Last Breath (21 page)

Afterward she lay against his chest, listening to his beating heart. She felt as if she could stay right there in that moment forever—until his phone started to ring.

Connor groaned and rolled over, and searched through his clothes on the floor for his phone.

“This had better be damned important,” he growled at the caller.

He sat up straight.

“When?” He listened for another minute, then said, “Save it. I'm on my way.”

He closed the phone and turned to Daria. “I hate to do this to you, but that was Chief Thorpe. The kid just tried to hang himself with his T-shirt.”

“Oh my God. He's not…?”

“No. The guard on duty stopped him, but they don't know if any serious damage has been done.”

He took her by the hand.

“This isn't exactly the way I pictured this night ending, and I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” she assured him. “I understand. I know you have to leave.”

“
We
have to leave,” he corrected her. “In the past week, you've been attacked, your head's been split open, and someone tried to break into the house. You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to leave you here alone for the rest of the night.”

TWENTY-TWO

“W
hat's going to happen to him now?” Daria stared through the window at the boy in the hospital bed. Tubes were everywhere, and a machine was monitoring his vital signs.

“We're not sure what to do with him,” Chief Thorpe told her. “We don't even know how old he is, so we don't know whether to send him to juvie or to the county prison. If he's too old for juvie and we send him there and he does something to another inmate, we're liable for putting that other kid at risk. If we send him to the county and he's set upon by the big boys, we're liable for having put him at risk. We're damned if we do, and we're damned of we don't.”

“Well, as of today, he'll have been in your custody for forty-eight hours. You're going to have to decide what to do with him,” Connor noted, “once he comes around.”

“I'm calling the DA's office, see what they recommend. Besides sending him to Delaware and letting them deal with it.”

“Shouldn't he be given an attorney?” Daria asked.

“Well, that's sort of a problem, too, since we're changing jurisdictions.” He leaned on the glass and watched the boy's chest rise and fall. “Though I guess that's up in the air right now. Maybe I'll just see if we can get the court to appoint someone to represent him for as long as he's here.”

“Has he been charged?” Connor asked.

Thorpe frowned. “I was leaving that till the last minute, too, thinking maybe he'd crack and give us something more than trespassing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I should talk to the New Castle detective. See what he has in mind. I don't know what the law is in Delaware, when it comes to things like this. It's all I can do to keep up with Pennsylvania.”

The chief shook his head. “Would make it a whole lot easier if we knew who he was. We don't even have a starting point.”

“If you get any information from him—anything at all—let me know and I'll have our guy at the Bureau see what he can dig up,” Connor said.

“Won't his fingerprints help?” Daria asked.

“Only if they're already in the system,” Thorpe told her. He turned to Connor. “That reminds me. We matched the kid's prints to one set of prints from the library. They didn't match the ones on your window, though. You'll never guess which ones were a match.”

“My money's on the basement door,” Connor said.

“Good guess. How'd you figure it?”

“I don't see him for smashing the computer,” Connor explained. “I don't believe he sent the e-mail messages to the collectors that were on the hit list, and I don't believe he killed Mrs. Weathers, so his prints wouldn't be on the railing in the stairwell going up to the second floor. That leaves the prints on the back door.”

“Which tells us how the killer got into the library,” the chief said. “He must have had a time prearranged to go downstairs and open the door. The alarm would go off, the real guard would come down to see what was going on, and the killer knocks him out. The kid leaves with the other students, no one's the wiser.”

“Do you think the killer intended to kill Mrs. Weathers?” Daria wondered.

“I think she just got in his way,” Connor told her. “She probably surprised him when she came down the stairs, and he took off after her.”

“He didn't kill the guard, though. He only hit him over the head, right?” Daria asked.

“Right.”

“Then why did he kill Mrs. Weathers and not the guard?”

“Good question,” Connor nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe she saw his face when she came down the stairs. Maybe she recognized him. Maybe that's why he panicked and got careless, leaving his prints at the scene.”

“Which means he could be someone connected with the school,” Thorpe said. “Wouldn't it be nice if we could narrow the pool just a little?”

“Yesterday I gave a list of names to our computer whiz at the Bureau. We'll see if he came up with anything interesting.” Connor turned back to the window and watched the boy for another minute. “I guess he didn't have any visitors while he was at the station.”

“Not a one.”

“Why would he have done this?” Daria asked. “Why would he have tried to kill himself?”

“Holding-cell suicides, or attempted suicides, aren't uncommon,” Thorpe replied. “It could be that he realized he's really going to be doing some time as an accomplice to the Cross murder.”

“Or he could be afraid he'll end up talking.”

“What would make him more afraid of talking than dying?” Daria asked.

