Last Breath

13

“A s I told you on the phone, I’ll close the library as of nine tonight instead of eleven, and keep it closed until your people have finished doing whatever it is they’re going to do,” Louise told Connor when he and Daria arrived at her office. “Luckily, there are hardly any students on campus right now, and few faculty members stayed around over the summer, so we won’t have too many people to deal with.”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Louise. I’ve been assured that the Bureau will handle this as quickly and efficiently as we can and with as little disruption to the university as possible.”

“Thank you. I think we have more than enough to deal with right now, with these deaths. How long do you suppose that will stay out of the news?” Louise appeared concerned.

“Not much longer, I’m afraid. The detective investigating Damian Cross’s murder is holding a news conference tomorrow. He’ll be joined by representatives of the Philly and Radnor township police departments.”

“The departments that investigated the other two cases?” Louise asked.

“Yes. Radnor township investigated because Gladwyne doesn’t have its own police department. And it won’t be long before we hear from the department in Connecticut, so the press should have a busy week.”

“Which makes the appointment of a PR person all the more pressing. That was one of the issues we were going to discuss in our impromptu meeting tonight.” Louise sighed and reached for the phone. “I’ll try the library again. I’ve been attempting to get in touch with Gloria Weathers since we spoke earlier, but she’s not picking up. She must be away from the desk.”

“She isn’t the only person working there tonight, is she?” Daria asked.

“No, but she usually stays at or near the front desk. There should also be two student interns, the assistant librarian, and at least one guard. We generally have two during the school year, but we moved one to the museum.”

“I thought the bank had two guards on duty at the museum around the clock now,” Daria said.

“They do. But Nora Gannon-she chairs our board of trustees-thought we should have someone on the school’s payroll there as well.” Louise dialed the number and waited almost a full minute. “There’s no answer. I wonder if the phone is out.”

“Does the librarian have a cell phone?” Daria asked.

“If she does, I don’t have the number. And I don’t have the pager number for the guard.” Louise tapped her fingers on the desktop. “It’s time I left here for the night anyway. I suppose I could just stop there on my way back to the house and tell Gloria to send everyone home and to close up early.”

“We’ll walk over with you,” Connor offered. “It’s not out of the way.”

The campus was quiet, most of the buildings dark except for exterior lights. Those few students at Howe for summer school were all housed in the same dormitory at the opposite side of the campus. In the haze around the lights along the paths and in the parking lots, clouds of flying insects gathered. Across the common areas, fireflies winked in the darkness. As Connor, Daria, and Louise made their way from the administration building to the library, they passed only three students.

“I imagine you’re looking forward to the fall semester, when the campus is livelier,” Daria said to Louise as they neared their destination. “It’s almost a little eerie here at night, don’t you think?”

“You get accustomed to it after a few weeks,” Louise replied. “It’s almost welcome after the long school year. Our attendance has dropped over the past decade, but Howe is still a pretty busy place from the end of August right through the beginning of June. The summer months are a nice break.”

They walked together up the library steps and into the building.

“Louise,” Connor called to her as she started toward the main desk, “these surveillance cameras are operating, aren’t they?”

“We’ll have to ask security about that. I would think they would be, but how often they’re checked…” She looked around and said, “Well, I would ask security, but I don’t see the guard at his station. He must be making his rounds.” Louise continued on her way.

By the time Connor and Daria reached the front desk, Louise had already walked behind it, and into the stacks that lay beyond.

“Gloria?” she called. “Gloria, are you back there?”

Daria walked into the room to their right, where comfortable-looking chairs formed a circle and a pair of worn black leather sofas faced each other. The room was inviting and well lit and obviously designed to encourage discussion, but other than Daria, it was empty.

“You rarely see a room in a library designed for conversation,” Daria said when Louise joined her. “You always think of libraries as places where you never speak above a whisper.”

“It was designed for the occasional informal lecture,” Louise told her. “There are pocket doors that close the room off from the rest of the library. Another of Benjamin Howe’s ideas.”

“Any luck finding your librarian?” Connor asked when he joined the two women.

“No.” Louise frowned. “She could be in the basement, or on the second floor. Though on second thought, Gloria has problems with her knees. She rarely goes upstairs.”

“You said there were two students and an assistant working tonight as well?” Connor asked.

“That’s the usual arrangement.” Louise was still frowning. “I’m going to check around the desk. Maybe there’s a note or something.”

“I’ll run down to the computer lab. If the two interns are students, maybe they’re working on something for one of their courses.” Connor headed toward the stairwell.

