The Lost Years

48

Detectives Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez spent a busy Wednesday morning at the prosecutor’s office. After they’d left Mariah Lyons’s home on Tuesday evening, they’d decided to apply for the last month’s phone records of four of the men who had been at dinner with Mariah: Richard Callahan, Greg Pearson, Albert West, and Charles Michaelson.

“They were the closest associates of Professor Lyons,” Rita observed, “and I don’t buy that not one of them got a look at the parchment. Somebody’s lying, or maybe even they’re all lying.”

On Wednesday morning they applied in chambers to Judge Brown to obtain the phone records and their request was granted. “We know Professor Lyons called and told every one of them about the parchment,” Benet pointed out. “Now we’ll be able to see if they called him back and how often they may have spoken to him.”

Their first interview was going to be with Albert West at eleven A.M. He was twenty minutes late arriving. Apologetically, he explained that the traffic on the George Washington Bridge had been unexpectedly heavy, and he hadn’t allotted enough time for the drive from Manhattan.

Benet glanced at Rodriguez, aware that she too was picking up the fact that West was nervous. Is it because he’s late for the meeting, or is it because he has something to hide? Benet wondered. He made a mental note to check what the traffic conditions on the bridge had been for the last hour. West was casually dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Benet watched as he clenched and unclenched his hands, noticing that even though the man was not more than five feet six in height and slight of build, the sinewy muscles in his hands and arms hinted at steely strength.

“Professor West, when we spoke on the phone last week, you told me that you never saw the parchment that Professor Lyons had found, is that correct?”

“Absolutely. I heard about the parchment from Jonathan a week and a half before he died. He was wildly excited. I warned him that so-called discoveries often turn out to be clever forgeries. That was our last conversation.”

“Professor West,” Rita said, her voice hesitant, as if the question she was going to ask had just occurred to her. “You were with your colleagues last night at dinner with Ms. Lyons. Do you think that any one of them might have seen the parchment and, because of the murder of Jonathan Lyons, is afraid to admit that fact?”

The two detectives watched Albert West’s expression become impassive as he seemed to be weighing how to answer the question.

“Professor West,” Rita said softly, “if that parchment is as valuable as Jonathan Lyons believed, whoever has it now and is choosing not to come forward is committing a serious crime. It’s not too late for whoever has it to give it up and avoid getting in any deeper.”

West looked around the crowded office as though trying to find a place to hide, then cleared his throat nervously. “It is very hard to point a finger at a colleague and friend,” he began, “but I think in this case it may have become necessary. As Father Aiden told us last night at dinner, the parchment is the property of the Vatican Library, and if further scientific tests absolutely prove it to be authentic, it should be on display there for generations to come. Literally until the end of time.”

“You think you know who has the parchment?” Benet queried. “Because if you do, it is your responsibility to tell us and help us get it back.”

West shook his head and slumped in his seat. “Charles Michaelson,” he said. “I believe he may have it now, or at least did have it.”

Simon Benet and Rita Rodriguez were too experienced to show emotion, but both were thinking that this could be the first break in locating the parchment.

“Why do you think Professor Michaelson has it?” Benet asked.

“Let me backtrack,” Albert West said slowly. “Fifteen years ago, a wealthy collector of antiques who regularly hired Charles as a consultant asked him for his professional opinion as to the authenticity of an ancient parchment. Charles was paid five hundred thousand dollars by the seller to tell the collector that it was genuine. In fact, it was a clever forgery.”

“Was Michaelson or the seller ever prosecuted?” Benet asked.

“No. I personally interceded with Desmond Rogers, the buyer. Frankly, other experts had warned him that the parchment was a fraud, but Rogers considered himself very knowledgeable and had absolute faith in Charles. He did not file charges against Charles or the seller because he did not want the public humiliation of having been duped. As you can imagine, Desmond Rogers now considers Charles nothing more than a common thief and beneath contempt.”

Where is this leading? Rita Rodriguez wondered, but Albert West was already answering her unspoken question.

“This morning, just before I left my apartment, I received a call from Desmond Rogers. As you would expect, he knows quite a few other wealthy collectors. One of them has been in touch with him. He heard that Charles is shopping the Joseph of Arimathea parchment and has received several enormously high bids for it from unscrupulous collectors.”

“He’s shopping the parchment!” Benet could not keep the surprise from his voice.

“So I am told.” Albert West looked both drained and relieved. “That is all I know. I have no proof beyond what I just told you. I am simply relaying to you what Desmond said to me. But frankly, it makes a great deal of sense. I stress that there is nothing more that I can tell you. May I leave now? I have a one o’clock meeting with my department chairman.”

“Yes, that’s all, except for one thing,” Benet told him. “Do you remember the exact date on which you last spoke to Jonathan Lyons?”

“I think it was the Tuesday before he died, but I’m not sure.”

He’s being evasive, Rita thought, and she took a chance on asking a question that might get her in trouble with Simon Benet. “Don’t worry, Professor West,” she said reassuringly, “we’ll be checking your phone records, so if you’re mistaken, we’ll know.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Benet’s furious stare, but then Albert West sank back into the chair. “Full disclosure,” he said, his voice now high-pitched. “As I told you, I had been in the Adirondacks the weekend before Jonathan died. I was planning to stay up there until Tuesday, but it was very hot and humid, and so on Monday I decided to return home. I was very curious about Jonathan’s supposed find and so I impulsively drove down through New Jersey, debating about calling him and asking if I might stop in.”

“What time was that?” Rita asked.

“It was later than I expected it to be. I drove past Mahwah a few minutes before nine.”

“Did you visit Professor Lyons the night he died?” Benet asked.

“No. I realized Jonathan did not like surprises. Upon reflection I thought that he might very well not welcome a visit on such short notice, and so I continued home.”

“Did you phone him to ask if you could stop in?” Rita demanded.

“No. The only reason I bring this up is that I made a phone call while I was in the vicinity of the Lyons home, in case anyone is checking the location of my cell phone at that time.”

“Professor West, who did you call?”

“I called Charles Michaelson. He did not answer and when his answering machine came on I did not leave a message.”