“In any case, the opening isn’t for four days. Surely, that’s enough time to check out the tomb.”
“I’m not taking any chances.”
Collopy took a long, deep breath. “I understand what you’re saying, Captain, but the fact is, we simply can’t delay the opening. We’ve invested millions. I’ve got a new Egyptologist arriving in less than an hour, flown in all the way from Italy. The invitations have been mailed and acceptances returned, the catering paid for, the musicians hired—everything’s done. To back out now would cost a fortune. And it would send the wrong message to the city: that we’re frightened, that we’re stymied, that the museum is a dangerous place to visit. I can’t allow that.”
“There’s something else. It’s my belief that Diogenes Pendergast, the person who attacked Margo Green—and who stole the diamond collection—has a second identity as a museum employee. Most likely a curator.”
Collopy looked at her, shocked. “What?”
“I also believe this person is somehow connected with what’s happened to Lipper and Wicherly.”
“These are very serious accusations. Who’s your suspect?”
Hayward hesitated. “I don’t have one. I asked Mr. Manetti to comb the personnel records—without telling him what I was looking for, of course—but no criminal histories or any other red flags came to light.”
“Naturally not. Our employees all have spotless records, especially the curatorial staff. I find this whole line of speculation to be personally offensive. And it certainly doesn’t change my position about the opening. A postponement would be fatal to the museum. Absolutely fatal.”
Hayward looked at him a long time, her violet eyes weary yet alert. They seemed almost sad, as if she had already known the conclusion was foregone. “By not postponing, you risk putting many lives in danger,” she said quietly. “I must insist on it.”
“Then we are at an impasse,” said Collopy simply.
Hayward rose. “This isn’t over.”
“Correct, Captain. A higher power than us will have to make the decision.”
She nodded and left the office without further comment. Collopy watched the door close behind her. He knew, and she knew, that it would boil down to a decision by the mayor himself. And in that case, Collopy knew exactly how the chips would fall.
The mayor wasn’t one to miss the opportunity for a good party and speech.
38
Mrs. Doris Green paused at the open doorway to the intensive-care room. The afternoon light filtered through the partly screened windows, throwing peaceful stripes of light and shadow across her daughter’s bed. Her eye moved across the bank of medical equipment, which sighed and beeped softly in a regular cadence, and came to rest on her daughter’s face itself. It was pale and thin, a stray lock of hair running over the forehead and cheek. Mrs. Green took a few steps inside and gently moved the lock to its proper place.
“Hello, Margo,” she said softly.
The machines continued to beep and sigh.
She eased herself down on the side of the bed and took her daughter’s hand. It was cool and light as a feather. She gave it a gentle squeeze.
“It’s a beautiful day outside. The sun’s shining, and the cold weather seems to have broken. The crocuses are already coming up in my garden, just poking their little green shoots out of the ground. Do you remember when you were a little girl, just five years old—you couldn’t resist picking them? You brought me a fistful of half-crushed flowers one day, cleaned out the whole garden. I was so upset at the time…”
Her voice faltered and she fell into silence. A moment later, the nurse entered, her cheerful, rustling presence adding a sudden efficiency to the gauzy atmosphere of bittersweet memory.
“How are you, Mrs. Green?” she asked, straightening up some flowers in a vase.
“All right, thank you, Jonetta.”
The nurse checked the machines, jotting quick notes on a clipboard. She adjusted the IV, examined the breathing tube, then bustled about, plumping up more flowers and adjusting some of the get-well cards that covered the table and shelves.
“The doctor should be in at any moment, Mrs. Green,” she said, smiling and heading for the door.
“Thank you.”
Peace descended once more. Doris Green stroked her daughter’s hand ever so lightly. The memories came back, crowding in with no discernible order: diving with her daughter off the dock at the lake; opening the envelope containing her SAT scores; roasting Thanksgiving turkey; standing hand in hand beside her husband’s grave…