Cynthia shook her head. “The SOA really didn’t need to get involved.”
“Chief Casale thought otherwise. If you’ll take us to him and your director?”
Allison was polite enough, but the request was firm. Cynthia sniffed delicately, clutching the iPad to her chest. “Very well. Follow me.”
They were escorted out of the Great Hall and into a side alcove where an employees-only door was located. Cynthia scanned her access card across the sensor to unlock it and allow them entry into the maze of corridors and offices that made up the museum staff’s work area behind the scenes.
It took several minutes for them to make their way to the museum director’s office, needing to take an elevator to a higher level. The office area was cramped, but the director’s was the largest Patrick had seen on their walk-through. It didn’t come with any windows due to the building’s architecture, but the walls were covered in artwork and credentials.
Casale stood in front of the director’s desk, but he turned around at their arrival. He wore a business suit rather than a white-shirted uniform, probably to help blend in with the crowd. Patrick had a feeling the director wanted discretion over anything else if he’d waited days to report a crime.
“Collins,” Casale said.
Patrick nodded in greeting. “Thanks for getting me out of the office. What’s going on?”
“Apparently the Met had an artifact stolen from their summer exhibition this weekend. Director Phillippe Weiss finally reported it missing today.”
Phillippe was a slim man in a sleek suit with stylishly cut brown hair of a particular shade that spoke of hair dye. He bristled at Casale’s statement, a flash of annoyance crossing his face.
“As I informed you, we needed to report the loss to our insurance company first,” Phillippe said.
Patrick shrugged. “Insurance companies will always advise reporting the crime to the police or a federal agency. What’s missing?”
Casale gestured at a file spread out on Phillippe’s desk, colorful archival photographs and insurance paperwork lined up for perusing. “The Trishula of Shiva.”
“My SAIC said it was an artifact.”
Phillippe irritably waved aside his words. “It wasbarelyan artifact. It held lingering traces of magic that were so miniscule our archivist witch said it didn’t need wards. Representatives of the Louvre agreed when we gave them a preliminary report on our security efforts.”
“It still had magic. It probably should have been warded.”
“It’s a priceless piece of art, not a weapon. The Met is already warded to protect the collections.”
Patrick bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say something he’d regret about how anything with magic could become a weapon. He was living proof of that. “When was it stolen?”
“Friday night sometime. We’ve been given security feed of the exhibit room from Friday through Saturday, when it was discovered missing. Ramirez will be going over the security feed when we get back to the PCB. According to these screenshots, it was there one second and gone the next,” Casale said.
Patrick approached the desk and peered down at the two sheets of paper depicting the screenshots in question, the time stamp separated by a single second. The Trishula of Shiva was propped up behind a tall glass case, the soft light angled at it causing the gold to shine, the exhibit room empty. The next screenshot showed an empty case and still no one in the room at the time.
“Did anyone check the wards surrounding the room for tampering?” Patrick asked.
“The sorcerer in charge of magical security is one of the people Guthrie is interviewing right now,” Allison said.
Patrick frowned, catching Casale’s eyes. “I’ll need to speak with them and see the exhibit room in person. Can you get me a copy of the security feed as well?”
“It’ll get reviewed back at the PCB with some facial recognition software. We’ll make you a copy after we get those results,” Casale said.
“Does the trishula have any history of conflicting ownership?”
Phillippe cleared his throat. “No. It was donated by a private owner to the Louvre twenty years ago. Its historical background is not at issue.”
“We’ll need copies of those records.”
“They’re already being pulled at Chief Casale’s request.”
Patrick nodded. “Then I want to see the exhibit room.”
Phillippe sighed in obvious irritation. “Cynthia can show you. I ask that you don’t make it obvious you’re there for a crime.”
