The Book of the Dead by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Page B

had furnished it with utterly functional metal desks and chairs. It said something positive about Manetti—at least she hoped it did.
    Manetti was clearly not happy to see her, but he made an attempt at courtesy, offering her a chair and a cup of coffee, which she declined.
    “I’m here on the Green assault,” she said. “I wonder if you’d be willing to accompany me to the Sacred Images show so we can run through a few additional questions I have about ingress and egress, access, security.”
    “But we’ve been all over that, weeks ago. I thought the investigation was complete.”
    “ My investigation isn’t complete yet, Mr. Manetti.”
    Manetti licked his lips. “Did you go through the office of the director? We’re supposed to coordinate all law enforcement—”
    She cut him off and stood up, growing irritated. “I don’t have the time, and neither do you. Let’s go.”
    She followed the security director through a labyrinth of corridors and dusty halls, arriving at last at the exhibit entrance. The museum was still open and the security doors hooked back, but the exhibit itself was almost deserted.
    “Let’s begin here,” said Hayward. “I’ve been going over the setup again and again, and there are a few things I just don’t get. The perp had to enter the hall through this door, am I correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “The door at the far end could be opened only from the inside, not from the outside. Right?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And the security system was supposed to automatically keep a log of all who came and went, because each magnetic card key is coded with the name of the owner.”
    Manetti nodded.
    “But the system registered no entry other than Margo Green. The perp then stole her card and used it to leave by the rear exit.”
    “That’s the assumption.”
    “Green could have entered and left this door hooked open.”
    “No. First, that would have been against the rules. Second, the system registered that she didn’t do that. A few seconds after she entered, the door reengaged. We had an electronic log to that effect.”
    “So the perp must have been waiting in the hall, hiding, from the time it closed to visitors—five o’clock—until the time of the assault, two A.M.”
    Manetti nodded.
    “Or else the perp managed to get around the security system.”
    “We think that’s highly improbable.”
    “But I think it’s almost certain. I’ve been through this hall a dozen times since the assault. There’s no place for the perp to have hidden.”
    “It was under construction. Stuff was all over the place.”
    “It was two days from opening. It was almost finished.”
    “The security system is foolproof.”
    “Like the Diamond Hall. Right?”
    She watched Manetti’s lips tighten and felt a pang. This wasn’t her style. She was becoming a bitch, and she didn’t like it.
    “Thank you, Mr. Manetti,” she said. “I’d like to make another pass through the hall, if you don’t mind.”
    “Be our guest.”
    “I’ll be in touch.”
    Manetti disappeared and Hayward took a thoughtful turn around the room where Green had been attacked, picturing, yet again, each step of the assault in a kind of mental stop-motion. She tried to shut out the little voice in her head that said this was a wild-goose chase; that she wasn’t likely to find anything of value here weeks after the attack, after a hundred thousand people had walked through; that she was doing this for all the wrong reasons; that she should just get on with her life and career while she still could.
    She took another turn around the room, the little voice disappearing under the rap of her heels against the floor. As she came to the side of the case where the spot of blood had been found, she saw a crouched, dark-suited figure moving toward her from behind the case, ready to spring out.
    She pulled out her weapon, drew down on the figure. “You! Freeze! NYPD!”
    The person leaped up with a gargled shout, arms