Dead Hunt, page 15
‘‘I would like to see the artifacts,’’ he said.
He wasn’t somber like the law enforcement officers she had just dealt with, but smiled broadly at her as if he could just as well have been coming to buy the artifacts. He looked at his watch.
‘‘I know it’s getting late, but I’d also like to speak with Dr. Kendel Williams and the curator of your Egyptian exhibits,’’ he said.
He seemed friendly enough, but Diane was sure that was just his method of gaining the confidence of the person he was interviewing. She was getting weary of being on the suspect end of investigations.
Diane turned to Andie. ‘‘Has Kendel left for the day?’’ she asked.
‘‘I’ll call,’’ said Andie as she picked up the phone.
‘‘If she’s in, tell her to wait,’’ said Diane. ‘‘If not, call her home and ask her to come to the museum.’’
Andie nodded. ‘‘Got it.’’
‘‘Is Jonas back?’’ she asked Andie. Ironically, Jonas Briggs had been at an Egyptology conference.
‘‘I saw him earlier. He was looking for you,’’ said Andie.
‘‘He and everyone else on the planet,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We’ll be going by his office. I’ll stop in.’’
Diane led Agent Jacobs out of Andie’s office and down the hall toward the main bank of elevators.
‘‘The artifacts are in the conservation lab on the second floor,’’ she said.
‘‘I appreciate your cooperation in this,’’ said Jacobs. ‘‘As you can guess, I get a lot of ‘where’s your warrant.’ ’’
‘‘This has been dreadful for us,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We would like it cleared up as soon as possible.’’ As she walked, she explained everything that she had discovered so far. ‘‘We didn’t know anything was wrong until the newspaper articles began coming out. The artifacts had just arrived and hadn’t even been opened yet.’’
‘‘That’s odd.’’ It was the only comment Jacobs made. He had not yet even asked any questions.
Diane took him up to the second floor and into the room housing the Egyptian exhibit. She wanted him to see what they had now, so he would understand why they only wanted certain artifacts and not the ones that were sitting in the conservation lab.
Diane loved walking into the room housing the exhibit. It was like entering ancient Egypt. The walls were painted like the walls of an Egyptian tomb. But upon entering, the visitor’s gaze first fell on Neva’s reconstruction of their mummy, a scribe, they had concluded, sitting cross-legged on a pedestal in the middle of the room as if he were about to take up his sharpened reed and write on the papyrus lying in his lap.
The mummy whose likeness greeted visitors was in a closed anthropomorphic Egyptian coffin housed inside a glass case away from the hands of curious visitors. Above him on the wall were photographs of him before and after he was rewrapped and placed back in his coffin.
Along another wall sat a glass display case for the amulets that had been wrapped with the mummy. Each now had its own pedestal. Acquiring them had been a coup for Kendel. The museum had inherited the mummy—a survivor from a Victorian unwrapping party and handed down through a family until the last surviving member gave it to the museum. Another branch of the family had owned the good-luck amulets from inside the wrappings. Kendel had negotiated their purchase: an alabaster scarab that probably once resided over the mummy’s heart, several small alabaster and lapis lazuli fish figurines, an inscribed sandstone cylinder with the name Senwosret III, two faience figures, several limestone figurines, and black steatite shabtis.
The exhibit contained a diorama based on life in twelfth-dynasty Egypt, including an entire miniature Egyptian
Egyptian
town, highlighting a scribe’s house. The room was one of the most popular in the museum.
‘‘Our mummy is from the twelfth dynasty,’’ said Diane. ‘‘This is a learning museum and we didn’t want an unrelated assortment of Egyptian artifacts from all over the historical timeline. We decided to specialize in twelfth-dynasty items. That is what we ordered and that is what the documents said we had. That is not what arrived.’’
‘‘It’s an excellent exhibit,’’ he said, peering at the amulets. He looked up sharply. ‘‘So, Golden Antiquities sent the wrong items?’’ He pulled out a chair from one of the computer terminals and sat down.
Diane took another chair and sat across from him. ‘‘Yes, but the items they sent were similar to what we ordered. That’s what’s so odd,’’ said Diane.
