One Grave Too Many

now.”
    “Look, it was nice of you guys to feed me and all, but . . .” He jumped up from the table. “Gotta go. . . .” he sang as he ran to the front door and threw it open.
    “Hey, young fella, where you going in such a hurry?”
    Diane had jumped up after Dean. Frank followed. A barrel-chested man in a Rosewood policeman’s uniform held Dean by the arm. “Drove by and saw some lights on. Thought something might be going on. Frank Duncan, what are you doing here?”
    “I’m having Dr. Fallon take a look at the crime scene.”
    “Is that a fact? This young fella here helping?”
    “He was on his way to turn himself in,” said Frank.
    “Was he now? In a bit of a hurry to do that, it seems. What’s he doing here?”
    Frank shrugged. “Looking for some kind of help, I suppose. We’ve been having a late meal.” Frank pointed from the foyer into the dining room. “And he’s been telling us about where he’s been and how he’d like to clear all this up. Weren’t you, son?”
    “Sure.”
    “Well, then, we’ll go, and you can tell the detectives why you and your girlfriend were trying to sell her parents’ coin collection.”
    Dean looked at Diane and Frank. Diane guessed he wasn’t sure whether or not to go along with what Frank had said or to protest. He looked at Diane again and she held his gaze, cocking an eyebrow, silently reminding him of the butcher knife and his attack on her. Dean’s shoulders sagged, and the policeman led him away without protest.
    Diane didn’t say anything until Frank had closed and locked the door. “You called the police when you went to get the aspirin, didn’t you?”
    Frank nodded. “That was Izzy Wallace. I knew he was on duty. I called his cell phone so I’d get through quickly and told him to come in about fifteen minutes. I knew the little punk wasn’t going to give himself up.”
    “What did I just witness? Your version of good cop, bad cop?”
    “Yeah. I told Izzy I want to remain on good terms with the kid if I can.” He smiled and motioned toward the dining room. “I brought some apple turnovers I was saving from that little bio-vac. Now that he’s gone, why don’t we have them with some coffee?
    “Sure. Then I have to get back to work.”
    They sat down and Frank fished out the apple turnovers and poured two cups of coffee in a couple of Styrofoam cups.
    “I wonder how he got in here. I’ll have to look for a key to the back door. The little creep may have pocketed it.”
    “He came in through the basement,” said Diane. “Did you see his clothes?”
    “Ah, I’ll bet you’re right. I’ll have to secure the windows. Very observant of you.”
    “Look for any bones while you’re down there. You might check the garage too. If both Jay and his father got the bone from a pile, Jay might have taken some more he thought were cool. We might get a clue as to where they came from.”
    “Good thinking. I’m glad you’re working on all cylinders this late.”
    “I was refreshed by the adrenaline rush I got from Dean.”
    “How did you find him?”
    “He surprised me upstairs. Knocked me on my ass and threatened me with a knife.”
    Diane said it so calmly it took Frank a second to respond. When he did, it came out as an explosion.
    “What! Why didn’t you say something?”
    “I thought he had a lack of resolve.”
    “Lack of resolve? Are you crazy? The kid’s probably on or coming off drugs, and he’s desperate. You can’t take chances like that.”
    “Like what? We were alone in the house. He had a knife. I talked him down. Was that dangerous? Yes. However, I didn’t really have a choice.”
    “You should have said something to me.”
    “He was disarmed. I thought we might get some information from him. As it was, he didn’t know anything. Or won’t tell. The knife’s up in the guest room on the dresser, if you would like to have a look, get some prints or something.” Diane took the last bite of her pastry, wiped her hands on a napkin and stood up. “If you clear up our trash, I’ll water these plants. Then I have to get back upstairs.”

Chapter 16
    The sun had been up a couple of hours when Diane finished. The last thing she did was to collect blood samples. She had photographed, drawn and diagramed the impact and cast-off spatters. She had measured and located the point of origin of the medium-impact spatters, so that now the trajectory string displayed an eerie blow-by-blow scene of the events that took away