"I begged him not to." Meryl seized Jema's hand and squeezed it tightly. "I told him over and over it was too dangerous. When the government took over the dig and seized everything, James was furious. I told him we could negotiate with the ministry, but he wouldn't hear of it. In his eyes the Homage belonged to him, and he wasn't leaving without it. When he went back to camp I knew what I had to do. I had to destroy the cave before he took the Homage out of it."
Jema took in a sharp breath. "Mother."
"Don't look at me like that." She pushed Jema's hand away. "I was young and foolish and in love. I had to save him. I don't know what went wrong. I set the charges, but one went off too soon, before I could get out of the cave. The roof collapsed on top of me, and the weight of the rubble broke my back. You were born a few minutes after your father dug me out."
Jema tried to feel angry, but the misery on her mother's face was too transparent. "He must have been very upset with you."
"Not enough to stop him from taking the Homage. He found it in the rubble, and used the emergency flight that brought me back to America as the way to smuggle it out of the country." Meryl took a trembling sip of her water. "He hid it in something, but he never told me what it was. Then he went back, and he was killed." Her mother's tone changed. "I've been trying to find the Homage ever since."
"What else did my father steal?" Jema asked quietly.
"Nothing. It was only that one time. But that was enough. If it ever became known that your father was a thief, it would destroy our reputation, our standing in the community. Everything we've done, everything we've given to the world would automatically be held suspect. You don't know how I've agonized over it. How much I wanted to tell you."
Jema thought of all the times Meryl had spoken of her father, when she could have told her this story. Why hadn't she? "Instead you took things from the museum to… what? Search them?"
"It was only a crate now and then. The things that hadn't been checked. There are so many down in storage, I didn't think they'd be missed." Her mother's voice grew brittle. "I only borrowed them long enough to examine them. I had everything returned when I was finished with it. I didn't steal anything from the collection."
"What were you going to do with the Homage if you found it?" Jema asked. "Destroy it?"
"No, of course not. I was going to return it to the Greek government—anonymously—and hope that would be the end of it." Her mother dried her face with her linen napkin. "No one can know about this, Jema. If you tell the police, it'll make headlines. Your father's name would be ruined. The Greek government is very vindictive; they've always wanted to take back the Shaw collection. They'd demand restitution or bring charges against us. It could close the museum for good."
Her mother's revelations pushed aside the need to find Thierry. For the moment, dealing with Meryl and the Homage would have to take priority—only for the moment. "I'd better go. I'll call you from work when I know something, Mother."
"Know what? What are you going to do?" Meryl asked, looking tearful again. "You won't tell the police?"
"No." Jema sighed. "I'm going to the museum to find this thing."
Chapter 18
Things only went from bad to worse when Jema arrived at the museum.
"Detective Newberry." Jema stopped in the hall leading to the basement, where the detective was leaning against one wall and reading over some handwritten notes.
"Morning, Miss Shaw." Stephen Newberry straightened and pocketed the notepad. "You've heard about the murders outside the museum last night?"
"I… yes, I did." Jema didn't know what to tell him. Her mother's revelations had her feeling as if she had to hide everything from the police. Then there was Thierry—had he killed those men, protecting her? Jema could remember seeing a large, dark shadow rushing at the men just before one of them had dragged her into the alley. If Thierry had killed them, he might be charged with murder. Aware the detective was staring at her, she said, "Sorry, I haven't had my coffee yet. Have you been assigned to this case?"
"The three guys who were killed were my primary suspects in a couple of assaults and murders, including the Fong case." Newberry scratched the back of his head. "The weird thing is, we found more of those hairs on the bodies. I was hoping your expert might have turned up something on them."
That was why he was here—not to question her, but to consult with her.
"Come down to my office," she said, keeping her expression controlled. "I'll call Dr. Tucker right now and see if she's made any progress."
Sophie Tucker was happy to hear from Jema. "I tried to fax this report to you last night, but for some reason my machine didn't want to talk to your machine. The hair was identified by a faunal expert from Rio. It's from a hybrid type of llama in Argentina."
"A llama. Don't we have them here in the U.S.?"
