One Grave Less

Gregory to perhaps clear the man she had hated all this time.
    “Yes, yes, it was Santos. But was there something else involved too? Could he have been doing a favor for someone?” said Gregory.
    “That’s what Simone said: ‘It was one of us.’ I’ve been pushing that to the back of my mind every time I think about it. Damn it to hell, if that’s true.”
    Diane was silent for a long time.
    “How do we find out if it’s true?” she asked.
    She felt helpless. As if this would be important to Ariel’s memory to find the whole truth and she wasn’t up to it—just as she hadn’t been up to protecting Ariel. She suddenly felt like crying.
    Gregory stood. “I’m going to see Simone’s family. I’ll come back with answers.”
    Diane locked the door to Gregory’s office behind them. The two of them threaded their way through David’s maze of equipment. She wondered what he was working on. She wondered if she should ask. On the way up to the first floor she gave Gregory the keys to her SUV. He had a lot of experience driving in the United States, so she wasn’t worried that he would run into someone by driving on the wrong side of the road.
    On the way to her office she met Chief of Detectives Douglas Garnett.
    “Just the person I was looking for.” He smiled. “Did you know there is an international warrant out for your arrest?”

Chapter 27
    Diane eyed Chief Garnett. He didn’t look like a man who was about to take her into custody.
    “I just found out,” she said. “Gregory Lincoln called a contact we have at Interpol about it.” She walked across the lobby with him, threading through the visitors, heading for her museum office.
    “You have an airtight alibi—I saw you here yesterday.” He laughed. “Detective Warrick is trying to track down that town—Río something. It looks like they may not have telephone service. Strange that they seem to be connected to Interpol.”
    “I think someone picked a place on a map and hacked it into Interpol’s system. I doubt the village even has a police force.”
    As they walked, Diane noticed a few people looking at her, then turning quickly away. She didn’t think much about it until a docent did the same thing. Odd. But people are probably hearing about Madge , she thought.
    “You and your British friend got any ideas what this is about?” Garnett said. “I hate having my people spend their time tracking down places that aren’t there.”
    “Not a clue, so far. But Gregory is good at this,” said Diane. She sighed, exhaling slowly. “What about Madge? Any news?”
    “It’s early,” he said. “I doubt Lynn has had time to start on the autopsy.”
    “I know. It’s just, well, so terrible, and so sad,” she said.
    They walked through the double doors into the administrative wing of the museum and down the hall to her office.
    “The Interpol thing, is that what you came here about?” said Diane.
    “Yes. Goose chase that it is, I have to follow through and do the paperwork. It’s a nuisance I could do without. But at least I can say I see the woman every day; she hasn’t had time to go to Brazil for a hit.”
    Diane entered through Andie’s office. Andie was hard at work answering the telephone. All lines were ringing off the hook.
    “What’s going on?” asked Diane. “Are these questions about Madge?”
    Andie looked up at her with wide, harassed eyes. Her reddish übercurled hair added to the hassled look.
    “Dr. Fallon, this is just awful. I’ve asked Liam to look into it. I hope you don’t mind. I know you have resources—really, really good ones—but it never hurts to have help . . . a lot of it.”
    Liam was Andie’s detective boyfriend. Diane couldn’t imagine what she had him looking into—obviously not Madge’s death. Andie wouldn’t have taken such a giant step as that without permission from Diane.
    “Slow down, Andie, and take a breath. What’s this about?” said Diane.
    “The news,” she said. “What everyone is calling about.”
    Andie clicked several keys on her computer keyboard and turned her monitor around so Diane could see it.
    “This is the Atlanta news feed,” said Andie.
    The local reporter, an attractive woman with brown hair, wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella, was standing in front of the Rosewood Police Station in the drizzling rain. Diane’s driver’s license picture, looking for all the world like a mug shot, was in the corner of the screen. Diane recognized Pris