The Cabinet of Curiosities (Pendergast #3)(116)

The Museum lawyer was talking more loudly now, and Custer forced himself to listen.

“This is nothing but a fishing expedition,” Brisbane was saying. “You can’t just come in here and turn the place upside down.” He gestured furiously at the NYPD evidence lockers lying on the floor, a riot of objects scattered within and around them. “And all that is Museum property!”

Absently, Custer gestured toward the warrant that Noyes was holding. “You’ve seen the warrant.”

“Yes, I have. And it’s not worth the paper it’s written on. I’ve never seen such general language. I protest this warrant, and I am stating for the record that I will not permit the Museum to be further searched.”

“Let’s have your boss, Dr. Collopy, decide that. Has anybody heard from him yet?”

“As the Museum’s legal counsel, I’m authorized to speak for Dr. Collopy.”

Custer refolded his arms gloomily. There came another crash from the recesses of the Archives, some shouting, and a ripping sound. An officer soon appeared, carrying a stuffed crocodile, cotton pouring from a fresh slit in its belly. He laid it in one of the evidence lockers.

“What the hell are they doing back there?” Brisbane shouted. “Hey, you! Yes, you! You’ve damaged that specimen!”

The officer looked at him with a dull expression, then shambled back into the files.

Custer said nothing. His feeling of anxiety increased. So far, the questioning of Museum staff hadn’t come up with anything either—just the same old stuff the earlier investigation had produced. This had been his call, his operation. His and his alone. If he was wrong—it almost didn’t bear thinking, of course, but if—he’d be hung out to dry like last week’s laundry.

“I’m going to call Museum security and have your men escorted out,” Brisbane fumed. “This is intolerable. Where’s Manetti?”

“Manetti was the man who let us in here,” Custer said distractedly. What if he’d made a mistake—a huge mistake?

“He shouldn’t have done that. Where is he?” Brisbane turned, found Oscar Gibbs, the Archives assistant. “Where’s Manetti?”

“He left,” Gibbs said.

Custer watched absently, noticing how the young man’s insolent tone, his dark look, conveyed what he thought of Brisbane. Brisbane’s not popular, Custer thought again. Got a lot of enemies. Puck sure must have hated the guy, the way Brisbane came down on him. Can’t say I blame him one bit for—

And that was when the revelation hit him. Like his initial revelation, only bigger: much bigger. So obvious in retrospect, and yet so difficult to first perceive. This was the kind of brilliant leap of intuition one received departmental citations for. It was a leap of deduction worthy of Sherlock Holmes.

He turned now, watching Brisbane subtly, but intently. The man’s well-groomed face was glistening, his hair askew, eyes glittering with anger.

“Left where?” Brisbane was demanding.

Gibbs shrugged insolently.

Brisbane strode over to the desk and picked up the phone. Custer continued to watch him. He dialed a few numbers, and left low, excited messages.

“Captain Custer,” he said, turning back. “Once again, I am ordering you to remove your men from the premises.”

Custer returned the glance from between lowered lids. He’d have to do this very carefully.

“Mr. Brisbane,” he asked, taking what hoped sounded like a reasonable tone. “Shall we discuss this in your office?”

For a moment, Brisbane seemed taken aback. “My office?”

“It’ll be more private. Perhaps we needn’t search the Museum much longer. Perhaps we can settle this in your office, now.”

Brisbane seemed to consider this. “Very well. Follow me.”

Custer nodded to his man, Lieutenant Detective Piles. “You take over here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Custer turned toward Noyes. The merest crook of his fat finger brought the little man to his side.

“Noyes, I want you with me,” he murmured. “Got your service piece on you?”

Noyes nodded, rheumy eyes glistening in the dusky light.

“Good. Then let’s go.”





THREE




THE SLOT OPENED AGAIN. IN THE ENDLESS PERIOD OF DARKNESS AND terror, Smithback had lost his perception of time. How long had it been? Ten minutes? An hour? A day?

The voice spoke, lips once again gleaming in the rectangle of light. “How kind of you to visit me in my very old and interesting house. I hope you enjoyed seeing my collections. I am particularly fond of the corydon. Did you, by chance, see the corydon?”

Smithback tried to respond, belatedly remembering that his mouth was taped.

“Ah! How thoughtless of me. Do not trouble yourself to answer. I will speak. You will listen.”

Smithback’s mind raced through the possibilities for escape. There were none.

“Yes, the corydon is most interesting. As is the mosasaur from the chalk beds of Kansas. And of course the durdag from Tibet is quite unusual, one of only two in the world. I understand it was fashioned from the skull of the fifteenth reincarnation of the Buddha.”

Smithback heard a dry laugh, like the scattering of withered leaves.