Last Breath (22 page)

“She didn't know,” she repeated emphatically.

“Whatever. Look, keep the artifacts we've gotten back hidden, would you please? I have buyers lined up who are willing to pay top dollar. Everything's been spoken for except for two items. Let's not blow this now.” He paused. “Where are they, by the way?”

“Under the floorboards in the carriage house,” she told him, then immediately regretted it, though she couldn't have said why.

“Don't forget to give me a call if you need me.”

“Will do.”

“We have to take care of Daria McGowan.”

She hung up on him and went to the window. It seemed that every conversation she'd had that morning had disturbed her.

Bastard. Talking about her mother like that. Her mother
was
a priestess. She
was.
She'd said so.

She rubbed her eyes. Her head hurt like crazy. It was the things he said.

He was seriously pissing her off.

Maybe it was time to move on without him. She could find someone else to sell the artifacts.

She really didn't need him now that most of the artifacts had been returned. The thought soothed her and the pain in her head started to ease. What she did need was a plan to eliminate not only Daria, but everything that was getting on her nerves.

Including him.

TWENTY-FOUR

“D
aria.”

Daria turned and waved when she saw Vita bustling across the lawn.

“I'm glad I caught you.” Vita appeared slightly out of breath. “Dr. B. was trying to get in touch with you.” She stopped and fanned herself with her right hand. “Good Lord, it's another scorcher, isn't it? It must be ninety in the shade.”

“Close enough.” Daria smiled. “It's eighty-eight on the back porch.”

“Dr. B. wants you to meet her at the museum. She's with the architect and they want your input on something.”

“Why didn't she call instead of making you run all the way over here?”

“She said she did, but you didn't pick up.”

“I must have left my phone in the kitchen.” Daria put down the bowl of water she was holding. “Come in while I get my things. I've made sketches of some of the displays for the new exhibit. I'm guessing that's what Louise wants me to show the architect.”

“I'm sure that's it.” Vita followed Daria up the steps and into the kitchen.

“Can I offer you some water, Vita? You look flush with the heat.”

“I'd appreciate that, thank you.”

Daria took a glass from one of the overhead cupboards. “I usually have bottles of spring water in the refrigerator but I'm afraid I'm all out.”

“Tap water is fine, really.”

Daria filled the glass at the sink and handed it to Vita, who drank gratefully. When she was finished, she said, “I don't think I've ever been in this house but once or twice in all the years I've been at Howe.”

“How many years is that?”

“Most of my life, so it seems.”

“You grew up in town? You went to school here?”

“I did.” Vita nodded. “I didn't graduate, though. I got married when I was nineteen and dropped out.”

“What was your major?”

“Ancient history.”

“Oh, mine, too, the first year. Was there any particular period that you were drawn to?”

“Not really.”

“Do you have a family, Vita? Children?”

“Unfortunately, no. My marriage didn't work out. Lasted less than a year, actually.” She shrugged. “I never tried it again. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that.”

“How long have you worked for Howe?”

“Oh, my goodness, let's see. It'll be twenty-two years come October.” She stared into space for a moment. “I did think about coming back for my degree, but my mother was ill—had been for several years—and there just didn't seem to be time. I was busy caring for her. That's really why my marriage fell apart—he thought I was spending too much time with her, but really, what could I do? She was my mother and she needed me—”

She realized she was talking too much, too fast. She stopped and took a deep breath. “Anyway, after she passed on, I got a job here at Howe and never left.”

“I'm sure you've seen a lot of changes over the years.”

“Yes, indeed. There's been a lot of water over that dam.” Vita finished her drink and set the glass down on the counter.

“Was the museum ever open while you were here?”

“Just the dinosaur exhibit, when I was younger.”

“I'd love to hear about it sometime.” Daria hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “Let's go out through the front door, since we have to go in that direction anyway.”

Daria locked the back door before leading Vita through the swinging door into the hall.

“This is a really beautiful place,” Vita said admiringly, as she glanced from side to side. “I think I was here once for a reception of some sort. I remember the twin parlors on each side of the foyer.”

“It is a beautifully designed house. I hope Iliana—my great-grandmother—was happy here. I'm sure it was hard for her, after her husband died, to stay here and raise her children alone.”

“Do you ever feel her here?”

“No, I don't.” Daria laughed a little. “Louise said there was some talk about her haunting the place, but you can't prove that by me. I wanted to find, I don't know, a sense of her, maybe…but I haven't. I'm sort of disappointed, to tell you the truth.”

“The past does have its pull, doesn't it?” Vita stood in the center of the front hall. “You feel it, don't you?”

