by Alex Archer
She nodded. “Thanks for telling me that. I can now leave the country knowing the police have a handle on at least one illegal antiquities operation. Or do they? If you can’t pin it on Harlow, and I suspect Maria Alonzo was only a liaison, do you have the suspect?”
“The warehouse that burned by the ocean is connected to one other shop in town. I’ve already got men on it. We do what we can, Señorita Creed. Stolen artifacts aren’t high on the list when we’ve got to protect our citizens first and foremost.”
She wouldn’t mention that they’d neglected to protect Diego and Simon Klosky.
Twenty minutes later, Soto drove her up to the curb at the Jerez airport.
“Thanks,” she said and got out to retrieve her backpack. She slapped the open passenger door and waved him off.
“I think I’ll stick around to watch you fly out,” Soto called.
She deserved that one.
* * *
BROOKLYN WAS HER HOME, and Annja was glad to be back. She jogged down the running path in Prospect Park and noted a crew of three men trimming an oak tree set back about fifty yards. Chain saw in hand, one man swung from a branch high up in the tree using only a rope. He had no safety harness and wasn’t secured with belts.
She waved as she ran by, and one of the men whistled at her.
Her cell phone rang. She paused, still walking in a circle to keep her blood rushing, and answered.
A lab technician from Diamond Light Source, the synchrotron facility at the Harwell Science and Innovation Campus in Oxfordshire, let her know the results on the scan of the bull statue. “I can send you a pdf of the scan if you like.”
“Yes, I’d like that.” She gave him her email address. “What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
“Seriously? There’s nothing inside the bronze bull?” She stopped, her free hand on her hip. A pair of joggers ran around her, and she stepped onto the grass beneath the cool shade of a weeping willow.
“I suspect you’ve been talking to Rockford LePlante,” the technician said.
That he assumed the correct answer so easily made Annja feel the dupe. Kicking herself for not taking the time to check LePlante’s credentials, she asked, “Not a reliable source?”
“Far from it. The man collects conspiracies. Every year it seems he’s off on a new adventure to find another legendary village, jewel or lost civilization. The ruby in the bull’s belly was an urban legend, Miss Creed. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Not as sorry as I am to have been duped. But thank you for your time and expense. I appreciate the information.”
“Thank you. We’ve been able to pass this little bull statue, as worthless as it may be, along to the British Museum, where they will decide if provenance proves it belongs to France. It can be traced to the Anne of Austria dowry, though, so chin up, eh?”
“Thanks again. Goodbye.”
She opened the file of the scan, and even though the cell phone screen was small, it was very clear there was nothing inside the bull’s belly.
“And two men, possibly more, died because of it.” She shook her head and tucked her phone away and started up a fast walk. She didn’t feel energetic enough for the jog now.
She couldn’t win them all.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781459238565
Copyright © 2012 by Worldwide Library
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