Last Breath

21

“Y ou know, things will be a whole lot better for you if you talk now.” Connor sat across from the boy, who still refused to speak to anyone. “Look, here’s the thing. We know you were at Damien Cross’s house when he was killed.” He leaned closer. “How do we know?”

Conner reached over and pulled up the sleeve of the boy’s shirt to expose the dog bite.

“Because the dog that bit you here is the same dog that bit you on the ankle the other night. You left your blood on the back door of Cross’s house, and you left your blood on the dog’s fur. That puts you right there, bud. And in the absence of any evidence that puts anyone there with you, the police are looking at you for Damien Cross’s murder.”

The boy went white, but still did not speak.

“So what you need to understand is this. You are going to be sent from here to Delaware, where Damien Cross was killed, and they’re going to prosecute you-just you-for his murder.”

He stared at the boy for a long time, but the boy never blinked.

“Thing is, I don’t think you killed him. But you were there when it happened, and you know who did it. You probably even know where that statue of Ereshkigal is right now.”

A look of surprise crossed the boy’s face, the first change in his demeanor since Connor sat down.

“Oh, sure, we know about that. We know Cross was killed because he had the statue of the goddess. Same as the others, right? The Blumes and Mrs. Sevrenson. And that nice couple in Connecticut last week.”

Connor kept his eyes on the boy’s face. At the mention of the last victims, he appeared to flinch slightly.

“You tell us who was there with you, who did the actual killing, and the police will protect you. They’ll guarantee that nothing will happen to you, and that-”

The boy’s eyes smiled. The smile became a chuckle, and before long, the boy began to laugh.

Then he put his head down on the table and cried, but still, he would not speak.

“What do you make of that?” Chief Thorpe asked Connor when he finally left the boy and went into the hallway. “What do you suppose that was all about?”

“I have no idea.” Connor shook his head. “How much longer are you keeping him?”

“They’re getting the paperwork together right now to send him to New Castle.” Thorpe stared through the window at the boy. “Christ, Shields, I got a grandson around that age.”

“I guess no one’s called to report a missing kid.”

“Nah.” Thorpe shook his head as he walked away. “That would be too easy.”

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Daria unlocked the back door when Connor knocked. He came into the kitchen carrying a brown paper bag and a cardboard box.

“I stopped at the supermarket and picked up a few staples. Then I stopped at one of those Amish farm stands and picked up some things for dinner.” He placed the box on the counter. “Tomatoes, peppers, onions, cucumbers, some fresh garlic.”

“Sounds like the making of a good salad.”

“Or a great gazpacho.”

“There aren’t any cookbooks here,” she told him, “but we could probably get a recipe off the Internet.”

“I don’t need a cookbook. I make this all the time in the summer.” He turned and dazzled her with a smile. “I told you, I’m a great cook. And I promised you a dinner while I was here.”

He held up a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic.

“And whole wheat bread baked this morning by the nice Amish lady at the farm a couple of miles down the road.” His hand disappeared into the box one last time. “Shoofly pie for dessert.”

“Made by the same nice Amish lady, no doubt.”

“Her sister-in-law, Sarah, does the pies.” He put the pie in the refrigerator, then started to wash vegetables in the sink. “So, how’d you spend your afternoon?”

“I started thinking about this Henry Dragonis. He first sold to Cavanaugh in 1964. So it got me wondering who else he might have been selling to.” She sat down at the table and sorted through a stack of papers. “I went back through the list of galleries and museums that we know either purchased Shandiharan artifacts outright or acquired them on loan from the owner. I was able to locate five that gave acquisition dates. All in the 1960s.”

“Good work. I’ll pass on that information to Polly. She can have the galleries trace the items back to the original sellers. I’m sure it will help her in her investigation,” he said over the sound of running water.

“Well, that got me to thinking about Dragonis. Maybe he was stealing from the museum himself, or working with someone who was.”

Connor glanced over his shoulder at her. “Go on. I can tell by the look on your face that there’s more.”

She laughed. “More questions than answers, I’m afraid. I guess what I’m wondering is why now. If these artifacts were stolen forty or fifty years ago, why is someone trying to get them back now?”

“Good question. I guess we could answer that if we knew who was at the bottom of it.”

“Or vice versa.”

“Right.” He turned the water off. “I guess there’s no colander.”

“I think maybe in that cabinet to your left, down at the bottom.”

“Got it.”

“Can I help you at all?” she asked.

“No. This is my show. How about a sharp knife and a cutting board?”

“Maybe there to the right.”

He found a knife that would do, but no cutting board. He cleaned off the counter, then began to cut and chop on it.

“Did you learn anything from the boy at the police station?”

“Not a damned thing. Except maybe he’s really afraid of double-crossing whoever’s calling the shots.” Connor told her about the boy crying. “The shame of it is that he’s just a kid. At least I think he’s a kid. He won’t tell us how old he is. And while I know that kids kill every day, somehow I don’t think this one did. But he won’t say a damned word.”

He chopped at the onions with a vengeance.

“Anyway, he’s going to be handed over to New Castle, probably tomorrow. Maybe Coliani can get him to talk.”

“Shouldn’t he have a lawyer?”

“Thorpe offered to get him one, but he wouldn’t even respond to that.”

“Maybe he doesn’t speak English.”

“He spoke enough English the other night, when he wanted me to call off Sweet Thing.” Connor found a large pot in one of the cabinets and tossed in the onions. “In other news, I stopped in to see Louise on my way back. She’s going to get me a list of the trustees.”

