Whether it had occurred to Lauren or not, men employed by the most prestigious museum in the country to restore Egyptian art had the tools, space, and knowledge to create convincing fakes.
Jefferson pointed down the corridor. “Down the hall, first staircase on the right, all the way down. You’ll see signs to direct you once you’re in the basement.”
Joe thanked him and set off.
Minutes later, he entered the Egyptian department’s underground lair. He held up his badge and introduced himself. “I’m looking for a forger wreaking havoc with your patrons, and it would be helpful to my investigation if I could ask a few questions here.”
A man with receding blond hair straightened a tie, tugged his jacket until it closed enough to button in place, and came forward. “Elliot Henry, Egyptian collections manager.” His thick fingers completely engulfed Joe’s as they shook. “How can we help?”
Joe tucked the badge away. “For starters, I imagine that certain materials used in forging Egyptian art can be hard to come by. Not the sort of thing you’d pick up at the local market. Could you give me a list of what a forger might be shopping for?” He knew thebasics from what Mr. Feinstein had told him was out of stock in the tri-state area, but adding the Met’s perspective would be helpful.
“A forger’s shopping list?” Mr. Henry smiled, showing a row of short, straight teeth that revealed a preference for coffee. Joe judged him to be about fifty years old, if not older.
“That’s the idea. Then I’ll want to know where he might find those things. But first things first.” Joe poised a pencil above his notebook.
“Come on back to my office. I’ll take a look at our recent invoices. That should tell you what you want to know.”
Gold. Pure gold.
Would Mr. Henry be so willing to divulge this information if he had anything to hide?
Maybe. Maybe he didn’t know that someone working for him was a crook.
“Here we are.” Mr. Henry’s chair squeaked as he sat and swiveled around to a four-drawer filing cabinet. He pulled out a folder, spun back toward Joe, and slapped it on the desk. “Our purchases for the last quarter are inside. Help yourself.”
Joe opened to a sheaf of papers that might as well have been written in hieroglyphs for all the sense they made to him. “I’m going to need you to translate, Mr. Henry.”
“You bet.” He rolled his chair closer, and the smell of hot dog relish lifted from a dark spot on his tie. “We use what the Egyptians used for paint colors.” He pointed to a list of abbreviations and explained. “Lamp soot for black, calcium sulfate and huntite for white. We also tint clay with mineral oxides like the red and yellow ochres. The blues and greens come from synthetic materials called Egyptian blue, or frit. From this basic palette, we mix to get all the colors we need.”
Joe scribbled all of that down, then looked at the vendor’s name and address on the corner of the invoice. “And do you always buy from this art supplier? Could a person get these shades from anywhere else?”
“These paints you could find almost anywhere. But the gold leaf is the best here.”
The next several minutes followed in similar fashion, Mr. Henry explaining the invoices and Joe taking copious notes. When they reached the end of the folder’s contents, Joe cocked an ear toward the noise coming from the other side of the wall.
“What kind of work is your team doing now?” he asked.
Mr. Henry filed the folder away. “A few different things. Our carpenter is working on display cases for Dr. Westlake’s upcoming exhibition, for one. That’s the sawing and drilling you hear. The other projects are much quieter. Have time to take a look? It’s remarkable what they’re able to do.”
“I’d love to see.”
“I’m not surprised there have been so many forgeries lately,” Mr. Henry told him as they left his office and headed into a separate room across the hall. “Forgeries of Egyptian art have been common for ages, although I admit it seems to be spiking. Everyone wants a piece of King Tut.” He chuckled. “Have you seen what we’ve got at the sales desk?”
Joe passed that desk often on his way to visit Lauren. “King Tut keychains, Christmas ornaments, miniature King Tut coffin paperweights ... I didn’t see one of those on your desk, by the way.”
Mr. Henry chuckled. “No, although I did purchase a few of the ladies’ scarves printed with King Tut hieroglyphs for my sister and mother. They have no idea what the text means.”
“Could you tell them?”
“Only so far as to say it’s a partial spell meant to protect the dead in the afterlife. I studied museum management, not hieroglyphs. That’s one reason I’m not a conservator. Here’s the other.” He held up his hands. “Great for college football. Not so great for those tiny hair brushes we use for fine-tuned work. I’d fumble the job, for sure. Only took one try for me to know that’s a job best reserved for the experts.”
Joe believed him. Especially since a man who dripped hot dogjuices on his tie—and continued to wear the tie anyway—did not concern himself with details. Elliot Henry would make a terrible forger.
Stopping at a worktable with its own special lamps craning over it, Mr. Henry introduced Joe. “This is our lead conservator for Egyptian antiquities.” Henry clapped the slender shoulder of a man currently hunched over what appeared to be a delicate process.
“Watch it!” The man jerked an elbow backward toward Mr. Henry. Grey streaked the dark brown hair at his temples. Joe guessed him to be around forty-five.
Mr. Henry smiled at Joe. “Meet Peter Braun. The best in the business. He’s so good, in fact, he can afford to be rude and know his job remains secure.”
