Blue Labyrinth

26

Yes,” said the junior curator. “Sure, I remember him. He was working with Marsala, maybe two months ago. He and Marsala seemed like buddies, which was kind of unusual.”

“That guy on the screen look like him?” asked Bonomo.

“Almost exactly. Except…” The curator stared at the laptop screen. “I think his forehead was a little broader. Around the temples, maybe.”

Bonomo worked his magic with the Identi-CAD program. “Like this?”

“A little broader still,” the curator said, conviction growing in his voice. “And higher.”

More magic. “This?”

“Yes. That’s perfect.”

“Perfect? Really?”

“Really.”

“We aim to please!” Bonomo said with his trademark bray of laughter.

D’Agosta watched this exchange with amusement. They had been making the rounds of the Osteology Department, speaking with everyone who remembered seeing the “scientist” Marsala had assisted. This had allowed Bonomo to tweak the portrait he’d created the day before, making it an even better match. D’Agosta felt optimistic enough to begin a software review of the security video feeds again, with portrait in hand. He was interested in two dates in particular: the day Marsala died, and the day he signed out the specimen for the visitor.

D’Agosta checked the junior curator’s name off his list, and they continued down the hall. Spotting another Osteology worker who’d seen the fake scientist, D’Agosta introduced her to Bonomo, and looked on as the police technician showed her the composite portrait and asked for her feedback. Bonomo had cut quite a swath through the dusty, quiet Museum, talking loudly, cracking jokes, making wiseass remarks and laughing at the top of his lungs. This had given D’Agosta a measure of secret joy, especially when Frisby had popped his head out of his office more than once, glowering. He hadn’t said anything — what could he say? This was police business.

Out of the corner of his eye, D’Agosta caught sight of Margo Green. She was coming down the corridor from the main entrance to Osteology. Their eyes met, and she gestured toward a nearby storeroom.

“What’s up?” D’Agosta said, following her inside and closing the door behind them. “Ready to examine those additional specimens?”

“Already done. Not a Hottentot to be found. The missing long bone didn’t turn up in any nearby trays, either. But I’ve done further analysis of the female skeleton, as promised. I wanted to give you an update.”

“Shoot.”

To D’Agosta, Margo seemed a little breathless. “I’ve been able to confirm most of my initial conclusions about the bones. Further examination, and in particular the ratio of oxygen and carbon isotopes present in the skeleton, indicate a diet and geographic location consistent with a late-nineteenth-century woman, roughly sixty years of age, living in an urban American environment, probably New York or vicinity.”

From the corridor beyond came another bark of laughter from Bonomo that almost shook the walls.

“A little louder,” Margo said, “and your friend out there could channel Jimmy Durante.”

“He’s a bit obnoxious, but he’s the best at what he does. Besides, it’s fun to watch Frisby get his knickers in a twist.”

At the mention of Frisby’s name, Margo’s face darkened.

“How are you managing?” D’Agosta asked. “I mean, being in here like this. I know it’s not easy for you.”

“I’m doing all right.”

“Is Frisby giving you a hard time?”

“I can handle it.”

“Do you want me to have a word with him?”

“Thanks, but it wouldn’t help. There’s nothing to be gained and everything to lose from a confrontation. The Museum can be a real snake’s den. If I keep a low profile, everything should be fine.” She paused. “Look, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

Despite the fact they were alone, Margo lowered her voice. “Do you remember when we had Sandoval check the accession record for that skeleton?”

D’Agosta nodded. He couldn’t imagine where this was leading.

“And when we got to the name of the preparator — Dr. Padgett — Sandoval said: Oh. Him.”

“Go on.”

“At the time, it struck me as strange. So today I asked Sandoval about it. Like many Museum workers, he loves to collect old Museum rumors and gossip. Anyway, he told me that this Padgett — an Osteological curator here many years ago — happened to have a wife who disappeared. There was some sort of scandal. Her body was never found.”

“Disappeared?” D’Agosta asked. “How? What kind of scandal?”

“He didn’t know,” Margo said.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Probably — and it’s creeping the heck out of me.”