Relic

= 31 =

Mrs. Lavinia Rickman sat in a wine-colored leather armchair in the Director’s office. The room was deathly silent. Not even traffic noises from the street three floors below penetrated the thick turret windows. Wright himself sat behind the desk, practically swallowed by the vast length of mahogany. A Reynolds portrait of Ridley A. Davis, the Museum’s founder, glared down from behind Wright.

Dr. Ian Cuthbert occupied a sofa along a far wall of the room. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his tweed suit loose on his spare frame. He was frowning. Normally humorless and irritable, he looked particularly austere on this afternoon.

Finally, Wright broke the silence.

“He’s called twice already this afternoon,” the Director snapped at Cuthbert. “I can’t avoid him forever. Sooner or later he’s going to raise a stink about being denied access to the crates. He may well drag this [218] Mbwun business into it. There’s going to be controversy.”

Cuthbert nodded. “As long as it’s later rather than sooner. When the exhibition is open and running, with forty thousand visitors a day and favorable notices in all the periodicals, let him bloody well raise hell about whatever he likes.”

There was another long silence.

“I hate to play devil’s advocate,” Cuthbert continued at last, “but when the dust settles from all this, you, Winston, are going to have the necessary increase in attendance. These rumors of a curse may be annoying now, but when things are safe again, everyone’s going to want a vicarious shudder and some scandal. Everyone’s going to want to go inside the Museum and see for themselves. It’s good for business. I’m telling you, Winston, we couldn’t have arranged it better ourselves.”

Wright frowned at the Assistant Director. “Rumors of a curse. Maybe it’s true. Look at all the disasters that have followed that ugly little figurine halfway around the world.” He laughed mirthlessly.

“You’re not serious,” said Cuthbert.

“I’ll tell you what I’m serious about,” Wright snapped. “I don’t want to hear you talking like that again. Frock has important friends. If he starts complaining to them ... well, you know how stories grow and spread. They’ll think you’re withholding information. They’ll think you’re banking on these killings bringing people in to see the exhibition. How’s that for publicity, eh?”

“Agreed,” Cuthbert said with a wintry smile. “But I don’t need to remind you that, if this exhibition doesn’t open on time, everything becomes academic. Frock must be kept on a short leash. Now, he’s sending hired help to do his dirty work. One of them tried to get into the Secure Vault less than an hour ago.”

“Who?” Wright demanded.

[219] “The security guard made a right hash of it,” Cuthbert replied. “But he got the fellow’s first name—Bill.”

“Bill?” Rickman sat up.

“Yes, I think that was it,” Cuthbert said, turning to the public relations director. “Isn’t that the name of the journalist who’s doing the book on my exhibition? He’s your man, isn’t he? Is he under control? I hear he’s been asking a lot of questions.”

“Absolutely,” said Rickman, a bright smile on her face. “We’ve had our ups and downs with him, but he’s toeing the line now. Control the sources, and you’ve controlled the journalist, as I always say.”

“Toeing the line, is he’?” Wright said. “Then why did you feel it necessary to send that mail message round to half the western world this morning, reminding them not to talk to strangers?”

Mrs. Rickman quickly held up a lacquered hand. “He’s been taken care of.”

“You’d damned well better make sure of that,” Cuthbert said. “You’ve been in on this little party from the beginning, Lavinia. I’m sure you don’t want this journalist of yours digging up any dirty knickers.”

There came a hiss of static over the intercom, and a voice said: “Mr. Pendergast to see you.”

“Send him in,” said Wright. He looked sourly at the others. “This is it.”

Pendergast appeared in the doorway, a newspaper tucked under one arm. He paused for a moment.

“My, this is a charming tableau,” he said. “Dr. Wright, thank you for seeing me again. Dr. Cuthbert, always a pleasure. And you are Lavinia Rickman, ma’am, are you not?”

“Yes,” Rickman replied, smiling primly.

