered holding her dress over her arm and clutching her evening bag and heels in her hand.
“Diane,” said Frank, his blue-green eyes sparkling as he spoke, “look who dropped by.”
Something was up. Diane could tell by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her.
She hadn’t seen Ross in several months. When she first met him, she didn’t think he looked like an FBI agent. She still didn’t. He looked like a college professor, with his
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