Last Breath (15 page)

“So it was sort of an early book.”

“Yes. It was a written recording of something. In the absence of paper, they made use of clay. This was very common in early civilizations. Most did not have paper. There are quite a few cylinders still packed in the crates. I'm dying to get to them.”

“Can you read them?”

“I don't know. I haven't really had time to study the inscriptions and symbols. As far as I know, they've never been translated.” She thought about that for a moment, then added, “I doubt anyone can read them, actually. To the best of my knowledge, these are the only written records from this civilization to have survived.”

She thought about it some more.

“Of course,” she said almost to herself, “since Shandihar borrowed so much from other civilizations, there's a very good chance their language was borrowed as well. Or maybe they borrowed a bit from the Mesopotamians, a bit from the Persians, something from the Greeks…”

“I see those wheels spinning in there.”

“Sorry. I can't help it.” Daria laughed self-consciously. “Maybe tomorrow I'll pull one of those cylinders out and take a closer look.”

“I thought you were designing exhibits.”

“I am, and I have the best idea for those.” Her hands were suddenly animated as she described what she had in mind. “Picture this. In the Great Room, huge blowups of the photographs of, say, one of the goblets, just as it was found at the site, before it was touched. Then, on a pedestal, in front of the photos, there sits the real thing. And in those big glassed-in display cases—again, the great enlargements as background, juxtaposed with the actual artifacts. We'd use the smaller cases for some of the larger individual pieces—say, the big statues of the goddess—to display them separately, and then use the larger cases for things that are related. Maybe all the ceremonial items.”

“Very impressive. I like it.” He touched the paper towel to his mouth. “It sounds like a hit to me.”

“And if I could translate some of the writings”—she was smiling without even realizing it—“I could have them reproduced and incorporated into the displays.”

“You're really enjoying this, aren't you?”

“More than I ever thought I would. I mean, I knew it would be a great experience, and that it would be, well, fun. But I didn't expect to feel this…
connected
to the project. I didn't expect it to mean so much to me.”

“Sometimes the best things in life are unexpected.”

“Yes. I suppose that's true.” She could feel his eyes on her face and avoided meeting them, though she wasn't sure why.

Sweet Thing pawed at her leg, and she looked down at the dog.

“She wants us to share. I think she has her eye on the pepperoni. Do you think that would be bad for her?”

“Maybe a little bit of the crust wouldn't hurt. Though you might want to think about whether or not you want her begging food from the table.”

“I don't think I do. At the same time”—she broke off a piece of the crust and gave it to the salivating dog that sat so prettily at her feet—“I'm having a hard time resisting her.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Connor's phone rang and he swallowed his last bite of pizza before answering.

“What do you have for me, buddy?” he asked.

Connor got up from the table, his facial expression unreadable, and walked through the swinging kitchen door into the front hall. Daria could hear his pacing footsteps on the hardwood floor. After about ten minutes, he came back into the kitchen.

“Anything important?” Daria asked with more nonchalance than she felt.

“Several things,” he told her. “The hard drives on all the computers belonging to the victims have been removed.”

“Which probably means the killer had contacted them and wanted to hide the fact?”

“That would be a good guess. Especially since Mrs. Cathcart's computer is intact.” He smiled. “Want to guess what our man Will found?”

“E-mail, maybe from the killer?”

“Several e-mails, actually, all concerning an item in her collection.”

“The cylinder?”

“Good guess.” He nodded and sat down. “But more importantly, Will traced the e-mail to the computer where the contacts originated.”

“So that's great, right? You can find the computer and arrest the killer,” Daria said excitedly.

“It's not going to be quite that easy,” he told her. “The e-mail was traced to a computer in the library.”

She stared at him as if not quite understanding.

“The library? Wait, you don't mean here?”

“That's right. The e-mails were all sent from the Howe University Library.”

“The computers we used the other night?”

“Unless there are others somewhere else in the building, yes.”

“How would he have found their e-mail addresses?”

