Last Breath Read online

  “Polly got to the airport on time?” Daria asked as she locked the door.

  “I assume so,” Connor said as he followed Daria up the stairs. They waved to the guard when they reached the main floor. “Glad to see there’s some real security here.”

  “They were hired by the bank,” Daria told him. “There is another one around here somewhere, and I think I saw the university’s security guard outside as well.”

  “Any idea when they’re going to move the collection?”

  “Louise said they were going to try for the end of the week.”

  They walked outside into the remnants of a summer shower that was spending its last few drops of rain. The sky was clearing as they walked back to McGowan House.

  “I took the liberty of ordering a pizza and some salads to be delivered,” Connor said when they reached the back steps. “I probably should have asked first.”

  “No, no, pizza’s fine. I’ve hardly eaten anything else since I got to Howe. I love it.” She unlocked the door and caught Sweet Thing by the collar as she was about to bolt.

  “It’s not ideal, but they deliver. And I figured the pizza would get here right around the time we did, since there was such a long wait for delivery tonight. Something about one of their drivers not showing up.”

  “That should work out just right, then. And I’ll have time to take care of Sweet Thing.” The dog jumped up to greet Daria, and she stroked the dog’s head affectionately.

  “She’s been fed, watered, walked.”

  “Oh. Thank you. Well, then, maybe I’ll have time to clean up a little. I’ve been in that hot basement all afternoon, and I’m covered in dust.”

  “Go ahead. Sweet Thing and I will wait for the pizza guy out on the front porch.”

  “I’ll make it quick.” Daria disappeared into the house and ran up the steps.

  She was dying for a quick shower. She was hot and sweaty and dusty. She closed the bedroom door behind her and stripped off her clothes as she headed for the bathroom. She turned on the shower and let it run for a minute or two, then stepped in. The water was cooler than she liked, but it was welcome after hours in the stale, stuffy basement. She scrubbed her body quickly, washed and rinsed her hair in record time, and emerged from the shower feeling like a completely new woman.

  Seven minutes later, she was back downstairs, wearing fresh clothes, her short hair tucked behind her ears. She hadn’t taken time to dry it, so a few still-wet strands fell across her forehead. Connor and Sweet Thing were still sitting on the front porch, the pizza box and a brown paper bag on the floor between them.

  “She is the best trained dog I’ve ever seen,” Connor told Daria when he heard the screen door behind him close. “She is dying to see what is in that box but she won’t go near it because I told her not to.” He ruffled the dog’s fur. “She is one good dog.”

  “Do you think one of Damien Cross’s relatives will want her?”

  “I guess that’s always a possibility.” Connor picked up the box and the bag and stood. “But for now, she’s yours.”

  Sweet Thing wagged her tail and licked Daria’s bare leg below the cuff of her shorts.

  “I love her. It’s going to be tough to give her up,” Daria admitted. She opened the front door and held it for Connor.

  When she and the dog had entered the house, Connor turned and said, “Throw the bolt. We don’t want someone to let themselves in while we’re eating.”

  “Good point.” Daria locked the door and followed Connor into the kitchen.

  She took plates down from the cupboard and placed them across from each other on the table.

  “Knife? Fork?” She paused, her hand on the drawer where the flatware was kept.

  “For pizza?” He frowned. “What’s the point?”

  “Well, you never know. My sister cannot bring herself to pick up a piece and just take a bite. She says she always gets sauce on her face.”

  “That’s why napkins were invented.”

  “I don’t think we have napkins, but I do have paper towels.” She ripped a few sheets from the roll and folded them.

  “We do need forks for the salad, though,” Connor said as he removed the Styrofoam boxes from the paper bag and opened the pizza box. “I asked them to send several kinds of dressing, since I didn’t know what you liked.”

  “I can use anything. Or nothing, for that matter.” Daria brought two bottles of water and two forks to the table. “God, that smells so good. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

  “Dig in,” he told her, and she did just that.

  “How did you know I love pepperoni?”

  “There were too many choices, so I went with an old standard.”

  “This is really good, Connor. Thanks. I’m sorry for being such a crappy hostess. It’s just that once I get into something that really interests me, I lose track of time. Not that I’m much of a cook under the best of circumstances.”

  “I guess you don’t get much practice.”

  “Every dig I’ve been on for I don’t know how many years has always had a cook. Meals were always prepared for us, three times a day. I guess maybe you’re the same, since you travel a lot?”

  “I’m a pretty good cook.” He grinned. “Actually, I’m damned good. If I’d had time to get out today to the grocery store, we would not be eating pizza.”

  “Maybe while you’re here, I’ll get to judge just how good you are.”

  “Count on it.”

  “Feel free. My kitchen is your kitchen.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He nodded. “So you had a good day, did you?”

