Gryphons Quest (5 page)

Heather tried to run, but he held her wrists together with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. "Please listen, lass." He pressed his body to hers and tried to make his voice sound sincere. "Those stones are sacred. If something valuable had been wrongfully taken from your family or friends, wouldn't you try to return those items if you were given the chance?"

Heather stared into his eyes, and her fear temporarily receded. The man removed his large hand from her mouth. "I still don't know why you won't go to the police. What do you want with me? Why did you follow me to my home and who in hell are you? You know, breaking into somebody's apartment doesn't exactly encourage cooperation or instill trust."

He almost smiled at her outburst of brave temper. Considering the differences in their sizes and weight, she was exhibiting some real brass. "I'm sorry about that, but I had to act quickly, and the less you know, the safer you'll stay. Now, I'll ask again. Have you seen the rune stones or not?"

"No," Heather replied, "I haven't seen them. There were none sent with the shipments."

"So, you checked?"

"Yes. I asked Professor McPherson if he'd acquired any rune stones on his trip."

Gryph shook his head. "You shouldn't have done that. The man may suspect you know something about them. You could have endangered yourself."

"Look, if you'd tell me what all of this is about and who you are, I might be able to make some sense of this and get you the help you need." Mental or otherwise.

"Have you called the law about me?"

"No. Like you guessed...I thought you weren't real, that I'd dreamed you up."

"Lass, take me to the place where McPherson stored the crates. Time is against me now, and the sooner I find what I came for, the sooner you and others will be out of danger." Gryphon gazed into her beautiful eyes. "It was a mistake to have involved you in this. I should've broken into the museum and searched alone."

Heather stared hard at the muscular, flannel-clad chest in front of her. He wore jeans, hiking boots and had left his hair beautifully loose. It flowed over his shoulders in black sheets. Any modeling agency in New York would have signed him to a contract on the spot. He seemed more masculine and less murderous. "You really didn't kill Ned, did you? You really believe Professor McPherson took artifacts illegally and is somehow involved in the murder?"

"It's just as I've told you. I must find those stones. Please, help me to stop this before more harm comes to anyone. And I'm certain I can prove to you that the things I'm talking about were stolen."

"How?" Heather's guard began to drop. He allowed her to ease slightly away from his huge body.

"You work in acquisitions, don't you?"

"Yes. Professor McPherson is my mentor."

"Have you noticed anything wrong with the objects you've seen so far?"

Heather thought to remain silent, but this man knew too much. "There were discrepancies in some of the paperwork. That can happen with a shipment of this size."

"There were items taken from County Donegal. Were they listed?"

"No. Everything in the collection from Ireland is tagged as having been found in the southern part of the country, County Cork. That was where the professor and his team were looking. They had complete sanction and assistance from the local

government to excavate some sites there."

"An ancient burial site was sacked. Up north near Creeslough, County Donegal. The objects McPherson took were from that site. There are people in Donegal who remember that Angus McPherson and some of his team were in the northern counties just weeks ago. You can check on all I've told you, Heather, but time is running out. I have to bring the rune stones back to Ireland."

"I don't understand why you can't go to the police. Why the hurry? If you truly believe something illegal is going on, then..."

"I can't, lass! I know what I'm telling you is difficult to understand, but there must be as little public knowledge of this as possible. You've no reason to trust me, I know. But that's exactly what I'm asking you to do. Please, take me to where the crates are stored."

"A man was murdered, and you've told me that it has something to do with this shipment from Ireland.

If that's true, then that's all the more reason to go to the police. Ned Williamson was a good man. He didn't deserve to die. If there's a reason for his death and you know it, then you should help put the person responsible in jail."

"If I can prove what I say is true, will you help me look for the stones? Will you set right what's been done, for your friend's sake?"

"I've told you, there are no stones in those boxes, and I can't take you to them. I don't know anything about you. You won't even tell me your name."

Gryph released a heavy sigh. The stones were in that building, though whether they were still in the crates was uncertain. He needed her help. Without her, he would have to break in to search. Even if he succeeded in getting past the staff, there were the alarms to consider. If he was caught, someone could get hurt, including himself. And what if the stones had been removed from the crates? The museum was four stories above ground and probably had a basement. He simply couldn't search the whole place, and the Order couldn't afford his capture. Against common sense and his parents' pleas, he relented. "My name is Gryphon O'Connor."

