Last Breath (18 page)

“Maybe she thought it wasn't the time or place to talk about work.”

“Trust me, you put two archaeologists in a room, that's all they talk about. And we did. We talked about mutual friends, and a dig she was on with some people I've worked with.” Daria frowned. “But she never mentioned that she wanted to search for Shandihar.”

“What else is bothering you about her?” Mia asked.

“What makes you thing there's something else?”

“Just the look on your face.”

The words Daria could have spoken stuck in her throat.

“It's Connor, isn't it?” Mia said it for her. “You think he's interested in her?”

“Well, she is pretty…well, gorgeous.” Daria sighed.

“If all it took to get Connor's attention was a pretty face, he'd have been snatched up long ago.” Mia nibbled on her cookie. “He's been chased by many, but he's never come close to being caught. At least, as far as anyone in the family knows.”

“Strange. You'd think he'd…well, he's just such a warm person.”

“Connor? Warm?” Mia laughed. “There are very few people who would describe him as warm, Daria. He's been a loner all his life, even more so since…well, since Dylan.” A shadow crossed Mia's face.

“Who's Dylan?”

“His brother.”

“The one who died?”

“He told you about that?” Mia asked.

“Not exactly. He just said he had a brother who died.” Daria paused, then asked, “How did he die?”

“I think you ought to ask him that.” Mia stood and began to clear the plates and empty water bottles. “It's not something I like to talk about.”

She left the room, leaving Daria with another round of questions that were not likely to be answered anytime soon.

         

“Come in, Agent Shields.” Sabina Bokhari stood in the doorway of her second-floor apartment in an old brick building at the edge of the Howe campus. “You're very prompt.”

She wore the same kind of khaki shorts that Daria was in the habit of wearing, and a loose-fitting coral-colored knit top. Her long black hair was pulled back on one side and held with a clip. He was struck once again that she was, as Daria had noted, uncommonly beautiful.

“Do come in.” She stepped aside and he entered the spacious living room.

“Interesting décor,” he said as he looked around at the art-filled room. “Souvenirs from your last dig?”

She smiled. “I am not in the habit of tomb robbing or pilfering from the job site. I do, however, frequent the gift shops of museums all over the world. Please have a seat.”

She gestured toward the sofa, but he chose the chair on the opposite wall.

“You wanted to ask me some questions.” She took a seat on the sofa facing him.

“Let's start with Tuesday night. What time did you get back on campus?”

“I'm not sure, but I think around seven-thirty or so. Stefano picked me up at the airport and we stopped for dinner on the way home. We passed the administration building on the way to my apartment, and I noticed that Louise's office lights were still on. I asked Stefano to stop so I could see her. I wasn't aware she had people in the office, but when we arrived, she invited us to join her and the two trustees.”

“Had you met them before?”

“Yes, of course. They've both been around forever. Nora Gannon's a legacy, if you follow.”

“I don't.”

“Her father and her grandfather were both Howe graduates. They both served on the board.”

“And the other trustee?”

“Olivia Masters.” Sabina nodded. “She's a Howe alum, and she lives right outside Howeville. She volunteered to be the new public relations person for the university, at least until this is resolved.”

“So Louise invited you and Stefano to come in and be part of this impromptu meeting.” So far, Sabina's story matched Stefano's perfectly.

“Yes. She said she was just getting ready to call Daria to come over when we arrived.”

“Was there anyone else?” he asked. “Anyone else she was going to call that you know of?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly.

“You were away for the summer on a dig with some students. Was the dig sponsored by Howe?”

“Howe and three other universities.”

“You were away for how long?”

“Eight weeks. It would have been twelve, but when I heard about what was happening here, I told Louise I'd come back early. There were other archaeologists on the site—I don't feel that my leaving was detrimental to the students.”

“I was wondering about when you left…where were you again?”

“In Turkey.”

“That's where Shandihar was, right?”

“We were in northeastern Turkey. Shandihar was located in the south of Turkey. Of course, it's been buried under sand since the earthquake early in the last century, so who knows exactly where it is.”