  “I had a great day. I feel guilty about having such a wonderful day in light of everything that’s happened. I can’t stop thinking about how those people died, and all because of the art objects they bought. Objects that have a direct tie to me. To my family. And yet, just to see these artifacts in the state in which they were discovered…” She shivered slightly, a look of awe on her face. “To see a statue that’s wrapped and crated, standing where it had originally stood, centuries ago, in a temple wall. Inside one of those wooden crates is a golden diadem that the photos show was taken from the wrapped remains of a woman who had died over two thousand years ago. Unfortunately, her remains were left behind, so we don’t know anything about her, except that she was wealthy enough or important enough to have owned this wonderful golden crown.”

  “Maybe she was the queen of Shandihar. You said it was a matriarchal society.”

  “I don’t think they had royalty the way we think of it. I think the priestesses were the only ‘royalty’ in this society. Maybe by studying the artifacts I’ll learn more about the culture.” She sighed. “That’s one of the problems with removing artifacts from their place of origin without taking into consideration the context. I know from reading Alistair’s journals that he felt he was way ahead of others of his time in trying to preserve as much as possible.”

  “That’s why he had a photographer along with him, why he wanted so many pictures taken.”

  “Absolutely, and that was brilliant on his part, to use the latest technology in that way. Modern archaeologists might argue with some of his other methods, but he was ahead of his time in that regard. Much of what we’ll learn about Shandihar, we’ll learn from studying the photos.”

  “Photography being what it was back then, it must have taken forever to take them all.”

  Daria nodded. “I really admire my great-grandfather for having the patience to wait while each piece was photographed several times before he moved it. I can only imagine how his hands must have been itching to touch, to hold…but he did the right thing. The photographs taken in context along with his journals and his letters to my great-grandmother give us a picture of this expedition that is pretty much unheard of for that time.”

  “I’ll bet it would make a fascinating book,” Connor said. “Even better, one of those TV documentaries.”

  “That’s exactly what Louise is hoping
for.” Daria grinned. “She’s thinking along just those lines, hoping to cash in as much as possible for the university.”

  “You can’t blame her. She’s faced with a daunting task.”

  “I don’t blame her. My first reaction was, this is history, these were real people with real lives, and I’m not sure we should be profiting from them.” Daria sipped her water. “On the other hand, it’s nothing that museums and galleries don’t do all the time. And if the university is to keep going, they’ll have to use whatever resources they have. Alistair’s find is a fantastic resource. It wouldn’t make sense not to capitalize on it.”

  She opened a foil pack of dressing and drizzled it on her salad.

  “So what did you learn today that you didn’t know this morning?” she asked.

  “I learned that Cavanaugh will be back in town by the end of the week, and will meet with me then. He said he didn’t want to discuss his dealings on the phone, especially since he had no way of knowing whether or not I was who I said I was. Smart on his part, actually.”

  Daria nodded. “Especially in light of what’s been happening to people with a connection to the Shandihar artifacts. Did you ask him about the acquisition of the griffins?”

  “Yes, but again, he declined to talk about it on the phone. So we’ll see what he has to say when we sit down with him.”

  “We? I get to go with you?”

  “You know more about these artifacts than I do. I think we’ll learn more if you’re along.”

  “Great.”

  “I’m having a report run on Casper Fenn-when he left Howe, where he went, how he spent his days.”

  “You think he was the one who stole the items in the first place?”

  “I think he’s the place to start.”

  “You’ve been busy. Anything else?”

  “I learned that Madeline Cathcart of Marion, Massachusetts, is alive and well and under guard at this very moment,” he told her. “And I had the computers from all of the victims confiscated and sent to my office for our computer whiz to check out.”

  “You think maybe they were contacted by the killer?”

  “It’s worth a look.” He shrugged. “You never know what you’ll find, or what you’ll learn about a person when you start following their footsteps down the old information highway. Polly is still interviewing Mrs. Cathcart. If anyone has contacted her, we’ll know who, and how the contact was made. She called to let me know she was at the house and Mrs. Cathcart was unharmed, and the cylinder was still in her possession.” He paused, then asked, “What exactly is this cylinder, anyway?”

  “It’s like a regular cylinder. Thin, hollow tube?” When he nodded, she said, “But this one is made out of clay. When the clay was wet, someone-probably a scribe-wrote on the cylinder. It could contain a description of an event or a person, or a story, or it could even contain laws or customs.”

  “So it was sort of an early book.”

  “Yes. It was a written recording of something. In the absence of paper, they made use of clay. This was very common in early civilizations. Most did not have paper. There are quite a few cylinders still packed in the crates. I’m dying to get to them.”

  “Can you read them?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t really had time to study the inscriptions and symbols. As far as I know, they’ve never been translated.” She thought about that for a moment, then added, “I doubt anyone can read them, actually. To the best of my knowledge, these are the only written records from this civilization to have survived.”

  She thought about it some more.

  “Of course,” she said almost to herself, “since Shandihar borrowed so much from other civilizations, there’s a very good chance their language was borrowed as well. Or maybe they borrowed a bit from the Mesopotamians, a bit from the Persians, something from the Greeks…”

  “I see those wheels spinning in there.”