‘‘So someone sent authentic documents to provide provenance for artifacts that were switched.’’
‘‘But that wouldn’t have worked,’’ said Diane.
She went over the same arguments with him as she had with Frank—how more than one person verified the provenances, how she herself signed off on everything that arrived at the museum, how the museum pretty much displayed everything it owned.
‘‘No one could get away with using this museum to launder antiquities,’’ said Diane.
She studied him as she spoke, wondering whether she could trust him. In the end she decided to wait to tell him about her attacker and what he had said. She stood up.
‘‘Jonas’ office is across the way here.’’
Jonas Briggs was in his office and Diane introduced him to Agent Jacobs. He seemed to be waiting for them, the way he answered his door so quickly. Andie must have called. Jonas was a retired professor from Bartram University. He had white hair, a toothbrush mustache to match, and white bushy eyebrows over crystal blue eyes. He was dressed in jeans and one of the ubiquitous Richard III T-shirts.
‘‘This is just terrible,’’ said Jonas. ‘‘Just terrible. Kendel and I were looking forward to the new artifacts.’’ He shook his head and offered them a seat.
‘‘Actually, I would like to see the artifacts and the documents first. Will you be here for a while?’’ asked Agent Jacobs.
‘‘I can be,’’ said Jonas.
‘‘Good. So you are an Egyptologist?’’ said Jacobs.
‘‘No. My field is southeastern U.S. archaeology. However, I have taken to learning Egyptology. I’ve always liked it.’’
‘‘Did you negotiate the purchase of the objects?’’ asked Jacobs.
‘‘No. I can’t negotiate the purchase of a used car,’’ said Jonas. ‘‘But I examined the catalog and the copies of the provenances. Everything was just fine.’’
Jacobs nodded. ‘‘I’ll come by again after I’ve finished looking at the artifacts,’’ he said. ‘‘Thank you for waiting.’’
Diane looked back at Jonas as she left with Agent Jacobs. He looked miserable. She smiled at him as if to say, It will be all right. She took Jacobs through earth science across the overlook to the Pleistocene room. Jacobs stopped to look over the railing at the mammoth and other giant Pleistocene creatures.
‘‘Are the bones real, or are they casts?’’ he asked.
‘‘The Pleistocene bones are real. The bones in the dinosaur room are casts purchased from the Bickford,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Good museum. You know they’re looking for a new director. Harold Marquering’s retiring, I hear,’’ said Jacobs.
‘‘I had heard also,’’ said Diane. ‘‘He had only been there, what, six years?’’
‘‘About that,’’ said Jacobs. ‘‘You have lots of room here.’’
‘‘We do. We offer lab space to university faculty in exchange for their curative services.’’
‘‘How’s that working out?’’ he asked, grinning.
From his expression, Diane guessed he had worked with professors before.
‘‘It has its ups and downs,’’ said Diane. ‘‘On the whole, it has turned out to be a good deal for us.’’
From there they went to the conservation lab. Diane introduced him to Korey, who helped Diane lay out all the questionable artifacts and the documentation.
‘‘This item’’—Diane pointed to the girdle—‘‘turned up on NSAF as stolen from the Cairo Museum in 1957.’’
Jacobs took a pair of glasses out of his pocket and looked at the piece. ‘‘I believe you’re right. They will be glad it finally turned up. I wonder where it’s been.’’ He looked over at Diane. ‘‘You’re aware that Golden Antiquities burned and Randal Cunningham was killed.’’
‘‘I had heard. Was it the elder Cunningham or his son?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘The son,’’ said Jacobs. ‘‘There was never any suspicion surrounding Golden Antiquities while the old man ran things. Since he turned it over to his son . . . well, it’s one of the places I watch.’’
Jacobs pulled up a nearby stool and took a pair of white gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on. He looked at the pectoral and opened the document that was supposed to be its provenance.
‘‘Okay, the documentation is of a pectoral showing a vulture goddess with wings surrounded by lotus flowers. The documents say it’s lapis lazuli, gold, turquoise, carnelian, and amethyst. Very nice. The artifact we have here is Maat in a boat. You know Maat is the goddess of truth, balance, order. Hope we find some truth here, eh?’’ Jacobs seemed to like to talk as he worked. Diane and Korey stood by and listened.
