Dead Past

gangs wielding baseball bats?
    Diane watched the activity at the police car from the doorway. She wanted to walk over to them and find out who the hell the guy was, but she would just be a distraction. She suddenly wondered what the police car was doing here in the first place. Had someone called them? Were there other problems she didn’t know about?
    For whatever reason, the police were there and she was glad of it. It was clear that one guy would have gotten off at least one blow before her security people reached her.
    She saw another patrol car join the first one and watched as they transferred the prisoner. The perpetrator looked to be about six feet and heavyset. The police had removed his ski mask, but she couldn’t see his face.
    Two policemen from the first car, her rescuers, were walking toward the museum. When they were near enough, she recognized Archie from the morgue tent and Izzy Wallace.
    Dear God, she thought. Izzy wants to talk about his son.
    Diane opened the door wide for them. “Thank God you were here,” she said as they entered the museum.
    “We got one of the guys,” said Archie. “You OK?”
    “Yes. I’m fine. I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the two of you. They were about to do us some real harm, and they really frightened one of my employees.”
    “I need to talk with you,” said Izzy.
    He’d taken his hat off and he held it in his hand. Diane thought of the phrase “hat in hand.” It seemed to fit. Izzy wasn’t someone she got along with, but now he needed something. Something she wasn’t sure she would be able to give.
    “Dr. Price is in my office. Let’s step into the Security office and talk there,” said Diane. They nodded.
    Diane led them through the same double doors that Juliet and the guard had gone through, but Diane headed to Security instead of the Personnel offices. There was a small refrigerator in the office, and she got the three of them bottled water.
    “My boy,” said Izzy, “could you have made a mistake?” He looked at Diane with eyes that pleaded with her to tell him it was a mistake.
    “How . . . ,” began Diane.
    “It wasn’t Archie,” said Izzy hurriedly. “It was someone else. Is it true?”
    “We need to have the DNA results to know for sure,” said Diane. “Right now, we just have the x-rays.”
    “But you could have made a mistake in reading the x-rays,” he said hopefully.
    “Yes, I could have. Dr. Rankin, Dr. Webber, and Dr. Pilgrim also read the x-rays separately, and we all reached the same conclusion.”
    Izzy groaned.
    “We all could be wrong. X-rays are not absolute. That’s why we’re trying for DNA.”
    Izzy shook his head back and forth. “I’d hoped you were wrong. I told Evie you were wrong. But . . . we don’t know where Daniel is. We can’t find him anywhere and it’s not like him to just . . . We’ve looked everywhere. The library, the Student Learning Center, his friends, parks, the movies, the mall.”
    Izzy Wallace put his head in his hands. Diane felt sick at heart. Hers and Archie’s gazes met, and she could see he felt the same helpless sick feeling. Izzy raised his head.
    “Daniel’s a good student. He’s a good boy. He’s going places, not like me. He’s smart, always gets As in school. He’s not a drug user. I’d know. I can tell a drug user.”
    “I know,” said Diane. “I doubt if many of the kids there were.”
    “This is killing Evie. I don’t know what we are going to do. Daniel is our only child.”
    Diane wanted to cry. She could see Archie did, too. How was Rosewood ever going to heal from this?
    “Why couldn’t they get out?” said Izzy.
    “What?” said Diane.
    “Of the house. Why couldn’t they get out? Why didn’t more of them get out?”
    “I’m not sure,” said Diane. “I think that the explosion . . .” She trailed off. “I’m not sure.”
    Izzy uncapped the water and took a sip. The three of them sat there for several minutes, saying nothing. Diane wished she could make this go away. It seemed like an eternity since she was awakened in the middle of the night to the sight of the fire reflected in her photograph of the chambered nautilus.
    “Thanks for seeing me. I just . . .” He fidgeted with his hat. “I just wanted . . .” His lower lip trembled. “I just wanted you to tell me you made a mistake.” He put his head in his hands again and sobbed.
    “Did he suffer?” he said at last.
    “No,” said Diane. She laid a hand on his. “But