“Did you tell her you’re having them all investigated? Including her?”

“She isn’t stupid. She already figured that out.” He took a bottle of olive oil out of the paper bag, opened it, and drizzled some in the bottom of the pot. He put the pot on top of the stove and turned the burner on low. “She did confirm what Dr. Bokhari told me about both Nora Gannon and Olivia Masters. Both have roots that go deep into Howe University soil. Legacy students in their day, both of them, and both had relatives who served as trustees at some point during the past century.”

“So both of them could have known about the artifacts in the basement of the museum. At the very least, maybe one of their relatives did.” Daria pondered the possibility. “Did you ask Louise about Henry Dragonis?”

“Yes, but she said the name didn’t mean anything to her.”

“So we really don’t know any more tonight than we did this morning.” She tapped the end of her pencil on the pile of notes she’d been going through. “And we’re back to the why of it. Why now? Why is someone after the artifacts now?”

“The obvious answer is that someone is avenging the goddess, or whatever, but that just seems too easy,” he told her. “Like that’s what someone wants us to think. It all seems very pat.”

“Maybe your friend Will can come up with something that will point you in the right direction.”

“He will. I have faith in him.” He finished chopping the tomatoes and peppers and started in on the cucumbers. “All we need to do is find the right string…”

“You give it a tug and the truth spills out?”

“That’s how it usually works.”

“You’re very confident, aren’t you.”

“I’m good at what I do.” He said quietly.

“You still haven’t told me what that is, exactly.”

When he didn’t respond, Daria said, “I have all that information from my parents about Jack, if you want to take a look.”

“Great. I’ll just be a minute more.”

Daria stared at his back for almost a minute before reaching into her briefcase for the investigators’ reports. He’d said all he was going to say about himself earlier that day, and that was going to have to be enough.

“I miss Sweet Thing,” Daria told him. They were sitting in the conservatory listening to the cicadas. Occasionally one slammed into a window screen and made her jump.

“I’ll check with Coliani first thing in the morning to see when we can pick her up.” He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

“You don’t have to sit up with me while I read. I can see you’re tired. Why not just go up to bed?”

He hesitated and she knew he didn’t want to leave her downstairs alone, so she added, “I’m going up now anyway.”

“In that case, I’ll go, too. Go on up. I’ll lock up the house.”

“All right.” She closed the notebook she’d been working in. She wanted to show him the sketches of the displays she’d worked on that afternoon, but they could wait until tomorrow. “Thanks again for making dinner. It was wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. It was fun. I hope I get to do it again before I leave Howe.” He gathered the reports he’d been reading and returned them to the envelope in which they’d been mailed. Several sheets of paper floated to the floor. He looked up to find her staring at him.

“When do you think that will be?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and picked up the errant sheets. “I feel like we’re close to putting it all together, you know? Like there are only one or two pieces missing, and once I get those, the case is going to fall into place.”

“I see.” She stood and walked to the door. “Well, thanks again.”

She paused in the hall to pick up the sandals she’d left by the door before starting up the steps. She hadn’t thought about him leaving, though she knew it was inevitable. His presence had dominated most of the time she’d spent at Howe, and she wasn’t ready to say good-bye.

She heard him moving around downstairs, heard windows slam in the conservatory and in the kitchen. She knew his routine, and in her mind she followed him through the first floor as she undressed for bed. After he closed the windows, he’d check the locks on the back door. Then he’d move into the dining room, check those windows, then the two front rooms. Next he’d lock the front door and turn off the lamp, and then he’d come upstairs.

She heard his footfalls on the steps, and saw the overhead hall light go out and the small table lamp turn on. Before she had a chance to think about what she was doing, she called to him.

“Connor?”

“Yes?”

He stood right outside her doorway, silhouetted by the light. She walked into the hall and reached a hand up to touch his face.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

She thought at first he was going to decline, because for a moment he simply stood and looked at her. But then he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. She’d expected him to more or less start out slow and work his way into it, but he came at her full blast, taking her mouth and owning it.

He lifted her off her feet and held her to his chest, kissing her as she’d never been kissed before. But she’d known it would be like that. She’d known this moment was going to happen, and she’d known it would feel just like this, like a tidal wave that swept her down into its depths and spun her around and around until she was dizzy with it. Drunk with it. Drunk with him.

She felt her body respond to him, every cell, every fiber, and she had no thought of stemming the tide. Go with it, she told herself. Just…go with it.

“Stay with me,” she whispered into his neck when their lips finally parted. “Please stay with me…”

He carried her into her room and eased her back onto the bed. She tugged at his belt as she fell back.

“Daria-”

“Don’t,” she told him. “Just…don’t try to talk me out of this.”

“I just want you to be sure that-”

“Shut up, Connor.”

He laughed softly and joined her on the bed. His mouth sought hers, his tongue playing at the corners of her mouth. She parted her lips and teased his tongue with her own. He raised himself on one elbow and stroked her body with his free hand. She was barely aware of her legs wrapping around his hips to draw him closer and closer, or her fingers unbuttoning her top to free herself for him. When his mouth closed over her breast, her brain turned itself off and her body went on autopilot. The last thing she remembered was Connor whispering her name over and over and over. Everything after that was lost, drowned in an intensity of emotion and sensation that took her breath away and left her feeling stunned.

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.”