Last Breath (14 page)

“Thanks.” Daria put the badge in her bag. “By the way, what arrangements have been made to appraise the collection?”

“Penn is sending someone next week on the bank's behalf.” Louise brightened. “At least we're making progress in that quarter. Oh, and more good news. Dr. Bokhari will be back tomorrow evening, so you'll have some help with the exhibit, if you want it.”

“That is good news. I'm looking forward to meeting her.” Daria pushed the chair away from the table. “If there's nothing else, I'd like to get to work on those displays.”

“There is something.” Louise got up and opened the office door. “Vita, do you have those envelopes…yes, those.”

Daria followed Louise into the reception area where Vita was removing several large brown envelopes from her desk.

“I found this in one of the file cabinets downstairs when I was searching for Casper Fenn's records.” Vita handed the envelopes to Daria.

“The photographs that were taken at Shandihar,” Louise told her. “They might help you plan your displays, since the artifacts themselves will be going into the vault soon. Not that you won't have access to them, but having these right in front of you might make your job a little easier.”

“Definitely. Thank you. I can't wait to look at them.” Daria opened the lid of the box and dropped the envelopes inside. “I'll take good care of them.”

“Let me know when the FBI's art people get here,” Louise called after Daria who was already on her way out of the office.

“I will.”

Daria closed the door behind her, her heart pounding. She fought an urge to dance down the front steps of the building. She couldn't get back to McGowan House fast enough.

“Connor?” she called as she entered the house. From the kitchen, there was music playing softly, and she hurried toward it.

When she pushed through the swinging doors, she found Connor still seated at the table, Sweet Thing at his feet and a sweet thing with long blond hair sitting in the chair she herself had occupied just an hour or so ago.

“Daria.” Connor smiled when he looked up at her. “Meet Special Agent Polly Kingston. NSAF. Here to save the day.”

“Oh. Hello.” Daria exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” Polly looked over her shoulder and met Daria's eyes.

Polly Kingston was older than Daria had first thought. Maybe early fifties, but she'd kept herself together very well.

Sweet Thing greeted Daria enthusiastically, and she leaned over to give the dog a pat on the head.

“Connor was just bringing me up to date on the case. I have to admit, this is more complex than what I've handled in the past.”

“How so?” Daria took the chair between Polly and Connor.

“Well, our art-theft cases don't generally have this element of murder running through them. Yes, of course, there are cases where people dealing in stolen art or antiquities have been killed, but I've never seen a case like this. We were just discussing the best way to handle it. I think my first priority will be to recover the artifacts that are still in the hands of private collectors. Hopefully before someone else is killed.”

“The people in Connecticut and Marion, Massachusetts,” Daria noted. “And then you'll contact the museums and galleries?”

“Yes, though I'll have another agent working on the institutions,” Polly told her. “As luck would have it, we are really shorthanded right now. There was a big theft at a gallery in California over the weekend, and some Picassos were stolen in Michigan on Friday, and there's an ongoing investigation of some Internet sales that's just heating up. So we're stretched pretty thin right now. I was just thanking Connor for doing some of the legwork for me. I appreciate having the list of stolen items and their probable locations handed to me.” She smiled at Connor. “You've saved me a great deal of time.”

“Actually, Daria was the one who knew to use the Internet to locate the collectors. We found the collectors, but unfortunately, someone else found them before we did.”

“Shouldn't someone be warning the others?” Daria asked.

“That's already being done,” Polly assured her. “John Mancini has contacted agents in each of the locations to make contact with the individuals ASAP.”

“And then you'll go in and see about getting the university's property back?”

“We'll do our best,” Polly assured Daria, “but Howe could very well end up in litigation if any of the institutions don't want to cough up important pieces. Especially since Howe is planning on placing a very bright spotlight on Shandihar over the next few years. The museums that have artifacts to put on display are going to want to keep them for a while.”

“Actually, Agent Kingston, right now I'm more concerned about the people who possess the artifacts. Having them returned is secondary at this point.”

“The plan is to arrange for them to be protected,” Connor told her.

“So whose job is it to figure out who is stealing the artifacts, and who is killing the collectors?” Daria looked from Connor to Polly and back again.

“The homicide investigations are being handled by the police departments where the murders took place,” he told her.

