“I’d have thought it would have occurred to someone sooner than that.”
“Agent Shields, no one has seen that collection in almost one hundred years. There was no official catalog we could refer to, because Professor McGowan died before his find was ever put on display.”
“But if there was no catalog, why are you so sure something is missing?” he asked.
“He made an inventory when he first returned to the States,” Daria told him. “He described everything in every crate in great detail. Some items he’d even sketched. Every crate was numbered, so we know exactly what should be in each one. He was in the process of designing his exhibits when he died, and his inventory reflects that. Louise-Dr. Burnette-and I have gone through the crates several times, double-checking and searching for the missing items. They are not in the vault.”
“Where else have you looked?” Connor asked.
“We’ve searched the basement,” Daria told him, “and last night, I started going through the house where I’m staying here on campus, where my great-grandparents lived. I thought perhaps there might be something there.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t find anything,” Connor said.
“Only some letters he wrote to my great-grandmother from the dig. Unfortunately, romantic as they are, there’s nothing that’s going to help us figure out what happened to the missing artifacts.”
“What about other buildings throughout the university?” Connor said, thinking aloud. “I’m assuming you’ve scoured the other houses, the science building, offices, storerooms?”
“Actually, I’m working on that this afternoon, along with the lone member of our archaeology staff who is on campus for the summer. Daria and I believe that the only items that might still be on campus and might have gone unnoticed would be pottery. Jars, vases, that sort of thing. Certainly any of the gold or jeweled items wouldn’t be sitting out unnoticed on a shelf.”
“Good point. Has anyone searched the museum?” he asked.
“Only Dr. Burnette and I.”
“That’s good, then. I’m assuming no one knows what’s there, including members of your staff. I suggest we keep it that way for a while.” He stood. “Daria, why don’t we start by showing me the vault?”
“Yes, I’d like you to see the museum.” Daria stood as well. “And I want to show you the inventory. I’ve entered everything onto my computer-crate by crate, item by item. We can stop at the house and I’ll run a copy off for you.”
“I have it, Daria,” Louise told her as she rose. “I’ll make a copy for Agent Shields.”
Louise left the room.
“Thanks again for coming, Connor,” Daria said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Well, you know, this isn’t really something I’d normally handle. The FBI has a dedicated team of experts in this field-art theft, cultural theft, that sort of thing.”
“That’s what Agent Mancini told me, but I was so uncertain what to do. I thought you…well, you said to call you, anytime.”
“And I’m glad you did. I really am. I’m just saying that if there has been a major theft, it’s in your best interests to have the best in the field working on the case. Our people specialize in this type of thing.”
“And what do you specialize in, Connor?” she asked.
He appeared to welcome Louise’s return to the room, as if Daria’s question was one he hadn’t really wanted to answer.
“Here you go, Agent Shields.” Louise handed over a thick stack of paper in a brown folder. “The inventory Daria made and we both doubled-checked.”
“Thank you.” He glanced at it briefly before tucking it under his arm. To Daria, he said, “Ready when you are.”
“Then let’s get started.” Daria gathered her bag and headed for the door. “I have my phone, if you need me, Louise. And you know where to find us.”
“Let’s take the shortcut,” Daria said when they’d stepped outside into the oppressive heat of the afternoon. Overhead the sky was hazy, the sun a blur behind the clouds, the air heavy with humidity. “At least there will be some shade.”
“I’m all for shade,” he agreed. “But I’d think you’d be used to the heat, feel right at home, all the time you spend in the desert.”
“Desert heat is one thing, this humidity is something else.” She pulled dark glasses from her bag and slipped them on.
“Right, dry heat, and all that. Though frankly, when it gets to be a hundred or more degrees, it’s just plain hot.”
“True.”
She rounded the side of the building and he followed her.
“We’ll stop at McGowan House and pick up a few bottles of water,” she said. “We’ll need them.”
“McGowan House, eh?” He smiled. “You’ve been here less than a week, and already they’ve named a building after you?”
Daria laughed. “The university uses the house my great-grandparents lived in as a guesthouse. Louise very kindly offered to let me stay there while I’m at Howe.” She took a key from the pocket of her shorts. “It’s the white building straight ahead.”
They followed a crumbling brick path to the back of the house.
“This will just take me a second. Come on in.”
“I’ll wait.”
She jogged up the back steps and unlocked the door. “Want anything besides water? I might have some pretzels.”
“Just the water, thanks.” He stood with his hands on his hips overlooking the gardens behind the house, where hydrangeas top-heavy with blooms fought a wild tangle of roses for space.
True to her word, Daria was back in a flash, the water bottles held against her body. She handed two to Connor.
“Great. They’re cold. Thanks,” he said.
“So,” he said after taking a long drink from one of the bottles and replacing the cap. “Tell me about Shandihar. I have to admit I’d never heard of it. All I know is what you’ve told me, that it was a city in southern Turkey and was found by Alistair McGowan in 1908.”
“What exactly would you like to know?” She began to walk.
“Who were its people? What was its culture?” He followed along the path.
“At first, it was little more than a crossroads on the Silk Road, populated by merchants from all over the region. Greeks, Turks, Mesopotamians, nomads. Shandihar was quite the melting pot, with religions and superstitions and cultures blending over time. As the years passed, the society became matriarchal, with the import of the goddess Ereshkigal from Mesopotamia, who somehow came to prominence. My great-grandfather’s journals mention several temples dedicated to her, and writings that indicated that the priestesses who served her pretty much ran the city. Travelers passing through had to pay tribute-essentially, a toll-to come into the city.”
“They couldn’t have gone around it?”
“The walls of the city offered safety after dark,” she explained. “Beyond the walls, at night, anything could happen. There were tales of wild animals that hunted at night and that were most fond of human flesh and blood. And of course, there were bandits.”
“So, in other words, it was worth paying the toll to be able to sleep safely.”
“I’m sure that was the idea. In addition to the tolls, the merchants who did business in the marketplace had to bring tribute to the temples twice each year. If you wanted to spend the next life in heaven, you paid up. The more you gave, the better your chances of a happy afterlife.”
“What did the priestesses do to keep everyone in line? Surely there were some who didn’t want to cough up their share.”
“These ladies were pretty shrewd. Here’s the thing about Ereshkigal. She was the goddess of the underworld. The place where you do not want to spend your afterlife.” Daria smiled, pleased by his interest. “When you died, you had to face the goddess at the junction between heaven and hell. If you wanted to get into heaven, you had to bring offerings to the goddess.”
“They had to bribe their way into heaven?”
“Exactly. You were to appear at that gateway with something in each hand. Then you would tell the goddess all your good deeds, so she could judge your worthiness.”