  “Sorry. I can’t help it.” Daria laughed self-consciously. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll pull one of those cylinders out and take a closer look.”

  “I thought you were designing exhibits.”

  “I am, and I have the best idea for those.” Her hands were suddenly animated as she described what she had in mind. “Picture this. In the Great Room, huge blowups of the photographs of, say, one of the goblets, just as it was found at the site, before it was touched. Then, on a pedestal, in front of the photos, there sits the real thing. And in those big glassed-in display cases-again, the great enlargements as background, juxtaposed with the actual artifacts. We’d use the smaller cases for some of the larger individual pieces-say, the big statues of the goddess-to display them separately, and then use the larger cases for things that are related. Maybe all the ceremonial items.”

  “Very impressive. I like it.” He touched the paper towel to his mouth. “It sounds like a hit to me.”

  “And if I could translate some of the writings”-she was smiling without even realizing it-“I could have them reproduced and incorporated into the displays.”

  “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “More than I ever thought I would. I mean, I knew it would be a great experience, and that it would be, well, fun. But I didn’t expect to feel this…connected to the project. I didn’t expect it to mean so much to me.”

  “Sometimes the best things in life are unexpected.”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s true.” She could feel his eyes on her face and avoided meeting them, though she wasn’t sure why.

  Sweet Thing pawed at her leg, and she looked down at the dog.

  “She wants us to share. I think she has her eye on the pepperoni. Do you think that would be bad for her?”

  “Maybe a little bit of the crust wouldn’t hurt. Though you might want to think about whether or not you want her begging food from the table.”

  “I don’t think I do. At the same time”-she broke off a piece of the crust and gave it to the salivating dog that sat so prettily at her feet-“I’m having a hard time resisting her.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” Connor’s phone rang and he swallowed his last bite of pizza before answering.

  “What do you have for me, buddy?” he asked.

  Connor got up from the table, his facial expression unreadable, and walked through the swinging kitchen door into the front hall. Daria could hear his pacing footsteps on the hardwood floor. After about ten minutes, he came back into the kitchen.

  “Anything important?” Daria asked with more nonchalance than she felt.

  “Several things,” he told her. “The hard drives on all the computers belonging to the victims have been removed.”

  “Which probably means the killer had contacted them and wanted to hide the fact?”

  “That would be a good guess. Especially since Mrs. Cathcart’s computer is intact.” He smiled. “Want to guess what our man Will found?”

  “E-mail, maybe from the killer?”

  “Several e-mails, actually, all concerning an item in her collection.”

  “The cylinder?”

  “Good guess.” He nodded and sat down. “But more importantly, Will traced the e-mail to the computer where the contacts originated.”

  “So that’s great, right? You can find the computer and arrest the killer,” Daria said excitedly.

  “It’s not going to be quite that easy,” he told her. “The e-mail was traced to a computer in the library.”

  She stared at him as if not quite understanding.

  “The library? Wait, you don’t mean here?”

  “That’s right. The e-mails were all sent from the Howe University Library.”

  “The computers we used the other night?”

  “Unless there are others somewhere else in the building, yes.”

  “How would he have found their e-mail addresses?”

  “In Mrs. Cathcart’s case, she contacted him. She’d seen a mention of Shandihar in an electronic newsletter she receives. There’d been an arti
cle warning about fake artifacts, and someone had posted that there are all sorts of bogus items being offered online from civilizations that never actually existed-like Shandihar. The next issue carried Mrs. Cathcart’s response setting the record straight. She knew for a fact that Shandihar had been a real city, that she herself owned an artifact from Shandihar and that she’d acquired it from a highly reputable dealer in Boston.”

  “So he got the victims to come to him. He smoked them out.”

  “Exactly. He got them to confirm that they did have the pieces in their possession, then asked them to e-mail him privately, which they did. Very clever of him. And before you ask, yes, there is a response from Kelly Blume in the same issue.”

  “But not Sevrenson or Cross?”

  “No, but he could have located them some other way, maybe through Blume or Cathcart. Polly is still interviewing her, so there may be more information to come.”

  “Can your guy tell which of the computers in the library was the one the e-mails were sent from?”

  “Sure.”

  “So, if we went over there right now, and sent your friend an e-mail from each of the computers, he could tell which one was the right one?”

  “Yes. But-”

  Daria was already out of her chair. “Let’s do it, right now. We’ll send him an e-mail from every one of the computers and we’ll know right now which one matches. And you could take the hard drive and read the messages that are on it, right?”

  “Uh-uh.” Connor shook his head. “That’s not the way this is going to work.”

  “How’s it going to work?” Daria gathered up the plates and the paper towels and the water bottles and set everything on the counter along with the empty pizza box.

  “Sometime very soon, several of my colleagues will arrive, and they’re going to handle this. They’ll secure the computers and they’ll do what they can to determine who the sender was.”

  “How exactly would they do that?” She frowned. “Lots of people use those computers.”

  “They can see who signed in at what time on what day, and which of the computers had e-mail sent at approximately that time.”