“I think we should just drop in on him. For one thing, if you call, maybe he doesn’t like what he’s hearing, he hangs up. If you cold-call, once you get your foot in the door, he’s likely to hear you out.”
“Okay, so let’s go.” Daria began to stand.
“Let’s finish up first. I know you’re eager to get going, but let’s get all the info we can now, then we’ll start tracking people down.”
“All right.” She sat back down. “You’re right. It’s going to make me crazy, though, knowing that there’s a piece so close. Just down the road, practically.”
“If he still has it, it’ll most likely be there tomorrow.”
“True.”
“And this way, we’ll track what we can, check off what we’ve found on the list, then maybe have this friend of mine see what he can do before we decide whether we want to turn over the list to the Bureau.”
“Good point.” She resumed her search. “Why don’t you stick with the private collectors, and I’ll start going through the museums.”
“How will you know if a museum has any of the missing items?”
“Easy. Many of them list their exhibits by name and identify not only the artifacts, but where they came from.” She typed for a moment, then sat back and said, “For example, here’s the website for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Over here on the left, we’ll click on Permanent Collections. There, you have a listing of their collections. We’ll click on Ancient Near Eastern Art…”
“You can see photos of what they have right online.” He shook his head. “Why does this strike me as being too easy? Shouldn’t someone have done this before?”
“Why would anyone? Who would have known to look? Remember,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “no one knows it’s here but us.”
“I hope you’re right about that,” he muttered.
“Well, they certainly have a wonderful collection, but I don’t see any sign of what we’re looking for. Not that I’d expect to, but I wanted to show you how easy it can be to track things. And see how under the photograph of each item they list the provenance of the piece. Where it came from, whether it’s on loan from a private collection or donated outright or purchased, and the year of its acquisition.”
Connor watched over her shoulder as she skipped from one item to another.
“Do all museums have their collections available like this?” he asked.
“There’s one way to find out.” She closed out the screen and typed the name of another museum into the search engine. “Let’s see what they have.”
They spent the next several hours searching the Internet, but came away with a mere six artifacts in private hands. Interestingly, four were within driving distance of Howeville.
“That’s six more than we knew about this morning,” she reminded Connor as they walked across a quiet campus. “And all very significant pieces, three of the collectors are almost in our backyard. One in Greenville, the other two here in Pennsylvania. Which makes me think there’s a dealer-or was, at one time-close by. Maybe in Philadelphia or Wilmington.”
“I want to get on this right away. We’ll start tomorrow with Damien Cross,” Connor said thoughtfully. “He’s the closest, and he might know of other collectors and be able to direct us to someone else. We’ll find out who sold him the piece, and when, and maybe we can track down the dealer or the party who sold it to him. Then we’ll move on to the Blumes-Anderson and Kelly, they’re the couple in Gladwyne, Pennsylvania -and from there, we’ll go see Mrs. Sevrenson in Philadelphia. We’ll leave the two parties in New England-the Westport couple and the woman in Marion, Massachusetts -for last.”
“Sounds like a plan. I can’t wait to get started.”
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Connor couldn’t help but smile. “You’re just beaming from ear to ear.”
“Well, it was a successful search. We’re close to at least a few of the missing artifacts, and maybe tomorrow we’ll even get to see one of them. I’d say that was a good day’s work.”
“Agreed.” They’d reached McGowan House and stopped at the end of the walk.
“You’re not driving back to Maryland tonight, are you?” Daria asked.
“I don’t have a reservation anywhere, but I noticed a motel on the main drive coming into town, right off the highway. I’m sure I can get a room.”
“Great. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See you then.” He walked off into the night.
Daria entered the quiet house and locked the front door behind her. She dropped the bag holding her laptop at the bottom of the steps and went into the kitchen. It was closing in on eleven, and she realized that she hadn’t eaten all day. She rummaged in the refrigerator and came out with an orange. She made a piece of toast and spread it with honey from the jar Vita had brought her that morning from one of the local farms and ate standing up. Her hunger sated, she sat at the table and went over her notes.
Six, she told herself. This morning she’d known only that they were missing. Now she knew where they were, or at the very least, where they had been. There was always the possibility that one or more items had been sold or gifted or loaned to a museum. For now, it was enough to know that these six artifacts existed and were almost within reach. And there was also the very real possibility that some of the owners might know of other pieces in other private collections.
She opened her bag and took out her notebook, prepared to check off the items which may have been located. She noticed that her phone, which she’d silenced in the library, was blinking to alert her to a new message.
“Daria, it’s Louise. I couldn’t wait until morning, so I called Jim Sanders. We have a meeting with him tomorrow morning at eleven. Please meet me at my office by nine-thirty and we’ll go over to the museum together and select a few items to take with us. See you then.”
Daria erased the message and scrolled the phone’s list of calls received. When she found the number from which Connor had called her two nights ago, she hit send and waited while it rang.
“Shields.”
“Connor, it’s Daria. I just got a message from Louise about tomorrow. We have an appointment with the bank at eleven, and I’m meeting her at nine-thirty to go to the museum and select a few of the artifacts to take with us.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned. She hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know if the presence of the FBI would alarm the banker or reassure him.”
“In that case, go without me but let him know we’re on the case if you feel you have to. I’ll spend the morning trying to locate more of the artifacts. I’ve already put a call in to my friend at the Bureau to see what he suggests, so maybe we can add to that list we started tonight.”
“Good idea. How about I call your cell when I get back from the bank?” Through the phone, she could hear sirens and traffic sounds in the background. He was still on the road.
“Great. Then you can let me know what the banker had to say and I’ll tell you what the FBI’s computers have been able to dig up.”
“Deal. I’ll see you then. Good night, Connor.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Daria disconnected the call and dropped the phone into her bag. She wondered if she should have offered him a room here at McGowan House. There were five empty rooms on the second floor. Funny, if he’d been one of her colleagues, she wouldn’t have thought twice about having a man stay in the house. The men she spent time with in the field were all friends, and nothing more. They shared commonalities of education and philosophy and reverence for the past. They spent much of their days together on a dig, painstakingly sorting through the debris of the ages, and their nights gathered around a communal fire talking about the day’s finds and frustrations. There had been the occasional fling, but other than a professor in Near Eastern studies she’d met two years ago at a symposium at Harvard, serious affairs had been few and far between. She thought of the men with whom she’d spent the greater part of her adult life in the field, and couldn’t name one who had sparked more than a professional interest. Compared to Connor, they all appeared in her memory as dry and pale. Intellectually stimulating, perhaps, and comfortable companions, but not the sort of men who set your pulse racing.