“In Mrs. Cathcart's case, she contacted him. She'd seen a mention of Shandihar in an electronic newsletter she receives. There'd been an article warning about fake artifacts, and someone had posted that there are all sorts of bogus items being offered online from civilizations that never actually existed—like Shandihar. The next issue carried Mrs. Cathcart's response setting the record straight. She knew for a fact that Shandihar had been a real city, that she herself owned an artifact from Shandihar and that she'd acquired it from a highly reputable dealer in Boston.”

“So he got the victims to come to him. He smoked them out.”

“Exactly. He got them to confirm that they did have the pieces in their possession, then asked them to e-mail him privately, which they did. Very clever of him. And before you ask, yes, there is a response from Kelly Blume in the same issue.”

“But not Sevrenson or Cross?”

“No, but he could have located them some other way, maybe through Blume or Cathcart. Polly is still interviewing her, so there may be more information to come.”

“Can your guy tell which of the computers in the library was the one the e-mails were sent from?”

“Sure.”

“So, if we went over there right now, and sent your friend an e-mail from each of the computers, he could tell which one was the right one?”

“Yes. But—”

Daria was already out of her chair. “Let's do it, right now. We'll send him an e-mail from every one of the computers and we'll know right now which one matches. And you could take the hard drive and read the messages that are on it, right?”

“Uh-uh.” Connor shook his head. “That's not the way this is going to work.”

“How's it going to work?” Daria gathered up the plates and the paper towels and the water bottles and set everything on the counter along with the empty pizza box.

“Sometime very soon, several of my colleagues will arrive, and they're going to handle this. They'll secure the computers and they'll do what they can to determine who the sender was.”

“How exactly would they do that?” She frowned. “Lots of people use those computers.”

“They can see who signed in at what time on what day, and which of the computers had e-mail sent at approximately that time.”

“What if the killer didn't sign in with his real name?” Daria thought that over for a moment. “Why
would
a killer sign in with his own name?”

“As I recall, there are surveillance cameras in the library. I highly doubt that the person we're looking for came in, browsed the stacks, then took his time at the computer stations. My guess is that he came in, sent his e-mails, and left. I think we'll find the times all line up.”

“You're assuming the killer is a man. You said
he.
”

“The killer has to be one strong son of a bitch. Anderson Blume was six feet four inches tall, his wife was five-nine. They were both in excellent physical condition. Whoever killed them had the strength to handle them both. I think in the end, we'll find there were two killers, both men.”

“How did you come to that conclusion? And what if the killer had a gun? Why couldn't it have been a woman with a gun?”

“One person—even with a gun—would have a devil of a time tying up two people and doing what was done to them. And experience has shown us that women don't kill the way these people were killed.”

Sweet Thing whimpered and scratched at the back door. Connor found the leash he'd earlier left on the counter and snapped it onto the dog's collar. “I'll be right back. She wants out.”

Daria washed the plates and forks and got rid of the paper trash. She had just dried her hands when her cell phone rang. By the time she located it in her bag, it had rung several times.

“Oh, Louise. I was just thinking about you.” Daria told her about the e-mails and the FBI's imminent seizure of the library's computers. “Yes, it's definitely shocking, but you're right. Yes, of course I'll tell him…Oh. Please give her my best and tell her I'm looking forward to meeting her. I agree, now would not be a good time…I'm sorry this is breaking up your meeting…”

She hung up as Connor came back inside with Sweet Thing. “This dog would walk all night if someone would walk with her.”

“She's an outdoor girl at heart, I guess.” Daria set her phone on the counter. “That was Louise on the phone. She was calling to ask me to come to her office for an impromptu meeting. Dr. Bokhari's plane was earlier than expected, and she stopped in to Louise's office just as Louise was meeting with the head trustee and one of the members of the board. She wanted to know if I could run over and meet everyone. Of course, after I told her about the FBI being on the way—”

“You told her that the computers were going to be confiscated?”