"Well, Mr. O'Connor, if I find anything that indicates you're telling the truth, I'll notify the proper authorities. Until then, I suggest that this be the last, and I mean the very last time we see each other.

None of this makes any sense to me at all. Professor McPherson would never steal anything, let alone hurt anyone. Now, please go, or I swear to God I'll scream my head off!"

"Fine" Gryphon angrily responded. "By the time you find out what I've told you is the truth, it may be too late. No human law is a match for the power connected with the stones. I should have known better than to contact an outsider with no comprehension of Celtic ways. If the rune stones are still within the walls of the museum, I'll find them without your help. Justice demands they be returned." He stopped, moved closer and gazed into her eyes. "It surprises me that you can have so little knowledge of what you profess to study. The artifacts you display are thousands of years old and represent a culture which existed before recorded history. Magic and wonder are connected with each piece. But like the rest of your kind, you perceive only the analytical, the tangible. There's no room for myth, magic or tradition.

Only the monetary value you can assign to an object." He paused. "Not everything comes with an admission price such as those charged by your museum, Heather. There are things in this world best left alone. Those stones are sacred. They will be returned" He turned and walked into the darkness.

Heather stared after him and muttered to herself, "What's all this to…supposed to mean...power...outsider? And what in hell is my kind? That man isn't right!" She took a deep breath, picked up her belongings and drove away as fast as she could.

FIVE

The next morning, the doorbell rang. Heather looked through the peephole of her apartment door, recognized Detective Dayton and let him in.

"Hello, Ms. Green. I was in the neighborhood and took a chance on you being home. I hope you don't mind. I was wondering if we could talk?"

Despite the friendly tone, Heather knew his request to speak with her wasn't a question. "If it's about Ned Williamson, I'm afraid I don't know what else I can add," she said as she ushered him into her living room. She offered him coffee which he refused.

"There are one or two questions I'd like to ask you concerning Mr. Williamson's relationship with you.

Then I'll be on my way."

"How can I help?" Heather sat down, pushing her hair back from her face. She settled herself on the sofa while Detective Dayton sat in a matching arm chair across from her.

"According to some of the staff who work at the museum, you two were very close. I was wondering if you ever heard of Mr. Williamson having any enemies?"

"No, of course not. Ned was liked by everyone who knew him."

"There are indications Mr. Williamson may have known his killer. Of course, I'm telling you this in confidence. I'd like you to keep this information to yourself for the time being."

"You think someone at the museum may have...Oh, God," Heather whispered.

"Ms. Green, this is just a hunch. I'm only telling you this because you seem to be the one person closest to the victim.

At first, we thought the murder may have been random. One theory we had was that a junky had hidden in the museum looking for something to steal to get money for drugs. Nothing's missing from the displays. And the more we investigate, the more it appears that the guard walked in on someone familiar to him."

Heather nervously pushed her hair back again. She remembered Gryph O'Connor's words about Ned being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Ms. Green, are you all right?" Dayton asked, staring at her.

Heather knew she must look pale. She could almost feel the blood draining from her face. "I can't believe this. I want the person responsible for Ned's death brought to justice."

"I was hoping you'd feel that way. I need to ask you for a favor."

"Of course. I'll do anything to help."

"If you hear of anything unusual, or find out anything that doesn't fit in with the normal pattern of operations there, will you let me know?"

"I'm not sure I know what that means, Detective, but I'll keep my eyes and ears open."

"Thank you, and Ms. Green...? A word of caution. Until now everyone was considered a suspect. I've contacted you because I'm personally and professionally certain you had no hand in Mr. Williamson's murder. But there are others about whom I'm not so certain. For your own safety, please keep this conversation to yourself."

"I understand."

Heather escorted the detective back to the door, closed it, then stared into space. She had heard the same words of warning from Gryph O'Connor. Why didn't I tell him about O 'Connor or call the police last night? Shaking her head in confusion, she gripped the back of a chair. Her mind searched for reasons why. There simply was no excuse. Perhaps it was because no one would believe her, or a small part of her thought O'Connor was sincerely trying to do what he considered right. That didn't give him a reason to break into her apartment or follow her around like some crazed stalker. Still, he'd had two chances to hurt her and hadn't. Maybe some deep Freudian thing in her wanted the attention of a man so devastatingly masculine and dangerous. Someone so like the Irish heroes she'd dreamed about when she was younger. The mythic image of Finn Mac Cool immediately came to mind. One of the most famous of Irish heroes, he was supposedly the source of many Arthurian legends. Heather had always imagined a man like that would look like Gryphon O'Connor.

