them?’’
‘‘Thank you, Andie. Put them through.’’
She waited on the phone, frowning. This was just
the beginning. Kendel sat staring at the photograph of
Diane hanging suspended from a rope inside a dark
cavern. Diane wondered if that was how Kendel felt,
like someone dangling at the end of a rope. ‘‘Diane Fallon?’’ said the voice on the other end of the phone. ‘‘I’m Shell Sidney from the Atlanta
Journal-Constitution.’’
Diane wondered if the reporter’s name was really
Sidney Shell and she had reversed it in order to have
more gravitas.
‘‘I’ve been trying to reach you in regard to the stolen antiquities.’’
‘‘Stolen antiquities?’’ said Diane.
The reporter hesitated a beat. ‘‘The stolen antiquities that have been in the news. One of your own
board members stated that Miss Williams, the—ah—
assistant director, has been fired for purchasing antiquities that she knew were looted. What do you have
to say about that?’’
Chapter 7
‘‘Your information is incorrect,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Which part of the story are you saying is incor
rect?’’ The reporter asked.
‘‘All of it. The entire story is no more than a collection of allegations, innuendo, and rumor,’’ said Diane
in what she hoped was a calm voice.
‘‘What about your board member’s statement?’’
asked the reporter.
‘‘The statement as published was
sure what she said was that if any
a misquote. I’m employee were found to have dealt in stolen antiquities we would take
the appropriate action.’’
‘‘Are you saying that Miss Williams has not been
fired?’’
‘‘She has not.’’
‘‘And you’re saying she is still assistant director at
the museum?’’
‘‘Yes, she is. It is not the policy of the museum to
fire or suspend its personnel based on rumors. Surely
your newspaper has the same policy concerning its
employees.’’
‘‘Let me get this straight. You are saying that Miss Williams did not purchase antiquities that were looted
from Egypt?’’
This is tricky, thought Diane. She had to respond.
She had been stung by reporters who printed their
own speculation as if it were truth. She had to be wary
about how she worded any explanation.
‘‘Before we purchase any antiquity for the museum,
we research the provenance,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We adhere
to the highest international standards for authentication and certification. After an item arrives at the museum, we double-check its
entered into our collection.
provenance before it is The double-checking is done by a staff of museum employees not involved in initially acquiring the piece. Right now we have several acquisitions from various locations around the world going through that process. To date we have found nothing amiss with the provenances. I can e-mail you a copy
of our acquisition policy if that will help.’’
‘‘Are you saying that this whole thing is a fabrication by someone?’’ asked the reporter. ‘‘Why would
they do that?’’
‘‘I can’t say anything about the motives or behavior
of some unknown person,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I can only
tell you that the articles were written without any attempt by the reporter to verify the information
through this office.’’
‘‘Have you been contacted by the Egyptian government or the FBI?’’ asked the reporter.
‘‘No,’’ said Diane, ‘‘no one has contacted us.’’ ‘‘So you are saying the whole thing is just a rumor?’’
asked the reporter.
‘‘That is correct. If any stolen or improperly acquired item should come into our possession, our procedure will discover it. That’s what it’s for.’’ The reporter gave Diane her telephone number and
asked her to call if anything developed. Diane said
she would and hung up the phone.
Kendel was standing, examining the Escher prints
hanging on the wall opposite the caving photographs.
There were three prints in a row: a self-filling waterfall, a castle with endless ascending and descending
staircases, and a tessellation of angels and devils. Kendel sat down when Diane hung up the phone. ‘‘I suppose you will get lots of calls like that,’’
said Kendel.
‘‘Andie will field most of them,’’ said Diane, looking
at her watch. ‘‘In just a few minutes I have to face
the board. Do you still stand by your assessment of
the provenance?’’
‘‘Yes . . . well, I don’t know.’’ Kendel slumped in
her chair. ‘‘In the beginning I was completely sure.
This is something I’m good at. But now—I just don’t
know. I don’t understand where any of this is coming from.’’