“Mr. Pendergast,” said Wright, with a small, formal smile. “Please take any seat you wish.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but I prefer to stand.” Pendergast moved over to the massive fireplace and leaned against the mantle, arms folded.

[220] “Have you come to make a report? No doubt you’ve asked for this meeting to inform us of an arrest.”

“No,” said Pendergast. “I’m sorry, no arrests. Frankly, Dr. Wright, we’ve made very little progress. Despite what Ms. Rickman has been telling the newspapers.”

He showed them the newspaper’s headline: ARREST NEAR IN “MUSEUM BEAST” MURDERS.

There was a short silence. Pendergast folded the paper and carefully placed it on the mantelpiece.

“What’s the problem?” asked Wright. “I don’t understand what’s taking so long.”

“There are many problems, as you are no doubt aware,” said Pendergast. “But I’m not really here to brief you on the case. It’s enough if I remind you simply that a dangerous serial killer remains loose in the Museum. We have no reason to believe he has stopped killing. As far as we know, all his killings have been nocturnal. In other words, after 5 P.M. As the special agent in charge of this investigation, I’m regretfully informing you that the curfew we’ve set up must remain in force until such time as the killer is found. There will be no exceptions.”

“The opening. … Rickman bleated.

“The opening will have to be postponed. It may be for a week, it may be for a month. I can’t make any promises, I’m afraid. I’m very sorry.”

Wright stood up, his face livid. “You said the opening could go on as scheduled provided there were no more killings. That was our agreement.”

“I made no agreement with you, Doctor,” Pendergast said mildly. “I’m afraid we are no closer to catching the murderer than we were at the beginning of the week.” He gestured toward the newspaper on the mantle. “Headlines like these make people complacent, incautious. The opening would probably be very well attended. Thousands of people, in the Museum after dark ...” He shook his head. “I have no other choice.”

[221] Wright stared at the agent in disbelief. “Because of your incompetence, you expect us to delay the opening, and do the Museum irreparable harm in the process? The answer is no.”

Pendergast, unruffled, walked forward into the center of the room. “Forgive me, Dr. Wright, if I didn’t make myself clear. I’m not here to ask your permission; I’m merely notifying you of my decision.”

“Right,” the Director answered, his voice shaking. “I see. You can’t do your own job, but you still want to tell me how to do mine. Do you have any idea what delaying the opening would do to our exhibition? Do you know what kind of message it would send to the public? Well, Pendergast, I’m not going to allow it.”

Pendergast stared steadily at Wright. “Any unauthorized personnel found on the premises after five o’clock will be arrested and charged with trespassing at a scene of crime. This is a misdemeanor. Second violations will be charged with obstruction of justice, which is a felony, Dr. Wright. I trust I make myself sufficiently clear?”

“The only thing that’s clear right now is your path to the door,” Wright said, his voice rising. “It’s unobstructed. Please take it.”

Pendergast nodded. “Gentlemen. Ma’am.” Then he turned around and moved silently out of the room.

Closing the door quietly, Pendergast stopped for a moment in the Director’s outer office. Then, staring at the door, he quoted,

So I return rebuk’d to my content,

And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.

Wright’s executive secretary stopped her gum chewing in mid-snap. “Howzat?” she inquired.

“No, Shakespeare,” Pendergast replied, heading for the elevator.

¯

[222] Inside, Wright fumbled at the telephone with shaking hands.

“What the hell happens now?” exploded Cuthbert. “I’ll be damned if a bloody policeman’s going to boot us out of our own Museum.”

“Cuthbert, be quiet,” said Wright. Then he spoke into the handset. “Get me Albany, right away.”

There was a silence while he was put on hold. Wright looked over the receiver at Cuthbert and Rickman, controlling his heavy breathing with an effort. “Time to call in some favors,” he said. “We’ll see who has the final word here: some inbred albino from the Delta, or the Director of the largest natural history museum in the world.”