Dead Past

head.”
    “Could his father have heard the shot? Is that what woke him up?” said Diane.
    “Then why didn’t it wake the entire community? The sound of gunfire carries very well over water. We think maybe the killer used a silencer.”
    “Silencer. OK. Then it was premeditated. A hit maybe?”
    “I’m thinking that. Someone he was involved with lured him out of the house in the middle of the night and shot him in the boathouse. The boathouse is open on the water end. The killer could have ridden up in a boat, tapped him, and left.”
    “Wouldn’t the motor wake everyone up?”
    “One would think. The police are canvassing the neighborhood.”
    “Was there anything on the body? What was he carrying?”
    “He was dressed in sweatpants, sweatshirt, and a coat. He had keys to the house and car in his coat pocket. He had no money, billfold, or credit cards. Those were in his room. Neva found a silver charm of a ballerina slipper on the dock. His parents didn’t recognize it. I don’t think he was expecting to go anywhere but outside for a minute or two. He put on his shoes without socks—in this cold weather.”
    “It looks like a hit. The meth lab connection looks like the best bet,” said Diane.
    “That’s what Garnett thinks. Of course, his mother thinks it was you.”
    “Why?” asked Diane.
    “Neva says she just wants it to be you.”
    “Anything else?”
    “His father recently cut off the kid’s funds after the kid wrecked the father’s car—it was a 1965 Jaguar. Personally, I would have cut off his nose for that. Anyway, Blake still had plenty of spending money.”
    “Did he have a job?”
    “Are you kidding? No. He was a perpetual student at Bartram. He got good grades, but went from major to major, never getting enough hours in any one department to graduate. He seemed to like the collegiate life.”
    “That sounds like he may have been dealing to students.”
    “I thought so, so does Garnett, but so far they haven’t found any evidence of it.”
    “What does the drug unit say?”
    “Not much. They are new, you know. Our esteemed city councilman turned the unit upside down, like he’s trying to do with the rest of the department. Most of the guys working drugs for any length of time moved on. The people there now are just newbies.”
    “Curiouser and curiouser,” said Diane. “OK, so the best bet seems a drug-related hit.”
    David started to answer when Neva, who looked like she hadn’t slept in a couple of days, entered, escorting Chief Garnett. The osteology lab was actually a part of the museum and it had a digital lock on the door. Diane’s staff knew the combination, but visitors had to be escorted. Diane’s office door was open and he entered. Neva waved and left.
    Garnett sat down in a stuffed leather chair that matched the couch where David sat.
    “I didn’t expect to see you today,” said Diane. “Is there a break in one of the cases?”
    He cleared his throat. “Diane,” he said, “can you give me a rundown on your activities this morning?”

Chapter 25

    Diane stared at Garnett for a very long moment.
    “You want to know my activities this morning? What happened? Did someone kill Mrs. Stanton?”
    “This isn’t a joke,” he said.
    And indeed from the look on his face, he wasn’t in a humorous mood. But Diane hadn’t been joking.
    “I can see that. I’ve been here all morning. What happened?”
    “Marcus McNair was murdered this morning while he was jogging.”
    Diane opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. David sat up straight on the sofa, equally speechless. After a moment Diane found her voice.
    “McNair, murdered? My God, what is happening? We have very few murders in Rosewood, and now suddenly in less than a week we meet our annual quota?”
    “I need to give the commissioner and Councilman Adler your alibi. I don’t think the commissioner actually thinks you are guilty, but as far as the councilman is concerned, you are now a suspect in two cases.”
    “Well, hell. OK, after working the Cipriano crime scene until three a.m, I took a nasty phone call from Mrs. Stanton about how she was going to stalk me for the rest of my life. I went to sleep and got up at seven. I had a cold shower to wake me up, ate a bowl of cereal and went outside to go to work, and found my car decorated with KILLER, MURDERER, BITCH, and WHORE written all over it in red spray paint.”
    “What?” said Garnett. “Who?”
    “I’m thinking Mrs.