"Not this kind. They're a hybrid, farmed for their wool—and get this. The Argentineans use it primarily to make theatrical masks." Sophie chuckled. "Just when you think you've heard everything, right?"
The men who had attacked her last night had been wearing masks. Masks that made them look like animals—with real hair, the same color as the hair that had been found on the body of the young Asian man.
Pull yourself together. Jema managed to thank her and ask her to send the report over as soon as possible, and then relayed the information to Newberry.
He was perplexed by Dr. Tucker's identification. "If they were wearing masks last night, who took them off the bodies? And how did they get from Argentina to Chicago?"
"I wish I could tell you. You might check with some of the local costume shops; they might be importing them," Jema suggested. If she had to keep up this act much longer, she was going to having shrieking hysterics. "Maybe they were wearing their Halloween costumes a little early."
He nodded, and then peered at her. "That's one heck of a black eye you have under all that concealer."
"This?" Jema resisted the urge to cover her face with one hand. "I was hurrying and tripped and fell down the stairs at home. I sort of landed on my face. Now everyone thinks my nice little old mother, who's in a wheelchair, is knocking me around."
"People watch too much Lifetime." Newberry chuckled as he stood up and shook her hand. "Thanks for all your help on this, Miss Shaw."
Jema thought of what he had said earlier. "Detective, just out of curiosity, what other cases do you have that are linked to these three men who were killed last night?"
"Well, the Fong murder that we worked together, a couple of beatings at a hip-hop club on the east side, and the Lopez case." His eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. Luisa Lopez worked here at the museum, didn't she?"
"Yes, she did." Jema froze. "How is her case connected?"
"Only by the fiber evidence. The doctors recovered some of that llama hair from her." Newberry looked grim. "They found it lodged under her fingernails."
Cyprien hated being separated from Alexandra during the daylight hours. Although she tolerated the sunlight far better than he and the other Kyn did, he never felt safe letting her go out during the day. Now, with the knowledge that someone was actively trying to kill her, or him, or both of them, he paced and brooded every moment she was gone.
She is fine. She is lying dead in the gutter. She is safe. She is chained in a torture chamber.
He cursed himself for not accompanying her. Alex had insisted on going alone; she felt her brother would respond better to her request for a blood sample if he were not present. Jaus had sent Falco to drive her, so there was really no need to worry. The bargain Cyprien had made with Tremayne had lifted John Keller's death sentence.
"I am quite shocked that you dare call my attention to this," Tremayne had said when Michael had called Ireland to make his offer. "I could now demand it from you without sparing the priest."
"Such is your right, my lord," Cyprien said. "However, it is within my power to make it disappear before your men arrive to take possession. Rather like John Keller."
The silence that followed was brief. "You are annoying me, Michael."
One did not annoy Richard Tremayne and expect to live long afterward, but Michael thought it worth the risk. "It must feel the same as having one's authority tested, my lord. As you did mine by sending out the order to kill Keller."
Richard laughed. "So I did. Very well, Michael. I will permit Father Keller to live, so long as he does not interfere in Kyn business or return to the good Brothers. Should he do so, our bargain ends, as does his life."
Cyprien still had his own reservations about allowing Alexandra's brother to live, but they were not as important as preserving his relationship with his sygkenis. If it became clear that he'd been wrong about Keller, he could use Falco to make the resolution swift and anonymous.
Cyprien waited until an hour had passed, and he no longer wanted to listen to his voice of reason. This is taking too long. He went to the window to look down at the circular drive in front of the house. If Alexandra did not return in ten minutes, he would go out and find her.
"An assassin would appreciate this," Jaus said, directly behind him. "Your back to an open door, your mind in another place."
Michael turned his head. "I trust you to at least keep the assassins out of the house." He looked at the file Jaus was holding. "You have identified him?"
"David Montague," Jaus said. "A former contract killer. He stopped working for hire some months ago, evidently to indulge his personal predilections. My hunters found traces of six private kills at his residence, but no evidence as to why he tried to murder Jema Shaw or you. I had them leave the body in the house. It is not over, however."