The Night Killer

around his wife’s shoulders.
    “They didn’t tell me much. You know how they are. They like to tell things in person,” said Spence. “They only said he was taken to the hospital in Rosewood. I don’t know why here and not Helen.”
    The three of them looked at one another for a moment, appearing too stunned to know what to do.
    “Rosewood has an especially good trauma center,” said Diane, standing up. “I’ll give you directions.” She fetched paper and pen from an end table drawer and began writing directions to get them from the museum to the hospital.
    “We appreciate everything,” said Brian. He stood and took the directions from Diane and looked them over.
    “It’s not far,” she said.
    Spence and Christine managed to rise from the sofa. They clung to each other for a moment, as if fearing they were the only family left, trying to draw strength from each other.
    “You say it’s a good hospital?” Christine said to Diane.
    “Yes. I’ve had someone I love in there with a trauma and they did wonders for him,” said Diane.
    “If they took him to Rosewood and not to Helen, then he’s alive,” said Spence, wrinkling his brow, trying to work out the logic. “If he had died, they would have just taken him to the hospital in Helen, wouldn’t they?”
    “I would think so,” said Diane. There’s nothing special about our morgue , she thought to herself.
    “That’s good, that’s good,” whispered Christine, as if saying a quiet prayer.
    Diane walked with them out of her office, down the hallway. Brian held Christine’s hand. Spence walked with Diane.
    “You will help us. Is that what I understood?” said Spence.
    “Yes,” said Diane. “I will do all I can.”
    “We’re thankful,” Christine said. “I just . . . This is just too much.”
    Diane could see she was making an effort not to break down.
    “He’ll be all right,” whispered Brian.
    “I have a short question,” said Diane, as they walked down the hallway of offices. “The killer apparently took a cigar box containing items that belonged to your great-grandfather. It was among your father’s collection in one of the living room display cabinets. Do you know what was in the box?”
    Christine looked at Spence. “Yes, I remember it. Daddy didn’t like us playing with it when we were children, so it was put up, away from little hands. You say the killer took it? It was just rocks and a few marbles. Maybe some doodads from Granddad’s childhood.”
    “Yeah,” said Spence. “Nothing in it valuable. Just stuff a kid collects. I think there was a bottle cap and a pocket-knife too. Why would he have taken it?”
    “Don’t some serial killers take souvenirs?” said Brian.
    “Some do,” said Diane. “But it may also be important for other reasons. I would like to know exactly what was in it,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me now. Just think about it and write down what you remember. And when you can, I would like to talk with you about your parents.”
    Christine nodded and Diane walked them through the lobby, hardly noticing the bustle of activity, and outside to their gray Toyota minivan. Brian opened the door for Christine and she climbed into the passenger side. Spence opened the sliding door and got in. Brian walked around to the driver’s side. He had to wait for the people in the car beside him to get out before he could get in. They weren’t in a hurry as they organized their kids and gave instructions to behave and not to wander off. The woman stopped and combed her daughter’s hair, standing where Brian needed to open his door. Diane was about to politely explain that they had an emergency, when the woman’s husband intervened.
    “Sharon, move out of the man’s way, for God’s sake. He needs to get in his car. Madison’s hair looks fine.”
    The woman looked at Brian as though it were he who had admonished her. Pushing her daughter ahead of her, she moved up on the sidewalk to meet her husband. Brian got in the van, started the engine, and drove away.
    Diane watched them a moment, then walked back inside, ignoring the flood of tourists who had just arrived on a tour bus. Christine was right: This was so unfair.
    Diane didn’t go to her museum office. Instead, she went to the crime lab to check in with David. Izzy was out working on a break- in. Fortunately, crime was slow in Rosewood lately. With Neva on vacation, the lab was shorthanded.
    “Were there any prints on the lipstick?”