by Gregory Colt
Adrian’s face went blank, and he gave John the deadest stare I’d ever seen. “Here,” he said after a moment, reaching in his pocket and grabbing a business card. He held it out to John. “They’ll verify my whereabouts this morning.”
“Let’s see about that shall we,” he said, grabbing the card. He got out his cell and turned his back to make his call, as we listened.
“Say again?” Harris said. “Yes sir, this is Detective Harris with the NYPD. I’m calling to inquire on the whereabouts of an Adrian Knight this morning. Yes sir, he’s the one who gave me your number. Uh huh. I see. Yes, I understand.”
Adrian knelt to the ground, drawing in the air above the floor with his finger.
“What is it?” I asked.
Without looking, he reached out and motioned for me to kneel. He pointed to the floor and traced out patterns. “Yes,” I said. “Those are some of the footprints forensics tagged earlier. I hadn’t noticed them the first time.”
“No, you wouldn’t have unless you were looking. This part outside storage is always a mess with all the equipment coming in and out of here,” he said looking over at me. “Did they say anything about what these prints are?”
“No. I didn’t get a chance to talk to them once everyone else arrived. Do you recognize them? What was that pattern you traced out?”
Adrian looked back at the floor and traced them again with his fingers. “Combat boots. Three sets of them. You can tell by the tread pattern and spacing. There’s also a difference in where the bloodstains are concentrated on the print. The lab should be able to tell more. Hard to say now with everyone coming and going. Most of these are pretty corrupted.”
“But you’re sure? About there being three men?”
“No. Could be three women. But I doubt it based on the size of boots they were wearing. There are three sets of footprints but no way of telling if someone else was here in something other than boots. Any other type of print would be distorted now with all the traffic this morning,” he said standing.
Interesting. Not that I was going to take him a hundred percent at his word, but it was something to consider. A lead the lab wouldn’t give John for a day or two, assuming John would even tell me.
“I’d like to pay my respects,” Adrian stood, then walked into the room.
I didn’t want to go back in there but part of me wondered if Adrian didn’t have the right idea. Maybe it would be better to face the scene again and try to replace the memory of horror I had with one of closure. I went in a moment later.
Adrian was over by Henry who, thankfully, remained covered. Adrian pulled the sheet back in places but didn’t disturb anything, then went to George on the other side of the desk. As far as I could tell, Adrian was neutral about the entire scene.
“Anything to say, Mr. Knight?” asked John from the doorway.
“Did you call the number?” Adrian asked.
John turned red. “If you think that’s going to stop me you’ve got another thing coming.”
This wasn’t helping Henry and George. This was a mistake.
“John calm down,” I said, reaching out to him.
“And you,” he snarled. “I never should have let you stay here, interfering in my investigation. So selfish, so angry you can’t even have my back when I’m right.”
“Excuse me, Detective Harris, may I speak with you a moment?” Richard Allison, the museum director, called from the hallway. Harris stormed out of the room.
Right. I turned to Adrian. “Henry trusted you.”
He nodded, but looked away.
“What do you think happened here?” I asked. I didn’t like him, but he was being a lot more helpful than John.
“I smell lavender,” Adrian said, walking around avoiding the blood. It wasn’t easy, and looked like some strange dance, but he managed.
“You what?” I asked.
“Smell lavender,” Adrian said.
It didn’t make sense until I remembered the broken glass. A vase. “The glass around George’s body. It’s Henry’s vase. The one he kept on his desk from home. He always kept lavender in it,” I said.
Adrian stopped. “Grace’s lavender. Yeah.” He smiled, but then looked confused. He hopped back over to the desk. “Ummm, where is it?”
What? The lavender? I didn’t remember seeing it. I stepped to the edge of the blood and looked over at the broken shards around George’s body. The floor was empty for several feet around, though Henry always kept the vase full of lavender. Where was it? “Forensics took them?” I said guessing.
