She could hear Horne speaking, and suddenly Walker thrust the phone in her face. “Here!”
“Bruce? I mean DI?”
“So you’re calling the shots now?”
“Of course not. It’s just a suggestion. We might learn more by tailing Milchner than by questioning him. So he doesn’t know we’re onto him.”
“Put Walker back on.”
* * *
They rode in silence for the first hour, Alexa’s mind on the teacup. She wanted to get back to that store and buy the teacup. How would she handle it if Dittmer were in the shop? Make up some story about needing a gift. Bridal shower thingy. Did they have bridal showers in New Zealand?
Goodness knows she had been to enough of them in the States, people eyeing her, asking, “When are you getting married, Alexa?” Men were never asked, but a single woman? Fair play. Open season. Who let the dogs out?
Same with baby showers. “Don’t you just want one of your own?” some colleague would gush, practically shoving her drooling infant into Alexa’s protesting arms.
In a few years, it would be too late to bear a child, which had never bothered her much when it was a choice.
I don’t even like kids, remember?
Walker broke her wild goose thread. “You were right. It’s better to follow Milchner rather than haul him in. I wish I’d get this police business straight for a change.”
“We’ll find out which plan DI Horne went for when we get back.” A swell of affection for the ginger-headed rookie took her by surprise. “If Bailey is in on the whole thing, he’s probably already called Milchner. You did a good job questioning him.”
Walker pushed pedal to metal, and the remaining two hours to Rotorua flew in a blur.
* * *
Bruce Horne was leaving the station as they entered. He looked at his watch and turned around. “I can spare five minutes. Let’s talk here.” He pointed to the reception bench where Alexa had first met him. Walker filled him in on the details of the visit.
“Good work, Walker.” The DI studied the young officer whose cheeks colored. “Go write your report.”
He turned to Alexa as Walker hurried away. “I need you to check in with that anthropologist doctor. She’s at the morgue. We need cause of death and age of the skeleton. Hurry her up. She thinks she’s writing a dissertation or something. Couldn’t get her to comment.”
“So you want me to leave the lab again? I thought I was under house arrest.” She should have kept her mouth shut.
The DI flushed but was mature enough not to bite. “I’m on my way to Pirongia to meet with the Ministry of Culture representative. He’s discovered something of interest.”
“I’ll head straight to the morgue. What did you do about Milchner?”
“That’s my business.” He shook his head and left.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A week had passed since Alexa stood in this morgue observing Dr. Hill deconstruct Paul Koppel. His melted face flashed in her mind. Whatever he had done, he had not deserved to be dumped in molten mud.
Dr. Robertova was arguing with someone on her phone. Alexa, dressed in scrubs, booties, and gloves, crossed the room toward the skeleton laid out on a steel cart. No odor of putrefaction or cooked flesh this go; these bones cast an earthy musk.
“Have it ready Thursday,” Dr. Robertova demanded and then slid the phone into her pocket. “Imbeciles,” she muttered. A surgical mask and a mini recorder dangled from her neck.
The two women looked down at the reconstructed and brushed clean skeleton. The rib cage, laid flat, had long since been capable of expanding and contracting. Two ribs were cracked and, Alexa counted, one pair was missing.
“I’ve completed the inventory. All bones accounted for except the skull, floating ribs, and three phalanges,” Dr. Robertova said. “A complete skeleton is never around when you need one.”
Was she cracking a joke? The expert from Auckland was hard to read. “Any artifacts found with the remains?” Alexa asked.
“Some shells and traces of a flax cloak, which I have carefully preserved. Groundwater dissolved most of it. In Maori culture, cloaks are imbued with taonga and worn by people of high status. To separate a cloak from the body is said to induce danger.”
“Yikes.” But wait. Officer Cooper thought this was the grave of a slave, not someone of high status.
“Clothing disguises our flaws but decays and disintegrates more rapidly than that which it disguises, leaving the natural state behind.”
Say what?
“How did the bones become exposed?” Alexa asked.