“I suppose I do. I guess that's why I went into archaeology to begin with. That and the fact that I was surrounded by it growing up.”

“You really can't escape the past.” Vita looked upward at the stairwell. “Inevitably, you're drawn into it.”

“I suppose.” Daria got her house key out of her bag. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Vita replied. “I'm ready.”

There was little chatter on the way across campus. Vita was preoccupied, and out of breath by the time they arrived at the museum. There was one guard at the front door, a tall, well-built man of indeterminate age, who stood stoically by as Daria and Vita made their way inside.

“I thought there was supposed to be more than one guard,” Daria said as they stepped inside the cool of the building.

“Maybe the others are making rounds through the building, or they could be at lunch. Dr. B. said something about a reduced staff for an hour in the middle of the day. The university guards, like the one out there now, step in and cover for the bank's people.”

Daria looked around the Great Room. Louise was nowhere in sight.

“I thought Louise was here with the architect,” she said.

Daria walked down the unlit hall. “Louise? Are you down here? Louise…?” She turned to Vita. “Where could they be?”

“They were here a while ago. Maybe they went downstairs,” Vita suggested. “Maybe Dr. B. decided to show some of the artifacts to the architect.”

“Maybe.” Daria went to the stairwell and called, “Louise?”

“They might be in one of the back rooms. Come on, I'll walk down with you.”

“Thanks, but you don't have to do that.” Daria started down the steps. “I know my way.”

“I'll just check to see if Dr. B. wants me for anything else.”

Vita followed Daria down the steps.

“You'd think she'd turn the lights on if she came down here,” Daria said when they came to the bottom of the stairs and gazed down the dark hallway.

“She's probably using a flashlight,” Vita said as she walked along. “I think the insurance people said something about the wiring being a hazard, and keeping the electricity off until it was replaced.”

“I suppose that's a possibility,” Daria said. “Louise?” she called.

Vita opened the door to the room where the Jacobs collection was housed. The room was dark, but the room beyond, where Alistair's find was stored, was dimly lit.

“They must be in there.” Vita pointed toward the light. “Go on in, Daria. I'm right behind you.”

Daria stepped into the room and looked around. A man was leaning against one of the crates.

“Stefano,” she said. “What are you doing here…?”

TWENTY-FIVE

C
onnor could not remember the last time he felt this free or this good. He knew enough of life's twists and turns to know that things could change on a dime, but for right now, he couldn't think of anything better than being behind the wheel of a fast car on a winding country road, on his way to see his favorite girl, singing along with Jimi Hendrix's “Gyspy Eyes,” a silly dog in the passenger seat next to him, hanging out the window catching a faceful of air.

He didn't hear the phone ringing until the song played out.

“Shields.”

“Connor, it's Will Fletcher.”

Connor turned off the music and slowed the car.

“You get a chance to run any more of those names I gave you?”

“Ran 'em all. I e-mailed everything to you this morning, but when I didn't hear back from you, I thought maybe I should give you a call.”

“I haven't checked my computer yet today. What did you find?”

“Harry Dragonis.” Will was not one to waste words. “Born Hakan Drago, February 22, 1937, Adana, Turkey. Family immigrated here in 1946. Worked as a security guard at Howe University from 1958 through 1988. Married a Turkish girl, Ayfer Demerkan, in 1955. One child, Vedat, born 1962. Wife died in 1984. Body was returned to Turkey for burial. Hakan—Harry—died in June of 1988. Don't know what happened to the daughter after that.”

Connor drove slowly, thinking it through. “Look, thanks—”

“Wait, there was something else. Stefano Korban. Interestingly enough, he was also born in Adana, Turkey. Immigrated at age nineteen. Guess which year that would have been.”

“Can't.”

“July of '88.

“Right after Drago died?”

“Less than a month later.”

“Think you can find out why?”

“I can find out anything if you give me enough time.”

“Thanks. Let me know if you come up with anything else.”

Connor hung up and thought it through.

Harry Dragonis the dealer had been a security guard at Howe and had selectively helped himself to some prime collectibles.

Way to cut out the middleman, Harry.

Stefano Korban arrived here shortly after Drago—Dragonis—died in 1998. What connected Drago to Korban?

Connor wasn't sure what it all meant, but he was damned sure it wasn't coincidental. It was all part of the same puzzle. Right now, he was still missing a few pieces, but he knew from experience that if he followed his instincts, they would lead him to the solution.

He dialed Daria's number and was disappointed when it went right to voice mail.

