The Mask of Atreus by A. J. Hartley
Authors: A. J. Hartley
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Antiquities, greece, Theft from museums, Museum curators
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Richard?"
He frowned as his mind adjusted to the unexpected question and her use of his first name.
"I never actually met him, of course, but yes, I think so,"
he said. "Why?"
"Would you find it hard to believe that he would put the museum ahead of his own personal fortune, even in front of his reputation?"
"Not for a second," he said.
Deborah nodded. It was the right answer. She felt herself warm to him a fraction.
"Me too," she said.
For the briefest of seconds she saw the entire Greek collection, with the mask as its centerpiece, laid out in gleaming cases for the world, all downstairs in the lobby, or in a purpose-built room at the end of a long dark corridor lined with educational text and images: the finest gathering of Greek antiquities outside Athens. This, surely, was the image Richard had been chasing.
Calvin, who was watching her as if he could see the pictures in her head, nodded once.
"I see," he said. "If there's anything I can do . . ."
She smiled and, exhaling, realized that she had been holding her breath. 84
A. J. Hartley
"By the way," he added, "I'm missing some of Richard's legal correspondence. Was anything stored down here?"
"In the office," she said. "I keep most of the museum-specific stuff there. Are you looking for something in particular?"
He looked a little sheepish.
"As I said, Mr. Dixon was processing some paperwork that touched on both his personal holdings and his stake in the museum. They may have some bearing on his will. The police are going to want to see how his estate stands legally, in case it has an impact on issues of motive."
Deborah nodded, businesslike, careful to show that this gave her no consternation at all.
"That would be personal then," she said, "and should be in the residence files, not the museum's, unless it came very recently."
"How recently?"
"If it was addressed to the house, no more than a day or two," she said. "If it's personal but comes to the museum, it takes a few days. The residence has a different street number: one forty-three. The museum is one fifty-seven. They're the same building, so don't ask me why. But there are two mailboxes. I deal with the business stuff, sift out the junk and pass along what's left for his consideration. There usually isn't much, and unless I flag something, he gets to it when he gets to it. Is that a problem?"
He was still, and his eyes were narrow, but at her question he shrugged the mood off and grinned.
"I doubt it. I just hate having official papers going through the hands of anyone other than the addressee. It's the lawyer in me."
Detectives Cerniga and Keene were upstairs in the study next door to Richard's bedroom, where they were going over the guest list and the museum inventory. Deborah considered the staircase and then opted for one last precaution before she went up to speak to them. 85
T h e M a s k o f A t r e u s
The ladies' room beside the office was a single boxlike chamber reserved for museum staff. There was a toilet and a washbasin with liquid soap and one of those electronic hand dryers that always left her wiping her hands on her trousers. The light switch was hooked up to an extractor fan which hummed and whirred almost as loudly as the toilet flush. With that and the hand dryer going, it was amazing you could hear anything at all, so the sound of raised voices was a surprise. It took Deborah a second to realize where it was coming from. There was a vent set in the wall above the toilet, not the extractor fan, the heating and air system. At first she barely paid attention, but then something in her head noted that the voices were male, were, in fact, the voices of the detectives with whom she was about to speak. Even over the hand dryer's automatic blowing she was sure of it. The pipe must rout directly through the study upstairs. She had never noticed it before, but then why would she?
How often did anyone even speak aloud in that room? It was Richard's private sanctuary.
One of the
He frowned as his mind adjusted to the unexpected question and her use of his first name.
"I never actually met him, of course, but yes, I think so,"
he said. "Why?"
"Would you find it hard to believe that he would put the museum ahead of his own personal fortune, even in front of his reputation?"
"Not for a second," he said.
Deborah nodded. It was the right answer. She felt herself warm to him a fraction.
"Me too," she said.
For the briefest of seconds she saw the entire Greek collection, with the mask as its centerpiece, laid out in gleaming cases for the world, all downstairs in the lobby, or in a purpose-built room at the end of a long dark corridor lined with educational text and images: the finest gathering of Greek antiquities outside Athens. This, surely, was the image Richard had been chasing.
Calvin, who was watching her as if he could see the pictures in her head, nodded once.
"I see," he said. "If there's anything I can do . . ."
She smiled and, exhaling, realized that she had been holding her breath. 84
A. J. Hartley
"By the way," he added, "I'm missing some of Richard's legal correspondence. Was anything stored down here?"
"In the office," she said. "I keep most of the museum-specific stuff there. Are you looking for something in particular?"
He looked a little sheepish.
"As I said, Mr. Dixon was processing some paperwork that touched on both his personal holdings and his stake in the museum. They may have some bearing on his will. The police are going to want to see how his estate stands legally, in case it has an impact on issues of motive."
Deborah nodded, businesslike, careful to show that this gave her no consternation at all.
"That would be personal then," she said, "and should be in the residence files, not the museum's, unless it came very recently."
"How recently?"
"If it was addressed to the house, no more than a day or two," she said. "If it's personal but comes to the museum, it takes a few days. The residence has a different street number: one forty-three. The museum is one fifty-seven. They're the same building, so don't ask me why. But there are two mailboxes. I deal with the business stuff, sift out the junk and pass along what's left for his consideration. There usually isn't much, and unless I flag something, he gets to it when he gets to it. Is that a problem?"
He was still, and his eyes were narrow, but at her question he shrugged the mood off and grinned.
"I doubt it. I just hate having official papers going through the hands of anyone other than the addressee. It's the lawyer in me."
Detectives Cerniga and Keene were upstairs in the study next door to Richard's bedroom, where they were going over the guest list and the museum inventory. Deborah considered the staircase and then opted for one last precaution before she went up to speak to them. 85
T h e M a s k o f A t r e u s
The ladies' room beside the office was a single boxlike chamber reserved for museum staff. There was a toilet and a washbasin with liquid soap and one of those electronic hand dryers that always left her wiping her hands on her trousers. The light switch was hooked up to an extractor fan which hummed and whirred almost as loudly as the toilet flush. With that and the hand dryer going, it was amazing you could hear anything at all, so the sound of raised voices was a surprise. It took Deborah a second to realize where it was coming from. There was a vent set in the wall above the toilet, not the extractor fan, the heating and air system. At first she barely paid attention, but then something in her head noted that the voices were male, were, in fact, the voices of the detectives with whom she was about to speak. Even over the hand dryer's automatic blowing she was sure of it. The pipe must rout directly through the study upstairs. She had never noticed it before, but then why would she?
How often did anyone even speak aloud in that room? It was Richard's private sanctuary.
One of the
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