"Man, I'm a mess," she mumbled. "That guy is dangerous. I should call the cops." But she knew she wouldn't. At least not for the time being. The reason why escaped her, but her mind raced back to what the detective had said.

Maybe she hadn't taken O'Connor seriously enough because she had believed he was half crazy. But hadn't the detective confirmed some of what Gryphon had claimed? The man surmised that Ned had known his killer. Now, Heather didn't know what to think. Pouring her unfinished coffee down the drain, she walked into her bedroom to change. If Gryphon was to be believed, all of this was linked to the shipment of artifacts from Ireland.

Half an hour later, she was running up the steps to the museum. She wanted a chance to look through the crates one more time before anyone else showed up for work. Entering the labeling room where some of the crates had been placed, she threw off her jacket and began to examine everything without leaving evidence that she had done so. She thoroughly searched through each wooden box.

"Dammit," she muttered to herself, "there's got to be something here. That crazy Irishman knew all along what the police are only just finding out. Stones. He said there were three of them."

She continued to search, torn between helping find her friend's murderer and the possibility of implicating Professor McPherson. She looked until it was almost eight o'clock and time for Niall and Professor MacPherson to come to work. She was turning to pick up her jacket when she tripped on the corner of one of the crates and fell to her knees. As she pulled herself up, something caught her attention. A board at the bottom of the crate had been loosened when she hit it with her foot. Wiping her hands on her blue jeans, Heather pulled at the loose piece of wood. It came off easily. As though it had been removed before. She stared at the bottom of the crate then compared it with others in the room. Because the crates were so deep and so close to one another, it would have been impossible to detect the false bottom had she not tripped over the loose corner. Wiping off her sweating palms, she carefully reached inside the narrow space.

Her hands felt smooth, cool stone. She pulled out an object about the size of her own palm, and about an inch thick. It was a marble rune stone with Celtic emblems chiseled into its surface. One of the marks was that of Ceridwen, supposedly a female deity of regeneration. The other markings were unfamiliar.

Heather's heart began to race. She quickly reached back into the narrow space and found two more stones the same size as the first. The only difference were the markings each bore. They were like nothing she'd ever come across in her studies, but they were very definitely Celtic.

"My God," she breathed, "O'Connor was telling the truth."

A door closing at the end of the outer hallway warned her of someone's entrance into the collection department. Heather panicked and shoved the stones back into the space in what she hoped was the same position. She grabbed the wooden plank and forced it back onto the bottom of the crate. The last thing in the world she wanted was to have anyone catch her with them.

Staying low, she maneuvered around the large boxes to the other side of the room, out the far door and into the stairwell. Breathing hard, she raced to the first floor and out to her car. She had no idea where to go. She thought about Detective Dayton, but wasn't sure what she'd found was connected to Ned's death. It was almost a certainty someone on McPherson's...not the professor himself, had stolen the stones. No one would go to the trouble of building a false bottom into a crate if the objects they were shipping had been legally obtained. Then there were the discrepancies she'd noticed in the shipping and packaging of the artifacts. She pulled into a convenience store and dialed the telephone number to the antiquities division.

"Antiquities and collections, Niall Alexander speaking."

"Niall, this is Heather. I called to say that I might be late today. I wasn't feeling too well when I got up this morning." She was surprised how easily she could lie to him.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing, really. It's a woman thing, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, uh, I see. Uh...well...maybe you should stay home and get some rest."

"I'll see how I'm feeling later. I just wanted to touch base and let you and the Professor know why I'm not at work."

"Don't worry about a thing, babe. I'll make up an excuse for Angus. You just take care, okay?"

"Sure. And thanks, Niall." She hung up, certain he wouldn't question her absence further. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered what she'd ever seen in him. It occurred to her how cold their relationship had always been He was supposed to care about her, yet he'd always immaturely found the subject of her period a major embarrassment. If he knew it was "that time of the month," he stayed away from her apartment as if she were contagious.

Right now, she didn't want to have anything to do with him or anyone. A few hours alone would help her decide whether to wait or go to the police about the stones Gryphon had told her he couldn't go to the police about them, that the fewer people who knew about them, the better What's the deal with the damn stones? Why had someone risked his professional reputation by smuggling them into the United States, jeopardizing the museum's acquisition program in the process?

