He motioned to the rear of the hall, to another doorway. “We’ll have another little display about Egyptology in general and such, but this is pretty much it.”
“It’s great,” Emma said.
“It’ll be better once we’re finished and get all the bells and whistles going.”
“You really think it’ll be done by Saturday?”
“I sure hope so.” He led her back into the main hall. They stood by Alex for a moment; Dr. Dreyfus turned shy. “I know this isn’t really a date, like we said, but I thought maybe we could get some dinner first? They’re going to be serving hors d'oeuvres and drinks here.”
“Oh. Well—” Emma had a vision of herself sitting across a candlelit table from Dr. Dreyfus, him so handsome in a tuxedo. She had a harder time picturing herself, since she hadn’t worn a formal dress since the senior prom in high school. “I suppose. As long as it’s not too fancy.”
“Great. I’ll set something up. Seven o’clock good for you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” This word hung in the air for a moment before he said, “I’ll see you later.”
“Right. Later.” Emma watched him disappear back into the exhibit. Then she looked up at Alex the mastodon; the skeleton’s empty sockets glared at her. “This still doesn’t make it a date,” she said. Then she took off for a quick jog around the block.
Chapter 6
When they first arrived in America, the little brownstone in the historical district had been a reflection of themselves, so full of hope and promise. Nine years later, it had become a dirty, dreary prison, like her life in America. Sarah MacGregor sighed at this thought and then pushed herself off the bed.
Rampart City had seemed like such an exciting place, so much larger than Glasgow, with so many interesting people. Now she hated it. She hated the traffic, the crime, and even that smell everyone said she would get used to but she hadn’t. And no one here could make decent haggis, not like back home. She wanted to go back there.
She didn’t want her son to be born in this city. She wanted him to be born in Glasgow, so he would be Scottish, not American. She wanted to have her baby with her parents, sister, and grandparents in the waiting room.
These thoughts had come to her during the first trimester and only become more insistent during the next four months. She had yet to vocalize them to Ian; she knew what he would say. He would say it was a temporary thing, part of the pregnancy. He would suggest she wait until after Thomas was born and then see if she still wanted to go back. Ian was always so sensible that way, which explained why he had become a geologist.
In the kitchen, Sarah opened the freezer to take out a pint of rocky road ice cream. She had never much cared for ice cream until she became pregnant. She could really go for some shepherd’s pie, but like haggis, no one in this horrid place could get it right. The ice cream would have to do.
The clock on the wall gave the time as nine o’clock and still Ian wasn’t home. He had always worked late, though now as director of the geology department he spent even more time at that bloody museum. She didn’t know what he did there besides stare at rocks. He only ever said he had to do a lot of administrative work.
Only after the promotion a year ago had they finally decided that Sarah could quit her job at the Rampart City Public Library to raise their first child. At thirty-eight her biological clock was ticking, so she had leaped at the chance. She hadn’t realized how awful it would be. Not only was she fat, but her ankles were swollen, her breasts sore, and she woke up sick every morning. Yet Mr. Department Head couldn’t be bothered to come home and help her; he was so busy at the museum.
She reached for the telephone and then dialed Ian’s direct extension. His secretary, that old bat Leslie, wouldn’t be there at this time of night, or so Sarah hoped. If Ian were having an affair with her, that would be far too much for Sarah to bear. The woman had to be at least sixty-five, if not older.
Ian picked up on the third ring. “Hello, darling,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m bloody tired is how I am. When are you coming home?”
“Very soon, love. Just need to finish these reports.”
“Can’t it wait until the morning?”
“Is something wrong?”
“I want to know why you’re always there so late. Don’t you want to be with me anymore?”
“Of course I do, darling. That’s why I need to work late, so I can take time off to be with you and Thomas when the time comes.”
That was typical Ian, always so practical. At one point she had admired this; after a string of bad boyfriends, Ian had seemed so unlike anyone else. All this damned practicality had begun to get on her nerves, though. “I’m glad you can squeeze us into your busy schedule.”
“Don’t talk like that, love. Of course I want to be with you and the boy, but there’s a lot here that needs doing.”
“I’m sure there is. Who is it?”
“Pardon?”
“Who is it that you’re doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s not that old secretary of yours, is it?”
“Good Lord, Sarah, of course not. How could you think such a thing?”
“I bet it’s that new girl then. The one you were so gaga for.”
“Dr. Earl?”
“That’s the one. Makes sense now why you hired her.”
“That’s utter nonsense. Emma is a very qualified researcher.”
“Oh, so it’s Emma now, is it? Is she there with you? Put her on the line so I can give her a piece of my mind.”
“Don’t be daft, woman. She went home hours ago.”
Before Sarah could say anything else, she heard something heavy thump in the living room. “Ian, I heard a noise.”
“What sort of noise?”
“I’m not sure. It was like something falling. Probably another goddamned rat.” One of the blasted creatures had gotten into the house six months ago, which had necessitated a call to the exterminator. “Could you please come home now? I don’t want to be alone with the thing.”
“Of course, darling. I’ll be right there.”