“I’ll check the other rooms here on the first floor, then I’ll run upstairs,” Daria told Louise. “Maybe you should stay here, in case the librarian or one of the interns returns. Sooner or later, someone is going to have to come back to the front desk.”

“Good point. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can find the sign-in sheets from today.”

Daria left Louise at the desk and went through an arch to her left over which a plaque read THE ILIANA HOWE MCGOWAN READING ROOM. The room was dimly lit, and as far as she could see, as empty as the others. An oil portrait of a woman hung over the fireplace at one end of the narrow room, and she walked over to take a closer look.

The subject was a small woman with gray hair pulled back from her face to display her delicate features, a small heart-shaped mouth and wide blue eyes. She wore a black dress and sat demurely, her hands in her lap, a small, sad smile on her lips.

The nameplate below the painting read ILIANA HOWE MCGOWAN, 1930.

Daria stepped forward to take a closer look.

So that’s what you looked like. I’d been wondering. You were lovely, even in your later years. I imagine life was a bit lonely for you by 1930, with your husband already gone for twenty years, your father for ten, and your children all grown and gone.

Why did you stay on all that time, after everyone you loved had died or left you? And whose idea was the portrait? Was it yours? A small vanity on your part, lest your name be forgotten?

Daria stood in front of the painting, her arms folded over her chest, studying the face of her great-grandmother. She wasn’t sure, but thought she might have seen a different portrait of her at one of those long-ago visits to her grandfather’s home, or perhaps at one of those infrequent family reunions when she was a child. She hadn’t known the woman’s name, but she’d known she was a relative from long ago. In that painting, the woman had been younger, and wore a gown of light blue, the color set off by a gold necklace set with blue stones. To Daria and her sister, the woman had appeared regal, and both she and Iona had coveted that necklace.

Daria was so absorbed in the painting and the memories it stirred that by the time she heard the swift footsteps, it was already too late to react.

From out of nowhere, something struck her from behind with such force and speed that she was propelled forward. The last thing she remembered was raising her hands to cover her face as she flew toward the marble fireplace. The side of her head struck the mantel, and the world went dark.

“Son of a bitch.” Connor stood in front of the bank of computers in the library basement, his hands on his hips. There wasn’t much doubt as to which of the computers the killer had used. It would be the third from the left, the one that now lay shattered and in pieces.

He banged his hand on the low wall of the nearest cubicle.

“Anyone down here? Mrs. Weathers? Hello?” he called out before running back up the steps.

“Did you see anyone downstairs?” Louise asked when Connor approached the desk.

“No. But we won’t need an FBI team to figure out which computer the e-mails were sent from.” He told her what he’d found.

“Should I call 911?” Louise asked.

“The Bureau is going to be handling the vandalism of the computer, since it’s part of an ongoing case, but give campus security a call and have them track down the guard who’s supposed to be on duty here tonight.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m going to check upstairs. You said Mrs. Weathers didn’t like the steps because of her knees, but if she’s not downstairs, and she’s not here, there’s only one place left.”

He was halfway up to the second floor when he turned back and called down, “Where’s Daria?”

“She was in there.” Louise pointed toward the room into which Daria had disappeared.

“Would you ask her to wait with you here until I come down? I’m not getting a good feeling.”

Louise dialed the number for campus security. On the third ring, it was picked up.

“This is President Burnette. Was a guard assigned to the library tonight? Did he check in? Has he been in touch since? I’m over at the library and there’s no one here…yes, I’m positive. There’s no one at the guard’s post, and the building appears to be empty. Yes, please, page him. I’ll hold.”

She looked up to see Connor running down the steps.

“I found your Mrs. Weathers. At least, I’m assuming that’s who she is.” He grabbed the other phone from the desk and dialed 911. “I’m afraid we’re going to need the police here after all.”

“You don’t mean Gloria…” Louise went pale. “Is she…?”

“Someone is.” He looked around. “Louise, where’s Daria?”

“She was in there. I was going to check after I called security-”

He shoved the phone into her hands. “Tell the police we need them now. Probable homicide.”

He hurried to the doorway where Louise had last seen Daria.

“Oh, sweet Jesus…”

Seconds later he was bending over Daria, checking for a pulse, his own heart all but stopping at the sight of the blood that puddled under her head.

“Please be alive…please, please be alive.”

He located a pulse and began to breath again. “Come on, baby, hang in there. Hang in there…”

“The Howeville police are on their way…” Louise stopped three steps into the room. “Oh my God, is that-?”

“Call 911 back. Tell them to send an ambulance immediately,” he said without looking up.