Daria frowned. “I'm sure they're all very competent, but let's face it, the Blumes and Elena Sevrenson were murdered months ago. Connor, do either of the investigating departments have any leads?”

“None that I know of.”

“Who is coordinating the investigations? If there are two departments involved, who's on first here?” Daria stared at Connor. “And if there's another death, that brings in another police department. Why isn't the FBI taking over the case?”

“I'll be coordinating the theft portion of the case,” Polly told her, “and I'll have agents working with me in each city.”

“But shouldn't someone be looking over the entire thing? The thefts
and
the murders? Shouldn't the left hand know what the right hand is doing here?”

Connor glanced at Polly, then told Daria, “That's what we were discussing when you came in. John's asked me to hold the reins on this one, to do exactly what you just described. Liaison between the Bureau and the various police departments.”

“Is that the sort of thing you usually do?” Daria asked him.

“Not in this context, but I serve as middleman, so to speak, quite often.” He smiled faintly. “In this case, I'll be working here, at Howe, since this is the hub.”

Daria turned to Polly. “Will you also be handling the theft here? The original theft from the museum?”

“Yes, once we've located and secured the missing artifacts, but that aspect of the case will be much more complicated, and might never be solved. No one knows when that theft occurred. The perpetrator may well be deceased. Right now, given the fact that someone else is hunting down the collectors, and has a head start, we need to make them our priority.”

“I agree completely,” Daria said, “and I do appreciate how hard it's going to be to—”

Polly's phone rang. She excused herself and answered, then listened intently. Finally, she said, “I should be there by three o'clock. Secure the scene and keep out everyone except the ME until I get there.”

She closed her phone with a snap.

“I'm afraid we're a day late in Connecticut.”

“My God, not another one!” Daria gasped.

“Two, actually.” Polly Kingston's relaxed demeanor had disappeared in a heartbeat. “The preliminary report indicates Cloris Porter was home alone when the killer or killers entered her home.” She looked at Connor. “They killed her in the manner you previously described, then apparently waited in the home until her husband, Justin, arrived. Their son-in-law went to the house around ten-thirty last night when he was unable to contact either of them by phone. It's believed that theft was the motive, but it's unknown what was taken from the home.”

“Connor, do you have the list of collectors and the pieces they own?” Daria asked.

He opened the folder and skimmed the list until he found what he was looking for.

“One two-handled ceremonial goblet, gold, encrusted with emeralds.”

“Well, at least I'll know what to look for when I get there.” Polly made notes in a small notebook she took from her bag.

“What about the woman in Massachusetts?” Daria asked.

“We have someone trying to contact her right now. I hope we get to her in time.” Polly was all business. “I have a plane to catch in an hour. Tell me everything you know about this Shandihar culture, everything you know about the missing artifacts, and who you think might have a reason to be killing these people and why. I also need a description of the artifacts you think the Porters might have had.”

“I can do better than a description.” Daria went to the counter where she'd placed the box she brought back from Louise's office and opened the lid. She took out the envelope. “These are photographs that were taken at the site. Many of the artifacts were photographed as they were discovered. With luck, we'll have pictures of the missing items. If not, we still have the drawings Alistair made.”

Her heart was pounding as she opened the envelope and carefully removed the many photos, none of which she had seen yet. The first photo was of a man standing between two stone pillars. He wore field clothes, a large straw hat, and an enormous smile. Daria lifted the photo and stared at it intently, as if taking in every detail, before placing it on the table.

“If my guess is correct, this is Alistair McGowan at the portals of Shandihar. Let's see what wonders he found, shall we?”

Daria passed the photograph to Connor, who gave it a cursory glance before passing it on to Polly. She studied it momentarily before placing it to one side on the table.

“And here we have a bronze statue of a woman. Maybe one of the priestesses.” Daria said. “I think we saw this statue the other day.”

She handed the picture to Connor and went on to the next. “Some sort of chalice. Looks to be of gold, judging from the way the light is reflecting off it on the side.” She glanced across the table at Connor. “We've seen this one, too. Let's look for the artifacts we haven't seen.”

Daria went through the first envelope, then the second. With each stack of photographs she set aside, she became more confused. When she'd gone through all the envelopes and had passed along each photo, she turned to Connor and said, “No large bronze statue of Ereshkigal, no golden griffins. No gold necklace…there must be another envelope of photos somewhere.”

“You're sure?” Polly asked. “Maybe you should take another look.”

