Last Breath (17 page)

FIFTEEN

C
onnor walked up the library steps, his ID in his right hand. He showed it to the Howeville police officer at the top of the steps, and again to the state trooper inside the front door. On his way to the basement, he ran into the two FBI agents who'd been sent to deal with the computers.

“Hey, Jason. Claire.” He greeted them from the top of the steps, about to go down as they were about to come up.

“Connor, this your gig?” Jason Taylor called from the bottom of the stairwell.

“Not officially.” He reached the last step. “You finished with the computers?”

“Yeah. He only used that one.” Claire Mitchell told him. “And that one…there's nothing left. He smashed it but good, took the hard drive with him. He left nothing behind.”

“Prints?” Connor asked.

“The computer's in a public place, who the hell knows how many people have used that machine? I don't think prints are going to help.”

“You're finished here?” Connor started walking to the cubicles.

“Yeah. There's nothing we can extract, with the hard drive gone.”

“You're sure none of the others were used?”

“Positive,” Claire told him. “This guy stuck to the one machine. We ran them all six ways to Sunday and back. They're clean.”

“You taking what's left of the computer with you?”

“Yeah. It's evidence.” Jason pulled a plastic toothpick from his pocket and chewed on the end of it. “It's ours.”

Connor stood over the demolished computer. “I want prints run.”

“Connor, hundreds of people have used this machine.”

“Yeah, but only one person beat the crap out of it. Maybe he got personal with it, maybe picked up a piece or two and smashed it against something else.” He got down on one knee and stared at the cracked edge of the laminate desktop, then looked up and smiled. “Let's get the evidence guys in here to dust everything. Every piece of the machine, every inch of the desk, the chair. I have a feeling he left more of himself behind than he'd intended.”

         

“Chief Thorpe,” Connor called to the head of the local police department.

“Agent Shields.” The older man nodded politely. “You're not going to gum up my works, are you?”

“The murder investigation is all yours.” Connor held up both hands in a hands-off gesture. “But I did have a few questions.”

“Shoot.”

“The surveillance camera…”

“He took the tape with him when he left.”

“Your people dusted for prints?” Connor asked.

“Hell, yes.”

“And on the railing going up the steps?”

“Uh-huh. Just in case he grabbed it as he ran up after Miz Weathers.”

“Okay, so where else did you dust?” Connor walked with the chief to the front desk.

“Handrails in all the stairwells. The front and back doors. Hell, even the men's room door,” Thorpe told him. “I'm guessing you're going to want to see all the matching prints.”

“Just want to see where he's been. I want them run against some prints I lifted off a window frame the other night. I figure if we can match those prints to the ones from the camera, to those from the computer, and to prints taken from the victim—assuming you find some latents and can lift them—we'll know something about him.”

“What's that?” Thorpe frowned.

“We'll know he was in a big hurry. Didn't have time to worry about his prints. And we'll know that he can be panicked into acting foolishly. A good thing to know.”

Thorpe studied Connor's face. “What else do you need?”

“Cause of death for last night's victim?”

“The ME isn't finished with the autopsy yet, far as I know, but the EMTs said it looked like strangulation. Marks on her neck suggested a rope or something similar. She was found facedown—”

“I know. I found her,” Connor reminded him.

“Right. So facedown on the floor, strangled; I'm thinking he comes up behind her, chokes her till she stops breathing, then just drops her right there.”

Connor nodded. “The interns said last night they could hear him chasing Mrs. Weathers up the steps, then it got quiet. Maybe he was stalking her through the stacks, then grabbed her from behind, like you suggested.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“Were you able to get the names of any of the students who were here when the killer came in?”

“Got a list of 'em. Spoke with them myself. You're wanting to know how he got them to leave.”

“Yes.”

“He told them there was a problem, some short in the electrical system, and they were going to have to shut off the power,” Thorpe told him. “They thought he was university security, since he was wearing a uniform.”

“Did it look like what the real guards wear?”

“They said it was the same color, but whether or not it was the same, they couldn't tell. They just knew it was brown.”

“Did you point out a real guard to them?”

“Don't make me roll my eyes at you, Agent Shields.” Thorpe sighed. “Of course we did. They just weren't paying attention. They're studying, a guy comes up in a uniform, he looks like a guard, as far as the kids are concerned, he's a guard.”

“Were they able to describe him?”

“Tall, maybe six-one, six-two. Well-built. The one girl said he looked pretty buff. Like he works out. Maybe twenty-five to thirty, brown hair, brown eyes. Caucasian, but he looked like he had a good tan. No distinguishing marks.”