“They were dug up.”
“How do you know?” There had been no obvious shovel or trowel marks.
“Impressions had been smoothed over. A dirt pile was covered with sticks. Holes in the area had been refilled, stomped on. Lots of indicators, if you know what to look for.”
Was that a dig?
“Your officer took photos of it all.” Dr. Robertova shook her head. “There was an impression where the skull had been. Most likely, treasures were taken as well. We will never know the full significance of the loss.”
Alexa was angry she had missed obvious signs. The horror of tripping over human remains had clouded professionalism.
“The Ministry of Culture and Heritage representative found a grave marker. A rock with a strange marking. He is searching the area for other graves.” Dr. Robertova pulled on her face mask and picked up a wee phalanger. “I am ready to examine the bones.”
Alexa looked at the pinkie toe with dismay. One down, two hundred to go. She was itching to stop by Kauri Treasures. “Detective Inspector Horne has just requested sex, age, cause, and time of death. ASAP.”
Dr. Robertova looked perturbed. “It is important to be systematic.”
“We have a murderer on the loose,” Alexa said.
“If you insist.”
“Thank you.”
The doctor reached for a tape measure and began with the femur Alexa had tripped over. She murmured something about limb length and height into the recorder dangling from her neck and then moved to the pelvic region.
“I can determine the sex with ninety-five percent accuracy,” Dr. Robertova said and then looked up at Alexa. “If I had the skull, it would be with ninety-eight percent accuracy.”
“Ninety-five percent will do,” Alexa said, shivering. The lab seemed to be getting colder and colder.
“The area around the pelvic inlet matches that of a male.” Dr. Robertova studied the pelvis with a magnifying glass. She set down the glass and started measuring again. “It’s larger, more robust than a female’s, and the pubis bone has a triangular shape.”
Alexa nodded.
“Look at the iliac.” Dr. Robertova stroked the left hip bone. “It’s more vertical. And the coccyx…” She leaned over to examine the tailbone. “The coccyx is not an obtuse angle like a female’s is for childbirth.”
“So…male,” Alexa said. “How old when he died?”
“I cannot be precise without proper equipment.” Dr. Robertova moved the magnifying glass back up to the ribs and studied them for a moment. “The rib walls are thinning and irregular.” She moved to the patella. “No obvious signs of arthritis. Early to midforties, I would estimate.”
“How long have the bones been buried?” Alexa prodded.
“I can’t say. Bone color is not an indicator. This brown hue comes more from soil and climate than age. I will use carbon dating and nitrogen levels in the lab back in Auckland.”
“But from your best estimate, this is not a recent skeleton?”
“Recent?” Dr. Robertova had picked up the pinkie toe bone again.
“Can you take a stab?”
“It is older than fifty years.”
“Thank you. What about cause of death?” Alexa said.<
br />
“Please give me an hour.”
DI Horne’s cell went directly to voicemail when Alexa called. She imagined him in the cave on Pirongia, under the spell of glowworms and missing treasures. She relayed the findings and then spent the next hour examining tarsals and tibias with the doctor, first by hand and then by X-ray. In the end, all they discovered was a healed fracture of the tibia. But that was not what had killed the skeleton. That stayed buried in the past.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was 4:40, and the on-and-off rain was on again when Alexa hurried to her car. Hadn’t the sign at the antiques store said open until five? Ignoring her throbbing knee, Alexa drove to Tarangi Street, relieved the cottage umbrella was in the back seat.
From her streetside parking spot, Alexa could see lights and the Open sign on the shop door.
Dittmer didn’t know she had followed him yesterday and overheard his conversation with Milchner, yet Alexa was tense; he knew she worked with the police. Word may have gotten to him that she’d been snooping around the auction house, asking questions about his friend, about him. Plus, he knew how to use a greenstone club.
Two men were dead. Alarm bells blared in Alexa’s head.
But there wasn’t time to call for backup. Alexa took a deep breath, unfurled the umbrella, and ran to the shop.
