“Chief Thorpe,” Connor called to the head of the local police department.

“Agent Shields.” The older man nodded politely. “You’re not going to gum up my works, are you?”

“The murder investigation is all yours.” Connor held up both hands in a hands-off gesture. “But I did have a few questions.”

“Shoot.”

“The surveillance camera…”

“He took the tape with him when he left.”

“Your people dusted for prints?” Connor asked.

“Hell, yes.”

“And on the railing going up the steps?”

“Uh-huh. Just in case he grabbed it as he ran up after Miz Weathers.”

“Okay, so where else did you dust?” Connor walked with the chief to the front desk.

“Handrails in all the stairwells. The front and back doors. Hell, even the men’s room door,” Thorpe told him. “I’m guessing you’re going to want to see all the matching prints.”

“Just want to see where he’s been. I want them run against some prints I lifted off a window frame the other night. I figure if we can match those prints to the ones from the camera, to those from the computer, and to prints taken from the victim-assuming you find some latents and can lift them-we’ll know something about him.”

“What’s that?” Thorpe frowned.

“We’ll know he was in a big hurry. Didn’t have time to worry about his prints. And we’ll know that he can be panicked into acting foolishly. A good thing to know.”

Thorpe studied Connor’s face. “What else do you need?”

“Cause of death for last night’s victim?”

“The ME isn’t finished with the autopsy yet, far as I know, but the EMTs said it looked like strangulation. Marks on her neck suggested a rope or something similar. She was found facedown-”

“I know. I found her,” Connor reminded him.

“Right. So facedown on the floor, strangled; I’m thinking he comes up behind her, chokes her till she stops breathing, then just drops her right there.”

Connor nodded. “The interns said last night they could hear him chasing Mrs. Weathers up the steps, then it got quiet. Maybe he was stalking her through the stacks, then grabbed her from behind, like you suggested.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“Were you able to get the names of any of the students who were here when the killer came in?”

“Got a list of ’em. Spoke with them myself. You’re wanting to know how he got them to leave.”

“Yes.”

“He told them there was a problem, some short in the electrical system, and they were going to have to shut off the power,” Thorpe told him. “They thought he was university security, since he was wearing a uniform.”

“Did it look like what the real guards wear?”

“They said it was the same color, but whether or not it was the same, they couldn’t tell. They just knew it was brown.”

“Did you point out a real guard to them?”

“Don’t make me roll my eyes at you, Agent Shields.” Thorpe sighed. “Of course we did. They just weren’t paying attention. They’re studying, a guy comes up in a uniform, he looks like a guard, as far as the kids are concerned, he’s a guard.”

“Were they able to describe him?”

“Tall, maybe six-one, six-two. Well-built. The one girl said he looked pretty buff. Like he works out. Maybe twenty-five to thirty, brown hair, brown eyes. Caucasian, but he looked like he had a good tan. No distinguishing marks.”

“Any campus guards who fit that description?”

“I already interviewed the head of security. They have one or two guys who are almost six feet tall, no one he considers particularly buff. The guards here mostly sit around and look out the window, occasionally walk outside. He said they haven’t even had anyone to chase all summer; there hasn’t been a whole lot of activity on this campus since the spring semester ended.”

“Have you been able to talk to the guard who was on duty last night?”

“Yeah. He says he heard one of those electronic alarms, like one of the doors had been opened. He checked the schematic of the building, says it looked like one of the basement doors. He went downstairs to check it, got to the door, saw it was slightly ajar. Went to close it, someone whacked him over the head, and he doesn’t recall a thing after that.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s at home with an ice pack on his head. Sergeant Mills there at the front desk can give you his name and address.” Thorpe stood with his hands in his pants pockets. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment, thank you, but I’d like a copy of the autopsy report on Gloria Weathers when it’s available. You have my number. If you give me a call, I’ll come pick it up.”

“Will do.” Thorpe nodded and started to walk away.

“Chief, your people have done a great job.”

“Gee, thanks, Agent Shields. We live for the approval of the feds.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“Whatever.” Thorpe turned his back. “Have a nice day, Agent Shields.”

“Teach me to compliment the locals,” Connor muttered to himself.

Once outside, he searched his pockets for the card Louise had given him and looked it over. Where to start, the archaeologists or the trustees?

He was thinking he’d start with the trustees when he saw Sabina Bokhari walking toward him. Daria had been right. The woman was not only uncommonly beautiful, but alluringly feminine. She was accompanied by a tall, thin, serious-looking man with dark hair and a well-trimmed beard.

“Agent Shields,” she called to him. “How is Daria? Is she back at McGowan House?”

“She might be on her way by now,” he told her, adopting her friendly tone. “She was still waiting to see the doctor when I left about an hour or so ago.”

He turned his attention to her escort.

“We haven’t met. I’m Connor Shields.”

“So sorry. Where are my manners?” Sabina smiled pleasantly. “Stefano Korban, a colleague of mine here at Howe.” She turned to the bearded man. “Connor is the FBI agent who is working with Dr. McGowan.”

“Good to meet you.” Korban’s voice was surprising deep and rich, the kind Connor generally heard coming from more robust bodies.

“And you.” Connor nodded.

“Stefano and I were just taking a walk. I can’t get into the library to go to my office, and I just can’t sit around my apartment any longer. I keep thinking about the terrible things that have been happening lately. Poor Mrs. Weathers”-Sabina shook her head-“and those other people who were killed…it’s just tragic.”

“Does the FBI have any suspects?” Korban asked. “Any idea who killed all those people?”

“The FBI isn’t handling the murders,” Connor told them. “The police departments where the killings took place are in charge of those investigations. The Bureau is really only investigating the art thefts.”

“That’s funny,” Korban frowned. “At the press conference this morning the detective from Delaware said you were in charge of the whole thing, and everything was going through you.”

“I’m afraid you misunderstood. I have agreed to serve as a liaison between the police departments and the FBI. There will be certain information that will be relevant to the murder investigations as well as to the theft of the artifacts.”

“What is the status, Agent Shields?” Korban asked. “Of the thefts, I mean.”

“Still under investigation,” Connor said shortly. “But while we’re on the subject of the investigations, I would like to ask you both a few questions. Would it be all right if I stopped at your apartments later?”

“Why not now?” Sabina asked. “We’re all here.”

“For one thing, I don’t have time to talk to you both,” Connor explained. “For another, I’d like to keep the party small.”

“I see.” Sabina smiled. “Are we suspects, then?”

“Sabina, don’t be ridiculous,” Korban admonished her.

“I just have a few questions I’d like to ask each of you.”

“I’m actually on my way to the grocery store,” Sabina told him. “As you know, I’ve been out of the country for two months. My cupboard is bare. However, if you’d care to stop over later, say around seven, I should be back from all my errands.”