‘‘This isn’t like you,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You are always
self-assured. Is there anything you need to tell me?’’ ‘‘Nothing that would help.’’ Kendel ran her hands
through her hair. ‘‘Since this article came out, I’ve
been getting calls and e-mails accusing me of grave
robbing, stealing, ethnocentrism, and other things too
vile to mention.’’
‘‘That’s awfully quick,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It was just
out today.’’
‘‘It started with that first article a few days ago,’’
said Kendel. ‘‘And my name wasn’t even mentioned
in that one.’’
‘‘The article was very vague,’’ said Diane, wrinkling
her brow.
‘‘It was precise enough for some people,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘I imagine that now there is going to be a flood
of hate mail.’’
‘‘Save all your mail and anything on the answering
machine. Keep notes on any harassing phone calls you
take in person. Is there anything else?’’ Diane sensed
that there was.
‘‘I got an e-mail rescinding my invitation to speak
at the University of Pennsylvania seminars,’’ said Kendel. Her gaze searched the room as though there
might be something in Diane’s office that would explain all of it. ‘‘I’ve worked hard building my reputation,’’ she said, staring again at the photo of Diane at
the end of the rope. She blinked and the tears spilled
down onto her cheeks. ‘‘And this—it’s like being
struck by lightning—just suddenly out of the blue, all
of this . . .’’ Diane handed her a tissue and she wiped
her eyes. ‘‘And I don’t understand even how the university found out so quickly.’’
Diane stared at Kendel for a moment, then glanced
at her computer. ‘‘The University of Pennsylvania had
you listed on their Web site as an upcoming speaker,’’
she said. ‘‘I’m sure the reporter did an Internet search
for your name and found it there. She must have contacted them.’’
‘‘If that’s true, it was cruel. What did the reporter
think would happen? Don’t they care if they ruin
someone’s life?’’ She wiped her eyes again. ‘‘I don’t
know what to do about this.’’
‘‘I do,’’ said Diane. She picked up the phone and
called Jin. He was probably down in the
basement in
his new DNA lab caressing his equipment. ‘‘Jin,’’ said
Diane, ‘‘you are on break, aren’t you?’’
‘‘Sure, Boss, I’m on my own time,’’ he said. That
was one thing Diane liked about Jin. He was always
quick. She couldn’t really use any of her crime scene personnel on non–DNA lab museum business—not at
this point. But she could use them on their own time. ‘‘I assume that Neva is on her break too,’’ said
Diane.
‘‘Sure is,’’ said Jin. ‘‘What can we do for you?’’ ‘‘I want you to go to the conservation lab and open
the crates marked . . . Just a minute.’’ She looked up
at Kendel.
‘‘EG970 through EG975,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘There are
six boxes.’’
Diane relayed the numbers to Jin. ‘‘I need you to
process the artifacts. No fingerprint powders or
glues—these are antiquities. Use the big camera and
high-contrast film for any latents. I also want every
piece photographed from all angles, collect any dust
and detritus you find, get a sample of the packing
material—anything that might help us trace their origin. You can use powders on the outside of the
crates.’’
‘‘I get to use David’s cameras,’’ said Jin. ‘‘He’ll
love that.’’
Diane could almost see him grinning on the other
end of the phone. To Jin everything was fun. Maybe
she should send Kendel to take notes from him.
‘‘Don’t forget the lighting in your zest to get into David’s cameras,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Boss . . . I know about photographic enhancement
and latent prints,’’ he said in mock hurt.
‘‘Good. I want you to be thorough and very fast.’’
The question from the reporter about queries from
the FBI nagged at Diane. She didn’t want the objects
to be confiscated before she had a chance to have a
good look at them.
‘‘Thorough and fast,’’ said Jin. ‘‘Got it.’’
‘‘Have Korey there as you work. We need to have the conservator oversee the process. When you finish, search the National Stolen Art File and see if any of
the pieces are in it.’’
‘‘Will do,’’ said Jin.
After hanging up with Jin, Diane immediately dialed David Goldstein, another member of her crime
scene crew, who was supposed to be leaving for vacation today. David had worked with Diane at World
Accord International when she was a human rights
investigator and had been a friend for a long time.
