Dead Hunt Part 3

Director Diane Fallon Not Available for Comment.

Diane grabbed the paper and stood in the store reading it, oblivious to customers squeezing past her to get out the door.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," she muttered under her breath, then paid for the paper, walked out, and got into her car, slamming the door.

Carrying the newspaper rolled up like a club, Diane entered the museum. There weren't any visitors in the lobby at the moment, but a tour was going on just beyond in the Pleistocene room. The voice of the docent telling a group of j.a.panese visitors about mammoths drifted into the lobby. A blond young woman wearing a white Richard III T-s.h.i.+rt sat at the information desk talking with a lanky, dark-haired young male docent in a matching T. Amber and Hunter, Diane noted mentally. She made it a point to remember the names of all her employees.

"Dr. Fallon," Amber called as Diane walked by. Diane stopped. "Yes."

Amber spotted the paper in Diane's hand. "I guess you've seen that," she said.

Diane noticed that Amber had a copy of the newspaper just below the desktop. Undoubtedly she and Hunter had been discussing it. Their eyes stayed fixed earnestly on her.

"Yes, I've seen it," said Diane.

"It's not-" Amber began.

"No," said Diane, "it's not true."

"I told you," she said to Hunter before turning back to Diane. "There's a man from the FBI looking for you. I directed him to your office. I didn't know what else to do with him."

Diane could see the worry in both their faces. "What is his name?" asked Diane.

"Kingsley. Ross Kingsley." Amber enunciated his name carefully. "He doesn't look like he is from the FBI. Don't they always have short hair?"

"He had a beard too," offered Hunter, as if maybe the guy claiming to be from the FBI was an imposter, possibly a reporter.

"It's not about the museum," said Diane.

She watched them both relax as they realized it had something to do with the crime lab on the upper floor of the west wing. The museum staff called that part of the building the dark side and they called all things relating to the crime lab dark matters. She could see they had just mentally filed Ross Kingsley under dark matter.

"If any reporters come by, call Andie. Don't send them into the office," said Diane.

"Oh, we wouldn't do that," said Amber. The two shook their heads in unison.

Diane walked to her museum office. Her heels clicked on the s.h.i.+ny granite floor, almost keeping time with her rapid heart rate. The brief interaction with her employees hadn't mediated any of her anger and she was glad. Right now she wanted to be angry. She went through the large double doors and down the hall to her office.

Mike Seeger, the geology curator, was there entertaining Andie and Ross Kingsley with tales of his latest adventures in searching out extremophiles. Mike and Andie were wearing the same style T-s.h.i.+rts as Amber and Hunter. Mike greeted her with a wide grin. Andie was frowning.

Kingsley stood and nodded a greeting to Diane. He looked more like a history professor than an FBI profiler in his vest and suit. He started to speak but Andie got there first.

"Dr. Fallon," said Andie and paused as she saw the rolled-up newspaper in Diane's hand. "You've seen the article."

Diane nodded.

"Diane. I was hoping you could spare me a few minutes," said Kingsley quickly.

"I'm sorry, Ross. I have a board meeting in a few minutes. It will have to wait until after that." Diane turned to Mike. "If you have time, will you show Agent Kingsley around the museum?"

"Sure..." began Mike.

The telephone rang. Diane imagined that all Andie had been able to do all day was answer the telephone.

"Excuse me, Dr. Fallon," said Andie. "It's the DA.

insists on speaking He's called several times. He with you."

"He insists? Tell him unless his arm out of its socket and beat him with the b.l.o.o.d.y end of it, he'll wait until I have time to call him." "Ooookay," said Andie. She took the DA off hold.

"Sir, Dr. Fallon can't be disturbed. She'll call you just as soon as she has a chance." Andie doodled with her pen as she listened. Her springy auburn hair bounced as she nodded into the phone. "I know, sir, but she is in a board meeting. It's likely to last a while, but she will return your call."

There was another pause and Diane could hear the DA's voice but not his words. Just as well, Just as well, she thought. "No, I'm sorry. I can't pa.s.s a note to her. That she thought. "No, I'm sorry. I can't pa.s.s a note to her. That would disturb the meeting and I can't do that. She will call. I prom- He hung up on me," she said, holding the receiver out for all to see.

