Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(55)

Duncan waved aside the invitation, crossing the sparse office that was the same mixture of glass and steel as the gallery. Reaching the desk, he placed the stone vessel wrapped in plastic directly in front of the man.

“I need your expertise.”

Jacques leaned down, studying the object with sudden interest. He might be a fraud as a sophisticated Frenchman, but he knew his shit when it came to art.

“Nice,” he murmured. “Where did you get this?”

“Not your concern,” Duncan said. Jacques was too smart not to eventually realize the vessel was a part of Calso’s murder investigation, but Duncan wasn’t about to share confidential police info. “Do you recognize the symbol?”

The dealer continued to study the vessel, his expression oddly tense. “I’m not an expert on antiquities, but my guess would be Sumerian.”

Sumerian?

That seemed . . . random.

“Who deals with this sort of item?”

The man straightened. “None locally.”

Duncan frowned. “Don’t jerk me around, Girard.”

“I’m not.” Jacques held up his hands. “This is museum quality. Very rare.”

“So give me a name.”

The man shrugged. “I’m going to have to do some digging.”

Duncan tossed the picture he’d grabbed at the station onto the desk. “What about this?”

Jacques picked up the twelve-by-twelve glossy picture of the coin that had been taken from the security tape. It had been blown up as large as possible without turning it into a fuzzy blob, but with a sharp motion, Jacques reached for a magnifying glass lying on his desk to study it in grim silence.

“Did it come with the vessel?” he at last demanded.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Another long silence. “Not currency. Maybe a symbol of authority.”

“How much would it be worth?”

“I can’t say for certain.”

Jacques made a sound of shock as Duncan smoothly pulled his gun and aimed it at his head. “Mon Dieu. I truly don’t know. Were they found together?”

Duncan kept his gun pointed at his companion. He didn’t intend to shoot the con man. But he sensed Jacques knew more about the coin than he was willing to admit. Obviously, he needed . . . inspiration to share his full range of knowledge.

“How did you know they were found together?”

Jacques licked his lips, using the magnifying glass to point toward the vessel on his desk. “The symbols along the top of the vase.”

“What about them?”

“I’m no expert, but I suspect that they describe the purpose of the coin.”

Duncan furrowed his brow, considering his words. “Like an instruction manual?”

“Exactly. And here ...” The magnifying glass lowered to point toward the odd bird sketched into the stone. “It matches the hieroglyph etched on the coin. It can’t be a coincidence. Together the pair would be almost priceless.”

Duncan stiffened, abruptly realizing what had been nagging at him since he’d walked into Calso’s office and caught sight of the ancient vessel.

“A pair,” he breathed softly.

Jacques shrugged. “That’s what I just said.”

“So why would somebody take the coin and leave behind the vessel it came in?”

“No collector would,” Jacques instantly denied. “Apart they’re extremely valuable. Together ...” He set the picture next to the vase, emphasizing their matching symbols. “As I said. Priceless.”

Duncan had already ruled out robbery as a reason for the murder. A thief didn’t leave behind millions in artwork, let alone a stack of untraceable bills.

Now he had to rule out an obsessed antiquities collector.

Which left . . .

More goddamn questions than answers.

The realization had just struck when he felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket. Stepping back, he holstered his gun before pulling out the phone and pressing it to his ear.

It would be a pity to shoot one of his best informants just because he didn’t like the latest news.

And he didn’t doubt for a minute he wasn’t going to like it.

“O’Conner,” he snapped, stiffening as he heard the dispatcher’s unsteady voice telling him that Leah’s body had been found. Again. “Where?” He made a mental note of the directions. “I’ll be there. Contact Valhalla.”

Replacing the phone in his pocket, Duncan reached to grasp the vessel and picture from the desk.

Jacques had turned a peculiar shade of ash, his suave French facade shattered by a surge of genuine fear.

“What the hell? You didn’t tell me that this has something to do with the freaks.”

Duncan turned and headed for the door. “I need the names of dealers who could move these items and I need them fast.”

“I don’t want to get involved with high-bloods,” the con man protested, his voice approaching a screech. “They’re nothing but trouble.”

Duncan spared a glance over his shoulder. “Not nearly as much trouble as disappointing me.”

Confident the man understood the cost of failure, Duncan headed across the showroom, his expression dark enough to keep the hovering assistant at a safe distance.