“Any campus guards who fit that description?”

“I already interviewed the head of security. They have one or two guys who are almost six feet tall, no one he considers particularly buff. The guards here mostly sit around and look out the window, occasionally walk outside. He said they haven't even had anyone to chase all summer; there hasn't been a whole lot of activity on this campus since the spring semester ended.”

“Have you been able to talk to the guard who was on duty last night?”

“Yeah. He says he heard one of those electronic alarms, like one of the doors had been opened. He checked the schematic of the building, says it looked like one of the basement doors. He went downstairs to check it, got to the door, saw it was slightly ajar. Went to close it, someone whacked him over the head, and he doesn't recall a thing after that.”

“Where is he now?”

“He's at home with an ice pack on his head. Sergeant Mills there at the front desk can give you his name and address.” Thorpe stood with his hands in his pants pockets. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment, thank you, but I'd like a copy of the autopsy report on Gloria Weathers when it's available. You have my number. If you give me a call, I'll come pick it up.”

“Will do.” Thorpe nodded and started to walk away.

“Chief, your people have done a great job.”

“Gee, thanks, Agent Shields. We live for the approval of the feds.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply—”

“Whatever.” Thorpe turned his back. “Have a nice day, Agent Shields.”

“Teach me to compliment the locals,” Connor muttered to himself.

Once outside, he searched his pockets for the card Louise had given him and looked it over. Where to start, the archaeologists or the trustees?

He was thinking he'd start with the trustees when he saw Sabina Bokhari walking toward him. Daria had been right. The woman was not only uncommonly beautiful, but alluringly feminine. She was accompanied by a tall, thin, serious-looking man with dark hair and a well-trimmed beard.

“Agent Shields,” she called to him. “How is Daria? Is she back at McGowan House?”

“She might be on her way by now,” he told her, adopting her friendly tone. “She was still waiting to see the doctor when I left about an hour or so ago.”

He turned his attention to her escort.

“We haven't met. I'm Connor Shields.”

“So sorry. Where are my manners?” Sabina smiled pleasantly. “Stefano Korban, a colleague of mine here at Howe.” She turned to the bearded man. “Connor is the FBI agent who is working with Dr. McGowan.”

“Good to meet you.” Korban's voice was surprising deep and rich, the kind Connor generally heard coming from more robust bodies.

“And you.” Connor nodded.

“Stefano and I were just taking a walk. I can't get into the library to go to my office, and I just can't sit around my apartment any longer. I keep thinking about the terrible things that have been happening lately. Poor Mrs. Weathers”—Sabina shook her head—“and those other people who were killed…it's just tragic.”

“Does the FBI have any suspects?” Korban asked. “Any idea who killed all those people?”

“The FBI isn't handling the murders,” Connor told them. “The police departments where the killings took place are in charge of those investigations. The Bureau is really only investigating the art thefts.”

“That's funny,” Korban frowned. “At the press conference this morning the detective from Delaware said you were in charge of the whole thing, and everything was going through you.”

“I'm afraid you misunderstood. I have agreed to serve as a liaison between the police departments and the FBI. There will be certain information that will be relevant to the murder investigations as well as to the theft of the artifacts.”

“What is the status, Agent Shields?” Korban asked. “Of the thefts, I mean.”

“Still under investigation,” Connor said shortly. “But while we're on the subject of the investigations, I would like to ask you both a few questions. Would it be all right if I stopped at your apartments later?”

“Why not now?” Sabina asked. “We're all here.”

“For one thing, I don't have time to talk to you both,” Connor explained. “For another, I'd like to keep the party small.”

“I see.” Sabina smiled. “Are we suspects, then?”

“Sabina, don't be ridiculous,” Korban admonished her.

“I just have a few questions I'd like to ask each of you.”

“I'm actually on my way to the grocery store,” Sabina told him. “As you know, I've been out of the country for two months. My cupboard is bare. However, if you'd care to stop over later, say around seven, I should be back from all my errands.”

“Seven is fine. I'll see you then.”

“Good. Stefano, I'll leave you here. My car is right behind the arts building. I'll catch up with you later.”

“See you.” Korban watched her walk away, then turned his attention to Connor. “I'm available right now. I was just on my way to the parking lot.”

“That's where I'm headed. Okay, we'll talk on our way.”

The two men fell into step.

“So you picked up Dr. Bokhari at the airport last night,” Connor said.

“Yes. She flew into Philly from Cairo, got in around six. We stopped on the way home for dinner, small place out near Kennett.”

