All of this information could mean something but probably didn’t.
And, most uselessly of all, Abraham Geary was a surprisingly popular name among genealogists though none of them on Google had done anything exciting with their lives, except one poor bastard who crispy-crittered himself in a fatal accident back in 2010.
And the cops knew all this. Their computers would have chewed on the same names and spit back out the same answers with spiffy extras like previous criminal activity.
And, since no arrests had been made, she would have to assume that they didn’t have anything either.
Juliet sighed and powered down her laptop. She needed Esteban to go mining in the alternative databases. If she was going to pursue the matter. Which she wasn’t. Not until the show was over.
Chapter 5
“Death is not the end. There remains the litigation over the estate.”
—Ambrose Bierce
Friday, 5:00 p.m.
The guards had been instructed to turn away anyone not on their official list. This included the press. They could park on the road and stare at the museum to their hearts’ content, but they weren’t allowed even in the parking lot, where the new guard was checking I.D.s. There were grumblings in some quarters about the violation of the freedom of speech and privacy when the guards took down names and license-plate numbers of those caught trying to sneak onto the property. These made Juliet snort. If they wanted to know about violations of privacy and speech they should meet up with the NSA.
The precaution was a help but everyone was suffering a bit from siege mentality, surrounded by wind and human sharks and feeling stranded on their elegant rock.
Though there was some petulance about taking away work time, everyone met in the lobby at five o’clock.
Samuel Herrick had the soul of a gentleman, but physically was a kind of assembly-line, Midwestern, farm-fed American cast in commercials about fuel-efficient cars and refinancing mortgages. Nothing about him deviated from the design standard except the missing finger on his left hand which he had lost in a motorcycle accident. There was a lot of accumulated disappointment on that face, an optimist who had run into a lot of brick walls in the pursuit of his dream. Rumor among the staff had it that he had a young wife doing time at a farm because she didn’t want to look as corn-fed wholesome as her husband now that they were living in California and might run into movie stars.
His life had changed when he joined the Suicide Club made up of members who opened museums and art galleries during a recession. Those that didn’t die from despair at finding funds often ended up in correctional facilities for their creative bookkeeping. Herrick had done pretty well, but it was obvious now that his security measures were lacking. More money for more guards and security tech would have to be found somewhere.
And he looked stricken. That could be partly because of dental surgery, but the director was mentally biting his lip over other things. Juliet thought she could guess the general outlines of his distress. If the opening were delayed because of unfinished displays, or boycotted because of fears of a murderer on the loose, Samuel Herrick would end up psychically wringing his hands or maybe even slashing his psychic wrists. Which was a lot better than the literal act, but Juliet didn’t like to see his discomfort. She wondered if he would be cheered by her assessment that a well-publicized murder was good for a museum that dealt with objects of death…. Probably not, she decided, as he did his best to give them a pregame pep talk and get them pumped up about the opening which was going on as scheduled.
Herrick introduced the new, fulltime guard and the temps who were hired just for the opening. Geary’s replacement was a friend of Bowman’s. Bland and less impressive than his name, Ivan Semyonovich, he was large, calm and reassuring. He wasn’t handsome though he had made an effort. His eyes were slightly uneven and Juliet realized that he had had some plastic surgery done around his left eye socket and that he had a prosthetic eye. Still, even with only one eye, he was a huge improvement over the dead guard.
Though everyone said what was proper, the expression on those faces around Herrick were universally negative with skin tones ranging from sickly white to a sort of mocha green that clung to the flu victims who had been ordered back to work in the museum’s time of crisis. There was some nervousness, no one looked sad though as they got ready for their big night. Juliet didn’t think that it was a case of shock delaying grief. Geary wasn’t the kind of man who had a lot of friends to grieve over him. Especially not bitches and they made up most of the museum staff.
Herrick tried to smile as he wrapped up and wished them luck. Because of the pain from the infection in his empty socket it looked like a half-hearted sneeze and made everyone uncomfortable. The speech had also failed to create any d’Artagnans and there was no chorus of one for all and all for one! as they rushed to storm La Rochelle. There was only minimal polite applause and the team huddle broke off shortly after that with everyone going in their own directions to where they were frantically doing the last bits of spit and polish on their displays.
Meyers and Bill Something had spent the day unloading waxworks and moving the sleeping beauties into their exquisite coffins, and then arranging their masses of hair and medieval gowns. This was where Bill had his chance to shine as a hairdresser. For some reason, Meyers was feeling jolly. Juliet heard a bark like a seal after a fish and realized Meyers was laughing.
Juliet wasn’t sure if she was fascinated or repulsed.
As they were leaving the foyer Herrick stopped Esteban and Juliet and asked quietly if he could see them in his office. Juliet had a sinking feeling that she knew why they were being singled out. Either Esteban had said something about his other job, or Browne had let something slip about Juliet’s past when he interviewed the director.
Her feet were leaden as she trudged up the stairs.
