The mayor, Diane thought. She wondered why a little break-in at the museum rated the mayor’s assistance.
Chapter 17
One of the policemen was Izzy Wallace, whom she’d met the evening before. The other one she had caught a glimpse of on the porch when he came with Izzy to the Boone house.
Diane had an uneasy feeling in her gut, but didn’t know why. Something about Izzy’s demeanor the previous evening and the mayor’s expression now.
“Will you develop this, Korey?” Diane handed him the camera and slipped the fingerprint card in the pocket of her blazer. “Chanell, take the fingerprint kit back to the office, please.”
“Sure, Dr. Fallon.”
Diane washed her hands at the sink and turned to greet the police. “Thanks for coming.” She held out her hand.
“Nice to see you again,” said Izzy, giving her hand a firm shake.
“How’s your guest?” asked Diane.
“Not a happy camper, but at least he’s tucked away safe and sound.”
Izzy was courteous, but not friendly. She turned to the mayor.
“Mayor Sutton, nice of you to come visit the museum,” she said, taking his offered hand. His handshake was a little too hard to be polite. He’d have to work on it if he wanted to campaign for governor.
“I thought it would be a good time to meet you,” the mayor said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your. . event the other evening. Pressing matters. But perhaps we can talk now, privately.”
“Of course. Korey, fill the policemen in on the break-in.”
She started to escort the mayor to Korey’s office, but it had a large window open to the lab.
“This way,” she said, and they stepped out into the hallway.
As they emerged into the hallway, an older man, about five foot seven, if he weren’t slightly stooped in the shoulders, stopped to greet her. “Dr. Fallon. I wanted to thank you for the opportunity to work here.” With his white hair, bushy eyebrows, toothbrush moustache and crystal blue eyes he might have been a wizard dressed up in modern, albeit well-worn clothes.
“Jonas Briggs.” Diane clasped his outstretched hands in hers. “My pleasure. This is-”
“Mayor Walter Sutton,” Jonas said. “Yes, we’ve met, after a fashion. Crossed verbal swords in the city council meetings. Democracy is a wonderful thing, don’t you think, Mayor?”
The expression on the mayor’s face suggested that he didn’t think democracy was wonderful at all. “Yes, yes,” he muttered.
“Jonas, may I use your office?” she asked.
“Certainly. It’s unlocked. I was just going to the staff lounge. Introduce myself to some of the people in the museum here.”
Jonas Briggs looked like a man who had found a home.
“His office is on this floor,” Diane told the mayor. “We’ll use it, rather than going downstairs to mine.”
Jonas’ office was across from the archaeology exhibits, the smallest section in the museum. In the back of his office was a small workroom. Through its open doorway Diane could see pieces of broken pottery sitting on worktables.
In his outer office he had already moved in large bookcases and filled them to capacity with his books. On the wall were enlarged photographs of archaeological excavations. From their dress, the archaeology crew looked like they were from the thirties. In one corner of the room was a table flanked by two stuffed chairs. A Staunton sandalwood chessboard was set up on the table and a painting of bold, bright slashes of color hung on the wall.
Diane sat behind the desk and indicated one of the stuffed chairs for the mayor.
“What is it you want to talk about?” she said as he pulled the chair nearer the desk and sat down and leaned forward, resting both elbows on the arms of the chair. If Jonas was a wizard, the mayor was a toad.
“I’m going to be blunt, Ms. Fallon. I believe in speaking plainly and getting to the point. It saves time, and time is money.”
“Please do, Mr. Sutton.”
He twisted and sat half upright. His frown deepened and he stared hard at her. She kept a pleasant expression on her face and held his stare. She was tempted to ask him if this was a contest.
“There are two things I want to talk with you about. First, it has come to my attention that you are interfering in police business.”
Come to my attention was an unpleasant weasel phrase that annoyed Diane. She raised her brow and cocked her head. “I believe you’re misinformed.”
“Misinformed?” He leaned forward. “I have this from the police chief himself.”
“He is misinformed.”
“Let’s not dance around this, Ms. Fallon. You were seen by two policemen at a crime scene-the George Boone house.”
“Detective Janice Warrick had released the house before I was asked to take a look at it. As far as the detectives were concerned, it was no longer a crime scene.”
“You were asked there by an Atlanta detective who has absolutely no jurisdiction in the case.”
Diane was beginning to wonder just how good a friend Izzy Wallace was to Frank. “Again, you have been misinformed.”
“Frank Duncan is an Atlanta detective. He’s in the fraud division, not even homicide. He has absolutely no business interfering in a Rosewood matter.”
Walter Sutton leaned farther forward and placed a hand on the desk. For a moment, Diane thought he was going to pound it. She had never met the mayor and was becoming increasingly puzzled by his hostility. She’d learned from her friend Gregory that you only show anger in diplomacy when it gives you an advantage, and that most of the time, calm in the face of anger gives you the most advantage-so Diane remained outwardly calm.
“Mr. Sutton. Frank Duncan is executor of Louise and George Boone’s will. He is now, on their deaths, guardian of their minor daughter-who has been arrested for murder. It is most certainly his business to protect her interests and secure for her a defense. I’m shocked that you would think otherwise. A responsibility of that nature is a sacred trust.”
The mayor glared a moment before he settled back on the seat of the chair. “There’s another matter that’s of the utmost importance to this community.”
Diane knew what was coming and she almost laughed. Instead she picked up a pencil lying on the desk. Another of Gregory’s little bits of wisdom: Put a desk between you and the subject and trifle with a writing instrument. It works mainly in Western cultures, he had told her. There are so many authority figures that it’s subconsciously associated with-teachers, principals, doctors, psychiatrists, lawyers. . just one more little thing that can give you a psychological edge.
“And what would that matter be?” she asked, absently rolling the pencil between her palms.
The mayor shifted in his seat.
“We’ve been working hard to build a community with a strong economic base,” said the mayor, straightening up in the stuffed chair.
“I know,” said Diane. “We at the museum are proud to have contributed to that base by being able to hire more than a hundred employees, not to mention offering two business opportunities-the restaurant and the museum shop-to local entrepreneurs. And, of course, there are our liaisons with the local schools, technical colleges and university.”
“Yes, well, there’s an opportunity to enhance the museum’s contribution.” By getting us to fall on our sword, thought Diane. “I understand,” the mayor continued, “that you have refused to consider an opportunity that would not only be good for the museum, but bring much-needed jobs to the community.”
“Mr. Sutton. You have me completely bewildered. You came in here under the impression that I was interfering in police business. However mistaken that impression was, you were correct in condemning that as inappropriate behavior. So you can see why I’m now puzzled that you’re interfering in museum business, which is my business.”