“Well, yeah. Don't you think the president of the university deserves a heads-up?”

“Daria, we don't generally do the heads-up thing,” he said.

“She's concerned about the librarian on duty tonight. She wanted me to tell you that she's an older woman and very excitable. Louise is afraid she could have a heart attack if a couple of FBI agents came in waving their badges and grabbing the computers. What's the harm in letting the woman know?”

“It's just not a good idea, Daria.” Connor appeared to think it over. “Actually, I think the library ought to be closed now. Would you mind getting Louise back on the phone? I think she's probably the only person who has the authority to put the building on lockdown, and I think sooner, rather than later, is the time to do exactly that.”

THIRTEEN

“A
s I told you on the phone, I'll close the library as of nine tonight instead of eleven, and keep it closed until your people have finished doing whatever it is they're going to do,” Louise told Connor when he and Daria arrived at her office. “Luckily, there are hardly any students on campus right now, and few faculty members stayed around over the summer, so we won't have too many people to deal with.”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Louise. I've been assured that the Bureau will handle this as quickly and efficiently as we can and with as little disruption to the university as possible.”

“Thank you. I think we have more than enough to deal with right now, with these deaths. How long do you suppose that will stay out of the news?” Louise appeared concerned.

“Not much longer, I'm afraid. The detective investigating Damian Cross's murder is holding a news conference tomorrow. He'll be joined by representatives of the Philly and Radnor township police departments.”

“The departments that investigated the other two cases?” Louise asked.

“Yes. Radnor township investigated because Gladwyne doesn't have its own police department. And it won't be long before we hear from the department in Connecticut, so the press should have a busy week.”

“Which makes the appointment of a PR person all the more pressing. That was one of the issues we were going to discuss in our impromptu meeting tonight.” Louise sighed and reached for the phone. “I'll try the library again. I've been attempting to get in touch with Gloria Weathers since we spoke earlier, but she's not picking up. She must be away from the desk.”

“She isn't the only person working there tonight, is she?” Daria asked.

“No, but she usually stays at or near the front desk. There should also be two student interns, the assistant librarian, and at least one guard. We generally have two during the school year, but we moved one to the museum.”

“I thought the bank had two guards on duty at the museum around the clock now,” Daria said.

“They do. But Nora Gannon—she chairs our board of trustees—thought we should have someone on the school's payroll there as well.” Louise dialed the number and waited almost a full minute. “There's no answer. I wonder if the phone is out.”

“Does the librarian have a cell phone?” Daria asked.

“If she does, I don't have the number. And I don't have the pager number for the guard.” Louise tapped her fingers on the desktop. “It's time I left here for the night anyway. I suppose I could just stop there on my way back to the house and tell Gloria to send everyone home and to close up early.”

“We'll walk over with you,” Connor offered. “It's not out of the way.”

The campus was quiet, most of the buildings dark except for exterior lights. Those few students at Howe for summer school were all housed in the same dormitory at the opposite side of the campus. In the haze around the lights along the paths and in the parking lots, clouds of flying insects gathered. Across the common areas, fireflies winked in the darkness. As Connor, Daria, and Louise made their way from the administration building to the library, they passed only three students.

“I imagine you're looking forward to the fall semester, when the campus is livelier,” Daria said to Louise as they neared their destination. “It's almost a little eerie here at night, don't you think?”

“You get accustomed to it after a few weeks,” Louise replied. “It's almost welcome after the long school year. Our attendance has dropped over the past decade, but Howe is still a pretty busy place from the end of August right through the beginning of June. The summer months are a nice break.”

They walked together up the library steps and into the building.

“Louise,” Connor called to her as she started toward the main desk, “these surveillance cameras are operating, aren't they?”

“We'll have to ask security about that. I would think they would be, but how often they're checked…” She looked around and said, “Well, I would ask security, but I don't see the guard at his station. He must be making his rounds.” Louise continued on her way.

By the time Connor and Daria reached the front desk, Louise had already walked behind it, and into the stacks that lay beyond.