“Rumor has it that you do.”

She appeared to be taken off guard, but only for a moment.

“Oh, you've been talking to Stefano.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, I did tell him that I'd like to be the one to find the city again. Me and five hundred other people in the field.”

“Five hundred other people are not head of the archaeology department at the university where every known artifact from Shandihar is housed.”

“For me to deny that I knew the McGowan collection was here would be an insult to your intelligence, and mine. Yes, of course I knew about it when I sent my résumé in to Louise several years ago.”

“I wasn't aware that the whole Shandihar thing was widely known. I was under the impression that Alistair McGowan and his find were pretty much forgotten after his death. How did you hear about it?”

“In this country, yes, it isn't a story that's widely known, that's true. But I grew up in Turkey, Pakistan, Afghanistan—my father was a professor of ancient history and taught in several universities. So I'd hear things, you know, legends, stories, that sort of thing. I picked up a book in a bazaar in Turkey when I was about thirteen, and I read about this city that everyone had believed was made-up, but then it was found by a foreigner who took away with him everything he could move.”

“I imagine that didn't sit well with the Turks,” he said. “That this entire culture had been taken from them.”

“The old people in the region said the earthquake buried the city again because the goddess was angry that her treasures had been stolen, that her temples had not been safeguarded.” She smiled at him. “I was quite impressionable at thirteen, Agent Shields. I read about how Alistair McGowan found Shandihar by reading the ancient epic poems and studying all the legends, so I did the same. I read what he'd read, and I dreamed about finding the city again someday.”

“So you know about Ereshkigal?”

“Of course. And I know how her priestesses punished sinners.” She slashed at one wrist with the side of her hand.

“Why didn't you mention this to me when I met you in the hospital?”

“For one thing, I was afraid it would move me to the top of your suspect list.”

“You think?” he replied sarcastically.

“Do you honestly think I killed those people? That I cut off their hands and cut out their tongues and stole their artifacts?”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

Sabina rolled her eyes. “Everyone who watched the press conference this morning knows that much. The detective from Delaware was quite graphic in his description of the manner in which those people were killed.”

“He should not have done that.” Connor grimaced.

“Not my fault, Agent Shields.” Her voice held a snap he hadn't noticed earlier. “The detective described the couple as being athletic, and the man as rather large. Do you really think I'm capable of subduing two such people, then killing them both? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm five feet five inches tall and I weigh one hundred and fourteen pounds. I'm in good shape, but I'm no match for people such as the ones the detective described. And besides, I've been out of the country, as you know.”

“You could have had accomplices.” Connor shrugged. “I imagine it wouldn't be too difficult for you to get a guy—or two—to do things for you.”

“And my motive would be…?”

Connor shrugged. “Maybe you fancy yourself one of those
gallas
and you believe you're working for the goddess. Or maybe you read Alistair's journals and took a look at what was in the basement of the museum, figured out what was missing, and decided you'd get it all back and sell it on the black market.” He was throwing out the theories he'd earlier tossed around with Mia and Daria.

“I think that's enough.” Her dark eyes flashed. “Am I a suspect in this, Agent Shields?”

“Everyone at Howe is a suspect, Dr. Bokhari.”

“Then you should probably leave.” She stood, her earlier courtesy now gone.

“Were you upset when you found out that Daria had been asked to come in and oversee the restoration of the museum?”

“Of course I was upset.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I'm qualified to do the job. I am head of the department here, but they brought her in because her name was McGowan. So yes, I was upset, and frankly, I was embarrassed by the fact that I'd been overlooked for the position. And then, to make matters worse, she finds that important pieces from the collection are missing.”

“Why does that make matters worse?”

“Because I like her. I respect her for who she is, but I also like her. I'd hate for her to think that I'm an idiot.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because I'm the head of the department and this happened on my watch.”

“If you're referring to the theft of the artifacts, I can assure you that happened long before you came to Howe. The murders, on the other hand, they're definitely on your watch.”

She stared at him.

“I think I'd like you to leave now.” She opened the door for him.