“They take Wilkin’s gun?” Adrian asked, leaning back over the body.
“Yes, why?”
“Gunpowder residue on his hand,” Adrian said. “How many shots did he fire?”
“Detective Harris said all six rounds were fired.”
“All six. In this room? I mean there are no holes marked to indicate anything. So either they were fired somewhere else…”
“Or he hit what he was aiming at!” I said, excited. If the attacker had been wounded that might help narrow the search.
“Yep. Makes sense. George Wilkins didn’t seem like a man who would draw his gun unless he had to. And once drawn, not the kind to miss,” Adrian said.
“He did miss.”
“But you just said—”
“He missed. At least twice anyway. A man named Rollins was training on a new shift. Richard said his body was found in a broken shipping crate near the loading dock,” I said. “There are two fresh holes in the wall from the impact of a .45 caliber bullet. Detective Harris says it’ll take the lab a couple of days to match, but they’re George’s.”
“Still leaves four bullets. We should check out the loading dock,” he said nodding.
“You will do no such thing,” said Harris, coming back in the room, followed by Richard.
“Am I under arrest?” Adrian asked.
The veins in John’s forehead pulsated with fury, but he didn’t say a word.
“No, you are not,” said Richard. “Mr. Knight, if you please,” he said, gesturing towards the door.
Adrian looked at Harris. Then he looked at me and I took a step back for him to leave. He did.
“I swear to God, Claire, if you fuck up this investigation,” Harris growled, cracking his knuckles he squeezed them so tight. I flinched on reflex at the sound and hoped no one noticed. I knew from experience John Harris was one of the best detectives there were, when his malice focused on a criminal. I also knew from experience that people got hurt when it wasn’t. I had hoped so much we could get a lead on the murderer, but as it was, John was now a liability. Another reminder I’d placed my trust in the wrong person.
“Yes,” I told Detective Harris. “We’re done here.” I walked out past him, to Richard. The team that had arrived to move the bodies cut off whatever reply he had. “Rich, I want to go down to loading and take a look.”
I started to walk that way but he put his hand on my shoulder. “They’re already cleaning back there. Isn’t much to see anyway. Come on out here to the tables and I’ll tell you about the crates.”
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Mr. Knight,” Richard turned to face him. “If you would please follow us.” He gestured towards the banquet hall.
Adrian and I followed Richard to a table on the far side away from storage. It was clear why. I didn’t notice the smell over here at all. That was more a relief than I realized. Eric Walker already sat at the table, looking as nondescript as ever. Adrian and I sat while Richard disappeared behind the bar lining the wall. He came back with four glasses and a bottle of brandy.
He sat and poured a snifter for each, and passed them around. “All right gentlemen, and lady,” he said, lifting his glass to me. “To Henry and George.” The four of us gave the solemn toast and put down the brandy in one gulp.
“Yeah,” said Richard. “Yeah, that helps.”
Adrian leaned back and steepled his hands. “I believe I under
stand Detective Harris’s interest in my being here, but yours remains something of a mystery.”
“Some shipping containers were broken into. Crates delivered a day or two ago,” he trailed off, looking over at me. “Holding some of our more precious artifacts uncovered by Dr. Spurling and her team.”
Wait. What? “What are you talking about? Those should have arrived more than a week ago. I shipped everything out at the same time,” I said.
“We’re not sure. It appears the crates were separated in customs and departed on two different ships. But that’s not the problem,” said Eric.
“So, what is the problem?” asked Adrian.
“Three crates were broken into. Their contents are missing,” said Richard.
My stomach twisted in strange ways bringing a new wave of nausea. “The urns?” Then tightened like a punch to the gut. “The manuscript?”
“Yes,” said Richard.
I wanted to scream ‘Do you have any idea how significant a complete Mayan text is? Do you? It’s the find of a lifetime! What are you planning to do about it? How long were you going to wait to tell me?’ but it was all I could do not to cry after so much work. And even more so at the sudden shame of putting that on a level with Henry and George. I felt sick.