“What time did you get back to campus?”

“Must have been around seven-thirty.”

“How'd you end up at Dr. Burnette's office?”

“We saw her lights on when we drove past the administration building. Sabina wanted to stop in and let her know she was back. Also, she wanted an update on the thefts from the museum.”

“So you stopped at the office…”

“The door was partly open, so Sabina stuck her head in to say hello. Dr. Burnette invited us in. A couple of the trustees were there, and they were talking about the artifacts that were stolen and the collectors that were murdered. Everyone was pretty shocked by the whole thing.”

“What time did you leave the office?”

“It was after eight. I don't remember exactly. It was shortly after Dr. Burnette spoke with Dr. McGowan.”

“Where did you go after you left Dr. Burnette's office?”

“I drove Sabina back to her apartment. I helped her get her luggage inside. She invited me in for a glass of wine. Sabina was very upset about the entire thing and wanted to talk. Not just the thefts, or the murders, but also about Dr. McGowan discovering that the thefts had taken place.”

“Why do you suppose that was?”

“Because Sabina's the head of the archaeology department here. She was already upset that the university brought someone in over her to handle the reopening of the museum. When Dr. McGowan discovered the thefts, that made it even worse. Not to say that they are rivals, exactly, but they share the same area of expertise.”

“The archaeology of the Middle East.”

“Yes. Sabina's quite the scholar, you know.”

“I think Daria—Dr. McGowan—might have mentioned that.”

“Sabina's spent a lot of time studying over there,” Korban said as they walked toward the parking lot.

“You think she was familiar with this city that Dr. McGowan's great-grandfather found?”

“Shandihar?” Korban stopped next to a green Jetta and took the key from his pocket. “Sure.”

“How do you know for certain?”

“Because she mentioned once that she was reading up on all of Alistair McGowan's expeditions.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she wanted to follow in his footsteps. She wanted to rediscover the city. She was going to find Shandihar again.”

Korban unlocked the Jetta. “Was there anything else you wanted to know?”

“No,” Connor told him. “I think that should do it for now.”

SIXTEEN

D
aria sat in the wicker chair, her feet propped up on the matching ottoman, a cool drink in her hand, and a pounding inside her head. For all Mia's efforts to make her as comfortable as possible, Daria just wanted to rest her head and cry. The former was doable. The latter would have to wait until she was alone. She'd never been particularly comfortable sharing her emotions.

“What else can I get you?” Mia asked.

“Nothing, thank you.” Daria put the glass down on the table next to her. “And thanks again for bringing me home.”

“Don't mention it. Now, how about another pillow, or…well, I guess a blanket isn't necessary, since it's about eighty degrees in here.”

“Opening the windows and turning on the fan helped.” Daria glanced up at the fan that was whirling over their heads. “I think the room will cool off if we give it a few more minutes.”

“This is a really great room. If this were my house, I'd live out here.” Mia sat in a rocking chair across from Daria. “I guess you spend a lot of time out here.”

“I love it. It was built as a conservatory, and it's easy to imagine the room filled with leafy plants, and flowering things.” Daria gazed around the room, imagining just that. “But I've hardly been in here at all. We've been so busy since I discovered the thefts from the museum, then Connor arrived and we started looking up the collectors, and the next thing you know, we discovered several of them were dead—murdered.”

“For someone not used to that sort of pace, I can see where it would be distressing.” Mia nodded. “But one thing I've learned over the years, it all passes, sooner or later. One case ends, the next one begins.”

“How long have you been in the FBI?”

“I was in for nine years. I left the Bureau about a month ago.” Mia began to fidget, picking at the paper label on her bottle of root beer.

“Were you just tired of it, or…” Daria wasn't sure how to continue, or if she should.

“Tired of it in the sense that I'd seen enough bad stuff to last a lifetime or two.” Mia took a long drink from the bottle. “Or three. It just got to me after a while. All the suffering. All the terrible things people do to one another. I just had to step back from it for a time.”

“Do you think you'll go back?”

“To the Bureau?” Mia shook her head. “No. But I will stay in law enforcement.”

“In what capacity?”

“I'm applying for a job as a small-town cop,” Mia said, grinning, “in a little town on Maryland's Eastern Shore.”

“After years with the FBI, will that be too slow a pace for you?”

“Nah. I love the town, and I am so ready for that change. Besides, the chief of police is a hunk.”

“Oh.” Daria laughed. “I guess that's incentive.”

“More than enough.” Mia gathered the paper scraps and rose to take them and the empty bottle to the kitchen. “Can I bring you anything?”

