Blind Alley ed-5

by Iris Johansen

  “No, from Mario Latanza, a reporter from Milan. He had to do his homework when Sontag announced that the skeleton was almost certainly one of the actresses who performed at the theater. Latanza thought that since the actress appeared to be bejeweled and successful that she was probably the Herculaneum version of a musical comedy star.”

  “What?”

  “Musical pantomime was the most popular form of spectacle other than chariot races and gladiatorial battles. Lots of nudity, broad graphic jokes, singing, and dancing. Satyrs chasing nymphs brandishing erect leather phalluses. If Cira was as well-known as Julius's scrolls indicate, then she was more than likely catering to that popularity.”

  “Musical comedy? I always think of ancient theater as being Greek or Roman tragedies. For that matter, weren't most of the actors men?”

  “Not by the time Herculaneum's theater came into being. Women came into their own and they dropped their masks and faced the audience. It was a magnificent theater with marble walls and columns made with the finest materials available at the time. The actors and actresses became almost as popular as gladiators and were welcomed into the beds of the town elite and even an occasional emperor.”

  “And Cira was able to climb that ladder.”

  “She climbed as high as she could but there was a stigma connected with being an actress that she would never have been able to overcome. There were strict laws regulating the marriages of actors and actresses and isolating them from the rest of society.”

  “No wonder she tried to carve out a little security for herself.”

  “A chest full of gold was more than a little security. Particularly during that age.”

  “They treated her like a plaything, with no substance or rights,” she said fiercely. “It was natural that she'd want to make sure that could never happen again.”

  “I'm not arguing. It was just a comment. I admire her. More now than ever. Hell, I don't even know how she ever got to be an actress. The performances were free and open to all citizens of Herculaneum. Except slaves. Cira was born a slave, and wouldn't have been permitted to even watch a play.”

  “And she worked and worked and rose to be a star, damn them.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, she did.” He repeated, “Damn them.”

  Companionship. Warmth. Togetherness. This was even more potent than the physical magnetism he managed to exert over her. To hell with it, she thought recklessly. They were thousands of miles away from each other. It was safe to take more from him. “What else did you find out about—”

  “That's all. I was understandably more concerned about what Sontag was saying than I was about ancient history. More later.”

  She smothered the disappointment. “Of course. Sontag was much more important. I'll talk to you tomorrow night then.”

  “Now that you've wrung me dry, you're through with me?”

  “I should be so lucky. You're not a man who'd allow that to happen. I've got some thinking to do and I can't do that while I'm talking to you.”

  “Heaven forbid that I interfere with your ruminations. Good night, Jane.” He hung up.

  She pressed the disconnect and leaned back in the swing, her mind whirling with images.

  Slaves. Actors and actresses striding flamboyantly through the streets of Herculaneum. Satyrs with fake phalluses cavorting on marble stages.

  Aldo waiting in the shadows with his knife drawn.

  No, that had nothing to do with the theater where Cira had made her magic.

  Yes, it did. The images of past and present seemed to be merging, overlapping, she realized in panic.

  Then stop it.

  She drew a deep breath and cleared her mind of everything but Joe and Eve and this dear, familiar place where she had lived for so many years.

  And Aldo.

  Aldo was the real threat. Not something that happened centuries ago.

  Okay, it was better, more clear.

  And perfectly natural that she had been swept down into the whirlpool of images Trevor had drawn for her. Now it was over and she had to keep it at bay while she dealt with the problems Aldo presented.

  And she had to deal with them. She couldn't sit here any longer and wait to be summoned to Herculaneum like the helpless slave Cira had been all those centuries ago. She was no slave and she had to move.

  She reached for her laptop and flipped it open.

  Joe was sitting on the couch when she came into the cottage two hours later, paperwork spread on the coffee table in front of him.

  “Where's Eve?”

  “She went to bed.” He looked up and then stiffened as he saw her expression. “Any problem? I thought it was going well. What did Trevor say?”