‘‘The stone pieces here’’—he pointed to the stone bust and face—‘‘they are Ramses II, nineteenth dynasty. The documents are for similar items, but of Senwosret III, which would have gone nicely with your sandstone amulet with Senwosret III’s name inscribed on it. You say these were at the Pearle?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We had hoped to purchase them directly from the Pearle, but . . .’’ She let the sentence trail off as he went to another item.
‘‘The canopic jar is also from the nineteenth dynasty,’’ he muttered as if talking only to himself.
He got up and walked over to the sphinx, still in the crate. ‘‘Again, the documents say Senwosret III— this is Amenemhat III. He’s of the twelfth dynasty too, however. Nice piece. All of them are.’’ He stood up and took off his gloves.
‘‘Other than the Mereret girdle, I don’t recognize any of the pieces as being in our database. That doesn’t mean they weren’t recently looted or stolen. You won’t mind if I confiscate them until we can sort this out?’’ he said almost guiltily.
‘‘No. They aren’t ours,’’ said Diane. ‘‘But we would like to have the items we ordered, if they weren’t destroyed in the fire. Failing that, we would like to get our money back. We have an arrangement with our dealers that we pay a quarter of the price up front and the rest after we receive the items and they are verified. That quarter is a substantial sum for us. And’’— Diane waved an arm, encompassing the artifacts—‘‘this has damaged our reputation. We would like that back too. We didn’t do this. If you would like to look at our books, I’ll have Andie take you to Accounting.’’
Jacobs smiled. ‘‘Ross said you would be cooperative. He thinks very highly of you and the museum.’’
Diane smiled back, grateful that Ross Kingsley had spoken to Jacobs. ‘‘We’ve worked a couple of cases together,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I appreciate him giving us a good reference.’’
‘‘When he’s up and about he said he will get back in touch with you.’’
‘‘Up and about?’’ said Diane.
‘‘You didn’t know? Last night on the way home from . . . actually from here, he fell asleep at the wheel and wrecked his car.’’
Chapter 25
‘‘Fell asleep at the wheel?’’ repeated Diane. ‘‘Is he all right?’’
‘‘Fine. Banged up a little—treated at the hospital and released. He seemed rather embarrassed by it. He said he’d never done anything like that before.’’ Agent Jacobs paused a moment. ‘‘What?’’ he said as Diane stared at him.
It happened here, she thought. ‘‘Did you and he talk about his latest case?’’ said Diane. ‘‘Clymene O’Riley?’’
‘‘A little. Actually he wanted me to tell you something. He mentioned the name Clymene and I, in my usual pedantic mode, mentioned that in Greek mythology Clymene was a girl whose father sold her into slavery.’’ Jacobs stopped and pointed at Diane’s face and grinned. ‘‘Ross had the same expression.’’
‘‘That may explain a lot about our Clymene,’’ said Diane. ‘‘She can’t have chosen that name by chance.’’
‘‘That’s just what Ross said,’’ Jacobs replied.
Diane grabbed her cell. ‘‘I need to speak with Kingsley,’’ she said. ‘‘Korey can show you the way back to either my or Jonas’ office. I’ll catch up to you in a little bit.’’
‘‘That information must be really important,’’ said Jacobs.
‘‘Both things are,’’ called Diane as she went out the door.
Before she was out of hearing range, she heard Korey telling Jacobs, ‘‘It’s like that here all the time.’’
Diane retraced her steps to the geology section and to Mike’s office and knocked.
‘‘Doc,’’ said Mike when he opened the door. ‘‘Nice surprise. What can I do for you?’’
‘‘I’d like to borrow your office for a minute,’’ she said.
‘‘Sure. Come in. Shall I leave?’’ he asked.
‘‘I hate to throw you out of your office, but would you mind?’’ Diane asked.
‘‘No. I have some things to do in the lab. Take all the time you need.’’
‘‘Mike, thanks,’’ said Diane as he was leaving.
He lingered at the door a moment. ‘‘Sure, Doc. You know you can always count on me.’’ He closed the door.
