One Grave Too Many

the recent court decisions. There’s a good chance they can get enough points of comparison by using another expert.”
    “Damn, this isn’t happening.” Dylan slammed his fist on the table. “This isn’t happening.”
    “Son, it’s not happening. I can fix this. I can make everything right. You can come out of this and the rest of your life will be good. I promise.”
    “Listen to yourself, Jake,” said Diane. “You’re a cop. You’ve seen killers before. He’s a killer.”
    “No. He was just defending himself. Everything he did was tied to that one mishap. It won’t happen again.”
    “Jake....”
    “Dammit, he’s my son.”
    Diane glanced at Dylan. He’d quit listening to his father. His eyes were darting back and forth, searching for some way out.
    Diane wondered at the wisdom of talking about the fingerprints. This wasn’t going exactly as planned. She wasn’t counting on Dylan being such a loose cannon. But why not? she asked herself. He’s already killed four people. It would have been five if Frank had died.
    The plan was straightforward. Everything was being monitored and recorded through a device in the vault. The sheriff and deputies were less than a thousand feet away, sitting in their cars in the museum garage, listening. As soon as the incriminating statements were made, they were supposed to be there to make the arrest. A simple, elegant plan. Vanessa thought so anyway. It was Diane’s version of a queen sacrifice, in which she was the queen. It was good on paper. She’d convinced the sheriff it would work.
    If things got a little sticky or out of control, as they now appeared to be heading, she was to use the “safe word,” the word that would summon help immediately. If possible, she was to stay in the vault and lock herself in and wait for the sheriff to arrest them. A simple matter of closing the door. But the execution of it was going awry. With both of them there, she couldn’t figure out how to get them out the door.
    She had no doubt about the part of the plan where they would be caught and arrested. But she feared they would kill her before that happened. She didn’t want it to be a real sacrifice.
    “Son, they can’t do anything with the partial. Besides, I can get it from the property room. It won’t be a problem. Let’s just take the bones and go. She won’t say anything. She’s just been fired from her job here—no one will believe her.”
    “Who fired her?”
    “Old Mrs. Van Ross.”
    “She likes her. Why would she fire her?”
    “She didn’t like the publicity she’s been generating.”
    “The old lady fired her? I don’t think so, Dad. The old lady dotes on her . . . Damn, you said Sheriff Canfield gave you the photographs of the bones and told you she had the real skeleton in the vault after all, that she’d lied to the press.”
    “Yes. Canfield said Janice Warrick wanted to look at the photographs.”
    “Shit, Dad. We’ve been had.”
    Shit is right, thought Diane. She was in trouble now.
    Jake pulled out his gun and pointed it at Diane. “The boy’s right. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Now, I’m sure you’re making a tape somewhere, so give it to me.”
    “Jesus Christ, Jake. Put the gun away. You don’t want my murder on your hands. This other can be handled, but not if you kill me. Think about the road you’re heading down, for Christ’s sake.” There. She’d said the safe words twice. Help should be there in less than a minute.
    Dylan grabbed Diane and ripped her shirt, looking for a wire.
    “It’s not on me,” she held her torn shirt together. “You’re too late. You know how a wire works.”
    “You bitch.”
    “You murderer.” She stepped back and maneuvered behind the table as Dylan tried to slap her. It was then that she noticed his finger was taped up. He was the one who attacked her in front of her apartment. “Guys, give it up. Aidan Kavanagh’s father is already on his way.”
    Dylan froze. Diane used that second to push the heavy table into them. Linc’s words, No heavy lifting, no fights, ran though her brain. Shit, he was going to be mad.
    Dylan and his father were knocked off balance, but not down. Jake fired his gun. Like a funky jack-in-the-box, Korey, wielding a knife, jumped out of a large supply box and lunged onto Dylan, grabbing him around the throat from behind with his arm, holding the knife in the air, ready to strike. Diane was as shocked as Dylan and his father.
    “Drop your gun or so