scanned in, were just as grisly as the Grub had said. Then there were lists of measurements and descriptions of how the skull set on the spinal column, complete dental charts—and comparison charts of just how the knee bone connected to the thigh bone, he thought irreverently, not only in Talbot but in a list of controls. Measurements of bone thickness, the size and shape of the teeth, the thickness of the orbital ridges …
And all of it harder than usual to read.
The Grub had made a good suggestion: take the printout to the Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park and let a professional guess at what Shea had been up to. Artie juggled the pages back into a neat stack and slipped them into a heavy envelope. He’d call the museum and make an appointment for later that morning, see what he could come up with for a bribe. It would have to be a hefty one to get anybody to try to puzzle out this mess.
A slight movement in the newsroom outside caught his eye and he turned. He had a vague memory of a brightly colored silk scarf and searched for it. Adrienne Jantzen—she’d been watching him. Now her head was down and she was busy at her computer, probably writing notes for the noon news. Attractive woman, he thought, then felt a sudden flush of guilt. Jesus, real macho.
He dialed the museum and a Dr. Richard Hall said he’d be glad to see him. Especially if Artie could help out with publicity for their new exhibit.
Golden Gate Park was an upper, even in the cold and the drizzle. The Academy of Sciences had been a favorite hangout when Artie was a kid. A planetarium, an aquarium, and halls full of stuffed animals all rolled into one. Plus a bookstore where you could buy books about dinosaurs and kits you could put together to make your own pterodactyl and a restaurant in the basement that served hamburgers that weren’t as tasty as McDonald’s but were probably better for you.
The director’s office was hidden behind a gallery they were renovating for a new exhibit—according to the sign, it would be the world’s first virtual reality diorama. The walls were blank. In the middle were a dozen cubicles with a chair in each, a computer workstation and a VR helmet and gloves hanging on hooks. Not very inviting, Artie thought, but then they weren’t finished. Paint some dinosaurs on the walls, add some sound effects, and it would pull in the kids.
“Mr. Banks?”
The man was younger than Artie had been expecting. Short and muscular, kinky black hair in a modified Afro, horn-rimmed glasses, light brown skin, and teeth so white they made his smile seem bigger than it was.
He held out his hand. “Richard Hall, assistant curator.” Artie shook it and was led into a cramped office. Hall motioned to the chair on the other side of an ancient wooden desk. “You said over the phone you were willing to do an article on Visions of the Past—that’s what we’re going to call the room outside—and you also wanted a favor. Quid pro quo?”
Artie started to apologize and Hall waved it away. “We could use the publicity—though the room won’t be open for another month—and I’ve got some free time on my hands. So. What can I do for you?”
Artie opened the envelope and shoved the papers across the table: The work of a doctor friend, he said, who’d recently died. Apparently research on a body he’d autopsied, but Artie hadn’t the slightest idea what it was about except it had something do with anthropology … . He let his voice trail away and looked at Hall expectantly.
Hall picked up the pages and thumbed them quickly with a slight frown. “It’s readable, but just barely. What’s wrong with your computer?”
Artie looked apologetic. “The technician said the copy was in an oddball format. He’s going to clean up the disk tomorrow, but time’s important.”
“You’re a relative, I take it?”
“Close friend.” Artie hesitated, then added that the information was connected with the estate and if
And all of it harder than usual to read.
The Grub had made a good suggestion: take the printout to the Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park and let a professional guess at what Shea had been up to. Artie juggled the pages back into a neat stack and slipped them into a heavy envelope. He’d call the museum and make an appointment for later that morning, see what he could come up with for a bribe. It would have to be a hefty one to get anybody to try to puzzle out this mess.
A slight movement in the newsroom outside caught his eye and he turned. He had a vague memory of a brightly colored silk scarf and searched for it. Adrienne Jantzen—she’d been watching him. Now her head was down and she was busy at her computer, probably writing notes for the noon news. Attractive woman, he thought, then felt a sudden flush of guilt. Jesus, real macho.
He dialed the museum and a Dr. Richard Hall said he’d be glad to see him. Especially if Artie could help out with publicity for their new exhibit.
Golden Gate Park was an upper, even in the cold and the drizzle. The Academy of Sciences had been a favorite hangout when Artie was a kid. A planetarium, an aquarium, and halls full of stuffed animals all rolled into one. Plus a bookstore where you could buy books about dinosaurs and kits you could put together to make your own pterodactyl and a restaurant in the basement that served hamburgers that weren’t as tasty as McDonald’s but were probably better for you.
The director’s office was hidden behind a gallery they were renovating for a new exhibit—according to the sign, it would be the world’s first virtual reality diorama. The walls were blank. In the middle were a dozen cubicles with a chair in each, a computer workstation and a VR helmet and gloves hanging on hooks. Not very inviting, Artie thought, but then they weren’t finished. Paint some dinosaurs on the walls, add some sound effects, and it would pull in the kids.
“Mr. Banks?”
The man was younger than Artie had been expecting. Short and muscular, kinky black hair in a modified Afro, horn-rimmed glasses, light brown skin, and teeth so white they made his smile seem bigger than it was.
He held out his hand. “Richard Hall, assistant curator.” Artie shook it and was led into a cramped office. Hall motioned to the chair on the other side of an ancient wooden desk. “You said over the phone you were willing to do an article on Visions of the Past—that’s what we’re going to call the room outside—and you also wanted a favor. Quid pro quo?”
Artie started to apologize and Hall waved it away. “We could use the publicity—though the room won’t be open for another month—and I’ve got some free time on my hands. So. What can I do for you?”
Artie opened the envelope and shoved the papers across the table: The work of a doctor friend, he said, who’d recently died. Apparently research on a body he’d autopsied, but Artie hadn’t the slightest idea what it was about except it had something do with anthropology … . He let his voice trail away and looked at Hall expectantly.
Hall picked up the pages and thumbed them quickly with a slight frown. “It’s readable, but just barely. What’s wrong with your computer?”
Artie looked apologetic. “The technician said the copy was in an oddball format. He’s going to clean up the disk tomorrow, but time’s important.”
“You’re a relative, I take it?”
“Close friend.” Artie hesitated, then added that the information was connected with the estate and if
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