The Cloisters(61)

“Of course not,” said Michelle. “How could you say that?”

Because, I thought, both Rachel and I knew the alternative was much worse. I studied Rachel’s profile, looking for a flicker of anything—surprise, guilt—but she only looked stunned.

“What can we do?” I said, filling the silence.

“Well, there’s an investigation. The police will be contacting you. They’ve already contacted me and are making the rounds through the staff at The Cloisters.”

“Could it have been an accident?” Rachel asked. It was there, in the question, that I heard a quaver of devastation. The edges of another violent loss she would have to process. That we both would have to process.

“They’re considering it a homicide.” Michelle paused before adding: “At this time, we’re recommending that every staff member cooperate with the investigating detectives, but of course if you would like an attorney present, that is up to you.”



* * *



Two days later the detectives at the Thirty-Fourth Precinct in Inwood wanted to speak to us separately, and I still hadn’t heard from Leo.

One, a Detective Murphy, met us at reception and informed Rachel: “We’ll send a car up to The Cloisters when we’re done with Ann to come get you.”

Rachel nodded and gave me one last look before beginning her walk toward the museum, leaving me alone in the flickering yellow light of the precinct.

I had imagined that the interview would take place in a spare room with a metal table and uncomfortable chairs, perhaps a one-way mirror. But I was led to Detective Murphy’s office, a cozy space that reminded me of a faculty office, full of stacks of papers and faded family photos in lightly tarnished frames. She gestured at a leather chair in the corner and sat facing me behind her desk. There was a second detective too, one I hadn’t met. He leaned against the filing cabinet, occasionally checking the clock that was hung above Detective Murphy’s door.

“I’m sure you’re upset to hear about Patrick,” she began. “We’re talking to everyone who was in the building that day. It’s procedure.”

I wondered fleetingly if she had ever been to The Cloisters prior to this, if on her lunch breaks she liked to wander through the galleries and think about the mummified bodies that were entombed in our sarcophagi.

“Let’s just start with the basics. You saw Patrick the day he died, right?”

“Yes.”

“And how did Patrick seem that day? How did he seem in general?”

“He seemed fine. A little stressed. It’s been a busy time for him. For us.”

“Okay. Stressed. Did he seem angry or uncomfortable?”

“Not that I noticed, no.”

“Have you seen anyone around The Cloisters recently? Anyone unusual? Anyone that you don’t know?”

“It would be difficult for someone to go undetected in the staff area of The Cloisters,” I said, “and the library has barely been used this summer. All those visitors are logged, and you can contact them. As for museum guests—” I shrugged. “We see thousands every day.”

“What about a relationship?” The detective checked her notes. “Did he have a girlfriend? A boyfriend?”

The image of Patrick grabbing Rachel’s wrist passed quickly through my mind, their bodies silhouetted through the door of his home, the way Margaret had talked about their time together at Long Lake.

“Not that I know of,” I lied.

“What we’re trying to establish,” said the other detective, “is a motive. Right now, we can’t figure out why someone would want to murder Patrick.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t. Everyone loved him—the staff at The Cloisters, the staff at the Met. He was well respected. Sometimes things don’t have a reason. A motive. Sometimes it’s just bad luck.”

“Generally, poisonings aren’t bad luck,” said Detective Murphy.

“We worry about accidental poisonings all the time at The Cloisters,” I said. I didn’t know if it was true, but it seemed entirely plausible given the number of children that came through the museum and the number of poisonous plants we cultivated.

“So you can’t think of anyone who might have had a motive to murder Patrick? No bad blood? No workplace disputes?”

“None.”

“When we brought Leo Bitburg in for questioning,” the other detective said, “he mentioned that Rachel and Patrick had had a thing. Did you ever see anything that would indicate that?”

I tried to sound as casual as possible, doing my best to mask my concern that Leo had already been to the precinct but had neglected to talk to me. “I’ve only been there since the beginning of summer, so I don’t know.”

“Leo Bitburg said, and I quote, ‘Rachel and Patrick have been together for almost a year. It was common knowledge at The Cloisters. They were together all the time.’ But you never saw this?”

Both detectives watched me closely, but I shrugged.

“I’m still new,” I said.

“Do you consider Rachel to be a close friend?” asked Detective Murphy.

“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

“And she never talked to you about Patrick?”