Misplaced (89 page)

“What did he talk to you about?”

“Th
e
usual—h
e
ha
d
som
e
se
v
enteenth-centur
y
chin
a
teapots
to authenticate.”

“When did you return to the city?”

“This afternoon.”

“Y
ou didn’t see Mr. Cotts?”

“For the second time, no.”

“Di
d
h
e
mentio
n
t
o
yo
u
tha
t
he
’
d
contacte
d
Egypt’
s
Supreme
Council of
Antiquities?”

What
little
color
Mieley
had
left
his
face,
but
he
managed
to
feign ignorance. “No, he didn’t.”

“W
ell
,
i
t
seem
s
Mr
.
Cott
s
cam
e
acros
s
a
n
especially
significan
t
piece—on
e
h
e
fel
t
belonge
d
rightfull
y
i
n
Egypt.
W
e
kno
w
tha
t
h
e
spok
e
wit
h
Dr
.
Shenouda
,
an
d
e-maile
d
photograph
s
o
f
th
e
pieces
.
Apparently
,
thes
e
artifact
s
can
provid
e
critica
l
informatio
n
abou
t
a
ga
p
i
n
history
.
No
w
that
th
e
Egyptia
n
go
v
ernmen
t
suspect
s
th
e
bracelet
s
ar
e
i
n
this
country, they
’
re going to turn up the publicity.”

Suddenly
he
felt
as
though
he
would
vomit.
“Do
you
think
Max
w
as killed for them?”

Gibson stared at him intently. “I ne
v
er said Max
w
as killed;
I said he
w
as dead.”

“I
s
i
t
routin
e
t
o
ha
v
e
thi
s
kin
d
o
f
in
v
estigatio
n
afte
r
a
natural
death?”

“W
e
’
r
e
lookin
g
fo
r
thos
e
artifacts—
a
pai
r
o
f
coronatio
n
bracelets
.
The
y
mus
t
b
e
returne
d
t
o
Egypt
.
Dr
.
Shenoud
a
has
mad
e
i
t
hi
s
life’
s
wor
k
t
o
fin
d
an
d
prosecut
e
anyon
e
h
e
belie
v
es
ha
s
stole
n
hi
s
country’
s
cultura
l
heritage
.
Y
o
u
migh
t
b
e
able
to
help
us.
Who,
besides
you,
might
he
ha
v
e
spoken
to
about
them?”

“Le
t
m
e
clarif
y
—Ma
x
sai
d
n
o
t
hin
g
t
o
m
e
a
b
ou
t
t
hem
.
I
didn’t
know
any
of
his
cronies.
If
I
should
think
of
anything—”

“Here’s
my
card.
Y
ou
wouldn’t
happen
to
know
anything
about
Max
having
a
connection
to
the
antiquities
black
market,
would you?”

“That’s ludicrous. Don’t you dare try to discredit him.”

“The
evidence
indicates
it.
As
w
e
gather
more
information,
w
e may need to talk to you again.”

“It’
s
har
d
t
o
belie
v
e
tha
t
anyon
e
woul
d
ha
v
e
a
reaso
n
to
hurt poor old Max.”

“W
ill you excuse us for a minute?”
The
y
pushe
d
thei
r
chair
s
bac
k
i
n
uniso
n
an
d
departed,
leavin
g
Miele
y
alon
e
again
.
Anothe
r
thirt
y
minute
s
dragged
by
.
W
it
h
hi
s
ar
m
s
a
c
ro
s
s
hi
s
che
s
t
,
h
e
d
efie
d
the
m
t
o
noti
c
e
anything
suspicious
about
him.
It
w
as
a
game
he
found
himself
rathe
r
enjoyin
g
an
d
considere
d
i
t
a
n
afternoo
n
w
el
l
spent
.
Whe
n
the
y
returne
d
wit
h
mor
e
questions
,
Miele
y
w
a
s
composed
,
e
v
en
helpful.

It
w
as
almost
e
v
ening
when
Agent
Gibson
and
his
partner
politel
y
deposite
d
hi
m
a
t
th
e
w
arehouse
.
“Wh
y
i
s
tha
t
sign
posted by your front door?”

He shrugged. “It
w
as there when I bought the place. I left it
as
sort
of
a
con
v
ersation
piece.
It
made
you
think
twice,
didn’t
it?”

“Not at all,” the agent replied without blinking.

Mieley smiled through clenched teeth as they dro
v
e a
w
ay.
Worrie
d
tha
t
the
y
migh
t
return
,
h
e
lingered
,
drawing
hieroglyphs
in
the
dust
on
the
ground
floor
with
the
tip
of
his
shoe.
His
suspicions
pro
v
ed
useless
ho
w
e
v
er,
and
a
short
time
later
he
w
ent
upstairs;
kicked
his
shoes
off
and
threw
himself
onto
the
rumpled
bed.
Max,
you
stupid
bastard,
look
what
you’
v
e
done.

“
A
bum
p
i
n
th
e
road
,
nothin
g
more
”
h
e
chante
d
aloud, over and over
, calculating how long it might take to find Celeste Barton Szabo. He would not start tonight; no searches of her must be found on his laptop. He would do them from libraries and hotels.
Fo
r
goo
d
measure
,
h
e
woul
d
sto
p
periodicall
y
an
d
change
renta
l
cars
,
usin
g
differen
t
agencies
.
H
e
rifle
d
throug
h
a
dra
w
er,
pulled
out
se
v
eral
rolls
of
$100
bills,
threw
them
into
a
duffle
h
e
pulle
d
fro
m
hi
s
close
t
,
an
d
grab
b
e
d
hi
s
shavin
g
ki
t
from
underneath the bathroom sink.