Dust to Dust by Beverly Connor Page B

museum is picking it up. I spoke with her today. She called the house. She wanted to stay there, but I thought with the blood on the floor and all the fingerprint powder, it would be easier if they stayed closer to town. It’s also near the hospital.”
    “That’s good of you,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I’m sure Marcella will appreciate it,” he said.
    “Drive safely,” said Diane.
    Jonas nodded and got in his car. It wasn’t until he drove away that she realized what he had said in the interrogation room about seeing the paintings over the sofa. When she and her crew were in the house, there weren’t any paintings over the sofa.

Chapter 8
    Diane walked back into the police station, past the reception area, past the detectives’ desks, to Garnett’s office. She could see through the window in the door that he was meeting with Detective Hanks. She knocked and entered when Hanks opened the door.
    Douglas Garnett had a no-nonsense, no-frills office. The chairs were faux leather and chrome; his desk was gray metal. A long, wood conference table surrounded with wooden chairs sat off to the side. The tan walls were decorated with an array of diplomas, awards, framed newspaper clippings, and photographs of Garnett shaking hands with many politicians from around Georgia.
    He rose when she entered and waved her to a chair opposite Hanks. The two of them sat back down when she did. Hanks stared at her. It wasn’t exactly daggers coming out of his eyes, but his gaze wasn’t particularly friendly either. Despite what he may have felt, he was having a hard time looking aggressive in his neck brace and with his arm in a sling.
    “I was just telling Chief Garnett I don’t want you interfering in my case,” said Hanks.
    “Have I interfered?” asked Diane.
    “You’re here. What’s the purpose of that?” he asked.
    “Just observing,” said Diane. “Comparing witness testimony with evidence gathered from the crime scene. I came back in because of something Jonas said during your interview that may be of importance.”
    Hanks sat up straight and leaned forward. “What was that?” he asked.
    At least he was eager for any information he could get from her. Diane was glad of that.
    “Jonas said that when he arrived at the house, his headlights shined in the window and he could see paintings over the sofa. When my team and I were in the house, there were no paintings over the sofa. I only just a moment ago realized what I’d heard or I’d have mentioned it before he left for the airport.”
    Hanks’ expression changed to one less suspicious of her intentions. “Were the paintings stolen? When? I wonder if Briggs remembers if they were there when he was in the house. Can you call him? Do you have his cell number?” asked Hanks.
    Diane fished her cell from her pocket and called Jonas.
    “Diane, what’s up? Nothing else happened did it, this soon?” Jonas asked.
    “No. Just a question. When you were in the house with Marcella, did you notice anything about the paintings over the sofa, the ones you saw in your headlights a few minutes before?”
    “Not that I remember. Let me think.” Jonas was quiet for a long moment.
    Diane thought he might have entered a dead zone in cell service; then she heard him whispering to himself, going over the evening’s events, refreshing his memory.
    “I remember my headlights shining through her front window, lighting up the back wall. The pictures stood out for me because I had not seen them before. I got out and walked across the yard and up on the porch. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I looked in the window, but didn’t see her. I knocked again, then unlocked the door and went in, started to call out for Marcella, but there she was on the floor. I stayed with her there on the floor. I didn’t know what to do for her.”
    There was another long pause. She heard him breathing.
    “Yes, I can see it now as I stood on the porch and looked