  “Not much. He's busy. But he said we have to move fast.”

  He studied her. “And that means?”

  “It means I may need your help. No, I will need your help.” She rushed on, “And you won't like it, but it's going to happen. It has to happen.”

  He didn't speak for a moment, and then said quietly, “Then why the hell don't you stop standing there like a drama queen and tell me what you're talking about.”

  FIFTEEN

  Jane opened the car door as Joe drew up before the brick building. “Why don't you park and I'll go inside?”

  “No way.”

  “I told you I wanted to do this alone, Joe.”

  “You can do it alone. After I check out the office and make sure it's safe.” He smiled crookedly. “That's the job you gave me and that's the job I'm doing.” He parked in a spot near the building. “Now you can jump out and be as independent as you please as long as I'm right behind you.”

  Jane ruefully shook her head. “Joe, do you know how weird that sounds?”

  “It works for me.” He got out of the car. “Get moving.”

  She started quickly toward the double glass doors of the entrance. “As long as you stay behind me. I don't want to scare him off. You can be intimidating.”

  “I wish I could intimidate you.” He opened the door for her. “And you're beginning to be a little intimidating yourself.”

  She shook her head. “Not me.” She moved toward the girl dressed in jeans and a tunic sweater who was sitting at a desk in the foyer while Joe leaned against the wall, his gaze focused on the row of desks and cubicles to the left of the foyer. “Hi, I'm Jane MacGuire. I called this morning and made an appointment with Samuel Drake.”

  A smile lit the girl's freckled face. “Hi, I'm Cindy. Sam said to send you right in.” She lifted the phone and pushed a button. “She's here, Sam.” She hung up and nodded. “Go for it.”

  Both the receptionist and the office itself breathed casualness and informality. The attitude was encouraging and exactly what Jane had hoped it would be. “Thanks.” She walked toward the door that bore only the brass letters S. Drake and opened the door. “I appreciate you seeing me, Mr. Drake. I promise I won't take long.”

  “Sam.” Drake rose to his feet. He was tall and lanky, dressed in khakis and blue T-shirt, and looked not a day over thirty. “Take as long as you like.” He grinned. “It probably won't do you any good, but I'll enjoy the show. Your phone call interested me and I'm a simple soul who doesn't need much to intrigue him.”

  She didn't believe that for a minute. He might be easygoing but there was keen intelligence in those blue eyes. She braced herself for the fight to come. Study him, search out any weakness, and use it. Ambition? Perhaps. Security? She doubted it. It could be he just wanted to be liked and respected. That would be easiest to handle. Sit down and chat for a few minutes and see if he revealed anything. “Then maybe I can entertain you for the next quarter hour or so.” She smiled and moved toward the visitor's chair beside his desk. “Or maybe we can entertain each other. You're very young to hold down such an important position. It makes me feel much more comfortable about approaching you. I have to admit I was a little nervous. . . .”

  She phoned Trevor that night when she got back to the lake cottage. “We
've got Archaeology Journal.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Drake is going to run a short article in this week's issue about Sontag's find. It won't be a total confirmation but close enough. He wants you to e-mail him a photo of the bust of Cira. He promised he'd blur it so that Aldo wouldn't recognize it as the one he sold to that collector. He'll need it right away if he's going to insert the story in—”

  “Slow down,” Trevor said curtly. “How the devil did you do it?”

  “You said you didn't have time and we needed them. So I went to Drake's office and did it myself.”

  He swore long and obscenely. “You left the cottage and went to Newark?”

  “Not alone. Joe went with me. He made sure no one knew I'd left here, and was there to protect me.”

  “The idiot.”

  “No, he's smart and tough and did what I asked him to do.”

  “Where was Bartlett? I'm going to strangle him.”

  “I told you, Joe's smart. It's not Bartlett's fault. He wasn't expecting to have to watch for us to slip away from the cottage.” She paused. “And I did what was needed. I was tired of listening to you tell me about how everything was moving so splendidly when the only thing I wanted was to do something. So stop cursing and send Drake that photo.”