“Maybe someone who likes to cut off people's hands.” Connor said. “Maybe someone who threatened him big time if he ever talked about what happened.”

“Maybe when he comes to, he'll be more inclined to talk,” Thorpe suggested. “Maybe we can convince him that the gods spared him so that he could tell the truth.”

“The goddess,” Daria corrected him. “There were no gods in Shandihar. Just the one goddess.”

“Who do you suppose told him about her?” Connor thought aloud.

A nurse came by and they backed away from the door to let her enter the room.

Connor turned to Thorpe. “Will you give me a call if anything changes here?”

“I'm going to be moving out myself,” the chief told him. “I'll leave one of the officers here to keep an eye on things. But sure, I'll let you know if there's a change in his condition.”

Connor and Daria walked to the elevator with the chief.

“Chief, are you from this area?” Connor asked as the doors closed.

“Born and raised,” Thorpe said.

“You know of any antiques dealers around Howeville who've been in business for a long time?”

“Not offhand, but my mother might. Want me to ask her?”

“Please do.”

“I'll give her a call later.” He glanced at his watch; it wasn't yet 7
A.M
. “No way she's up now. Last night was her night out. She goes up to that new casino in Chester once a week with her friends. She gets pretty pissy if you call her much before noon the morning after. But I'll be talking to her later, and I'll give you a call if she knows of anyone.”

“I appreciate it.” Connor nodded and stepped aside for Daria to exit the elevator when the doors slid open.

Thorpe stopped to talk to a uniformed officer in the lobby, and Connor and Daria continued on into the parking lot outside the emergency room.

“I hope the boy is going to be all right,” Daria said. “He looks so young.”

“It's a damned shame he's the one who's taking the brunt of this. I wish there was some way we could get him to talk.” He took Daria's hand as they walked to the car. “He's obviously protecting someone. Maybe more than one someone.”

“Maybe your friend at the FBI will have some information for you today.”

“Yeah, we need a break.” He opened the car door for her. “How about if we stop somewhere on the way back to Howe and get some breakfast? I don't know about you, but I'm starving.”

“I could definitely eat,” she said. When he got in behind the wheel, she asked, “Have you heard anything from Polly? Has she been able to determine if any of the artifacts in the galleries have been stolen?”

“I talked to her yesterday. So far, none of the galleries or museums appear to have been targeted.”

“So whoever it is, is only going after private collectors.”

“Because it's easier to break into a private home than an institution.” He thought it over for a minute. “But if you're trying to retrieve things that you believe are sacred, you're on a sort of holy mission, right?”

“I would think so, yes,” she said, nodding.

“So if you're doing holy work, it shouldn't matter if the job is hard or easy, right? You just do it. You find a way to make it happen.”

“I guess so, if you believe you're doing the work of the goddess. Especially this goddess, who is known to take no prisoners when she's pissed off.”

“Who would be giving the orders on behalf of the goddess? The priestess, right?”

Daria nodded.

“So we have to figure out who the priestess is,” Connor said thoughtfully. “Obviously, it has to be someone who's familiar with the culture. And someone who knew the artifacts were missing before you did.”

“The first murders were months ago. Someone had to had read the journals or seen the photos—or both—before the first murder,” Daria said.

He put on his turn signal and made a left into the parking lot of a small country restaurant that advertised breakfasts served until noon. “There can't be too many people who have access to both. We just need to figure out who they are. But for now…first things first. I'm thinking coffee. Eggs. Bacon. Toast with marmalade…”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Hey, it's the least I can do, after dragging you away from a warm bed in the middle of the night.”

“It was the dragging away from a warm man that I objected to.”

He paused with his hand on the door handle.

“I will make that up to you.”

She smiled and opened the passenger door. “I'm counting on it.”

TWENTY-THREE

T
hey were almost finished breakfast when Will Fletcher called Connor's cell, but Connor had to go outside to take the call due to a bad connection.

He came back in a few minutes later and told Daria, “Nora Gannon checks out. There's nothing in her background that raises a red flag.”

“One down. What about the others?”

“Will is still working on them. He'll get back to me as soon as he has something else.” He looked at her empty plate. “Unless you're going to order seconds, let's go back to the house and take a look at those photos.”

“Good idea. I have a meeting with Louise this morning. I'd like to be on time.”

Twenty minutes later, they sat at the table in the kitchen at McGowan House, the stack of photographs between them.

“Still no golden griffins,” she noted. “No large statue of the goddess. No golden necklace.”

“Who had access to them? We keep coming back to the photos.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop.

“There's no way of knowing. Louise said that Vita found them in the basement of the administration building, but there's no way of knowing if someone found them before she did.”

His phone rang before he could respond.

