Dead Hunt Read Online Free PDF Page A

past. She had even created a fivegeneration photograph out of whole cloth. It was as if she might have scoured flea markets looking for discarded photographs to build herself a history. Clymene had created a family and experiences that weren’t real, weren’t hers.
    The scrapbooks in and of themselves weren’t conclusive of any wrongdoing. But added to the weight of the other evidence, they were more than suggestive. The fact that investigators were unable to find any family or history for Clymene before her marriage to Carthwright cast the purpose of the scrapbooks in a very grave light.
    Clymene’s scrapbooks were constructed around the interests of each husband. Robert Carthwright was a car buff—he particularly liked cross-country racing. One of the scrapbooks showed her participating as navigator in cross-country rallies throughout Europe— most notably the Acropolis Rally in Greece—complete with sightseeing photographs of ruins and quaint villages. She had used a photo-paint program to graft her face or her whole body into all the pictures.
    Archer O’Riley, the man she was convicted of killing, enjoyed amateur archaeology. One scrapbook showed Clymene on various digs in Europe. Digs that she was never on. David even found that faces in some of the images were the same faces that appeared in another scrapbook showing photos of other places and other times. The digital editing had been good and her pages elaborate enough to actually take the eye away from the individual people and focus it on the context. Clymene was good at creating illusions.
    As Diane was let out of the maximum-security section she suddenly turned to the guard at the door and asked whether the chaplain was in. She followed the guard’s directions and came to an office labeled REV. WILLIAM RIVERS. She knocked on the door. It opened immediately.
    She faced a heavy-set man in dark gray pants, shortsleeved white shirt, and tie who looked at her quizzically over an armful of papers. She imagined that it wasn’t often that people he didn’t recognize knocked on his door.
    ‘‘Reverend Rivers?’’ she asked.
    He looked at her badge. ‘‘Dr. Fallon... ’’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘‘Do we have an appointment?’’
‘‘No. I—I’m the director
Lab and currently working
of the Rosewood Crime with Ross Kingsley, the FBI profiler. I was wondering if I could speak with you about a prisoner.’’ Diane didn’t want to get into Clymene’s request as the real reason for her visit, and since Ross got her into this, he deserved to have his name dropped.
Rev. Rivers nodded as he came out and closed his door. ‘‘Can you walk with me to the chapel? I need to put out these handouts. Who did you want to talk about?’’ Rivers breathed hard as he walked briskly down the hall.
‘‘Clymene O’Riley,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Ah, yes. Ross has spoken with me about her before. He’s taken quite a shine to her.’’
They reached the gate and the guard let them back into the high-security area. Diane didn’t ask any questions until they got to the chapel. Rivers seemed to have a hard time breathing, talking, and walking at the same time.
‘‘Here we are,’’ he said.
Diane opened the door to the chapel for him and he proceeded to place his handouts on each desk. Rather than pews, the chapel had rows of metal and plastic classroom chairs—the kind with a table attached and a wire basket underneath. The chapel itself had the same shiny tile as the rest of the prison and the same graygreen walls. A single wooden cross stood behind a wooden lectern at the front. Vases of silk flowers— mostly roses, irises and lilies—sat atop tables that lined the walls. Rivers caught her looking at the room.
‘‘Who would invent paint this color, huh?’’ he said. He shook his head. ‘‘Some of the women arranged the flowers. A local florist taught a flower-arranging class as part of our skills program.’’ He looked at Diane and grinned. ‘‘She