“No, thanks, Mia. The sandwich was just enough.”

“I'll bring the cookies back, just in case.”

Mia stepped over Sweet Thing on her way out of the room. The dog had planted herself in the doorway like a furry sentinel, as if to say,
You'll have to go through me to get to Daria,
and Daria took some comfort knowing her canine companion was on guard duty. Of course, the fact that Mia was armed added to Daria's comfort level.

All at once, Sweet Thing rose, a deep growl beginning somewhere deep inside like thunder, her gaze fixed on the door.

“It's okay, girl, it's me,” Connor called to the dog as he came through the kitchen. “Good girl.”

He paused in the doorway to pet the dog and praise her. “Way to be on the case, Sweet Thing.”

To Daria, he said, “How are you feeling? Head still throbbing?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Not as bad as yesterday, though.”

“Did you take the medication the doctor gave you?”

“Not yet, but I will. I didn't want to fall asleep on Mia. She's been so nice.”

“Yeah, she has her moments.” Connor lifted Daria's legs by the crossed ankles and sat on the ottoman at her feet.

“I heard that.” Mia came into the room, carrying a plate with a sandwich wrapped in butcher's paper and a plastic container. “We got you roast beef on rye and some potato salad. Pull that table closer, Con.”

He did as he was told and Mia placed everything on the table for him.

“Can I get you a beer?”

“No, thanks, Mia. I have a meeting in about ten minutes on the other side of campus. I really appreciate you thinking of me when it came to food.”

“We found a really great deli on our way back from the hospital. It's right down there in the middle of town, so we stopped for sandwiches. Neither Daria nor I felt like having a large meal tonight.” Mia turned to Daria. “Would you like me to get your meds for you now? You must be ready to take something for the pain.”

“I probably am,” Daria admitted and started to get up. “But I can get it.”

“You stay put. I don't mind.” Mia started toward the door.

“Hey, this is a side of you I've never seen before. I like it. I've never seen you wait on anyone before.”

“It's a whole new me,” Mia told him as she left the room. “It's living the small-town life, what can I say?”

“She was just telling me she'd left the FBI,” Daria said.

Connor nodded. “She needed to do that. She'd seen too much in too few years. It was time for her to move on, maybe find some peace in her life.”

“Do you think she will?”

“I think she has. She's looking forward to starting a new job in the fall—maybe she's told you about that?”

When Daria nodded, he continued. “Got herself a new guy, a great guy. I think she's going to be okay.”

“I hope so. I like her a lot.”

“Yeah, she's all right.”

Daria could tell by the way he said it that he thought his cousin was more than just all right.

He unwrapped the sandwich and began to eat.

“Anything new to tell me?” she asked.

Connor finished chewing, swallowed, and said, “I stopped at the library after I left the hospital and had a chat with the local chief of police.”

Daria listened intently as Connor filled her in on how the killer had gotten the people in the library to leave.

“Wasn't there a real guard there?” Mia asked as she came back into the room with a small tray.

“Yes, but he'd gone into the basement to check on an open door and was bashed over the head,” Connor told her.

“Was he killed?” she asked.

“No, just knocked out for a while, much like Daria. Though he had a few more stitches than she does,” he replied.

“At least he's alive. How'd the door get opened?”

“That's one thing I can't find an easy explanation for. There's no way to jimmy it from outside. I have to think someone on the inside either left it open by accident—maybe went out by the back door and didn't close it all the way—or someone deliberately opened it for the killer.”

“Which means an accomplice.”

“There has to be more than one person working this thing. I'm seeing two, maybe three.”

“Like some kind of ring.” Mia bit the cuticle on one finger. “Have you given any thought to this being an organized theft operation? You know, stealing valuable artifacts to resell them to other collectors?”

“Why would they target these specific artifacts?” Daria asked.

“Because they're very rare—didn't you say the things in the museum basement are the only known artifacts from Shandihar?” Mia asked. “If you're going to steal to sell on the black market, why not steal the stuff that's going to bring you the greatest return for your effort?”

“It feels like more than a simple theft,” Daria told her. “You have these ritualistic killings. Whoever is behind this knows the Shandiharan culture well enough to know how they punished people they felt had committed some sort of transgression. That greatly limits the pool of suspects.”

“Could be a combination of both, though,” Connor said thoughtfully. “Maybe someone with inside knowledge who's out to make a killing—no pun intended—on the black market. But at this point, I think we need to consider all possibilities.”