Sarah was about to thank him when she saw a man in the doorway. He wore a black ski mask so she couldn’t see anything more than a pair of brown eyes—and the silver pistol in his hand. “Oh my God, Ian. Ian—!”
She didn’t get to finish, as the man in the doorway fired three shots from the pistol. One hit her square in the chest. Another hit her in the stomach. Sarah cried out. She put a hand to the bloated stomach where Thomas still grew. Before she could scream again, the third bullet bored into her skull.
Sarah dropped onto the linoleum floor; the phone bounced away from her. She heard Ian’s voice screaming her name. She wanted to answer him, but couldn’t as her life slipped away.
***
Her first case back in homicide turned out to be a particularly nasty one. Donovan knew this the moment she saw the victim—or more accurately, the victim’s stomach. “Jesus Christ,” Donovan said. “She was pregnant?”
“Looks like it,” one of the beat cops, a Sergeant Cielo, said. “Name’s Sarah MacGregor. Thirty-eight years old. Her and her husband came here from Scotland about ten years ago.”
“Thanks,” Donovan said. She bent down to get a better look at the victim. The woman’s eyes were still open wide, fixed on the doorway. That must have been where the shots came from. Donovan could see it now: the killer had seen the lights off and assumed no one was at home, so he jimmied the front lock and came inside to rob the place, but then he saw the kitchen light on and heard Sarah MacGregor on the phone. He snuck up on her and put three bullets into her before she could do anything about it. “Any idea what the killer took?”
“Not yet. The husband is on his way here. Dr. Ian MacGregor,” Cielo said. Donovan nodded at this. The kid was damned sharp; he’d done his homework on the way over. Not like most beat cops, who were content to put up some ye
llow tape and wait for the detectives to come in and do all the work.
“Let me know when he gets here, Sergeant.”
“Sure thing, Detective.”
“Lottie.”
“Right, Lottie.” The sergeant left her alone in the kitchen with the corpse of Sarah MacGregor and her unborn child. Donovan shook her head; she knew the media would have a field day with this one. There would be the story on the crime itself and then all the hand wringing and teeth gnashing about how bad things had gotten when an innocent pregnant woman was gunned down in her home in the usually quiet historical district. In the end none of it would matter; none of it would find MacGregor’s killer.
Donovan tried not to disturb the scene until the forensics people got here. She doubted they would find anything, unless the killer was stupid enough not to wear gloves. She hoped this would be the case, though she didn’t think they would get that lucky.
She heard when Dr. MacGregor arrived. “What the hell is going on here?” he shouted with an accent that reminded Donovan of Sean Connery. At the moment his face was red and he was giving Sergeant Cielo all he could handle to keep the man from storming into the crime scene. “Where is my wife?”
Donovan intercepted him in the living room; she signaled for Cielo to let him go. “Dr. MacGregor, I’m Detective Donovan. I’m afraid I have some bad news about your wife.” This part of the job never got any easier. No matter how you tried to sugarcoat it, you couldn’t really soften the blow. “I’m very sorry, but your wife is dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, sir. She was shot three times.”
“By who?”
“We’re not sure. That’s what we need your help finding out.”
Dr. MacGregor ignored this as he tried to break past her into the kitchen. She reached out with one arm to hold him back. “Let me go, woman! What about the child? What about my son?”
“I’m afraid he’s also dead. It appears one of the bullets hit the womb.”
“No!” Dr. MacGregor wailed. Donovan let him go to slip down to the floor, where he planted his face against the carpet. While the man sobbed uncontrollably for the wife and son he had lost, Donovan stepped over to Cielo.
“Keep everyone out of here for a few minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She let the doctor grieve in peace for a while. She knew from experience nothing she could say or do could make anything better. The only thing she could do was try to find his wife and son’s killer. In a city this large that would be almost impossible unless she got lucky enough that forensics turned up something. Even then it would be difficult. But she was going to damn well try.
Chapter 7
Emma heard about the story on the news the next morning. The police hadn’t released the name of the victim, so Emma didn’t know it was Ian’s wife who had been gunned down in the historic district until she arrived at work. The director sent a memo to everyone that Dr. MacGregor would be taking a leave of absence to deal with a family tragedy. She also indicated that the police department would be on site as part of the investigation. “All museum staff are to cooperate fully with the Rampart City Police Department,” the memo indicated.
Emma stared at the sheet of paper in shock. From what the news had said this morning, someone had broken into the house and shot the woman who was seven months pregnant three times. Emma remembered how callous she had been this morning; she had shrugged the news off and then gone to make a protein shake. How could she be so cold and uncaring after what had happened to her?
She wanted to see Ian, to express her condolences, but she didn’t know where he was. He obviously wasn’t at home and he wasn’t at the museum either. He could be with a friend or maybe at a hotel. Not that it would do any good. From experience she knew nothing she could say could heal the wound.
The door banged open and in came Dr. Brighton. He looked even worse, bags under his bloodshot eyes. These focused on Emma for a moment. “I’m going to be taking over for MacGregor,” he announced. “All of this is yours now.”
“I understand,” Emma said. She braced herself for Brighton to make some rude or insensitive comment. He might even decide to fire her while he was in charge of the geology department.