"Andie, ask Kendel to come to my office," said Diane.

"I don't think I've ever seen this side of you," said Kingsley. "I'll be glad to wait until after your meeting." He grinned at her, rubbing his shoulder. "But can you give me a hint about what Clymene wanted?" Diane had started into her office, but she turned to he wants me to jerk him. "Clymene is afraid that one of her guards has married someone like herself." Diane turned to her office without looking back.

"Okay, now, you can't drop a bomb like that and leave," he shouted after her.

Diane was already in her office and closing her door. She turned off the water fountain on her desk.

Normally she liked the sound of the water running over the stones, but today it was annoying. She should have gotten a jump start on this situation when she read the first article. But she had been knee-deep in other things and Kendel had a.s.sured her there was nothing to it.

After a moment Kendel opened the rear door to Diane's office and quietly slipped in. She was dressed in a navy pinstriped suit and a pink s.h.i.+rt. Her brown hair, usually in some kind of twist, was down, just touching her shoulders. Her eyes were red and she looked tired. Her usual countenance, the tough-asbra.s.s a.s.sistant director, was absent. Kendel was scared. Diane motioned for her to sit down. "Diane, I know I told you the other day that this was nothing-"

The phone rang and Diane picked it up. "I'm sorry to disturb you," said Andie. "It's the Journal-Const.i.tution. Do you want to speak with them?"

"Thank you, Andie. Put them through."

She waited on the phone, frowning. This was just the beginning. Kendel sat staring at the photograph of Diane hanging suspended from a rope inside a dark cavern. Diane wondered if that was how Kendel felt, like someone dangling at the end of a rope. "Diane Fallon?" said the voice on the other end of the phone. "I'm Sh.e.l.l Sidney from the Atlanta Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution."

Diane wondered if the reporter's name was really Sidney Sh.e.l.l and she had reversed it in order to have more gravitas.

"I've been trying to reach you in regard to the stolen antiquities."

"Stolen antiquities?" said Diane.

The reporter hesitated a beat. "The stolen antiquities that have been in the news. One of your own board members stated that Miss Williams, the-ah- a.s.sistant director, has been fired for purchasing antiquities that she knew were looted. What do you have to say about that?"

Chapter 7.

"Your information is incorrect," said Diane. "Which part of the story are you saying is incor rect?" The reporter asked.

"All of it. The entire story is no more than a collection of allegations, innuendo, and rumor," said Diane in what she hoped was a calm voice.

"What about your board member's statement?"

asked the reporter.

"The statement as published was sure what she said was that if any a misquote. I'm employee were found to have dealt in stolen antiquities we would take the appropriate action."

"Are you saying that Miss Williams has not been fired?"

"She has not."

"And you're saying she is still a.s.sistant director at the museum?"

"Yes, she is. It is not the policy of the museum to fire or suspend its personnel based on rumors. Surely your newspaper has the same policy concerning its employees."

"Let me get this straight. You are saying that Miss Williams did not purchase antiquities that were looted from Egypt?"

This is tricky, thought Diane. She had to respond. thought Diane. She had to respond.

She had been stung by reporters who printed their own speculation as if it were truth. She had to be wary about how she worded any explanation.

"Before we purchase any antiquity for the museum, we research the provenance," said Diane. "We adhere to the highest international standards for authentication and certification. After an item arrives at the museum, we double-check its entered into our collection.

provenance before it is The double-checking is done by a staff of museum employees not involved in initially acquiring the piece. Right now we have several acquisitions from various locations around the world going through that process. To date we have found nothing amiss with the provenances. I can e-mail you a copy of our acquisition policy if that will help."

"Are you saying that this whole thing is a fabrication by someone?" asked the reporter. "Why would they do that?"

"I can't say anything about the motives or behavior of some unknown person," said Diane. "I can only tell you that the articles were written without any attempt by the reporter to verify the information through this office."

"Have you been contacted by the Egyptian government or the FBI?" asked the reporter.

"No," said Diane, "no one has contacted us." "So you are saying the whole thing is just a rumor?"

asked the reporter.