“Great. I'll drive over right now. Thanks a lot.”

He hung up and told her, “Sweet Thing is ready to come home. Want to take a ride with me?”

“I would, except that I have that meeting with Louise and Olivia, the new public relations person, in five minutes. She wanted me to talk to her about Alistair and his expeditions, and what we want to accomplish by reopening the museum so she can start doing her thing. Louise and the trustees are afraid all the publicity about the murders is putting the school in a bad light, and they want to put the emphasis back on the museum.”

“Accentuate the positive.”

“So to speak.” She checked her watch. “I need to get over there now.”

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close. He kissed her mouth, then the tip of her chin. “Sweet Thing and I will be waiting for you when you get back.”

“How long do you think you'll be?”

“Hour and a half, two hours, tops. Do you want me to wait so you can go with me?”

“I'd rather have her picked up sooner than later. Poor baby. She's probably wondering what's going on.” Daria grabbed her bag and slipped it over her shoulder. “I don't expect this meeting to run too long. I should be back here by the time you are.”

“Great.” He stood and gave her one more kiss. “I'll see you then.”

Louise was standing at the end of the conference table when Vita showed Daria into the office. Olivia was seated at the table with a notebook in front of her.

“How are you, Olivia?” Daria extended her hand to the trustee. “Louise tells me you've agreed to take on the media on the university's behalf. You're a brave woman.”

“I liken it to falling upon my sword for the greater good.” The carefully coiffed blonde smiled.

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that.” Daria inwardly grimaced at the image.

“Poor choice on my part.” Olivia rolled her eyes. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

Swell, Daria thought. A PR person who doesn't think before she opens her mouth.

“We thought we'd put out a press release before we planned a real press conference.” Olivia paused. “You don't suppose there will be any more murders, do you? I'd really like to avoid inviting the media to the school and then have to explain another murder.”

“There's no way of knowing what's going to happen.”

“Well, then, I suppose we can't worry about it.” Louise pointed to a chair. “Daria, I'd like you to fill Olivia in on everything you know about your great-grandfather, his expeditions, the museum…all of it. Olivia, I expect you to take copious notes.”

Over the next hour, Daria shared everything she could think of, from the earliest stories she'd heard from her father to actually opening the crates in the museum basement and holding in her hands the very objects her ancestor had found.

“This is a wonderful story,” Olivia told her. “I think you're definitely going to have to be at whatever media gathering we schedule. No one will be able to tell that story the way you just did. And I think I'd like you to look over the press release once it's written, maybe add a little something in your own words, if you don't mind.”

“I'd be happy to.”

“And I'm happy to see a positive light shining down on my hometown and my alma mater.” Olivia tucked her notes into her purse. “Louise, if we're finished…?”

“If you're satisfied that you have enough information, then I'd say we're done.” Louise reached for the phone and pressed the intercom button. “Vita, could you step in here, please?”

“I'm more than satisfied. I'm going to run right home and work on this today.”

“Here's my cell number.” Daria wrote the number on a slip of paper and handed it to Olivia. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

“Will do.” Olivia smiled.

“By the way, Olivia,” Daria said, “you grew up in Howeville?”

“Well, right outside of town, yes.”

“Does the name Dragonis ring a bell?”

“No, I don't think so.” Olivia frowned. “No, that doesn't ring a bell.”

“Louise, did you need something?” Vita walked into the room.

“Yes. I have a meeting with the architect in about thirty minutes. Would you please make a photocopy of the original floor plans for him?”

“They're in your bottom drawer.”

“Oh, right. Just take them, if you would. Thanks, Vita.” Louise shook her head. “I do not know what I'd do without you.”

“You'd never be able to find a thing and you'd never get anywhere on time.” Vita winked as she started out of the room, the folder holding the floor plans in her hand.

“Vita,” Daria called to her. “Could I ask you a question?”

“Sure. As long as it has nothing to do with my weight or my age.”

“Neither.” Daria stepped around Olivia, who had been sitting next to her. “I was just wondering. The photos that you found, the ones that were taken at Shandihar. Were there any other packs of photos?”

“No.” Vita shook her head. “I gave you everything I found.”

“Could you tell me again where you found them?”

“In a box in one of the filing cabinets downstairs.”

“Was the cabinet locked?” Daria asked.

“No. Those cabinets down there are so old, I don't think any of them even have locks.”

“Did you show them to anyone else? Or mention them to anyone?”

“No. Once I realized what was in the envelopes, I brought them right up and handed them to Louise.”

Louise looked up from her briefcase where she was packing what she thought she'd need for her meeting.