“Does Louise know about your fascination with Shandihar?” he asked as he crossed the room.

“No.” She smiled wryly as she ushered him into the hall. “Though I suspect she will before much longer.”

“One more thing,” he started to ask. “When did you first find out that artifacts had been stolen from the—”

She slammed the door in his face.

“Okay, then,” he murmured. “Thanks for your time.”

SEVENTEEN

H
e stood in the shadows and watched the house. Though tall, he was more boy than man, with long, gangly arms and legs, and just the barest bit of stubble on his face. He held his breath when the front door opened unexpectedly and the tall, dark-haired man with the dangerous eyes came down the steps and set off down the path that led farther into the campus.

Was anyone inside with the woman? He wasn't sure.

He wished he'd arrived sooner. He wished there were more eyes to watch all the places that needed watching.

He wished he was back home with his friends, playing soccer in the fields and huddling together on the hillside at night, sharing cigarettes and telling lies and listening to Western music on the radio.

Most of all, he wished he could be anywhere but here, hiding amid the thick growth of evergreens outside this house where the woman lived.

But he'd taken an oath, hadn't he? He'd stood between his father and his brother, there on the hillside overlooking the valley where it was said an earthquake had swallowed up an entire city.

He thought of his trips to Istanbul and to Cairo. On their way to America, they had stopped in that most wondrous of cities, London. How could the earth open up wide enough to swallow an entire city? How was it possible that the earth could eat whole buildings and leave nothing in their place?

But that's what his father had said between the loud racking coughs that had brought him back from wherever he'd been for much of the boys' life. For the past several years, after the sickness had taken hold of their father's lungs, it had been his brother who'd disappeared for months at a time, coming home for a few weeks here and there. Four weeks ago, his brother had returned, and had gone directly into their father's room, where they'd talked long into the night.

Then, on the night before his brother was to leave again, they'd taken him up into the hills where they told him they would teach him how to pray. There, where the sacred city had stood, they would all pray. The boy had looked down but saw nothing but rock and desert below.

The prayers had been most strange, had made no sense to him, and seemed to go on forever. When he opened an eye to peek—from boredom more than curiosity—his father and brother were both kneeling in the dirt, their arms outstretched toward the heavens, with tears on their faces.

That had been about the scariest thing he'd ever seen.

Scarier even than the words they were chanting and the oath they made him repeat.
I am
gallas,
and the priestess I obey. The faithful remember…

He had no idea what the words really meant until he came to this place and the priestess told him what he must do. Now,
she
had been scary. Beyond scary.

After that, his nightmare really began.

Even now, his mouth filled with bile just thinking of it. At night he dreamed that the eyes of the dead followed him, and every morning he awoke with the scent of blood in his nostrils. And always, always, his hands felt the slick warm liquid that had poured over them…

“Why?” he'd pleaded with his brother. “Why?”

“Because the goddess demands it.”

How long ago had it been—a week? less?—that he'd held the woman's head in his hands while his brother had carved out her tongue? And then the man, the woman's husband, whose eyes had gone wild with madness as he helplessly watched his wife's agony.

His hands had shaken but he'd done what he'd been told to do. He'd followed orders like a zombie, unable to really see, to feel, to think.

The man-boy hiding in the evergreens began to sweat. He tried to will the horrific images from his mind's eye, but they were always there now.

And there'd been the other one, the man who lived alone in the fine stone house, the man whose dog had chased him, had bitten his arm. He rubbed the place where the dog's teeth had sunken into his flesh, felt the scabs that had formed. All things considered, after what he'd helped his brother to do, he couldn't be angry with the dog.

The image of that man stayed with him, day and night.

His stomach turned, remembering.

How was it his brother could be so unaffected by what they had done?

“The goddess demands it, little brother. The priestess has told me so.”

He loved his father and wished to honor him. He'd taken his father's place as a
gallas
as he'd been told he must do. But deep down inside, he wished he could run, wished he could just disappear and never see his brother or the priestess again.

But of course, no matter where he went, they would find him. The
gallas
always did.