Dead Secret

ornate mirror on the wall. She turned toward the doorway. “Can we help you, Mr. Lamont?”
    “We were wondering when you will be finished.”
    “Sir,” said Diane, walking over to him, leading him out into the hallway, “I’m sorry, but you can’t be here while we are processing the scene. My team is working as quickly as they can.”
    His eyes darted around the hallway. He appeared to her as if he was looking for an escape hatch.
    “If my grandmother confessed . . . I mean, do you really have to continue?”
    “We are required to collect the evidence from the scene of the crime, regardless. But she didn’t confess.”
    “What? I thought that was what you were discussing,” Robert Lamont said.
    “What were you talking about?” Steven Taggart came in, his brows knitted together, a polished look of concern on his face. “I know you are just doing your jobs, but my attorney tells me that anything my mother said to you is not admissible. She is an elderly woman. . . . This has been hard on her.”
    “That’s true,” said Steven’s lawyer, coming in behind him. “You can’t use any of it in court.”
    Rosemary’s daughter, Dahlia Lamont, appeared in the large hallway. She looked like her mother—same bone structure, same build. Diane knew she was sixty-three, based on what Rosemary had told her about being pregnant when Dale Russell disappeared, but she looked older, too old to have a son in his thirties. Being the bastard daughter hadn’t been easy on her, even if she hadn’t known that she wasn’t Emmett’s biological daughter. Emmett knew and Diane guessed he made her feel it, if not know it.
    “What is this about?” asked Dahlia. “What did Mother—”
    “Don’t say anything,” said Steven through his teeth. “Just shut up.”
    “Uncle Steven,” said Robert. He could clench his teeth as well as his uncle.
    “Of course, I’m just distraught,” Steven said. “I’m sorry, Dahlia. I’m sure you are distraught too. I just didn’t want you to say anything the police technicians might misunderstand. We can have a family meeting when they are out of here.” He looked at Diane as if she were a houseguest who couldn’t take a hint.
    “Mr. Taggart, your mother said little to me. She isn’t a stupid woman. She knew exactly what she wanted: information. She may be elderly, but she is not frail, nor is her mind diminished in any way, so you needn’t worry about what she may have said. We’ll get out of your house as soon as we can.”
    A young woman dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase came in holding an official-looking document. Garnett came in with her. He shrugged at Diane.
    Steven’s lawyer looked briefly at the document. “You’ll leave now,” he said. “I have a court order stopping this invasion of privacy. You have your photographs and the samples you need. Get out and leave the family alone.”
    Diane read over the document. It said that once they had inspected the scene in the immediate vicinity around the desk where the victim was found, they had to leave in a reasonable time. She had never seen anything like this. She wasn’t even sure it was legal, but in the time it would take her to challenge it, the family would have a chance to get rid of anything incriminating. Her cheeks flushed with anger. Amazing, she thought, what money will buy. She looked at the judge’s name and noted it for future reference.
    “Very well. David, Neva.” Diane motioned toward the door. They came walking out of the study with a camera and an evidence bag.
    “I need to see that,” the lawyer said.
    Neva pulled the evidence bag back away from the lawyer’s reach. “It’s a sample of blood spatter,” she said.
    “That’s evidence of the crime, collected under legal authority,” said Diane. “It has to remain in the chain of custody. No one but members of the crime scene unit can touch it until it is processed. I’m sure you know that.”
    “What about the case?” said the lawyer, indicating the forensic kit.
    “What about it?” said David. He opened it and showed the various collection paraphernalia. “What’s going on?”
    “Just making sure you follow the warrant,” the lawyer said. “The new one that restricts your collection of evidence to what you find around the desk.”
    David raised a hand. “That’s all we had time to search—around the desk and the area of the rug immediately where Mr. Taggart was shot. But is it not proper procedure to search