“We’d appreciate it.” Connor stood. “We’d appreciate anything else you can recall, as well. Anything at all…a description of the house he lived in, the neighborhood, landmarks-anything that could help us track his family.”

“Doesn’t seem to me that he had much of a family.” Cavanaugh closed his notebook. “Had a daughter, she was just a little thing. I think he raised her by himself. Seems there was something about the wife dying. And I think he may have mentioned a brother, but I don’t think I ever met him. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” Connor told him. “You’ve certainly given us a lot to think about.”

“So where do you go from here?” Daria asked when they’d arrived back in Howeville.

“First things first.” He parked in the shade of a huge oak tree. “We find this Henry Dragonis.”

“He’s dead, remember.”

“I mean we find out everything about him that we can.”

“How do we do that?” Daria asked.

“When you’re learning about an ancient culture, what’s the first thing you do?”

“I look for written records.”

“Same thing here. We look for written records.” Connor took the phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“Will…Connor. I’ve got a job for you. I need some information and I need it really fast. I need you to run a check on a man named Henry Dragonis. Howeville, PA. Everything you can find.” He reported what little information he’d gotten from Cavanaugh. “And while you’re at it, could you run a few more names? Start with Louise Burnette. Casper Fenn. Vita Landis. Nora Gannon. Olivia Masters. Sabina Bokhari. Stefano Korban.”

“Can you think of anyone else?” he asked Daria.

“You mean any other names that have come up?”

He nodded. “People connected to the university over the years.”

“I can’t think of anyone else right now.”

“Will, that’s it for now. If there are others I’ll call you back. Yeah, yeah, I know. The tab is running. Thanks, buddy.” He closed the phone. “I want to question the kid again, before they transfer him. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house. Unless you want to come with me.”

She opened the car door and got out. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to try to work a little this afternoon.”

“Wait up. After last night, I want to go through the house before I leave.” He got out from behind the wheel.

“Ordinarily I’d say that’s not necessary, but with Mia gone and Sweet Thing at the vet’s, I won’t protest.” They had walked halfway to the house when she asked, “What do you think your friend at the FBI is going to find? What exactly are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll know it when I see it. All my instincts tell me there’s something there. Cavanaugh said that Dragonis had some connection to Howe. I can’t help thinking there’s some link to what’s happening now.” He paused at the end of the path. “Sabina mentioned that Nora Gannon’s father and grandfather were both trustees here. And the other one, Olivia Masters, had some family tie to the school as well.”

“And Louise? What makes you suspicious of her?”

“I’m not saying I am suspicious of her. I just don’t know anything about her. Same goes for her assistant, and for Korban. And for all you know of Sabina Bokhari’s reputation, what do you really know about her?”

“Not much,” she admitted.

“We still know very little about the people closest to the situation, and we should. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, we will know everything that matters.”

“But there’s a good chance nothing will turn up.”

“Well, you know what they say, Daria. You throw enough stuff against the wall, sooner or later, something is going to stick…”

21

“Y ou know, things will be a whole lot better for you if you talk now.” Connor sat across from the boy, who still refused to speak to anyone. “Look, here’s the thing. We know you were at Damien Cross’s house when he was killed.” He leaned closer. “How do we know?”

Conner reached over and pulled up the sleeve of the boy’s shirt to expose the dog bite.

“Because the dog that bit you here is the same dog that bit you on the ankle the other night. You left your blood on the back door of Cross’s house, and you left your blood on the dog’s fur. That puts you right there, bud. And in the absence of any evidence that puts anyone there with you, the police are looking at you for Damien Cross’s murder.”

The boy went white, but still did not speak.

“So what you need to understand is this. You are going to be sent from here to Delaware, where Damien Cross was killed, and they’re going to prosecute you-just you-for his murder.”

He stared at the boy for a long time, but the boy never blinked.

“Thing is, I don’t think you killed him. But you were there when it happened, and you know who did it. You probably even know where that statue of Ereshkigal is right now.”

A look of surprise crossed the boy’s face, the first change in his demeanor since Connor sat down.

“Oh, sure, we know about that. We know Cross was killed because he had the statue of the goddess. Same as the others, right? The Blumes and Mrs. Sevrenson. And that nice couple in Connecticut last week.”

Connor kept his eyes on the boy’s face. At the mention of the last victims, he appeared to flinch slightly.

“You tell us who was there with you, who did the actual killing, and the police will protect you. They’ll guarantee that nothing will happen to you, and that-”

The boy’s eyes smiled. The smile became a chuckle, and before long, the boy began to laugh.

Then he put his head down on the table and cried, but still, he would not speak.

“What do you make of that?” Chief Thorpe asked Connor when he finally left the boy and went into the hallway. “What do you suppose that was all about?”

“I have no idea.” Connor shook his head. “How much longer are you keeping him?”

“They’re getting the paperwork together right now to send him to New Castle.” Thorpe stared through the window at the boy. “Christ, Shields, I got a grandson around that age.”

“I guess no one’s called to report a missing kid.”

“Nah.” Thorpe shook his head as he walked away. “That would be too easy.”

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Daria unlocked the back door when Connor knocked. He came into the kitchen carrying a brown paper bag and a cardboard box.

“I stopped at the supermarket and picked up a few staples. Then I stopped at one of those Amish farm stands and picked up some things for dinner.” He placed the box on the counter. “Tomatoes, peppers, onions, cucumbers, some fresh garlic.”

“Sounds like the making of a good salad.”

“Or a great gazpacho.”

“There aren’t any cookbooks here,” she told him, “but we could probably get a recipe off the Internet.”

“I don’t need a cookbook. I make this all the time in the summer.” He turned and dazzled her with a smile. “I told you, I’m a great cook. And I promised you a dinner while I was here.”

He held up a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic.

“And whole wheat bread baked this morning by the nice Amish lady at the farm a couple of miles down the road.” His hand disappeared into the box one last time. “Shoofly pie for dessert.”

“Made by the same nice Amish lady, no doubt.”

“Her sister-in-law, Sarah, does the pies.” He put the pie in the refrigerator, then started to wash vegetables in the sink. “So, how’d you spend your afternoon?”

“I started thinking about this Henry Dragonis. He first sold to Cavanaugh in 1964. So it got me wondering who else he might have been selling to.” She sat down at the table and sorted through a stack of papers. “I went back through the list of galleries and museums that we know either purchased Shandiharan artifacts outright or acquired them on loan from the owner. I was able to locate five that gave acquisition dates. All in the 1960s.”