Richard raised both his hands. “It was obviously significant enough for someone to kill two of the best men I know. And tracking it down is how we recover it and find the people responsible,” Richard looked at Adrian. “And that’s where you come in.”
I jumped out of my chair. Like hell they were hiring someone else to go after my work. “Him to come in? It was my discovery. I spent months in the field. If anyone should be going after it, it’s me! Did you see what they did? Did you?”
“Claire,” Richard said. “This is personal for all of us. However, we will not interfere in the homicide investigation. Our interest here is the recovery of the artifacts and that needs to not be personal. No one is questioning your abilities here. As you said, you’ve been in the field for months. I can’t even imagine what this morning was like coming in as you did. You need to go home, Claire.”
He thought he was being kind but what he was doing was taking half a year of my life, my greatest discovery, and justice for Henry, away from me, and trying to pay, pay, the only suspect the police had to take care of it. That is when I discovered how much I couldn’t take. I turned without a word and walked out of the dining area. I heard Knight ask about working with a partner and Eric quickly agree. When I reached the hall that led around to the front, I ran until I saw the ladies restroom. I slammed the door open and had no idea what I was doing there. Henry, my teacher, my mentor, he…he wasn’t murdered. Torn apart. Ripped. Henry and George and Rollins. So much blood. I could still smell it on me. I could feel the microscopic traces of my friends embedded in the fabric of my clothes. I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I stripped off my outer shirt and threw it to the far wall behind the door, then kicked my shoes off and noticed blood at the hem of my jeans. I tore them off and added them to the pile. I went to the sink and washed my hands over and over. And my arms. My legs. My neck. My face. I couldn’t shut my mind off. Eventually I backed into the wall and slid down to the floor crying out everything I had held back. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I don’t know how long I was there before I realized no one was coming for me. No one to be there simply because this was where I was. Stop it, Claire. Just stop it! Get it together. You held it too long this morning and now you’ve had your little breakdown. Are you going to let the museum send a mercenary like Adrian Knight out to avenge Henry? To recover what you worked so hard for and finish the job for you? You don’t need Richard’s or anyone else’s permission. If they thought Knight was the man for the job then so be it. But I wouldn’t let mine or Henry’s work go to waste trusting in him. I’d be there making sure Henry and George got justice, making sure the manuscript was recovered, and making sure Adrian Knight did his job and wasn’t out blowing the museums money on God knows what. That was the best idea I’d heard all day.
I stood and went to the sink, washed my hands again, and took a long look at the girl in the mirror. I watched her rub her eyes, wipe her face off on her shirt, straighten her hair, and—oh, I forgot I wasn’t wearing any pants. I looked over at my pile of clothes. I couldn’t shake the thought of blood on them. I gathered them, tied my long sleeved outer shirt around the pants and shoes, and peaked out the door to make sure it was clear. It was. No surprise. Richard, Eric, and Adrian would be the only ones left in the building. And the cleaning crew. I didn’t want to think of that.
I ran down a series of hallways and made my way to the main lobby. I walked to the corner security office and slipped inside. George always kept the lost and found things in one of his cabinets back by the clock. I opened it and found several things hanging on hooks inside the doors. A belt, a pair of shoes, several kid’s jackets and gloves and hats, a nightgown of all things, and, yes, a long canvass trench coat. Perfect. I slipped into it. It was itchy over so much bare skin, and it didn’t fit right. Too loose in the shoulders, too tight in the chest. I tied the belt tight, scrunching it something awful, but it worked I guess. Okay, I looked terrible, but I wasn’t about to confront Knight in a t-shirt and panties. That was definitely not the kind of persuading I had in mind. I was going to tell him how it was going to be.