***

"The woman was killed the same way as the security guard at the museum." Gryph shook out the afternoon newspaper his father handed to him and reread the grim headlines. "In fact, the park where her body was found is only a short distance from the museum's main entrance."

James nodded. "Someone has used the stones again.

Whoever it is seems to have tried out their newly found powers on an unsuspecting victim. The guard may have been an accident, but this was definitely deliberate."

Gryph looked at his parents. "I have no choice. I have to go to the museum. This has to stop!"

"Gryph, if you're caught..." Gwyneth's voice faded away.

"What else can I do? The stones must still be there. Someone has deciphered their meaning and is abusing their power." Gryphon leaned against a desktop.

James voiced his concern. "What can we do to help?"

"If anything should go wrong, contact Shayla. She'll know what to do. Today, I'll try one more time to convince that stubborn woman to listen to reason. If she still won't help me, then I'll have to get inside the building tonight and search alone," Gryph told them and noted the look of concern on their faces.

"Gryphon, from what you've told us, this woman can't be trusted. She doesn't believe you. Please don't contact her again. She'll only call the police," Gwyneth pleaded and placed her hands on her son's arms.

"For some reason, Mother, she's had that opportunity and hasn't called the police yet. I'd be a suspect and there would be news of the authorities looking for someone matching my description. Every reporter in the city seems to be covering this. That makes it imperative that I try once more. Perhaps the stories of this latest murder will convince her I'm telling the truth."

***

Heather walked back into her apartment as her phone was ringing. "Hello?"

"Ms. Green, this is Detective Dayton. I tried to discreetly reach you at work several hours after I spoke with you, but was told that you weren't feeling well."

Heather didn't want to tell him about the stones just yet. Some instinct warned her to keep that information to herself. "That's right. I was feeling a little under the weather."

"Have you read the afternoon newspapers or listened to the television?"

"No, I haven't. Why?" The man's tone of voice had immediately alerted her.

"There's been another murder. This time it was a prostitute found in the park near the museum. Joggers found her body shortly after I spoke with you. The evidence leads us to believe the killing was committed in the same way as Ned Williamson's murder. I tried to keep it under wraps, but the press was all over the area before one of our investigators could get to the scene and contain it."

"God, no!" Heather gasped and felt her skin grow cold. "Detective, there were some horrible rumors at work about the...about Ned's death and how he was killed. Now you're saying someone else was murdered, and that Ned and this person were both attacked in the same way. What exactly does that mean?"

"Without being too graphic, Ms. Green, both of the victims were...well, you'll read about it in the newspapers anyway. Both of them were attacked by someone with enough physical strength to dismember a body. That's another reason why I ruled you out as a suspect, along with a few dozen other people."

Heather almost retched. The thought of someone hurting people in such a way—of hurting Ned.

That— was too much. "Oh, Ned," she murmured before she began to cry.

"Ms. Green, I called to tell you not to stay late at work. The security guards tell me you have a habit of doing that almost every night. Now, they're doing the best they can to keep the area safe. But they're understaffed and underpaid. It's my advice that you don't hang around there too long after hours."

"I won't, Detective. I can promise you that." Heather tried to speak coherently through her tears.

Dayton said his good byes and hung up, but Heather leaned against the wall a long time before placing the telephone receiver down. Gryph O'Connor was a powerful-looking man. Was he or anyone capable of tearing a human being apart, of dismembering them as Detective Dayton had described. No. She couldn't believe that O'Connor had anything to do with the murders. Her mind kept grasping at the fact that he'd had more than one opportunity to hurt her and had never done so In fact, he'd warned her that all of this would happen if the stones he sought weren't returned. Heather felt she had no choice.

After finding out about this second murder, Gryphon O'Connor would come to the museum for what he thought was the cause. The rune stones. When he did, she'd be there. He was damned well going to explain what in hell was going on, even if she had to risk her own life getting to the truth. Ned deserved it.

***

Heather waited in her usual spot in the parking lot. The cool fall air did nothing to ease her tattered nerves. The sun had just set, everyone had gone home. It was about this same time of night that she'd seen him there before. Leaves fell, eerily, from the nearby trees, and she imagined she could hear strange noises. One of those she imagined was like the wings of a large bird flying in the distance. She leaned against the car hood and waited She didn't wait long.