“Well, no, not exactly,” she said. “Don't you remember, the envelopes were on your desk, and while you were at lunch, I accidentally knocked them off when I grabbed a file that was sitting on top and all the pictures fell on the floor…”

“I did forget about that.” Vita laughed and rolled her eyes. “What a mess trying to put the files back together.”

“Luckily for me, Sabina came in while I was trying to pick it all up,” Louise continued. “These old knees don't bend the way they used to.”

“Sabina saw the photographs?” Daria asked.

“She saw the ones she picked up off the floor, certainly. A whole set of them fell under Vita's desk, and Sabina was kind enough to retrieve them for me.”

“Interesting that they turned up right after you started talking about the museum,” Daria said.

“Well, actually, we started talking about the museum back in the fall,” Olivia said. “Remember, Louise? It was right before Halloween, and I was telling you how we used to have Halloween parties in the courtyard when I was a student here. And I said what a shame that the university couldn't reopen it and maybe find a way to make some money from it.” She turned to Daria. “I didn't know about the treasure in antiquities in the basement then. If I had, I would have pressed Louise to bring it up to the board right away.”

“Well, yes, now that you mention it, I do remember.” Louise smiled. “I think that might have been what planted the idea in my head. Sometime after that, I asked Vita to see what she could find in the archives about the museum. And that's right about the time I realized some of Alistair McGowan's journals were right there in my bookcase, and made the connection to the museum. So of course I read them, and about that time Sabina returned the ones she had borrowed…”

“I'll make these copies for you so that you can get on your way.” Vita left the room.

“Louise, if there's nothing else…” Daria stood in the doorway processing the information. Sabina had seen the photos…

“No. I'll be in touch.” She paused. “Though maybe if the architect has any questions about the display area…”

“Just give me a call.” Daria nodded. “Nice to see you again, Olivia.”

“Thanks again, Daria.” Olivia waved from the conference table.

“See you, Vita,” Daria called as she left the outer office.

“See you, Daria.”

         

“I think there's a problem.” The woman stepped into the empty hall, the phone close to her face.

“What's that?”

“Daria McGowan has been asking about the photographs.”

“So?”

“She's wondering who might have had access to the photos before they were given to her.” She hesitated. “As you know, that's a mighty small pool. I'm sure by now she's figured out that some of the photos are missing. It won't be long before she'll connect the dots.”

He was silent.

“And one more thing.” She took a deep breath. “She was asking about Harry Dragonis.”

“So? So she finds out that he worked as a guard at Howe a long time ago. So what?”

“So how long do you think it will take the FBI to connect me to Dragonis?”

“Well, you want to hope they never do, Priestess.” He thought for a moment, then added, “You know, I'm thinking maybe it's time for Daria to meet the goddess.”

“Maybe so.” She sighed, knowing it was true. She liked Daria, but knew only trouble would come from her asking too many of the right questions. It was only a matter of time before she shared what she knew with her FBI friend. If she hadn't already…

“About the boy.”

“What about him?”

“What if he talks?”

“The boy isn't going to talk.” She tried to keep from sounding exasperated. “And even if he does, what's he going to say? ‘I'm a
gallas
in training and the priestess told me what to do?'”

“You're being awfully cavalier.”

“Look, the boy doesn't know my name. He's seen me once, at night, in a dark basement. There's no way he can identify me. He has no idea who I am or where to find me.”

“You're forgetting about the older brother,” he reminded her.

She hesitated for a moment, and she knew he sensed her uncertainty.

“He knows you,” he reminded her.

“Of course he does,” she snapped. “But he's also a
gallas
. He'd never betray a high priestess of Ereshkigal.”

The man's laugh was hollow and mocking, and her anger flared.

“You just don't get it, do you?” she said. “Unlike someone else I could name, he
believes
this. His father was a
gallas
, and his grandfather before him. Since his father died, the responsibility—his family's honor, for God's sake—has fallen to him. His destiny is to safeguard the priestess, to guard the sacred treasures—”

“Oh, please, I can't listen to any more of this crap.” He sneered. “No one in this day and age really believes that stuff. It's all bullshit.”

“To you, it's bullshit. To him, it's as much a part of his life as breathing. If you don't understand anything else about this whole deal, understand this.” She tried to keep her temper in check. “He
believes.
He will cut out his own tongue before he'd give me up.”

“I hope you're right.”

“I know I am.” But even as she said it, she wondered if she was placing too much trust in the wrong person.

“Your momma didn't know what she was starting when she fed you all that priestess crap.” He was mocking her again, and she hated him for it.

“Don't be so disrespectful. My mother was a believer,” she insisted.

“Sure she was. That's why she let your father steal all those items.”

“She didn't know.” She bit her lip.

“Right. She just figured he could afford that big house and a new car every couple of years on a security guard's salary.”