Dead Guilty Part 32

"Thanks. We appreciate this."

One of the policeman walked her to her apartment, apologizing along the way. "Jim and I are just really sorry about the mix-up last night."

"This whole business has all of us baffled," said Diane. "I appreciate your being here."

He walked with her inside and to the stairs before going back to his car. Diane decided that there may be something to the theory about getting to a man's heart through his stomach.

She walked up to her apartment and went in. It was stuffy. She hated running the air-conditioning when she wasn't there, but this wasn't good either. She turned on the air and went to the bedroom, changed and settled into bed.

She was almost asleep when a voice out of the dark ness said, "I really want to talk to you."

Chapter 36.

Diane didn't realize she had shot out of bed until she was halfway out her bedroom door. She made it to the front door and grabbed at the safety latch. Too slow. He grabbed her from behind and held her in a tight grip. She got out half a scream before a hand clamped over her mouth.

"I just want to talk. I'm not going to hurt you."

Diane kicked, but with bare feet she did little dam age. Dammit, I'm stronger than this. Dammit, I'm stronger than this. She wrenched her body around, throwing them both to the floor. She hit her head on the hard floor, stunning her for a second, but her body was on automatic. She scrambled to her feet and raced for the bedroom, intending to lock her self in and call 911. But he was too fast. Before she could close the door, he hit it with enough force to knock her backward. She fell to the floor and rolled under the bed. She wrenched her body around, throwing them both to the floor. She hit her head on the hard floor, stunning her for a second, but her body was on automatic. She scrambled to her feet and raced for the bedroom, intending to lock her self in and call 911. But he was too fast. Before she could close the door, he hit it with enough force to knock her backward. She fell to the floor and rolled under the bed.

She saw the shadow of him on his knees grabbing for her, sliding under the bed after her. She rolled out, got to her feet, grabbed the radio on her nightstand and brought it down on his head as he crawled out from under the bed.

His struggle to rise was hampered by still being half under the bed. She hit him again, harder, dropped the radio and ran. The safety was unlatched from her first attempt at escape so all she had to do was turn the locks and bolt from her apartment. As she ran down the stairs, she hoped the police hadn't decided they had to go somewhere else. She ran down the walk and into the street, each step hurting her bare feet. Half way across the street the police saw her.

"What is it?" they shouted.

"He's in my apartment."

"Stay here." They jumped from the car and Diane climbed in the backseat, breathing hard. Bile rose up in her throat and she felt sick to her stomach.

Diane wore a fleece short-sleeved nightshirt that came halfway between her knees and thighs. The last place she wanted to be was in the back of an unmarked police car dressed in sleepwear. d.a.m.n him.

A gunshot echoed through the air. Oh, G.o.d. She put a hand on the door and started to open it, then stopped. She was still undecided on whether to get out. One of the policemen came running.

"We got him. An ambulance is coming, but I'm not sure he'll make it."

Diane felt sick all over again. "Can he talk?"

"He's in and out."

"I need to ask him some questions."

"I don't know."

"In case he dies, I need to ask him some questions."

"Okay. I suppose it's all right. You are a member of the department, after all."

Diane thought he'd like to add a rather troublesome member a rather troublesome member. She ran back up to her apartment, where the other policeman had a towel on the intruder's chest. Diane knelt down by his side. "Can you hear me?"

"Just wanted talk. Not a murderer. Exec . . ." His breathing was labored and he started to cough. "Can't trust the police." He closed his eyes and lapsed into unconsciousness.

He was still alive but unconscious when the ambu lance came and took him to the hospital. Diane sat on her couch in a pair of jeans and the nightshirt, waiting for the police to ask her questions. When she came back to her apartment, she'd pa.s.sed her landlady and several of her neighbors, including the Odells across the hall. She wondered if it was time to look for another place to live before she was asked to leave.

She was ministering to cuts on her feet when Garnett arrived. "You need medical?" he asked.

"Just a few cuts on the soles of my feet. How's the officer who shot . . ." She let the question trail off.

"He's all right. A shooting's always hard. He thought the guy was drawing a gun. It turned out it was his cell phone. Can you tell me what happened?"

Diane told him about going to bed and hearing the voice just as she was about to fall asleep. She told about the struggle as best she remembered and about hitting him in the head with the radio.

"I talked to him after he was shot. He said he just wanted to talk, that he wasn't a murderer."

Garnett shook his head. "Think he's our guy?"

"I don't know. He may be just a stalker."

"You can't come in here." The voice was from a policeman outside her door.

"Tell Dr. Fallon that Frank Duncan is here."

Diane recognized the calm voice even through the door.

"Ask them to let him in," she said.

Garnett obliged, and Frank came in and sat down beside Diane, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"What on earth happened?"

Garnett explained while Diane put a couple more Band-Aids on her feet.

"Is he the guy who attacked you last night?" asked Frank.

"I don't know," said Diane. "How did you know something happened?"

"Izzy called. I think he's trying to make up for being a horse's a.s.s. Get some clothes and come spend the night at my house."