“Daria's right,” Connor said. “The photos of the missing artifacts are missing as well, and I don't think that's a coincidence. I don't think you're going to find another envelope that just happens to have all those pictures in it.”

“What do you think happened to them?” Daria asked.

“I think whoever is behind the thefts has the photos,” he told her.

“So there's no proof that the items even existed.” Polly thought aloud.

“Alistair wrote in his journals about every item he found, and he even sketched many of them himself. We know they existed. We know he brought them back,” Daria said.

“I think it's more likely that the person who took the photos passed them on to whoever had been sent out after them,” Connor said, “so that the killers would know what they were looking for.”

“That would explain how they knew to take only the Shandihar pieces.” Polly said thoughtfully. “Doesn't it make you wonder, though, why someone would kill to recover these specific pieces, but completely overlook other very valuable artifacts? The Blume's house was reported to have had a fortune in artwork. Why didn't they touch anything else? A common thief wouldn't have left it all there.”

“These aren't common thieves,” Daria told her. “Whoever is doing this believes he's on a holy mission to recover the artifacts that were stolen from the museum.”

“Frankly, I have a hard time with that ‘holy quest' thing, Daria. If that's true—if the point is to return the artifacts—where are they? Nothing's been brought back.” Connor shook his head. “Forgive my skepticism, but I think there's more to it than that. I'm a lot more comfortable with the common thief thing.”

“Well, unfortunately, holy crusader or common criminal, I don't think they're finished. There are still several artifacts out there,” Polly reminded them. “I just hope we can track them down before someone else does…”

TWELVE

D
aria spent the rest of the day in an almost religious state of bliss in the museum basement, matching photos to artifacts and envisioning where and how this piece or that might be displayed for the reopening. The photos themselves were nothing short of miraculous. To be able to see, one hundred years later, exactly what her great-grandfather had seen just as he'd first seen it was an experience Daria would never forget. Once she got past the fact that the photos of the missing artifacts were missing as well, the importance of matching the original photographs to the artifacts had Daria's heart and head pounding for hours. In her mind's eye, she saw the sepia photos enlarged greatly and serving as the backdrop for the display of the corresponding pieces. Had any such exhibit ever been possible in the past? She was unsure. She knew only that the Shandihar exhibit at Howe University would be a magnet for the public as well as for scholars for years to come.

And to think she'd scoffed when Louise mentioned the possibility of a book. Daria had no doubt that the university would benefit financially from the venture. With visions of a handsome coffee-table book dancing in her head, Daria lost all track of time.

“So how'd it go today?”

Daria was startled by the voice coming from the doorway.

“Oh, Connor. Sorry. I was tuned out for a minute.”

“More than a minute, I'd guess. Any idea what time it is?” He walked into the room, and immediately the room seemed smaller.

“None.” She stood and found her legs stiff. “But my knees are telling me that I've been here for more than an hour or two.”

“Try six hours.”

“Really? That would make it—”

“Six-thirty.” Connor nodded. “Are you hungry yet?”

“I guess I am.” She stood and stretched. “I just got wrapped up in all this.” She waved her hand around the room. “The photographs are amazing. Just to see so many of the artifacts exactly where they were first found—I felt as if I were there with him. It's almost overwhelming.”

“I thought you were going to work from the house today?”

“I was, but with the photos in my hands, I had to come look at the real deal. I thought having people upstairs would disturb me, but it didn't. I hardly knew anyone else was in the building, except for when the plumbers and the electricians were poking around.”

“Can you stop for some dinner?” Connor leaned on one of the taller crates.

“I'm going to have to. The guard told me I had to be out by seven o'clock, so it's a good thing you came for me. I might have gotten locked in.” She began to pack the photographs back into their envelopes. “How did you get in, by the way? Were you able to get a badge?”

“Yes,” he told her. “It says FBI on it.”

“Ah, yes. Opens doors everywhere, I would guess.” She rolled her shoulders to work out the kinks.

Connor picked up the pack of envelopes from the desk. “Is there anything else you need to do here?”

“I just need to lock up.” She looked around the room. All the crates had been repacked and secured. She dug in the pocket of her skirt for the key.

“Polly got to the airport on time?” Daria asked as she locked the door.

“I assume so,” Connor said as he followed Daria up the stairs. They waved to the guard when they reached the main floor. “Glad to see there's some real security here.”