She hated interrupting his time off, but she knew he
would love it.
‘‘Diane,’’ he said immediately, ‘‘want me to come
in and look into that artifact thing I’ve been reading
about?’’
‘‘You sound like you’ve been waiting by your
phone,’’ said Diane.
‘‘It’s a cell. I always wait by it. So that’s why you
called, isn’t it? I figured you would need me.’’ ‘‘I’m sorry to intrude on your vacation,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It’s not an intrusion. You know how I’ve been
dreading it. So is that why you called?’’ he asked
again.
‘‘Yes, it is. You can start by interviewing Kendel.’’ ‘‘Great. I’ll be right there. And thanks. You don’t
know how I’ve been hoping for something to do.’’ ‘‘I thought you were going to be doing some traveling,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I was, but then what do I do when I get there?’’ ‘‘Go sightseeing?’’
‘‘If I wanted to stand and look at stuff, I could stay
at the museum and save on gas money.’’
‘‘I’ll be in a board meeting when you get here. Kendel will be in my office waiting for you.’’
When she hung up with David, she turned her attention back to Kendel, who sat looking like her world
was coming to an end. Normally Kendel was tough.
Diane wondered if there was something else, or perhaps Kendel was tough only when she had firm footing. Now, with the rug pulled out from under her . . . ‘‘Kendel,’’ said Diane a little sharper than she
meant to, ‘‘David is going to investigate. He’s the best.
I’ve asked him to speak with you first. What I want
from you is two things. First, find where you left your
backbone. Then I want you to think about every interaction you had concerning the Egyptian artifacts.
Every person you spoke with, anything, no matter how
remote, that you noticed during the transactions, any
casual person who happened to walk through the
room while you were negotiating, anything.’’ Kendel nodded. ‘‘I appreciate your support. Everyone at the museum has been great.’’
Except for a certain member of the board, thought
Diane. ‘‘You’re innocent unless proven guilty,’’ she
said. ‘‘Stay here and wait for David.’’ Diane stood up.
‘‘Now I have to deal with the board.’’ She picked up
the rolled newspaper from her desk.
Chapter 8
Andie looked up from her desk as Diane passed through her office on her way to the boardroom.
‘‘Mrs. Van Ross is with the board members,’’ Andie said.
The situation must be critical, thought Diane. More than any other single person, Vanessa Van Ross was the museum. She and Milo Lorenzo had been the driving forces behind its development. She had shown caution not to undermine Diane’s authority or to give the impression of undue influence over the operations of the museum. She rarely came to board meetings, trusting instead to give Diane her proxy vote. If Vanessa was in attendance, it meant she was more than just concerned; she was alarmed at the possible harm to the reputation of the museum—Milo’s museum and hers.
Milo hired Diane to be assistant director under him. He died of a heart attack before the museum even opened, and the governance he had set up for himself went to Diane—a governance that gave Diane more power than the board. Still, under extraordinary circumstances they could remove her. It was going to be an interesting meeting.
Diane started out the door, hesitated. Clymene’s concern for Grace Noel nagged at her. Damn, if she hadn’t enough to do. She turned back to Andie and pulled the piece of paper from her pocket with Grace Noel Tully’s information written on it that Rev. Rivers had given her.
‘‘Andie, get this woman on the phone for me. When you find her, transfer the call to the office in the boardroom.’’ Andie nodded. ‘‘This is the only interruption I want,’’ Diane said.
‘‘Got you . . . MOF. . . .’’ said Andie, nodding her head up and down as she read the card.
MOF was Andie’s abbreviation for museum on fire, which meant only in a dire emergency did Diane want to be disturbed.
Diane cocked an eyebrow at Andie. ‘‘If the museum’s on fire, just let me and the board go up in the conflagration,’’ said Diane.
Andie giggled and reached for the telephone. Diane left the office, still holding the rolled-up newspaper.
The board members were waiting for her in the third-floor meeting room. Diane wasn’t in a hurry to get there. She needed to regain her focus. On the way up she reread the newspaper article to rekindle her anger and her indignation. It worked. What could board member Madge Stewart have been thinking?
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