Jangling bells again. Aged wood and old book mustiness assaulted her olfactories as she leaned the dripping umbrella next to the door and tried not to sneeze.
“Hello,” came a faint female voice. “I’ll be right with you.”
Relief.
Alexa wound cautiously through the narrow passage of bric-a-brac to the three-tiered display of teacups and saucers. Which one had Dittmer lifted to the light?
“G’day, dear,” said a diminutive woman in a floral dress. “I’m about to close, so you’ll have to hurry.” Ruby lipstick smeared into the bar code lines of her upper lip. Her fluffy white hair looked just like Dittmer’s.
“I’m looking for a gift. A teacup. My friend likes the Royal line.”
“Royal Chelsea?” the woman asked, her birdlike hand darting toward a violet covered cup.
“No.”
“Royal Crown? Royal Albert?”
“Yes. Royal Albert,” Alexa said. “Blue.”
“Turquoise?” The woman pointed to a blue-edged teacup.
Alexa recognized it and whisked it up by the little handle before the woman could touch it. “My friend will love this,” she blurted, her heart pounding.
“Would you like me to wrap it?” The woman held her hand out for the cup.
“No, thank you. I’ll take it as is,” Alexa said.
“Here’s the saucer. Will there be anything else? We have lovely new acquisitions from Haddadine Souk.”
“No, thank you. Are you the owner?”
“Oh my,” the woman said. “Look at the rain.” Water cascaded from the store awning. Turning back to face Alexa, she said, “I help my son two afternoons a week. Or when he goes on buying trips. It’s his shop.” She wrapped the saucer in tissue and eyed the teacup dangling from Alexa’s pinkie.
“Buying trips?” Alexa almost dropped the teacup. “What’s hadda…souk?”
“Haddadine Souk? Elegant metal works from the famous bazaars of Marrakesh. Lanterns, teakettles, candlestick holders. My son traveled there recently. Come—I’ll show you.”
Alexa’s pinkie tightened. “Marrakesh? When was he there?”
“Oh—let me think. July, it was. Are you sure I can’t wrap that?”
“I have a special gift bag for it,” Alexa replied. “How much?”
“Twenty-two dollars.” Dittmer’s mother started writing a sales slip.
Alexa slipped the cup in a paper bag she had tucked in her tote, fumbled for her wallet, and withdrew cash.
“I hope your friend likes it,” Dittmer’s mother said and handed her the wrapped saucer.
“I hope so too.”
Her heart galloped and her hair dripped. Dittmer had traveled to Marrakesh. Alexa bet the dates coincided with Koppel’s trip. Maybe Dittmer was the “investor” Koppel met on the plane, the one Mindy Koppel had mentioned. Had DI Horne filed the warrant for the passenger manifest?
She was about to start the engine when she realized she had left the umbrella in the shop. Should she run back, retrieve it? Dittmer wasn’t there. She’d be safe, and the umbrella wasn’t hers to lose.
Hard to hear the jangle over the deluge as she pushed the door back open. As she reached for the umbrella, she heard voices, a male’s and a female’s, and froze. Angry tones rising in crescendo.
From the back.
Should she investigate? An icy raindrop crept down her back. As she took a step deeper into the store, the voices became louder. Nearer.
Someone was coming.
She snatched the umbrella, swirled, and dashed back to the car, locking the doors. From the safety of the car, she dared look toward the shop, and through sheets of rain, a dark figure turned the Open sign to Closed.
She double-checked the locks and started the car, taking off in a jerk. Driving to headquarters, Alexa took deep, slow breaths but couldn’t control her shaking. The male voice had been Dittmer’s. He may have killed two men and tried to kill Jenny. Had he been watching from the back room? Shivers coursed through her body. The heat, set to high, wasn’t helping.
