The Night Killer

remember exactly what it had looked like when she was there to pick up the artifacts. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a perfect photographic memory. All she could say was that, although the rooms didn’t look tossed by any means, someone had searched for something.
    She took a virtual “walk” around the room, then started a systematic search, enlarging spots of interest. No good clues here like there were in the dining room.
    She toured the room again, grid by grid—looking for drawers pulled out, cabinets opened, something dropped on the floor, stains, anything wrong. On her third pass she noticed something as she examined the hutch where Roy kept his collection of things. A cigar box filled with rocks his grandfather had collected was missing. She remembered it because Ozella mentioned that she’d offered Roy a pretty glass jar so he could see the rocks, but he wanted to keep them in the cigar box where his grandfather had stored them. Pretty glassware couldn’t compete with fond memories , thought Diane.
    The cigar box was not there. In addition, other items had been moved to conceal the space where it had been. She tried to remember the rocks that were in the box. Roy had opened it to show her, but she had merely glanced inside. Nothing had jumped out at her. She had been more interested in getting her business over with before the storm hit. Now she wished she’d paid more attention.

Chapter 17
    Diane was soaking in a bubble bath when Frank got home from Atlanta. He’d called earlier and said he was picking up dinner from a new Polish restaurant he wanted to try.
    “I’m glad to see you weren’t arrested,” he said, swishing his hand in the warm water.
    “I think I came close,” she said. “All in all, it went well with the sheriff, but he wasn’t pleased. He barred me from his county.”
    “His county? He said that, did he?” commented Frank. He bent down and kissed her. “Dinner’s here whenever you’re ready.”
    She sighed and got out of the tub.
    Diane and Frank rarely talked about forensic work over dinner, and never discussed Diane’s crime scene work, which was invariably more gruesome than his fraud cases. They often talked about the museum. When things were going well at RiverTrail, it provided an endless supply of happy conversations. That evening Diane told him about the fossils Kendel and Mike were acquiring from Africa, Kendel’s e-mail saying she bought several large specimens of Archaeopteris macilenta, several insects caught in amber, and a variety of stromatolites.
    “Nothing big, like a brachiosaur. Mostly a collection of plants and insects,” she said.
    She and Frank ate cabbage rolls, potatoes, and Polish cheesecake. They decided the eatery was good enough to be put on their list of preferred restaurants.
    After dinner, curled up on the couch with coffee, Diane told him the details of her visit with the sheriff. She liked cuddling next to Frank, except when she talked about her crime scene work. Somehow, cuddling and gruesomeness at the same time offended her sensibilities. Instead, she tucked her legs under her and leaned sideways against the back of the couch, facing him.
    “Leland Conrad does not seem to know anything about modern technology,” said Diane. “Really, he doesn’t. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was so strange. Rendell County isn’t that far away.”
    Frank looked amused. “A lot of folks are intimidated by new technology, either because they fear they won’t be able to understand it or, like some of the people in Rendell County, they are afraid that it brings with it a window into all manner of wickedness.”
    Diane visualized the population of Rendell County looking into the screen of a computer or cell phone and being greeted by a scene straight from a Hieronymus Bosch painting. She made a face and sipped her coffee.
    “They’re not necessarily wrong. On occasion, technology does bring problems. But it’s not good for someone in Conrad’s position to disdain professional tools and help.” Frank took a drink of his coffee and set the cup down on the coffee table. “Hot,” he murmured. “But like Leland Conrad said, it’s his county. Besides, I’m sure it will all change sooner or later. They’re just lagging behind.”
    “I think his son, Travis, convinced him to let the GBI work the crime scene, but I’ll bet he moved the bodies before they got there,” said Diane. “I have a feeling this is a cunning killer, and