“Ray!”
He turned to his wife. “You should have told me to expect company, dear. I would have been home sooner.”
Tension crackled like static electricity between Mr. Moretti and anyone he looked at. Then, that smile again. It was disorienting. “Search warrant,” he repeated, chuckling. “I’m only kidding. Of course, Dr. Westlake. For you, anything. You didn’t even need to bring the police. Christina, you know where it is.” He waved her away.
When she returned, she handed the provenance to Lauren. Joe stood beside her, so he surely saw what they’d both been looking for. The papyrus was purchased from Sayed Mohammed. It was not the man from whom Bradford had acquired the canopic jars, but it was the same dealer from whom the Napoleon Society had acquired the forged horse-and-rider carving.
“You look worried,” Christina said. “What is it?”
Lauren passed the provenance to Joe for his closer inspection. “I identified another forgery over the holidays, and it came from the same dealer as this papyrus.”
“What are you saying, exactly?” Mr. Moretti cradled his goblet in one hand, swirling the contents.
“I’m saying that the person who sold this in Egypt has sold at least one other forgery. It stands to reason that wasn’t the only one.” She paused, allowing the Morettis to draw the only logical conclusion for themselves.
“You’re saying my Book of the Dead isn’t real again.”
“It’s more than possible, yes.”
“But the guy who’s responsible is in Egypt. I don’t see that anything can be done about it, even if you’re right.”
“If this is a fake, and I believe Dr. Westlake’s assessment that it is,” Joe inserted, “we’ll need to take it into evidence.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Mr. Moretti sipped his wine, and Christina went to stand beside him. “I’m not concerned about this piece’s authenticity. You have looked at it twice, Dr. Westlake, and I’ve been living with it, studying it for months. It is as real to me as I could hope. You will not seize my property.”
If he didn’t want to pursue justice and was happy to keep what he had, there was nothing else Lauren or Joe could do.
———
“Well, that was informative.” Joe tucked Lauren’s hand in his elbow as they walked down Fifth Avenue toward the Met.
Lauren looked over her shoulder. Joe hated that she felt the need to do that, even with him beside her. Even more, he hated that her insecurity had only started after consulting with him on these cases.
“But it doesn’t do us any good, does it?” she asked. “Knowing that Sayed Mohammed was the same dealer responsible for passing along—if not forging himself—at least two fakes. If Mr. Moretti doesn’t care, then...” She shrugged.
“I can still send word to the authorities in Luxor and let them know what we learned. They’ll want to check things out. It may be enough to send them photographs of the horse and rider.” After that, the outcome was out of his hands.
When they arrived at the Met’s front entrance, Joe expected to simply cut through the building and exit through the rear doors to cross Central Park and reach the Beresford. Naturally, he’d escort her until she was safely home.
“Do you mind if we make a quick detour?” She pulled off her hat as they entered the building, her nose still pink from the cold. “I want to pick up the mail Anita placed in my office this afternoon.”
Joe didn’t mind.
In the basement, the lights were dim in the corridor that led to Lauren’s office. Unlocking her door, she stepped inside and something crunched beneath her shoe.
She punched on the light and gasped.
All over the floor were the shattered remains of some kind of artifact. She sank to her knees in the rubble and groaned.
Adrenaline spiking, Joe darted into the hall, alert for any sign of the intruder. But the door had been locked. Whoever had gotten in either had the key or coerced someone who did.
Lauren’s muffled cry drew him back from the empty hall. Kneeling beside her, he read the note in her hand.
Dr. Westlake:
Mind your own business, I said. If you don’t start listening, the loss of this one priceless artifact is only the beginning. You have more to lose than statues.
Behind the note were photographs of Lauren. On the train. In Grand Central Terminal. Sitting with Lawrence at the park. Whoever sent this was showing her how close he’d gotten to her, again and again.
