The Night Killer

pathologist available at the scene to determine it right away.”
    “So it’s a study,” said Christine. She didn’t seem too happy about her parents being part of an experiment.
    “Yes, what we learn from them will be used in the larger study. But I am hoping for some information useful specifically in your parents’ case,” said Diane.
    “Even with the sheriff’s bumbling,” said Spence, “you pretty much know the time of death because of the time when you last saw them alive and the time when you returned and found them.”
    “Yes,” said Diane. “We have a time window. But your father died sometime—at least an hour—after your mother. I want to know why.”
    “How do you know?” said Christine.
    “I took pictures with my cell phone camera before I went for help,” said Diane. “I didn’t know if the killer might return and disturb the scene before it could be secured.”
    “And you didn’t expect that Sheriff Conrad would do a good job. I think his reputation as an investigator is well-known. I see your reasoning,” said Spence.
    “How could you tell from photographs?” asked Christine.
    Diane opened her mouth and shut it again. How was she going to word this?
    “Christine, honey,” said Spence. “You are putting Dr. Fallon in a difficult situation. She doesn’t want to talk about our parents using the terms forensic specialists use with the dead. She’ll write a report and I’ll look at it, so you don’t have to. It will be easier that way.”
    Diane nodded. “Sometimes it’s an awfully cold-sounding way to talk about a loved one,” said Diane.
    “I know Mom and Dad would still want to help people, and their research will. Dr. Fallon’s not going to take any more samples than necessary. It’ll be all right,” said Spence.
    Christine nodded and the two of them signed the papers that Diane handed them.
    “You know, you’ll need Joe and Ella Watson to have a second autopsy too,” said Spence.
    “Do you think their children would be willing?” said Diane.
    “Oh, yeah,” said Spence. “We called them to give our condolences, and they are as anxious as we are to find out what happened. They don’t like Sheriff Conrad, but didn’t think there were any choices. They trust Dr. Linden, but I think I can persuade them.”
    “Okay,” said Diane. “That would be very helpful.”
    “We’re going to help all we can,” said Spence. “I’m not convinced that Roy Jr.’s accident isn’t a part of this. If it is, then does that mean it’s not a serial killer? I mean, running somebody off the road isn’t the same as . . . well, you know . . . as what happened to Mom and Dad.”
    “No, it’s not,” agreed Diane. “But I don’t know where it fits.”
    Spence nodded and stood up. “I’ll see to it right now, about Mom and Dad,” he said, looking at the card Diane had given him containing contact information for Lynn Webber, “before the sheriff tries to send them to a funeral home. It’d be like him to pick out a funeral home, send them there, and pretend he was just helping us.”
    Diane left them with mixed feelings. She believed she’d helped Spence by giving him something to do. But Christine didn’t look as if she were comforted at all by Diane’s visit.
    It was good to leave the hospital. Diane hated going there. It sometimes seemed as if it were a regular stop for her. Not just visiting either, but to get care for herself.
    There was a cloud cover and it was getting dark earlier than normal. She put on her brights when she could on the drive home. She still couldn’t shake the nagging feeling she was being followed.
    “This is just silly,” she muttered to herself. “You are really getting to annoy me,” she told herself.
    Still she watched the lights behind her. Everything seemed normal. By the time she turned onto the scenic stretch of highway nearing Frank’s house, people had turned off to go elsewhere and all the headlights behind her had disappeared. She realized that she had let her speed creep up. She relaxed, slowed down, and reached to turn on the radio. With a terrifying crash and a violent jerk sideways, something rammed her from behind.

Chapter 29
    Diane’s head popped back against the headrest; then she was thrown forward against her shoulder strap, knocking the breath out of her, then jerked back against her seat again.
    What . . . the hell? She struggled to recover her breath as a second jolt bounced her vehicle. She gripped the