“They were hired by the bank,” Daria told him. “There is another one around here somewhere, and I think I saw the university's security guard outside as well.”

“Any idea when they're going to move the collection?”

“Louise said they were going to try for the end of the week.”

They walked outside into the remnants of a summer shower that was spending its last few drops of rain. The sky was clearing as they walked back to McGowan House.

“I took the liberty of ordering a pizza and some salads to be delivered,” Connor said when they reached the back steps. “I probably should have asked first.”

“No, no, pizza's fine. I've hardly eaten anything else since I got to Howe. I love it.” She unlocked the door and caught Sweet Thing by the collar as she was about to bolt.

“It's not ideal, but they deliver. And I figured the pizza would get here right around the time we did, since there was such a long wait for delivery tonight. Something about one of their drivers not showing up.”

“That should work out just right, then. And I'll have time to take care of Sweet Thing.” The dog jumped up to greet Daria, and she stroked the dog's head affectionately.

“She's been fed, watered, walked.”

“Oh. Thank you. Well, then, maybe I'll have time to clean up a little. I've been in that hot basement all afternoon, and I'm covered in dust.”

“Go ahead. Sweet Thing and I will wait for the pizza guy out on the front porch.”

“I'll make it quick.” Daria disappeared into the house and ran up the steps.

She was dying for a quick shower. She was hot and sweaty and dusty. She closed the bedroom door behind her and stripped off her clothes as she headed for the bathroom. She turned on the shower and let it run for a minute or two, then stepped in. The water was cooler than she liked, but it was welcome after hours in the stale, stuffy basement. She scrubbed her body quickly, washed and rinsed her hair in record time, and emerged from the shower feeling like a completely new woman.

Seven minutes later, she was back downstairs, wearing fresh clothes, her short hair tucked behind her ears. She hadn't taken time to dry it, so a few still-wet strands fell across her forehead. Connor and Sweet Thing were still sitting on the front porch, the pizza box and a brown paper bag on the floor between them.

“She is the best trained dog I've ever seen,” Connor told Daria when he heard the screen door behind him close. “She is dying to see what is in that box but she won't go near it because I told her not to.” He ruffled the dog's fur. “She is one good dog.”

“Do you think one of Damien Cross's relatives will want her?”

“I guess that's always a possibility.” Connor picked up the box and the bag and stood. “But for now, she's yours.”

Sweet Thing wagged her tail and licked Daria's bare leg below the cuff of her shorts.

“I love her. It's going to be tough to give her up,” Daria admitted. She opened the front door and held it for Connor.

When she and the dog had entered the house, Connor turned and said, “Throw the bolt. We don't want someone to let themselves in while we're eating.”

“Good point.” Daria locked the door and followed Connor into the kitchen.

She took plates down from the cupboard and placed them across from each other on the table.

“Knife? Fork?” She paused, her hand on the drawer where the flatware was kept.

“For pizza?” He frowned. “What's the point?”

“Well, you never know. My sister cannot bring herself to pick up a piece and just take a bite. She says she always gets sauce on her face.”

“That's why napkins were invented.”

“I don't think we have napkins, but I do have paper towels.” She ripped a few sheets from the roll and folded them.

“We do need forks for the salad, though,” Connor said as he removed the Styrofoam boxes from the paper bag and opened the pizza box. “I asked them to send several kinds of dressing, since I didn't know what you liked.”

“I can use anything. Or nothing, for that matter.” Daria brought two bottles of water and two forks to the table. “God, that smells so good. I didn't realize how hungry I am.”

“Dig in,” he told her, and she did just that.

“How did you know I love pepperoni?”

“There were too many choices, so I went with an old standard.”

“This is really good, Connor. Thanks. I'm sorry for being such a crappy hostess. It's just that once I get into something that really interests me, I lose track of time. Not that I'm much of a cook under the best of circumstances.”

“I guess you don't get much practice.”

“Every dig I've been on for I don't know how many years has always had a cook. Meals were always prepared for us, three times a day. I guess maybe you're the same, since you travel a lot?”

“I'm a pretty good cook.” He grinned. “Actually, I'm damned good. If I'd had time to get out today to the grocery store, we would not be eating pizza.”

“Maybe while you're here, I'll get to judge just how good you are.”

“Count on it.”

“Feel free. My kitchen is your kitchen.”