All of Connor’s instincts told him to seek, to find, to break the attacker. But he continued to kneel at Daria’s side, wanting to touch her, afraid to touch her, until he heard the sirens stop in front of the building. When the EMTs appeared in the doorway, he waved them over and stepped back, and watched while her vital signs were checked and she was gently lifted onto a stretcher.

Then he left the room without a sound and disappeared into the night. For Connor, the game had just become personal. The killer had no idea just how dangerous a move that had been.

“How are you feeling?”

The unfamiliar voice was soft and melodious, with a slight accent Daria could not readily identify. She opened her eyes but could not get them to focus.

“Daria?” the voice asked. “Are you coming back to us now?”

A face floated in front of her. Daria tried to raise her head, but the pain was like a bolt through her brain.

“Easy, Daria.” The mouth on the face moved. “Don’t try to sit up.”

“Who are you?” Daria whispered through very dry lips.

“I’ve been sitting here with you for so long, I’d almost forgotten we hadn’t been introduced.” The face moved closer. “I’m Sabina Bokhari.”

“Sabina.” Daria’s voice was weak. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve wanted to meet you…”

“And I’ve wanted to meet you, too. I’m a great admirer of your work.”

Daria tried to wet her lips.

“You need water, don’t you?” The woman rose and walked away, then returned seconds later with a glass of water and a straw. “Here. Let’s see if you can take a sip.”

Daria sucked on the straw, grateful.

“Thank you,” she said.

“More?”

“Please.”

“Not too fast, though, all right?”

Daria nodded slightly and took a few more sips.

“Thank you,” she said again. “How…why…?”

“I was on my way to the library-my office is in the basement-when the ambulance pulled up. I saw Louise on the steps, so I went to find out what happened. I thought perhaps Mrs. Weathers had another heart attack.” She swallowed hard. “Anyway, Louise told me what happened. She didn’t want you to be in the hospital alone, and since the police needed to question her, she couldn’t leave the university grounds. I offered to accompany you and wait with you until you woke up.”

“Connor…” Daria frowned.

“Connor?”

“Connor Shields. He was with us, in the library.”

“The man from the FBI?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t see him, but I heard Louise tell the police he was in the building. Perhaps he was looking for whoever did this to you.”

“Did they find the librarian?”

“Mrs. Weathers, yes. Yes, they did.” Sabina’s dark eyes clouded.

“What?” Daria asked.

“She was found on the second floor. She was…”

“She’s dead?” Daria struggled to sit despite the pain. “Dear God, Sabina, is she dead?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure,” Sabina said. “She was such a nice woman. I’d gotten to know her well over the years. I spent a lot of time in the library. I considered her a friend.”

“I’m so sorry.” Daria reached out for Sabina’s hand.

Sabina nodded her thanks. “The last time I saw her, in June, before I left for the summer, she mentioned that she was planning a ten-day trip to Tuscany in the fall with her sister. They were going to attend a cooking school and go on a wine tour. She was very excited about it.”

“Did she have other family?”

“Besides the sister, I don’t believe so. Her husband passed away some years ago, before I came to Howe. She never mentioned any children. I imagine Louise has already called the sister.”

“I feel as if we’ve opened a massive can of worms and all of these horrible, ugly things are crawling out.” Daria covered her face with her hands.

“You mean because of the museum?”

“Yes.”

“Louise was explaining to us-to me and the others who were with us last night-about the murders. About how the collectors who’d acquired the pieces that had been stolen from the museum had been killed so brutally.” She shivered. “It almost makes you believe in the curse, doesn’t it?”

“What curse?” Daria frowned.

“The one about the goddess seeking revenge on anyone who stole what belonged to her.”

“Where did you hear that?” The woman had Daria’s complete attention.

“I read about it several years ago. It was in a book I’d picked up somewhere while traveling.”

“What was the book?”

“I don’t recall the title, but it was an old volume about the oral tradition of storytelling in ancient times. The author related several versions of the same tales and demonstrated how they were altered to reflect the different cultures as they were passed along the Silk Route.”

“What did the book say about this supposed curse?”

“That the Sisters of Shandihar-the high priestesses who ruled the city-had been anointed by Ereshkigal to take her place on earth, to speak for her. Their decrees were her decrees and were to be obeyed without question, or the transgressor would be punished.”

“We know the preferred method of punishment,” Daria interjected.

“According to the author of the book, if a guilty party died before they were punished, their descendants would be cursed, stalked by the gallas.”

“The gallas.” Daria was sitting straight up now. “The demon spirits sent to earth by Ereshkigal to pull sinners down to the Underworld.”

“Yes, the sinners, or their descendants. It’s that whole sins of the father thing.”

“Or in my case,” Daria murmured, “the sins of the great-grandfather.”