The Corpse with the Silver Tongue by Cathy Ace Page A

the corridor surrounded a rock about the size of a fist, and the frame of the window had been opened inward and now swung on one broken hinge. The police had taped off the end of the corridor, so we peered into the offices that had their doors open. Each room we could see into was in some sort of disarray. In one a computer screen lay on its side; in another papers had been scattered around the room; and in yet another, an earthenware pot lay broken on the floor; the greatest amount of damage was in the largest office at the end of the hall.
    Beni wailed as he looked into the room. “Oh, my office!”
    â€œCan you tell us what is missing, Doctor Brunetti?” asked the policeman who’d been leading our sad little guided tour of destruction.
    â€œMay I enter?” asked Beni, sounding unhappy.
    â€œYes, but do not touch anything, and please be careful where you tread,” replied the policeman. I had to content myself with craning my neck around the door jamb to see what Beni could see, but it was only a moment or two before he emerged, looking crestfallen.
    â€œA small alabaster vase that I kept in that niche is missing,” he said, pointing to a little space above his desk, “two stone tablets with inscriptions that came from the wall of the baths outside have disappeared, and some papers that I was working on at my desk yesterday have gone.” He looked at me as he mentioned this last item, and I knew he meant that the archive was missing.
    â€œAre the missing items very valuable?” asked the policeman.
    â€œNot in themselves,” answered Beni. “It is surprising that such ancient and rare objects as the vase and the tablets often bring only small amounts of money. The papers were the archives of a family that used to live in the area. They are rare in that they were domestic writings and were on papyrus, rather than on wooden or wax tablets. But, when I say ‘papers’ I do not mean it in the sense we would use the term today: what is missing is a wooden box filled with rolls of papyrus.”
    â€œThe box would have been heavy, and bulky to remove?” asked the policeman.
    Beni shook his head.
    â€œAnd how big?”
    â€œAbout so big,” Beni answered, holding his hands about a foot or so apart. He looked distraught and asked the officer, “What else is missing?”
    The policeman referred to his notes and replied, “Apart from your box, tablets, and vase, a statue of Aphrodite has gone from this office,” he turned and pointed behind him, “and a pair of . . . ummm . . .” He struggled a bit as he said, “. . . millefiori pyxis?”
    Beni nodded. “The ink-wells. I know them. Small and, again, not very valuable. Is that it?”
    â€œYes,” replied the policeman. “It seems that the thieves did not gain access to any of the other areas. The alarm was not tripped, and there appear to be no attempts to reach anywhere other than this part of the complex. They took small items that could be easily removed. It looks like a crime of opportunity. Your colleagues have all told me that the offices with the disturbances were not locked. Did you lock your own office when you left here yesterday?”
    â€œI thought that I did,” answered Beni slowly, “but I had a lot on my mind, so maybe I did not.”
    â€œIt does not look as though the door was broken,” added the policemen significantly.
    â€œThen maybe I did not,” replied Beni quietly.
    â€œSir—outside, they have found something,” came a shout from a young policeman at the other end of the corridor.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked the more senior officer.
    â€œSome sort of wooden box, sir. It looks as though it has been discarded in the parking area.”
    Immediately I saw a brighter look appear on Beni’s face and he mouthed “The archives,” at me. I, too, wondered if that might be