He placed the phone on the console and drove under the arch that marked the entrance to the university. When he reached the lot, he parked in his favorite spot under the oak tree. In the fall, when he came back to see Daria, he thought he'd have to park elsewhere so that acorns wouldn't ping off his precious Porsche. He snapped the leash onto Sweet Thing's collar and got out of the car. The dog leaped across the console and out the driver's side door. Connor slammed it, locked it, and jogged down the path leading to McGowan House.

When they got to the back door, he found it was locked. Sweet Thing barked several times, staring up at the door.

“Maybe she's out front. Come on, girl.” Connor and the dog trotted around the side of the house to the front porch.

“I know you're happy to be home,” Connor said. He knocked, then rang the doorbell, but there was no answer.

The dog jumped up at the door, barking and whining.

“I don't think she's in there, girl.”

He dialed Louise's office, and was surprised when she, rather than her assistant, answered the phone.

“Louise, it's Connor. I was trying to catch up with Daria. She's not at the house, so I was wondering if your meeting was still going on.”

“We finished well over an hour ago. As a matter of fact, I just got back from the bank. I had a meeting there with the architect. He dropped off his numbers for the proposed renovations at the museum.” He could hear the shuffling of papers. “I have to say, things are looking very good.”

“Great. I'm happy to hear that.” Sweet Thing started pulling him to the edge of the porch steps and he tugged back on the leash. “Louise, if Daria shows up, would you ask her to give me a call? I'm at the house but I'm locked out.”

“Sure. And as soon as Vita gets back from lunch, I'll ask her to run over with an extra key for you.”

“Vita.” He said the name aloud as if testing it. “Louise, what do you know about Vita's background?”

“I know she grew up around Howeville, and that she was married briefly when she was young. She's worked at the university for a long time. Why?”

“Do you know what her maiden name was?”

“I don't think I ever heard her mention it. She's been Landis for as long as I've known her.”

“Thanks.”

He hung up the phone, not liking the thoughts that were running through his mind.

Vita.

Vedat.

He tried Daria's phone again. Still no answer. The uneasy feeling grew. Where was Daria?

Logic told him she was likely to be in one of three places. She wasn't here at the house and she wasn't at Louise's office.

That left the museum.

“Come on, girl.” Connor led the dog down the porch steps. “Let's find Daria.”

         

“Where are the guards the bank sent over?” Vita asked Stefano.

“Dismissed,” he said simply.

Daria looked from Stefano to Vita.

“What's going on, Vita? I thought Louise and the architect—”

“I'm sorry, Daria, I really, really am,” Vita said softly. “I really do like you. Under other circumstances, I'd have liked to have gotten to know you better.”

“Please, cousin.” Stefano was becoming impatient. “We really don't have time for this.”

“Vita, I don't understand what's going on here, but I think I want—” Daria started toward the door, but Stefano blocked her way.

“I'm sorry. I'm afraid we can't let you leave, Daria.”

“It's too late, honey,” Vita told her. “You just know too much.”

“I don't understand,” Daria repeated.

“It's only a matter of time before you do.” Vita shook her head. She turned to Stefano. “Do it quickly.”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “It has to be like the others.”

“Why?” Vita frowned.

“Use your head, Vita. She's the great-granddaughter of the guy who dug it all up and brought it here. If we're going to pull this off, make it look like a religious ritual, she has to be killed just like the others were.”

“Oh my God,
you
killed those people?” Daria gasped. “You killed all those people…?”

         

The closer they came to the museum, the more agitated Sweet Thing became. When the front door opened and the guard stepped out, the dog began snarling and snapping, demonstrating a viciousness Connor never suspected her capable of.

“Stop it,” Connor commanded. “Stop it, girl. Sit. Stay.”

The well-trained dog did as she was told, though her posture made it clear it was with the greatest reluctance.

“I'm sorry, but no one's allowed in.” The guard stood with his back against the door, his eyes never leaving the dog.

“I think this gets me in.” Connor held up his FBI credentials. The guard reached for it, and Sweet Thing lunged.

“Sit!” Eyeing the guard curiously, Connor restrained the dog.

After returning the ID, the guard stared at Connor, as if trying to decide what to do.

“I have my orders,” he finally said.

Connor held up his ID again. “I think this supersedes any orders you have from anyone else.”

“I will escort you.” The guard began to open the door. “However, the dog—”

“Comes with me.”

“There are no animals permitted inside the museum.” He glanced nervously at Sweet Thing, who, though seated, continued to growl from deep inside her chest.

Clearly there was something about the guard she did not like.

“Sit,” Connor told the dog. “Sit, girl.”

Connor dropped the lead and the guard stared at the dog as if expecting an attack. His hand was on the holster that hung from his belt.

What security guard employed by a university was armed?