Of course, it also meant I had to catch him before he left, and I didn’t want Richard or Eric to interfere. I emptied a sack of kid’s toys lying in the cabinet and stuffed my bloody clothes in. Then I tied off the bag and set out to find Knight. He had come in the back way. That meant he had to be parked—aha, got ya.
Chapter Five
I’m good with expectations, with presumptions. Everyone says not to make them, but ninety percent of our decisions everyday rely on them. I knew Knight was well paid, and the tux he wore the evening before showed it. The parking area in back had half a dozen cars, but only one cost an extra zero. So, I walked straight over to the brand new silver Aston Martin DBS, leaned back against the front fender, and waited.
The sun was high and the parking lot got warm fast. It had to be after noon already, and I didn’t know how much longer I could stand there cooking in my cocoon of canvass. Being barefoot didn’t help.
The back door banged open and Knight leapt down the stairs, stopping when he saw me.
I folded my arms and he, realizing that standing there accomplished nothing, walked towards me.
“Dr. Spurling,” he nodded as he passed.
“Mr. Knight,” I replied, facing him. He didn’t face me back. In fact, he didn’t stop at all.
“What do you think you are doing?”
“Ummm, leaving?” he walked past the Lexus next to me.
“I came out here to talk to you.”
He turned and opened the driver’s door of an old, black-primered ‘70 Chevelle SS and said, “You are talking to me.”
I wasn’t handling this right. He threw me off with his reaction, or lack thereof. Stupid assumptions. “Henry Wagner was one of the best men I ever knew. George Wilkins was my friend. I want to help.”
“I work alone,” he said, pulling back the door to get in.
“The artifacts taken,” I said, walking over to the passenger side across from him. “I found them. They were my responsibility. I know more about them than almost anyone here,” I said. But, that wasn’t right anymore. Not after Henry. “Or I… I do now. I know more about them than anyone,” I whispered.
He stopped, bent halfway into the car listening. I thought he would stand and talk to me when I saw the door move. He sat down instead. I was not letting this happen. When he shut his door, I opened my side and plopped myself right down into his passenger seat. I shut my door, put on my seatbelt, and gave him the sweet smile I reserved for formal occasions. “I work alone. Does saying that work in real life?” I asked, trying to tighten my seatbelt.
He looked at me for a long time, apparentl
y coming to a decision.
“396?” I patted the dash to fill the silence.
He turned the key and created thunder.
I was about to say, ‘guess not’, when he leaned over, grabbed the loose end of my seatbelt, and yanked hard, pinning me to the seat.
“454,” he said, throwing the shift into reverse. He put his arm behind my headrest turning around to look behind him. “Nice outfit.”
Silence reigned for several blocks, and that suited me fine. It gave me time to think about how to proceed. So when he did speak, I knew what I wanted.
“I suppose you’re going to want to run by your place and change clothes,” he said.
“No,” I lied. “I’ve wasted too much time this morning as it is. We need to get started and my apartment’s in the complete opposite direction of—where are we going?”
Adrian nodded. “A friend of mine, Nick Roarke, has an office not too far from here.”
“I see.” Henry had mentioned Nick Roarke a couple of times. I think he was a private investigator who worked with Knight sometimes, maybe even friends or something. I didn’t like the idea of another person I didn’t know working on this, but that was silly. The truth is we could use all the help we could get. “And what is it he can do for us?”
“Lend us his office, for one thing,” he said. “Nick’s out of town. We share information, so whatever I have he’ll have copies of, and his office is closer than my place. Figured it would be a good idea to stay in the city since we still have some time today. Start talking to contacts. See if there’s any word yet on those stolen items, or anything at all concerning the museum. We don’t have much to go on, but Richard was right about having a better chance tackling this from our end of things. We’re in a better position than the police to find those items if they start being shopped around, or if anyone starts talking. So the sooner we get word out the sooner we hear back. The sooner we hear back—”
“The sooner we have a lead,” I finished.
He nodded.
“What else did Richard say after I left?”