There were several familiar newspapers piled on the director’s desk. From the headlines Juliet gathered that instead of the usual fifteen minutes of fame, or infamy, the story was gaining ground. The mummy now had a name and history—Sakkara, the Damned. Of course, Sakkara was where the mummy was found and not the poor man’s name, but those details were too pesky for anyone to sort out.
Herrick immediately forced the conversation into second gear without using any conversational clutches to smooth the transition.
“It isn’t just local anymore. A couple of donors have demanded their exhibits back right after the opening and the insurance adjuster has just doubled our premiums and insisted on additional security, which we can’t afford. Not yet,” Samuel said, wasting no time and looking Juliet and then Esteban straight in the eye. “Something has to be done or we are ruined. We can’t run the museum without exhibits and the full-color brochures are all printed.”
Juliet sighed. People on the outside might think that museums weren’t stuck on penury budgets. That was because they had no concept of the behind-the-scenes expenses. But Juliet had friends in the art world and she knew, as a for instance, that the Crocker Museum was ten million in the hole and sinking fast. The insurance company was not a nonprofit and wouldn’t give any price breaks to the museum because they were.
The need to restore order was imbedded in her instincts, wired into her brain, so the impulse to take a hand in the proceedings was already there, but she had banished it. Unfortunately there was a trail of grubby footprints left behind when it slouched into the wings where it waited for her to change her mind. Or for fate to change it for her.
“And you think that we are the ones to do it?” she asked.
“Well.…” His eyes slid toward a printout of the killings at the Blue Period winery. In spite of her desire for a low profile there had been some plaudits by the new owner, who was happy to sing psalms of unwanted praise for his newfound friend. Herrick had obviously been doing his research. She and Esteban were the only gunslingers at the OK Corral who had a vested interest in making sure that the killer was caught and the mummy returned.
And they were probably all he could afford.
It was exhausting deciphering the psyche’s inner conflicts, especially in strangers. Some things were like internal organs, just not meant to be dragged out into the open and eyeballed. The exercise left her feeling repelled and tired. But that was what was left when the god of forensics failed and there were too many people with the knowledge and opportunity to commit a crime.
Juliet looked at Esteban. His face was set and expressionless but his eyes were bright and hopeful as he looked her way, deferring the decision to her. Juliet resisted the urge to sigh again. Friendships sometimes came with a high price and this was one of them. But she owed Esteban, who had been there for her every time she needed him. It was time to pay up.
Juliet looked back at Herrick. It was possible, given Browne’s theory and the fact that he had left the dentist’s office in plenty of time to have driven to the museum, that he was the killer. But it seemed unlikely. He would have known that a killing would bring bad publicity to the museum and she couldn’t believe that he would do anything to harm his life’s work. His passion and his fear of the consequences of this murder glowed in his eyes.
“I can’t promise anything, especially before the opening, but we’ll see what we can do. Tell the museums that are leaning on you that you have hired private investigators and if that doesn’t work, threaten them with lawsuits for breach of contract,” she said to the museum director, who showed immediate and premature relief. Juliet added, “And, first off, you might speak to Delores about leaking to the press.”
“What?” Herrick looked shocked. “About what?”
“I know she thought the mummy angle would help attendance—and it probably will. But there are other consequences to this kind of attention once it goes national, and we need for this kind of sensationalism to go away before the insurance company demands you install machine guns and an x-ray machine. No one wants to go to a museum that feels like a prison.”
And there was no way he could ever pay for it.
“I—I will speak to her if you think….” Herrick sounded appalled, probably more at the idea of an x-ray machine than Delores leaking information.
“Good. And I will gag Celeste, though I think it less likely that she is talking to the press,” Juliet added because she hadn’t forgotten Celeste Ames and her comment about the killing being like something from a b-horror movie. Unfortunately, Celeste wasn’t tall enough to be the killer. At most, she could only be an accomplice. “This way if the press keeps getting inside details, we can assume that it is coming from the killer.”
“But—but why would either of them…? And why would the killer…?” Herrick was baffled.
“Because for some reason, the murderer wants everyone distracted with talk of a killer mummy.” Juliet stood and pulled up a reassuring smile. She wasn’t deceiving herself though. The trick would be getting anyone to disgorge useful information they might not know they had, and no one was ready to think about anything except the opening. That included Esteban. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything. In the meantime, try not to worry. It won’t help.”
“Bella,” Esteban said as they left Herrick’s office and started down the stairs. “If you don’t want to do this, I will understand. After all, you don’t have a dog in this fight—that is the saying, yes?”
“I don’t want to do this,” Juliet answered truthfully. “Every time I get involved in something like this it makes my old employer take notice of me again. And one of these days they will get serious about making me come back. But I do have a dog in this fight. You. And I don’t think that the police are going to solve this murder quickly enough to help the museum, so if we want to save this place and your art show then it will have to be us who solve this homicide.”