The guard nodded and beckoned Connor inside. Connor followed, careful to leave the door ajar behind him.

Connor hadn't mentioned who or what he was looking for, or where he was headed, but the guard led him down the steps into the basement without hesitation. His suspicions aroused, Connor silently removed his Glock from its holster at the small of his back. All was quiet, all was dark as they entered the long hall leading to the storage areas. When the guard turned and motioned for Connor to go ahead of him, Connor shook his head slowly, and gestured with his gun hand. The guard stared at the weapon, then shrugged.

Guided by the light from the far doorway, the two men proceeded through the room where the Jacobs artifacts were stored. At the sound of voices from the next room, the guard slowed, then stopped just outside the lighted door.

“You killed all those people?” Daria's voice drifted out to the anteroom. “You made it look as if the
gallas…
?”

Connor could see over the guard's shoulder into the room beyond, where Daria stood between Vita Landis and Stefano Korban, who held a handgun pointed directly at Daria.

“Gallas?”
Stefano Korban's laugh was loud and brittle. “See, Vita, didn't I tell you that was the way to go? Even the esteemed Dr. McGowan fell for that crap.”

“Don't be disrespectful,” Vita said softly. “You are
gallas,
Stefano.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know: As was my father, so am I. So are Tabib and the kid. Your father was, too, but that didn't stop him from helping himself to the goodies, did it,
Priestess
?”

Connor moved forward but the guard's arm shot out to stop him. The look on the man's face was pure rage. Under his breath, he was whispering in a language Connor couldn't quite make out.

“Priestess?” Daria looked to Vita for an explanation.

“I suppose I should explain.” Vita sighed. “For the past two thousand years, there have been those who remained faithful to Ereshkigal and have kept watch over the place where the city once stood, believing that one day, the city would be reborn. As centuries passed, the numbers of the believers diminished until there were fewer and fewer to guard the city. Finally, Shandihar was rediscovered, but instead of being restored, the temples were stripped of the sacred objects; they were packed up and brought here. Those who still served the goddess followed, and have been keeping watch over the treasure for the past century, right here at Howe.”

“Vita, for Christ's sake!” Stefano's patience had run out. “No one gives a shit about any of that.”

“Shut up, Stefano,” Vita snapped. “You're going to kill her. She might as well know why.”

She turned back to Daria. “In every generation, there have been those who have served the goddess—the
gallas
and the priestesses. These roles can only be inherited. I inherited the title of priestess from my mother, as Stefano inherited the role of guardian from his father,” Vita said softly. “And yes, my father was also a
gallas,
but all those priceless treasures were too great a temptation for him to resist. He was a weak man. He stole some of the artifacts and sold them.”

“Vita, enough.” Stefano rubbed his free hand over his face in frustration.

She ignored him.

“In the beginning, I only wanted to…
reappropriate
everything my father had taken, and return them to the crates they came in. That way, no one would ever know what he'd done. I never intended for anyone to get hurt.”

“You are so full of shit,” Stefano said, sneering. “Once you found out how much that stuff was worth on the black market, once you heard
millions,
all that talk of family
honor
went down the tubes.” He turned to Daria. “The plan all along was to get those artifacts back and sell them to the highest bidder. It was a piece of cake to get those two losers to go after the artifacts and make it look like some act of ancient retribution.”

Vita turned on him. “It was your idea to convince Tabib and his brother that they had a sacred obligation to avenge the goddess. You pounded that into their heads, you taught them how to kill.”

“So much more interesting than simple thefts, don't you think?” He laughed. “And who would suspect a respected archaeologist and the president's assistant? Tabib and Anatole were
honored
to do whatever the priestess told them to do. Honored to protect your identity. After all, it was the will of the goddess…and these dumb jackasses were willing to do anything for their goddess.”

Three rapid gunshots split the air.

Daria screamed and covered her ears as Stefano's head exploded and he fell face forward. Vita dropped where she stood. A blur of white flashed past the guard, jostling him before he could fire off another round. Before the shooter had a chance to recover his balance, Connor tackled him from behind and wrestled the gun from his hand.

“Daria! Are you all right?” Connor called.

“Yes. I'm not hit.” She had taken cover crouched behind a crate. She hugged the dog gratefully. “Sweet Thing, you did good, girl.”

“Who else is there?” Connor lifted the guard's head. “Who else is working with you?”

“Just those two.” The guard spat in the direction of Stefano's lifeless body.

“The boy?”

“Anatole. My brother.”

“Daria, do you think you can call 911?”

She nodded.

“Tell them we need Chief Thorpe over here and we need an ambulance immediately.”