“Okay. Anyone else know what was going on?”“At least two construction workers and one of the barmaid-slash-dancers. Have you seen what they do in there? She was dressed up in a little black bra and skirt and wearing some wicked make-up. The girls dance on tables when they’re not handing out booze.”
“So, employees, construction workers—anyone else?”
“Oh, yeah, the rep from the historic preservation group. Henry Willoughby. Loves history. He’s not a scientist, but he’s a great hands-on guy, ready to protect the past and help out if he can. The man loves New York and studied history and architecture. His wife passed away a while back, and now he gives all his love to the city. He stayed long enough last night to check in with us, make sure we were ready to catalogue the bodies and the artifacts we found. I would’ve brought in more crew, but—”
“Who stayed, then? Who was actually there when you kept working?”
“Me, Digby showed up, my grad students—plus a structural engineer and a construction worker, all to see that we didn’t bring down a wall, I assume.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, after I initially went in yesterday, the construction guys created a kind door for us.”“How long were you there yesterday?”
“Oh, it was almost midnight before I left! I didn’t touch or open anything. I stepped over the hole—where the wall broke when they working on the foundations—into the crypt beyond. Digby and my grad students and I were there. We make drawings and assessments and plan before we start the actual work, so, yes, I’d say it was midnight. By then, of course, the vampire dancers were gone and all the club people had been told to go home. Once they made the find—the second crypt—they closed down, of course, but people were hanging around. It’s…it’s history being reclaimed! Roger Gleason, the owner, seems like a nice guy. He has a conscience and some perspective on what’s important. We didn’t have to get court orders or anything. He simply agreed to close for a few days. They had patrol officers covering the place, making sure that once the news about the crypt got out, some Goth freak or necrophilia-pursuing freak didn’t try to break in.”
Craig nodded. He knew the answers to most of what he was asking; he just wanted it from Shaw and he wanted to ensure that their facts were straight.
“Yesterday,” Shaw said. “You understand, it was discovery day. I planned where to put some lights. I judged the space for people and decided on equipment. I did all the assessments, got my ducks in a row, you know what I mean?
Craig nodded again. “This morning when you arrived—were things exactly as you’d left them?” Craig asked.
“What?”
“Had anything you’d done been changed? Were tools missing, anything like that?”
Shaw frowned. “I…I don’t think so. I don’t get it. I’d roped off different areas in the basement for my people. We had our little brushes and chisels and…no, I’m positive that our work tables were as the way we’d left them,” he said. He leaned forward. “Didn’t Ms. Gilbert disappear about two weeks ago? She didn’t look as if she’d just been killed. She…she was beautiful as she lay there, but decay had set in. I guess down there, with the cool temperature, natural decay wouldn’t be what it would up here.” He briefly closed his eyes. “If she was embalmed, she wasn’t embalmed really well, but she was…dressed up. As if she’d been prepared for a viewing. Seeing her…it gave me chills! Chills! And I work with the dead all the time. When…when did she die?”
“The medical examiner is estimating her death to have been between one and two weeks ago. He’ll tell us more definitively when he’s done the autopsy.”
“So, you think that…”
“I don’t think anything yet,” Craig said. “We need more information from the experts before I can even speculate. Go on, please, tell me about this morning.”
“Oh. Oh,” John said. “This morning.” He looked longingly at his whiskey glass.
It was empty.
“You want another?” Craig asked.
“Yeah,” John said huskily. “Yeah. The long dead are one thing. Fresh corpses…or not so fresh corpses…”
Craig knew what he meant.
He had seen the body.
He scanned the bar area, but didn’t see Kieran. Declan Finnegan, however—looking like an old-time Irish bartender as he dried a glass, decked in a white apron tied around his waist—was behind the bar.
Craig walked over to him. Declan, he knew, had been fully aware that Craig was in the pub and that he’d been talking to John Shaw.
“You want another whiskey for him?” Declan asked.
Declan was the oldest of the Finnegan’s; he wore his sense of responsibility and dignity well. All the Finnegan family were attractive and charming people with different degrees of red in their hair, and they all had eyes in varying shades of blue. Even a casual observer had to note that they were related.
Declan tended to be the most serious in demeanor. He didn’t ask questions, not of Craig; he knew he’d learn what was going on if and when it was appropriate.
“Thanks,” Craig said. “Any idea where Kieran is?”
“She and Kevin were helping out. I’m not sure where they went. Sorry you had to come to the bar. Anything for you?”
“Soda water?”
Declan quickly poured him a glass from the fountain, and Craig returned to the table. Where the hell had Kieran gone?
She was helping her brother out today, which meant she was working here somewhere. If he was going to start worrying every time she wasn’t in sight, he’d to get a psych evaluation himself.
John Shaw took the whiskey from him; it looked as if he was going to gulp it down. Craig set a hand on his. “Hey, that’s prime stuff, my friend. Sip it.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Shaw murmured.
“Okay, so, you got in today—”
“Early. Just after seven. This is an important true find. The historical value is immense.”
“Of course. I understand,” Craig assured him. “So, today. You haven’t opened any of the other coffins in the catacomb, have you?”
“No. Some of the coffins have disintegrated, and the remains are down to bones and dust and spider webs. Remnants of fabric…belt buckles, shoe buckles…” John said, studying the amber liquid in his glass.
“But you found Ms. Gilbert in the first coffin?”
Shaw nodded glumly.
“What made you open that one first?” Craig asked.
The question seemed to confuse Shaw for a minute. “It seemed to be the best-preserved…” He paused, staring up at Craig. “Actually, it was at an odd angle on the shelf. As if it had been moved. Oh…that was obviously because someone had been there! They’d put her body in it!”
“Do you remember it being that way the day before?”
“No! That must’ve been it. There was something different!” John Shaw said. “I didn’t realize it immediately. It was such a…subtle difference. The thing is, I thought I’d start with the best-preserved, but so did…. “
He frowned at Craig. “It was definitely the best-preserved. And someone else knew that, too. Her killer.”
Jeannette had been dead at least a week, possibly two. But she’d been placed in that coffin in a forgotten crypt much more recently than that.
The killer had learned about the historical find—he’d made use of it for his own designs.
“Excuse me,” Craig said abruptly. “I’ll be right back.”
He wanted to see where Kieran was; it suddenly seemed important.
She wasn’t at the bar. She wasn’t on the floor.
He hurried down the hallway to the office, not bothering to knock.
Kieran was there, and Craig let out a sigh of relief.
But then he saw that she wasn’t alone. She was sitting there, on the sofa in front of the desk, talking earnestly with her twin brother, Kevin.
They both looked up at him, startled—and their expressions could only be described as guilty.
A serial
killer is striking a little too close to home…
A PERFECT OBSESSION
From New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham
ISBN: 9781488026775
The Di Medici Bride
Copyright © 1986 by Heather Graham Pozzessere
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