“I think you are right. What do we do first? I confess that I am not thinking clearly at all. I did not sleep much last night.” This was an understatement and his always harsh face was looking like it had been to a war.
“First, we finish getting the lighting in place for your exhibit. Then you are going to go chat up your fellow artists while I go flirt with Bowman and perhaps the new guard. We need to know what everyone is thinking and what they might not be telling the police. We have got to have somewhere to start digging. There are too many suspects to investigate without narrowing the field a bit.”
Esteban smiled crookedly.
“Bella, I know that you can do almost anything, but I don’t think that the new guard plays for your team, if that was your intention.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, hoping it was true. “There is more than one way to a man’s heart and mind. Didn’t you smell the cup he was carrying? Our new guard likes mint mochas.”
Esteban smiled wryly.
“If anyone can do this, it will be you. No one I have ever known is better at noticing details.”
“I also think we are going to need to be alert tomorrow night,” Juliet said as they descended the stair.
“Of course.” A pause. “Why? I mean beyond the obvious. You don’t believe the killer will strike again?”
“Not to kill. But our murderer is bold and something must be done about the mummy. If it is found, there goes the story about a supernatural killer and the circus ends.”
“Then you think it is still here somewhere?” Esteban was dubious. The police search of the museum had been thorough.
Juliet nodded.
“Probably outside, somewhere on the hill, wrapped in a black cape and stuffed in a bush or crevice. There just wasn’t time or opportunity to get away after the murder. The body was found too quickly.”
Esteban thought about this.
“Have you reasoned out why the killer took the mummy in the first place?” he asked. “It seems loco to me.”
“I have a couple workable theories. My favorite is that it was used as a lure. After all, what would a guard do if his camera went blank? He would go investigate, right? And what would be his reaction if he saw a mummy out of its case?”
“Ah—he would rush forward and it would be easy for the killer to get behind him while he was occupied! But then the killer knew it would be Geary and not someone else who came to investigate?”
“Yes. You’ve been busy so may not have noticed, but there is a fairly strict schedule that people are following. Bowman skips lunch and always goes to dinner at five. Usually there would be another security guard around, but the other guard phoned in sick that morning and they didn’t get a replacement. That left just Geary monitoring the cameras.” The schedule would change once the museum was open. There would always be at least four guards on duty. One in the security room, one at the welcome desk, and one walking each floor. Herrick hadn’t seen the need with the museum still closed to the public.
“And the mummy?”
“Maybe the killer couldn’t put the mummy back because it was too heavy to be lifted onto the display.” It had been laid on a trestle at the level of the sarcophagus lid and would have required lifting to chest height since the dais was raised.
That didn’t explain why the mummy wasn’t just left on the floor, but Juliet was beginning to think that the killer had a strange sense of humor. Or maybe the winds had made them a little crazy.
Esteban grunted.
“And why put the body in the bathroom?” he pursued.
“To delay discovery. Maybe the killer assumed that he could lock the door and keep people out while he wrapped it in gauze.”
“The door doesn’t lock?” Esteban asked with surprise.
“The one on the first floor has a bolt, but not a twist lock,” Juliet answered, thinking that the killer would have known that if they used the first-floor bathroom. “So I think the killer left the body and then dragged the mummy downstairs. Because it isn’t in the building. The police were pretty thorough in their search, so we can be sure of that,” she added, forestalling another question. “And because it is easier to drag a body down stairs than up them and th
en heave it over the side of the chest-high parapet with enough force to miss the parking lot full of cars that park close to the castle because of the shade. And it was the only place to go to avoid the security cameras which were still working.”
Esteban shook his head, but not in disagreement.
“And you think the killer will do something with the mummy at the show? How? There will be many people about. Surely they would be noticed.”
“There will be a lot of people here,” she agreed. “A lot of cars in the lot, a lot of distraction, and a lot of cover noise. And that may be the last night that the killer can do anything without the new exterior security cameras the insurance company is bound to insist on. It is the last chance to get the mummy away from the museum. Or to destroy it. I’m betting the killer will act.”
Chapter 6
“Capital Punishment, n.: a penalty regarding the justice and expediency of which many worthy persons—including all the assassins—entertain grave misgivings.”
—Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary
Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
The outside floods were on, showing off the castle, but somehow less impressive than the full, red moon hanging over the tower. There had been talk of renting arc lights and outlining the castle in red neon, but Herrick had decided he would rather not run the risk of having the opening look like a hookers’ convention.
Night was pressing down on the barometer, promising an end to the east winds and holding out hope of miraculous rain. Juliet could feel it falling, urging her to rest, to take a couple aspirin and find somewhere quiet until the storm arrived. Looking in the opposite direction she could see the city and all the other metropolises it abutted. Its constant, fierce hemorrhage of light was caused by millions of people refusing to be dictated to by the sun’s predetermined hours and a determination to never let the sky go dark.
Esteban had already taken up his post. Juliet was girding herself to do the same.
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