mystical gift of intuition, or shook off its messages because nothing it told them made sense. She saw it now in this detective, and wondered, what did she make of it?
“Good,” Hamilton said, though none of them had spoken. “Matt, you want to get their contact info?”
Framingham collected phone numbers while Hamilton walked through the high-ceilinged lobby, looking up and around. Without a glance at her partner—but perfectly timed with the completion of his task—Hamilton reached the door. Before the guard could come open it for her she’d pushed out, her long black braid swinging down her back. Framingham followed.
Everyone was silent, watching the pair get into their car and peel away, Hamilton at the wheel.
“I suppose delicacy isn’t necessarily a job requirement for a detective,” Katherine offered.
“You should have been here earlier. She’s Lenape, she announced as soon as she walked in. Given this case to demonstrate the NYPD’s cultural sensitivity. She found that funny.”
“Well, it’s not very color-blind of them.”
“The opposite. They’re afraid what—what happened here, was politically motivated. An attempt by one or another of the tribes to stop the auctions.”
“Oh, my God! Is that possible?”
Estelle paused. “A sale like this always gets a lot of attention. You know the Hopis sued to remove their items, and now they’re in court with the individual owners. There weren’t any other lawsuits, and as I told you, many of these pieces are orphaned, but all it would take is one unhinged militant, I suppose.”
“But you don’t sound like you think so.”
“There’s still the question of how he’d have gotten in. And wouldn’t he have taken as much as he could carry, if the point was to return the objects to the tribes? There were no threats, nothing seems gone, and no one’s taken responsibility. I think it’s doubtful.”
“Do the detectives agree?”
“She does. She thinks the idea’s laughable. She asked a few questions about the pieces, and I had to give them the owners’ names in case any of them have enemies. But she seems to be going with the stalker/spurned lover theory.” Estelle paused. “Now, the other detective, he’s a little odd. He thinks a political killing’s still on the table, and ties in with someone getting in through the terrace. They were both very focused, though, when they got upstairs. And she, Detective Hamilton, she’s the one who told me I didn’t have to identify Brittany because Harold already had, and they’ll have forensics—fingerprints, dental records, that sort of thing. So I’m grateful. They’d . . . moved the body by the time they asked me to come up and see if anything was missing.”
“And nothing is?”
“Not that I could see. Detective Hamilton sneered her waythrough the holding room. As though any piece we have here is already, I don’t know, ruined.”
The elevator opened again and three blood-smeared, Tyvek-suited men came out, laughing at something. Carrying boxes and backpacks, they quickly tried to make their faces solemn when they saw the group in the lobby. One of them said, “You can go up now.” A blast of cold air blew in through the doors as they wrestled their gear out.
“Well,” Estelle said, watching through the glass until they’d loaded their van. “I guess I’d better get started. Katherine?”
“Of course.”
“Livia and Father Kelly, you really don’t have to come.”
“I don’t know these pieces, particularly, but I’m an art historian,” Livia said. “I may be able to help.”
Thomas said, “And I make good coffee.”
Together, they walked to the elevator.
24
M ichael? I personally am finding this situation a touch absurd,” Spencer said quietly, “but may I ask why you’re grinning like a baboon?”
Under his breath, Michael answered, “A vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar? Come on, Spencer, the possibilities are endless.” He started to laugh,
“Good,” Hamilton said, though none of them had spoken. “Matt, you want to get their contact info?”
Framingham collected phone numbers while Hamilton walked through the high-ceilinged lobby, looking up and around. Without a glance at her partner—but perfectly timed with the completion of his task—Hamilton reached the door. Before the guard could come open it for her she’d pushed out, her long black braid swinging down her back. Framingham followed.
Everyone was silent, watching the pair get into their car and peel away, Hamilton at the wheel.
“I suppose delicacy isn’t necessarily a job requirement for a detective,” Katherine offered.
“You should have been here earlier. She’s Lenape, she announced as soon as she walked in. Given this case to demonstrate the NYPD’s cultural sensitivity. She found that funny.”
“Well, it’s not very color-blind of them.”
“The opposite. They’re afraid what—what happened here, was politically motivated. An attempt by one or another of the tribes to stop the auctions.”
“Oh, my God! Is that possible?”
Estelle paused. “A sale like this always gets a lot of attention. You know the Hopis sued to remove their items, and now they’re in court with the individual owners. There weren’t any other lawsuits, and as I told you, many of these pieces are orphaned, but all it would take is one unhinged militant, I suppose.”
“But you don’t sound like you think so.”
“There’s still the question of how he’d have gotten in. And wouldn’t he have taken as much as he could carry, if the point was to return the objects to the tribes? There were no threats, nothing seems gone, and no one’s taken responsibility. I think it’s doubtful.”
“Do the detectives agree?”
“She does. She thinks the idea’s laughable. She asked a few questions about the pieces, and I had to give them the owners’ names in case any of them have enemies. But she seems to be going with the stalker/spurned lover theory.” Estelle paused. “Now, the other detective, he’s a little odd. He thinks a political killing’s still on the table, and ties in with someone getting in through the terrace. They were both very focused, though, when they got upstairs. And she, Detective Hamilton, she’s the one who told me I didn’t have to identify Brittany because Harold already had, and they’ll have forensics—fingerprints, dental records, that sort of thing. So I’m grateful. They’d . . . moved the body by the time they asked me to come up and see if anything was missing.”
“And nothing is?”
“Not that I could see. Detective Hamilton sneered her waythrough the holding room. As though any piece we have here is already, I don’t know, ruined.”
The elevator opened again and three blood-smeared, Tyvek-suited men came out, laughing at something. Carrying boxes and backpacks, they quickly tried to make their faces solemn when they saw the group in the lobby. One of them said, “You can go up now.” A blast of cold air blew in through the doors as they wrestled their gear out.
“Well,” Estelle said, watching through the glass until they’d loaded their van. “I guess I’d better get started. Katherine?”
“Of course.”
“Livia and Father Kelly, you really don’t have to come.”
“I don’t know these pieces, particularly, but I’m an art historian,” Livia said. “I may be able to help.”
Thomas said, “And I make good coffee.”
Together, they walked to the elevator.
24
M ichael? I personally am finding this situation a touch absurd,” Spencer said quietly, “but may I ask why you’re grinning like a baboon?”
Under his breath, Michael answered, “A vampire and a werewolf walk into a bar? Come on, Spencer, the possibilities are endless.” He started to laugh,
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