  He was silent a moment. “How did you convince him?”

  “It wasn't easy,” she said wearily. “I almost blew it. I couldn't read him. Then I saw something in his expression and I had the key. . . .”

  “The key?”

  “He's aching to be an adventurer. He's tied to a desk reporting on dry-as-dust discoveries when he wants to shake the world.”

  “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

  “I was talking casually, feeling him out, and I hit it lucky. I was joking and mentioned Indiana Jones. He lit up like the Fourth of July.”

  “He wants to be Indiana Jones?”

  “There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a hero. So I gave him his chance. I told him the whole story about Aldo and the connection with Cira and how we needed him to spring the trap. I pulled Joe in to show him how upright and law-abiding we were. And I also promised him an exclusive after we catch Aldo. And, unlike you, I'll keep my promise. Now what's the next step?”

  “You stay there and don't move a muscle.”

  “I'll do what I please. Tell me how we get Eve invited to Herculaneum after Aldo reads the confirmation in the magazine.”

  “We do two days of prep work in the newspapers having Sontag talk about forensic sculptors and the need to get the foremost professional in the business to do it. Then we wait another couple days and have Sontag announce his choice.”

  “That's almost another week of waiting.”

  “Then that's what we'll do.”

  “I should think you'd be able to hurry it.” She yawned. “I'm too tired to argue right now. I was up all last night researching the magazine and convincing Joe that helping me was the right thing to do. I'm going to bed. Remember to fax that—”

  “My God, you're formidable.”

  She felt a pang of hurt. “I don't know what you're talking about. There was a job to do and I did it.”

  “And the most formidable thing about you is that you don't realize it. You probably made Drake so dizzy that he didn't know whether he was coming or going.”

  “I only gave him what he wanted.”

  “Heaven protect us poor males if you ever pull out the big guns.”

  “If you have to rely on heaven, then you're pretty sorry and don't deserve to be protected. And I'd think you'd be grateful instead of whining.”

  “I am grateful. And mad. And scared.”

  She couldn't deal with this any longer. “The hell you are. Get over it. Send the photo.” She hung up the phone.

  “He didn't like you leaving here?” Eve asked from behind her.

  “No.” She turned to face Eve. “Why should he be any different? You and Joe hated it too. But you finally agreed that I could do it.”

  “Oh, I didn't have any doubt you could do it. I just wish I could have been there to watch you in action.”

  Jane frowned. “But you were angry when you thought I was manipulating Joe.”

  “That was Joe. Aldo's made this a war zone. As long as you don't hurt innocent bystanders, use any weapon you can.” She smiled. “But next time I don't want to be the one to stay here and keep the home fires burning.”

  “You'll be in the middle of it once we get to Herculaneum. If we ever get there. Trevor is taking baby steps during this stage of his precious con.”

  “Which is probably smart,” Eve said. “I approve of delicacy in the final stages. I've learned I can ruin everything in my reconstructions if I get in too much of a hurry. Though I agree it's hard to wait. Get to bed soon. You look like you're ready to drop.”

  “I am.” She motioned to Toby and moved down the hall. “I'm going to sleep like a rock tonight.”

  “With no dreams?” Eve asked quietly.

  “You mean of Cira?”

  Rocks falling, striking. Pain. Blood.

  She shook her head. “I haven't dreamed of Cira for a long time. Maybe it's over. Maybe I'll never dream of her again.”

  “Don't be too sure. Considering that everything we're doing is about Cira, I'd be surprised if she weren't front and center in your mind.”

  “So would I. But then she's always there. Did I tell you that she was probably the Herculaneum version of a musical comedy star?”

  “No. Really?”

  “Isn't that strange? She had such a tough life. It must have been hard for her to act the clown. I can't see her cavorting around singing and dancing.” She shrugged. “But I guess she could do anything she wanted to do. Good night, Eve.”

  “Sleep well.”