“Gloria?” she called. “Gloria, are you back there?”

Daria walked into the room to their right, where comfortable-looking chairs formed a circle and a pair of worn black leather sofas faced each other. The room was inviting and well lit and obviously designed to encourage discussion, but other than Daria, it was empty.

“You rarely see a room in a library designed for conversation,” Daria said when Louise joined her. “You always think of libraries as places where you never speak above a whisper.”

“It was designed for the occasional informal lecture,” Louise told her. “There are pocket doors that close the room off from the rest of the library. Another of Benjamin Howe's ideas.”

“Any luck finding your librarian?” Connor asked when he joined the two women.

“No.” Louise frowned. “She could be in the basement, or on the second floor. Though on second thought, Gloria has problems with her knees. She rarely goes upstairs.”

“You said there were two students and an assistant working tonight as well?” Connor asked.

“That's the usual arrangement.” Louise was still frowning. “I'm going to check around the desk. Maybe there's a note or something.”

“I'll run down to the computer lab. If the two interns are students, maybe they're working on something for one of their courses.” Connor headed toward the stairwell.

“I'll check the other rooms here on the first floor, then I'll run upstairs,” Daria told Louise. “Maybe you should stay here, in case the librarian or one of the interns returns. Sooner or later, someone is going to have to come back to the front desk.”

“Good point. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find the sign-in sheets from today.”

Daria left Louise at the desk and went through an arch to her left over which a plaque read THE ILIANA HOWE MCGOWAN READING ROOM. The room was dimly lit, and as far as she could see, as empty as the others. An oil portrait of a woman hung over the fireplace at one end of the narrow room, and she walked over to take a closer look.

The subject was a small woman with gray hair pulled back from her face to display her delicate features, a small heart-shaped mouth and wide blue eyes. She wore a black dress and sat demurely, her hands in her lap, a small, sad smile on her lips.

The nameplate below the painting read
ILIANA HOWE MCGOWAN
, 1930.

Daria stepped forward to take a closer look.

So that's what you looked like. I'd been wondering. You were lovely, even in your later years. I imagine life was a bit lonely for you by 1930, with your husband already gone for twenty years, your father for ten, and your children all grown and gone.

Why did you stay on all that time, after everyone you loved had died or left you? And whose idea was the portrait? Was it yours? A small vanity on your part, lest your name be forgotten?

Daria stood in front of the painting, her arms folded over her chest, studying the face of her great-grandmother. She wasn't sure, but thought she might have seen a different portrait of her at one of those long-ago visits to her grandfather's home, or perhaps at one of those infrequent family reunions when she was a child. She hadn't known the woman's name, but she'd known she was a relative from long ago. In that painting, the woman had been younger, and wore a gown of light blue, the color set off by a gold necklace set with blue stones. To Daria and her sister, the woman had appeared regal, and both she and Iona had coveted that necklace.

Daria was so absorbed in the painting and the memories it stirred that by the time she heard the swift footsteps, it was already too late to react.

From out of nowhere, something struck her from behind with such force and speed that she was propelled forward. The last thing she remembered was raising her hands to cover her face as she flew toward the marble fireplace. The side of her head struck the mantel, and the world went dark.

         

“Son of a bitch.” Connor stood in front of the bank of computers in the library basement, his hands on his hips. There wasn't much doubt as to which of the computers the killer had used. It would be the third from the left, the one that now lay shattered and in pieces.

He banged his hand on the low wall of the nearest cubicle.

“Anyone down here? Mrs. Weathers? Hello?” he called out before running back up the steps.

“Did you see anyone downstairs?” Louise asked when Connor approached the desk.

“No. But we won't need an FBI team to figure out which computer the e-mails were sent from.” He told her what he'd found.

“Should I call 911?” Louise asked.