He didn’t do anything like that, at least not yet. Instead he went into his office. He returned a minute later with his name plaque and a box with some personal effects. Emma saw the lid of a bottle sticking out of the box and thought of saying something, but she held her tongue.
“Don’t be touching anything in my office, girl,” he said.
“I won’t, sir.”
“Good. And mind your P’s and Q’s. I’ll be watching you.”
“I understand,” she said. She watched him stomp out of the office and then slam the door on his way out. She turned to her computer to see if anyone had responded to her email yet. A Dr. Strom at the University of New Mexico sent a message to indicate he found what she had sent fascinating. She thanked him for his interest and asked him to contact her if he found anything out.
Only one person so far, but maybe the others were still evaluating the information. They no doubt had projects of their own; maybe they didn’t have much time to help out some silly girl. She shook her head at this and told herself to remain optimistic.
In the meantime, she had other projects to work on. Her predecessor had left a whole slew of meteor samples unanalyzed. Though she doubted it, maybe looking at some of these would help give her some perspective on that awful thing in the storage closet. At the very least, looking at these would keep her mind off of what had happened to poor Ian. That was the important thing at moments like this, to keep busy, focus on the work.
When she heard the door open later, she assumed Dr. Brighton had come back for something he had forgotten. Instead, she heard Dr. Dreyfus say, “Are you busy?”
She tried to force a smile that came out as a slight grin. “No, not really. I’m catching up on some work.”
“I thought maybe we could take an early lunch,” he said.
From the sadness in his eyes, she could understand why. She nodded and then said, “I’ll go change.”
They did the first lap around the block in silence. Emma was somewhat grateful for this; she didn’t want to get into any small talk at the moment, though she wished they could talk about something to keep her mind distracted. She tried to focus on her breathing and her stride, to keep it nice and easy.
Finally Dr. Dreyfus said, “It’s terrible what happened to Ian, don’t you think?”
“Yes. His wife and his child.” Emma shook her head slightly while she continued to run. “It’s so awful.”
“I wish there was something we could do for him.”
“There’s not anything we can do,” she said. “All we can do is be there for him when he comes back.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. He shook his head. “I can’t believe someone would do that. Shooting a pregnant woman. If I ever got my hands on the bastard—”
Emma had never seen Dr. Dreyfus get angry before. His eyes narrowed behind the glasses, his face reddened and his fists clenched. She wouldn’t want to be on his bad side. “It wouldn’t do any good,” she said. She thought of what she had said to that black object. “Revenge wouldn’t bring Ian’s wife and child back.”
“No, I guess not.”
They didn’t say anything more as they finished the lap. As they came back around, Emma saw the police cars in front of the museum. There were two cruisers and another unmarked vehicle. She remembered what the director’s memo had said about the police coming by to investigate Sarah MacGregor’s murder.
They finished their run by jogging up the front steps. Near the top, Emma saw a dark-haired woman in a black leather jacket and jeans standing by one of the pillars, smoking a cigarette. Once she made it to the top, Emma said, “Excuse me, ma’am, but there’s no smoking on museum property.”
“Is that a fact?” the woman said. She continued to puff
on her cigarette.
“Yes, ma’am. If you don’t put that out, I’ll have to call for security to escort you from the premises.”
“I’d like to see you try,” the woman said. She reached into her jacket and produced a badge.
***
The woman finally did put out her cigarette to escort Emma and Dr. Dreyfus into the building. She introduced herself as Detective Charlotte Donovan. “You must be here about the MacGregor case,” Emma said.
“Good guess. And what do you do, work in the gift shop?”
“Dr. Earl works in the geology department,” Dr. Dreyfus said.
“Well, I guess we’re going to have a talk then.”
“Wait a minute—”
“It’s all right,” Emma said to Dr. Dreyfus. “The director said we’re to cooperate fully.”
“Why don’t we step into the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee?”
“I don’t drink coffee,” Emma said before she could think better of it.
“Yeah, you look more like the herbal tea type,” Donovan said and Emma nearly gasped in surprise. She is a detective, Emma reminded herself. “What about you, Dr.—”
“Dan Dreyfus. I’m an Egyptologist.”
“Did you have any contact with Ian MacGregor or his wife?”
“Not really. I work in Anthropology.”
“Would you mind excusing us? Unless you want to sit in as Dr. Earl’s attorney.”
“It’s all right,” Emma said. “I can handle it.”
Dr. Dreyfus looked at her and then at Donovan before he nodded. “I’ll see you later.” He walked away, though not very quickly, Emma noted.
They took a seat in the corner of the cafeteria, Donovan with a cup of coffee and Emma with a cup of tea. It was the regular Lipton kind, but the warmth of it helped to soothe her nerves. She hadn’t talked to a police officer since she was eight years old. Back then a Sergeant Kramer had interviewed her. Aunt Gladys hadn’t arrived yet, so a woman from Family Services had sat next to her. Emma had sobbed through most of the interrogation, unable to tell the detective anything about the men except a vague estimate of their height. “Come on, kid, you have to give us something,” he said.
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 5
