Dead Guilty

daytime sometime. They have a wonderful salad and fruit buffet and, of course, the museum is open in the daytime.’’
Izzy kept eying Mike, so Diane introduced him. ‘‘This is Mike Seger, one of our geologists here at the museum.’’
‘‘That was a lot of excitement at Dr. Webber’s house,’’ he said. ‘‘Poor guy nearly wet his pants.’’
‘‘Izzy!’’ cautioned his wife.
‘‘This business has everyone in an uproar,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘The chief’s hanging a lot on the forensics.’’
Diane felt Izzy was trying to draw her into a conver sation about the crime scene. Even if it wasn’t inap propriate, Izzy wasn’t someone she confided in.
‘‘Is he? Well, you two enjoy the rest of your dinner. The chocolate cake is to die for.’’
She left them and walked as far as the entrance with Mike. He continued on out the door, and she used her key to enter the primate room and crossed over to the lobby. She waved at the security guard on duty and went back to her office. Before she called Garnett, she wrote down the conversation with John Doe Caller, as she named him, as accurately as she remembered. When she finished, she dialed Garnett’s number.
‘‘There was a little miscommunication with the sur veillance guys. When they tapped your phone, they didn’t make arrangements for your cell. What did he want?’’
‘‘I wrote it down. I’ll fax it to your office tonight.’’
‘‘That’d be good. I’ll have it first thing. We’ve hired a profiler to come and take a look at the evidence. He used to work for the FBI. Supposed to be real good. He’ll want to talk to you.’’
‘‘Sure.’’ It appeared to Diane that Chief Garnett had taken over the sheriff’s case. As she hung up the phone, she wondered how Braden felt about that. He couldn’t mind too much; he’d allowed it.
It wasn’t as late as she feared it might be when she finally left for home. She’d still get a good night’s sleep and have time to get up early and exercise. Sev eral people were working late—not just the security and custodial staff. She saw three of her curators’ cars in the parking lot. And of course, the cluster of cars belonging to restaurant patrons. When she unlocked her car and her dome light came on, she automatically checked the seat, expecting to see another gift, but both the front and backseat were empty. She got in the car and drove to her apartment building. As she pulled into her regular parking space at the curb under the limbs of a large overhanging tree and turned off her car lights, her phone rang.
‘‘Hey. It’s Frank. Want some company tonight?’’
‘‘Frank, I’d love...’’
Crack!
At first Diane thought someone had fired a gun. A moment later when she saw the crack in her window, she thought a limb had fallen on the windshield. A split second after that, another crack shattered the windshield. She saw a dark shadow wielding a base ball bat.

Chapter 28
    Diane recoiled reflexively from the banging on her car that rang like gunshots inside her head. He was now outside her driver’s side door, flailing with a baseball bat against her window. Guttural sounds—like some moaning, barking, struggling animal—came from his throat. The end of the bat crashed through the shat tered side window. Diane dodged forward in her seat and screamed at Frank to call the police. She still held the car key in her clenched fist. Put the key in the ignition.
    She tried repeatedly with her shaking fingers to in sert the key in the slot in the steering column but kept missing it in the dark. He shoved the bat through the hole in the window again, missing her head but strik ing a painful glancing blow off her left shoulder. She saw another thrust coming, ducked low in the seat to avoid it, and dropped the key somewhere in the dark. She ran her hand over the floor searching, trying to hold back the fear inside her. Under the accelerator her fingers touched the plastic remote. She clutched it and pressed the red panic button. The persistent blar ing horn added to the frenzy, and she had to remind herself that it was on her side.
    ‘‘Where are you?’’ She heard Frank’s voice shouting from the phone that now lay on the passenger’s side floor.
    ‘‘Home,’’ she yelled, jerking open the glove com partment, looking for anything that might be a weapon. ‘‘Inside my car.’’
    A gloved hand reached through the hole in the win dow, feeling for the door handle. She grabbed at