“I'll remember that.” He nodded. “So you had a good day, did you?”

“I had a great day. I feel guilty about having such a wonderful day in light of everything that's happened. I can't stop thinking about how those people died, and all because of the art objects they bought. Objects that have a direct tie to me. To my family. And yet, just to see these artifacts in the state in which they were discovered…” She shivered slightly, a look of awe on her face. “To see a statue that's wrapped and crated, standing where it had originally stood, centuries ago, in a temple wall. Inside one of those wooden crates is a golden diadem that the photos show was taken from the wrapped remains of a woman who had died over two thousand years ago. Unfortunately, her remains were left behind, so we don't know anything about her, except that she was wealthy enough or important enough to have owned this wonderful golden crown.”

“Maybe she was the queen of Shandihar. You said it was a matriarchal society.”

“I don't think they had royalty the way we think of it. I think the priestesses were the only ‘royalty' in this society. Maybe by studying the artifacts I'll learn more about the culture.” She sighed. “That's one of the problems with removing artifacts from their place of origin without taking into consideration the context. I know from reading Alistair's journals that he felt he was way ahead of others of his time in trying to preserve as much as possible.”

“That's why he had a photographer along with him, why he wanted so many pictures taken.”

“Absolutely, and that was brilliant on his part, to use the latest technology in that way. Modern archaeologists might argue with some of his other methods, but he was ahead of his time in that regard. Much of what we'll learn about Shandihar, we'll learn from studying the photos.”

“Photography being what it was back then, it must have taken forever to take them all.”

Daria nodded. “I really admire my great-grandfather for having the patience to wait while each piece was photographed several times before he moved it. I can only imagine how his hands must have been itching to touch, to hold…but he did the right thing. The photographs taken in context along with his journals and his letters to my great-grandmother give us a picture of this expedition that is pretty much unheard of for that time.”

“I'll bet it would make a fascinating book,” Connor said. “Even better, one of those TV documentaries.”

“That's exactly what Louise is hoping for.” Daria grinned. “She's thinking along just those lines, hoping to cash in as much as possible for the university.”

“You can't blame her. She's faced with a daunting task.”

“I don't blame her. My first reaction was, this is history, these were real people with real lives, and I'm not sure we should be profiting from them.” Daria sipped her water. “On the other hand, it's nothing that museums and galleries don't do all the time. And if the university is to keep going, they'll have to use whatever resources they have. Alistair's find is a fantastic resource. It wouldn't make sense not to capitalize on it.”

She opened a foil pack of dressing and drizzled it on her salad.

“So what did you learn today that you didn't know this morning?” she asked.

“I learned that Cavanaugh will be back in town by the end of the week, and will meet with me then. He said he didn't want to discuss his dealings on the phone, especially since he had no way of knowing whether or not I was who I said I was. Smart on his part, actually.”

Daria nodded. “Especially in light of what's been happening to people with a connection to the Shandihar artifacts. Did you ask him about the acquisition of the griffins?”

“Yes, but again, he declined to talk about it on the phone. So we'll see what he has to say when we sit down with him.”

“We? I get to go with you?”

“You know more about these artifacts than I do. I think we'll learn more if you're along.”

“Great.”

“I'm having a report run on Casper Fenn—when he left Howe, where he went, how he spent his days.”

“You think he was the one who stole the items in the first place?”

“I think he's the place to start.”

“You've been busy. Anything else?”

“I learned that Madeline Cathcart of Marion, Massachusetts, is alive and well and under guard at this very moment,” he told her. “And I had the computers from all of the victims confiscated and sent to my office for our computer whiz to check out.”

“You think maybe they were contacted by the killer?”

“It's worth a look.” He shrugged. “You never know what you'll find, or what you'll learn about a person when you start following their footsteps down the old information highway. Polly is still interviewing Mrs. Cathcart. If anyone has contacted her, we'll know who, and how the contact was made. She called to let me know she was at the house and Mrs. Cathcart was unharmed, and the cylinder was still in her possession.” He paused, then asked, “What exactly is this cylinder, anyway?”

“It's like a regular cylinder. Thin, hollow tube?” When he nodded, she said, “But this one is made out of clay. When the clay was wet, someone—probably a scribe—wrote on the cylinder. It could contain a description of an event or a person, or a story, or it could even contain laws or customs.”