“The Bureau is going to be handling the vandalism of the computer, since it's part of an ongoing case, but give campus security a call and have them track down the guard who's supposed to be on duty here tonight.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I'm going to check upstairs. You said Mrs. Weathers didn't like the steps because of her knees, but if she's not downstairs, and she's not here, there's only one place left.”

He was halfway up to the second floor when he turned back and called down, “Where's Daria?”

“She was in there.” Louise pointed toward the room into which Daria had disappeared.

“Would you ask her to wait with you here until I come down? I'm not getting a good feeling.”

Louise dialed the number for campus security. On the third ring, it was picked up.

“This is President Burnette. Was a guard assigned to the library tonight? Did he check in? Has he been in touch since? I'm over at the library and there's no one here…yes, I'm positive. There's no one at the guard's post, and the building appears to be empty. Yes, please, page him. I'll hold.”

She looked up to see Connor running down the steps.

“I found your Mrs. Weathers. At least, I'm assuming that's who she is.” He grabbed the other phone from the desk and dialed 911. “I'm afraid we're going to need the police here after all.”

“You don't mean Gloria…” Louise went pale. “Is she…?”

“Someone is.” He looked around. “Louise, where's Daria?”

“She was in there. I was going to check after I called security—”

He shoved the phone into her hands. “Tell the police we need them now. Probable homicide.”

He hurried to the doorway where Louise had last seen Daria.

“Oh, sweet Jesus…”

Seconds later he was bending over Daria, checking for a pulse, his own heart all but stopping at the sight of the blood that puddled under her head.

“Please be alive…please, please be alive.”

He located a pulse and began to breath again. “Come on, baby, hang in there. Hang in there…”

“The Howeville police are on their way…” Louise stopped three steps into the room. “Oh my God, is that—?”

“Call 911 back. Tell them to send an ambulance immediately,” he said without looking up.

All of Connor's instincts told him to seek, to find, to break the attacker. But he continued to kneel at Daria's side, wanting to touch her, afraid to touch her, until he heard the sirens stop in front of the building. When the EMTs appeared in the doorway, he waved them over and stepped back, and watched while her vital signs were checked and she was gently lifted onto a stretcher.

Then he left the room without a sound and disappeared into the night. For Connor, the game had just become personal. The killer had no idea just how dangerous a move that had been.

         

“How are you feeling?”

The unfamiliar voice was soft and melodious, with a slight accent Daria could not readily identify. She opened her eyes but could not get them to focus.

“Daria?” the voice asked. “Are you coming back to us now?”

A face floated in front of her. Daria tried to raise her head, but the pain was like a bolt through her brain.

“Easy, Daria.” The mouth on the face moved. “Don't try to sit up.”

“Who are you?” Daria whispered through very dry lips.

“I've been sitting here with you for so long, I'd almost forgotten we hadn't been introduced.” The face moved closer. “I'm Sabina Bokhari.”

“Sabina.” Daria's voice was weak. “I've heard so much about you. I've wanted to meet you…”

“And I've wanted to meet you, too. I'm a great admirer of your work.”

Daria tried to wet her lips.

“You need water, don't you?” The woman rose and walked away, then returned seconds later with a glass of water and a straw. “Here. Let's see if you can take a sip.”

Daria sucked on the straw, grateful.

“Thank you,” she said.

“More?”

“Please.”

“Not too fast, though, all right?”

Daria nodded slightly and took a few more sips.

“Thank you,” she said again. “How…why…?”

“I was on my way to the library—my office is in the basement—when the ambulance pulled up. I saw Louise on the steps, so I went to find out what happened. I thought perhaps Mrs. Weathers had another heart attack.” She swallowed hard. “Anyway, Louise told me what happened. She didn't want you to be in the hospital alone, and since the police needed to question her, she couldn't leave the university grounds. I offered to accompany you and wait with you until you woke up.”

“Connor…” Daria frowned.

“Connor?”

“Connor Shields. He was with us, in the library.”

“The man from the FBI?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't see him, but I heard Louise tell the police he was in the building. Perhaps he was looking for whoever did this to you.”