Diane nodded. That sounded safe. She was sure her neighbors would feel safer if she were gone. Her new est neighbors must think this kind of thing happened to her every night.

As she left, Veda Odell, the neighbor across the hall, stuck her head out. "Marvin says he'd rather have a load of cats living next door than you."

"Mrs. Odell," said Diane. "I can't say as I blame him."

Diane called Garnett the next morning from the crime lab the minute she arrived. "What's his status?"

"Critical. He seems to be hanging in there. Hasn't been conscious for more than a few minutes at a time. Won't talk when he is."

"Do you know who he is?"

"He had no identification on him. We found what we believe is his vehicle. Stolen plates, no registration. And like I said, he isn't talking. We're sending you a copy of his fingerprints."

"Here they are now."

David stood in front of her with an envelope in his hand. David, Jin and Neva had been hanging around her desk as if she might disappear if they looked away for a moment. Jin was stretched out on the sofa. Neva perched on the edge of one of the chairs.

"These are fingerprints of the guy who came into my apartment last night. Check them against all our crime scene prints and every fingerprint database we have access to. We need a match if there's one out there."

"I'll get on it," said David. "I've just installed a new identification algorithm. I'm anxious to try it out."

"Jin. Find out how the GBI is doing with the shed hair project." She took a key off her key chain. "Go to my apartment and get some of his blood off my floor or on the towel they used to cover the wound, and take it with you to Atlanta. See if we can match it."

"Neva." Diane picked up a piece of paper from her desk. "This report from the bone samples came back yesterday. All of our victims grew up in the northeast ern United States. Sheriff Braden isn't having any luck with missing persons. I want you to scan your drawings and save them as graphic files, JPEG, GIF, whatever works best on the Internet. I want you to locate a professional list serve, discussion board or whatever it's called for plastic surgeons. Post the drawings of Blue and Green Doe, and see if anyone recognizes either of them. Mention where they grew up, Green's heart condition and Blue's tattoo of a b.u.t.terfly on her ankle."

"I could do the same thing with the tattoos," said Neva. "Look for a discussion board about tattoos. Might get something."

"Good idea. Okay, guys, you have your a.s.sign ments." Diane stood up. "I'm going to be working in the museum if you need me."

"You seem hyper today," said David.

"Hand-to-hand combat does that to you."

"You weren't hurt, were you?" he asked.

"I'm fine. When I finally got to a safe bed, I got a good night's sleep."

"You've had some reporters calling," said Andie, eying Diane as she came through the office.

"What did you tell them?"

"That I didn't know what the heck they were talk ing about. What the heck were they talking about?"

Diane described the events of the previous evening, trying to make it sound casual, but failing miserably.

"He's in critical condition. Have no idea who he is."

Andie stared at her with her mouth open. "Is that the guy who sent the flowers?"

"Yes."

"How is it that you attract all these weirdos?"

"I have no idea. I'm contemplating hiring someone to steal that interview the TV station has on file so they can't play the d.a.m.n thing again. I thought I was just giving generic answers, but they certainly seemed to set this guy off."

"He was in your bedroom all the while?"

"Apparently so."

"That's creepy, not to mention scary."

"I'm going to get some work done. I want only museum business calls. Send all reporters to the police for information."

"Dr. F." Korey stood in the doorway. "I've got something you need to see."

"What's that?"

"It's up in the conservation room."

Diane nodded. "Sure."

She walked with Korey to the conservation lab lo cated on the second floor.

"How did our mummy fare on his outing?" she asked.

"He did fine. When we got him back, I went back in with the endoscope and took a sample of the tumor. That ought to be interesting."

Diane quickened her pace.

"You have the amulets up there?"

"Sure do. Great stuff. You haven't seen them?"

"No, and I would like to."

Korey grinned. "You're going to like this, then."

Mike Seger was in the conservation room looking at the amulets when Diane arrived.

"You tell her what you found?"

"Not yet. She wanted to see the amulets first."

"This sounds mysterious." Diane stopped at a table where twenty-one Egyptian artifacts were laid out on a piece of batting. "These are absolutely lovely."

They were small. The largest piece was a scarab about four inches long. Each piece had a card next to it saying what it was and what materials it was made from.

The scarab was alabaster and probably had been over his heart. Several small fish figurines made of alabaster and lapis lazuli lay in two rows. An in scribed cylinder of sandstone had the name Senusret III written on it, according to the card. There was another row figure made SHABTIS.

of several limestone figurines and a of black steat.i.te that was labeled "That's a Get Out of Work Free card for the after life," said Korey, as Diane picked up the shabtis and turned it over in her hand. "According to Jonas, the writing on the back is a spell to let the person send the shabtis in his place if he was ever asked to do work. It seems that's what the rich folk did in life too. When there was mandatory work to be done, they could send in a sub. The work they were opting out of was the hard labor variety. Seems that ancient Egypt had a big public works program. Very useful when the Nile flooded."

Two figures lying next pottery. colored glazed FAIENCE."