Diane wanted a private place to talk with Kingsley, and Mike’s was the closest office. She looked up his number on her cell.
‘‘Diane,’’ Kingsley said, answering. ‘‘I’m relieved to hear your voice. I was just reading about you. Are you all right?’’
‘‘Yes, I’m fine. I haven’t seen the paper; what does it say?’’
‘‘Not much, really. Something about a home invasion and an unknown assailant who might be injured or dead. What happened?’’ he asked.
Good ol’ Garnett, thought Diane. He had a knack for totally confusing a news story.
‘‘A lot more than in the papers. How are you?’’
‘‘I guess Shane told you about my accident. Asleep at the wheel...I—’’
‘‘I think you may have been drugged,’’ interrupted Diane.
Kingsley was silent for a moment.
‘‘Drugged?’’ he said. ‘‘What do you mean? How? You mean at the museum?’’
‘‘Do you have a bruise or—I know this is going to sound a little appalling—but do you have any clothes with your blood on them from the accident?’’ said Diane.
‘‘I don’t know. Bruises, yes, but my wife took my clothes. What’s this about?’’ he asked.
‘‘I’m sure you’ve metabolized it out of your system by now, but the blood in a bruise or in your clothes can be analyzed for barbiturates,’’ Diane said.
‘‘Barbiturates. Okay, what’s this about?’’ he asked.
‘‘Last night I apparently slept through a violent homicide in my apartment. At the hospital they found barbiturates in my blood sample. If it weren’t for that, I’d probably be under arrest for murder.’’
There was a rather long silence at the other end of the phone. Diane was beginning to wonder if he had hung up—or passed out.
‘‘You better tell me about this,’’ he said at last.
Diane heard sounds like he was rearranging himself in his chair, or bed. She explained about waking up to the sound of the police knocking on her door and then falling in the pool of blood.
‘‘It turned out to be Clymene’s blood,’’ Diane told him.
‘‘Clymene’s? I don’t understand. Is she dead?’’ asked Ross.
‘‘She has to be. It was fresh blood and there was too much blood loss for her to still be alive.’’ Diane explained everything she knew about the incident. ‘‘When I heard you had fallen asleep while driving home, it made me wonder if both of us had been drugged at the restaurant. Perhaps someone found it easier to drug both our drinks than to try and make sure I got the tainted drink. That’s always tricky. I’m going to the restaurant to question them now.’’
‘‘Clymene dead? I can’t believe it. What was she doing in your apartment?’’ he said.
‘‘I have no idea,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I don’t understand how she even got in. I didn’t hear anything, nor did any of my neighbors. And the person in the apartment directly below me hears every little footfall.’’
‘‘The newspaper account was wholly inadequate,’’ he said.
‘‘Garnett tries to keep anything to do with the crime lab, in this case me, out of the papers. He usually does a pretty good job.’’
‘‘This is strange. In a bizarre way I’m a little relieved. My wife, Lydia, is convinced that something came loose in my brain. She wants me to take all these tests. If I was drugged . . . well, I actually feel a little better.’’
Diane laughed. ‘‘I’m glad you can see the silver lining in this.’’
‘‘Lydia almost had me convinced, and I was getting a little worried,’’ he said. ‘‘You say they almost arrested you?’’
‘‘That was mostly political. The DA was very upset with me,’’ said Diane. ‘‘And of course I couldn’t account for all that blood in my apartment.’’
‘‘The DA? Oh, I’m sorry, Diane. I didn’t call him,’’ said Kingsley.
‘‘That’s all right. I’m glad you’re safe. I’m also glad you spoke with your FBI friend in art theft about me. I appreciate that.’’
‘‘Shane’s a good guy. Knows a lot about the subject,’’ he said.
‘‘I’ll let you know what I find out from the restaurant staff,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Tell me,’’ asked Ross, ‘‘how are you doing, really? You had a hit on the head, the paper said?’’
‘‘It wasn’t serious.’’ Diane told him about the trip to the hospital and the attack there. She left out what the attacker had said to her about being a dirty dealer. She didn’t know why, except she didn’t want people to start questioning her honesty.