"That is correct. If any stolen or improperly acquired item should come into our possession, our procedure will discover it. That's what it's for." The reporter gave Diane her telephone number and asked her to call if anything developed. Diane said she would and hung up the phone.

Kendel was standing, examining the Escher prints hanging on the wall opposite the caving photographs.

There were three prints in a row: a self-filling waterfall, a castle with endless ascending and descending staircases, and a tessellation of angels and devils. Kendel sat down when Diane hung up the phone. "I suppose you will get lots of calls like that,"

said Kendel.

"Andie will field most of them," said Diane, looking at her watch. "In just a few minutes I have to face the board. Do you still stand by your a.s.sessment of the provenance?"

"Yes . . . well, I don't know." Kendel slumped in her chair. "In the beginning I was completely sure.

This is something I'm good at. But now-I just don't know. I don't understand where any of this is coming from."

"This isn't like you," said Diane. "You are always self-a.s.sured. Is there anything you need to tell me?" "Nothing that would help." Kendel ran her hands through her hair. "Since this article came out, I've been getting calls and e-mails accusing me of grave robbing, stealing, ethnocentrism, and other things too vile to mention."

"That's awfully quick," said Diane. "It was just out today."

"It started with that first article a few days ago,"

said Kendel. "And my name wasn't even mentioned in that one."

"The article was very vague," said Diane, wrinkling her brow.

"It was precise enough for some people," said Kendel. "I imagine that now there is going to be a flood of hate mail."

"Save all your mail and anything on the answering machine. Keep notes on any hara.s.sing phone calls you take in person. Is there anything else?" Diane sensed that there was.

"I got an e-mail rescinding my invitation to speak at the University of Pennsylvania seminars," said Kendel. Her gaze searched the room as though there might be something in Diane's office that would explain all of it. "I've worked hard building my reputation," she said, staring again at the photo of Diane at the end of the rope. She blinked and the tears spilled down onto her cheeks. "And this-it's like being struck by lightning-just suddenly out of the blue, all of this . . ." Diane handed her a tissue and she wiped her eyes. "And I don't understand even how the university found out so quickly."

Diane stared at Kendel for a moment, then glanced at her computer. "The University of Pennsylvania had you listed on their Web site as an upcoming speaker,"

she said. "I'm sure the reporter did an Internet search for your name and found it there. She must have contacted them."

"If that's true, it was cruel. What did the reporter think would happen? Don't they care if they ruin someone's life?" She wiped her eyes again. "I don't know what to do about this."

"I do," said Diane. She picked up the phone and called Jin. He was probably down in the bas.e.m.e.nt in his new DNA lab caressing his equipment. "Jin," said Diane, "you are on break, aren't you?"

"Sure, Boss, I'm on my own time," he said. That was one thing Diane liked about Jin. He was always quick. She couldn't really use any of her crime scene personnel on nonDNA lab museum business-not at this point. But she could use them on their own time. "I a.s.sume that Neva is on her break too," said Diane.

"Sure is," said Jin. "What can we do for you?" "I want you to go to the conservation lab and open the crates marked . . . Just a minute." She looked up at Kendel.

"EG970 through EG975," said Kendel. "There are six boxes."

Diane relayed the numbers to Jin. "I need you to process the artifacts. No fingerprint powders or glues-these are antiquities. Use the big camera and high-contrast film for any latents. I also want every piece photographed from all angles, collect any dust and detritus you find, get a sample of the packing material-anything that might help us trace their origin. You can use powders on the outside of the crates."

"I get to use David's cameras," said Jin. "He'll love that."

Diane could almost see him grinning on the other end of the phone. To Jin everything was fun. Maybe she should send Kendel to take notes from him.

"Don't forget the lighting in your zest to get into David's cameras," said Diane.

"Boss . . . I know about photographic enhancement and latent prints," he said in mock hurt.

"Good. I want you to be thorough and very fast."

The question from the reporter about queries from the FBI nagged at Diane. She didn't want the objects to be confiscated before she had a chance to have a good look at them.

"Thorough and fast," said Jin. "Got it."

"Have Korey there as you work. We need to have the conservator oversee the process. When you finish, search the National Stolen Art File and see if any of the pieces are in it."

"Will do," said Jin.