Mia set the small metal tray on the table she'd earlier pulled over for Connor. “I hope you don't mind me going through the kitchen cupboards, but I thought if I could find a little tray, I could bring everything in at the same time.”

“I don't mind at all. I'm grateful for your help.”

“Here's a bottle of water for you”—she handed it to Connor—“and here's one for you, Daria, along with those painkillers you've been avoiding. I can tell by the expression on your face that you're not very comfortable right now.”

“I should probably take them now.” Daria reached for the small orange container Mia held out to her.

“In other news, I had a chat with Stefano Korban a little while ago,” Connor said.

“He's the archaeologist on the faculty here?” Daria popped the pills into her mouth and swallowed them with some water.

“Right. Daria, what do you know about Sabina Bokhari?”

“I know she's very well regarded in the field. So much so that I was surprised to find out she was on the faculty here at Howe.”

“Why's that?” Mia asked.

“Because she could certainly be teaching at a much more prestigious university. She could pretty much write her own ticket anywhere,” Daria explained. “I really don't understand why she's here, frankly.”

“I'm guessing you didn't know about her interest in Shandihar?” Connor asked.

“She did mention that she was familiar with the legends. She told me there was a curse…”

“Did she also mention that one of her goals is to someday follow in Alistair's footsteps?”

“I don't understand,” Mia said. “What does that mean?”

“It means she wants to rediscover the city, according to Professor Korban. Seems she's envisioning Shandihar's second coming, if you will.” Connor used the napkin Mia had given him and rolled up the now empty paper in which his sandwich had been wrapped.

Daria looked dumbstruck.

“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction, too,” Connor told her.

“She never said anything about that to me. She was in my hospital room with me for hours, and never said a word about that. She just mentioned reading some book about the Sisters of Shandihar, which was apparently another name for the priestesses, and some vague curse associated with them and the
gallas.
”

“The evil spirits who roamed the earth and did bad things for Ereshkigal,” Connor added.

“Er…who?” Mia asked.

“The Shandiharan goddess of the Underworld.” Daria explained the dark goddess and her cult of followers to Mia, who rolled her eyes.

“
Gallas
and goddesses and evil sisterhoods, oh my,” Mia parodied. “You think any of these evil sisters or evil
gallas
are here at Howe University?”

“Maybe someone—or more than one—who believe they are,” Connor told her. “Just as deadly, in the long run. Someone who believes they have a sacred mission is going to be just as dangerous as someone who really does.”

“You mean, like someone who knows that some items were stolen from the storage room, and who wants to get them back?” Daria thought aloud. “But that someone would have to know that the items were missing in the first place.”

Connor nodded slowly. “All along, we've assumed that no one knew anything was missing until Daria did her inventory. What if someone had already figured that out?” He stopped and thought for a moment. “Well, of course, if this theory is the right one, someone had to know. The Blumes and Mrs. Sevrenson were both killed several months ago. Months before Daria arrived at Howe.”

“Then it follows that someone else would have to have known exactly what was in those crates,” Daria said.

“Which means that someone had to have read Alistair's journals to have known exactly what he'd brought back,” Connor said. “How much do you want to bet Dr. Bokhari is well acquainted with Alistair's journals?”

“How much do you suppose she knew about the artifacts? And did she know they were missing?” Mia asked.

“Just two of the questions I'll be asking her.” Connor glanced at his watch. “I'm on my way over to her apartment now.”

He turned to Daria. “I'll check in on you when I get back. Is there anything you need? Anything I can bring you?”

“No, thanks.” She shook her head. “Mia's taking good care of me.”

“Great.” He patted her leg, then stood and turned to Mia. “I owe you one.”

“My pleasure, sport.” His cousin smiled.

“Mia, come with me and lock the front door after I leave.”

“Good idea.” To Daria, Mia said, “I'll be right back.”

Daria watched Connor pause to pat the dog on the head before he and Mia left the room. Several seconds later, she heard the front door close, then listened as Mia's footsteps came closer.

“This is a really interesting case,” Mia said as she stepped over Sweet Thing. “Almost interesting enough to make me want to re-up.” She smiled at Daria. “Just kidding. It's interesting but I have no intention of going back.”

She sat back on the rocker and picked up the plate of cookies. After inspection and selection, she offered the plate to Daria, who at first started to decline but then shrugged and leaned forward to take it from Mia's hands.

“What's bothering you?” Mia asked as she handed the plate over.

“Thinking about Sabina,” Daria said softly. “I wasn't aware her interest in Shandihar ran so deep. I'd hate to think she's involved somehow. I can't understand why she didn't say more when we were in the hospital.”