  She'd sleep well, Jane thought as she closed her door behind her. If she dreamed, it would be of Sontag and Aldo and the ruins of Herculaneum with Trevor spinning his web around all of them.

  She should be glad that she no longer dreamed of Cira. Maybe the circle was now complete, her story told. Maybe Cira had died when those rocks had crashed down on her.

  Sadness. Loneliness.

  Instant rejection surged through her. No, she wouldn't have it.

  She was crazy. How could she prevent something that had happened two thousand years ago? Whatever had occurred in that tunnel, she had to accept it.

  She started to undress. “But it's not fair, is it, Toby?” she whispered as she slipped into bed. “She fought so hard. She deserved to live. . . .”

  Dahlonega, Georgia

  The photograph of the sculpture in Archaeology Journal was slightly blurred but unmistakable.

  Cira.

  Aldo's gaze devoured the woman's features before scanning the accompanying article. Confirmation. The magazine was being very discreet but it was clear they were confirming Sontag's find and had even been given a prized photo of the statue found in the anteroom.

  He went to the Florence La Nazione site. Another news conference and Sontag talking about his remarkable discovery and obtaining a forensic sculptor to verify that the bust and skeleton were the same woman. It was the second mention in as many days.

  Forensic sculptor.

  Cira.

  Jane MacGuire.

  The circle was closing, tightening like a noose.

  Very well, the worst had happened, but he could make it work for him. Maybe this was a challenge so that he could prove how superior he was to that bitch.

  Last night he'd dreamed of Cira and woke in an ecstasy of sexual release. Broken bones and blood and her tears of humiliation. But he couldn't have the blood without Jane MacGuire. She was the present manifestation of that bitch. He had to have both to be complete.

  He would have them. He deserved it.

  But fate sometimes stumbled and needed a little help. He had to take control. Look at what happened at that glade when he'd almost had Jane MacGuire in his grasp.

 
; He couldn't permit any slips this time.

  I need to see you,” Sontag said curtly when Trevor answered his phone. “Right away. I never bargained for this.”

  “You didn't bargain for anything. You were blackmailed.” Trevor sat up in bed. “What's wrong? Reporters bugging you?”

  “Just get here.” He hung up the phone.

  Trevor glanced at the clock on the nightstand as he started to dress. Two forty-five A.M. Sontag wasn't one who tossed and turned, worrying in the dead of night, and he'd definitely sounded spooked. Trevor had better move fast before he unraveled and blew everything.

  He arrived at Sontag's house on the outskirts of Herculaneum fifteen minutes later.

  “You said it was cut-and-dried,” Sontag sputtered as he threw open the door. “Just a few news conferences and then I could go to Cannes. You said he was out of it.”

  “Calm down,” Trevor said. “You have only a week or so more and then you can leave Herculaneum.”

  “I'm leaving tomorrow.”

  “The hell you are.” He strode into the room. “You still have work to do.”

  “No, I don't.” He picked up a large envelope on the coffee table and threw it to Trevor. “I'm done.” He was untying his velvet robe as he moved toward his bedroom. “I wash my hands of it. He's trying to take over. He'll expose me. I'm going to pack.”

  It wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to let Sontag off the hook. He was tempted to go after him at once and apply pressure but he decided to let him cool down for a few minutes. He opened the envelope and drew out the sheaf of papers inside.

  He gave a low whistle as he saw the top page. “Christ!”

  We've got him,” Trevor said when Jane answered her phone two hours later. “We've not only got him. I'd bet he's here in Herculaneum.”

  She stiffened. “What?”

  “Sontag phoned me in a panic and tossed an envelope at me as soon as I walked into the room. It contained a complete dossier on Eve Duncan. It was obviously pulled off the Internet, and the story about her reconstruction of the Egyptian mummy was on the top.”

  “No note?”

  “No, but he found it on his doorstep when someone knocked on his door in the middle of the night. It freaked him out. He thought it was Carpenter trying to muscle in on the great unveiling. He loves all the attention focused on him and wants to stay in the limelight.”