Why had Dittmer’s mother said he wasn’t there? What had he heard? No matter. What mattered was that she had the teacup to dust for prints. She looked to the passenger seat where the cup was tucked in her tote. Safe. Maybe they matched the duct tape prints she had lifted the day after Jenny was attacked. The secret stash. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure the teacup evidence was legally procured, and she didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up if the prints didn’t match. If they did, she’d run straight to the DI.
Three times, she checked her rearview mirror.
The umbrella now refused to cooperate, so Alexa cursed, chucked it in the back seat and ran into the station lobby, shielding her tote under her sweater. Sharon Welles, slipping on a trench coat, froze at the sight of her.
“Detective Inspector Horne is looking for you,” she said, scrutinizing Alexa’s drippy hair and lumpy sweater.
“Thanks. I’ll run up to his office.” Alexa offered her brightest smile and headed for the stairwell.
“He’s in a meeting,” Welles said to her back. “In the conference room.”
Loud voices. Alexa opened the door, slipped inside. Lee Ngawata, the man she had met on Pirongia, was yelling at the DI, while Cooper and Rangiora stood like guard dogs on either side of their boss.
“It is a criminal offense to remove kōiwi tangata from a place of burial. You have unleashed danger.”
Alexa held her breath.
Ngawata continued to rage. “The Office of Tribal Affairs should have been notified. You had no authority to remove remains from the island. They are tapu. You have angered the spirits.”
“This is a murder investigation. That is all the authority I need,” the DI said, his voice, as usual, calm and steady.
Ngawata, dressed in a black suit, folded his arms across his chest. The swirling tattoos on his face darkened in color like some type of magic.
Horne continued. “The skeleton is being treated with respect and will be returned as soon as our investigation is over. But there were no bones in the cave. The Ministry of Culture rep determined no bones have been in the chief ’s burial chamber for over two hundred years, although there is evidence of recent disturbance. Someone was looking for them. Were you aware of this?”
A glimmer of a smile appeared on the elder’s face.
“Please explain,” Horne said.
“It was grand vengeance for an enemy to steal from the tomb of a great chief.”
“So enemy tr
ibes looted the cave?” Horne asked. “Centuries ago? And all this time…”
Ngawata ignored him. “A grander revenge was to steal the actual body. Display the skull. Make fish hooks out of the bones.”
Alexa and Rangiora’s eyes met. The fish hooks in Herera’s trunk? Made of human bone?
“To prevent this, remains would be moved, months after an elaborate burial ceremony. The higher the rank, the more the moves.”
“Where are the bones now?” the DI asked.
Storm clouds gathered in the chief ’s eyes. He spoke with gravity. “You tell me.”
The men stared at each other. Several moments passed. The silence was explosive. Finally, Horne broke it. “Are you telling me the skeleton we removed was Chief Rangituata’s?”
Ngawata barely nodded.
Horne whirled to face Alexa. “Do the doctor’s findings confirm this?”
Alexa thought it over: male, forty to fifty years old, buried more than fifty years ago, traces of a cloak. She nodded. “It’s possible.”
“We had no idea,” Horne said. “But a second murder has been committed. There was no time to lift tapu. Another life could be at stake.”
“A second murder?” Ngawata asked.
“Your island caretaker—his death was not an accident,” he replied. “I need your cooperation to find out what happened to him.” Horne strode toward the door. “Come with me to the interview room. Officer Cooper will join us.”
“Herera was a noble man.” Ngawata stood a moment longer. “The spirits had spoken to him. He was preparing to move the chief again.” He turned his unblinking snake eyes to Alexa. “You bore witness to taonga in spiritual transition.”
Alexa flinched.
Ngawata left with Officer Cooper at his side.
Rangiora closed the door and then looked at Alexa again. “What did you bear witness to?”
Unease flitted like an insect around her brain, but Alexa decided it was time to slap it away and trust the senior officer. “When Cooper and I went to the island the first time, Herera and Cooper’s uncle had spears and clubs. Maybe that’s the taonga he’s referring to. Maybe they borrowed them from the chief. Played dress-up.” She shook her head, trying to absorb it all. “So the tomb has been empty for years?”
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