Shadows In The Night

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“But we all let it go.” Roger sounded sorrowful as he spoke. “Except Harley, and we all kind of shut her down,” he added apologetically. “But, seriously, what were we going to do? There were some whacked-out insurrectionists coming our way. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to admit I didn’t want to die. I really didn’t care if anyone was collecting evidence properly—all I wanted was out of there! And in the end, I guess we bought into the official—” he made air quotes with his fingers “—version. It was just easier and—”

“Ms. Frasier!”

Harley was being summoned. She saw that it was the plainclothes detective who had apparently been assigned to the case. He was lean and hard-looking; his partner was broader and had almost a baby face and a great smile. They were McGrady and Rydell, Rydell being the guy with the smile.

She wasn’t going anywhere alone. She was never sure how Craig could home in on her problems so quickly, and tonight he was with Micah Fox, the agent who had called her before—and approached her at the beginning of the evening. What if she had talked to him when he’d wanted to?

Could tonight’s disaster have been avoided?

Did it have anything to do with what had happened before?

She was led into one of the museum offices that had been taken over by the police. She felt, rather than saw, her cousin Craig and the enigmatic Micah Fox come in.

They didn’t sit; they took up stances behind her.

McGrady took the seat behind the desk and asked her sternly, “Ms. Frasier, what exactly is your association with the museum, the expedition—and the injured woman?”

“I was on the expedition. I don’t really have an association with Vivian. It’s not like we have coffee or hang around together and do girls’ night,” Harley said. “Vivian is married to Ned Richter, the CEO of Alchemy. Alchemy financed the expedition. Alchemy is the largest sponsor for this exhibition. We were all pretty close in the Sahara—not that we had much choice.”

“So you did know her well!”

“I didn’t say I knew her well. We were...colleagues.”

“But you like mummies, right? All things ancient Egyptian?” McGrady asked.

“Yes, of course. I find the culture fascinating.”

“And it would be a great prank to attack someone and lace her up in poisoned linen. Like a mummy?”

“What?” Harley exploded.

McGrady leaned forward, wagging a pencil at her. “You were the one who discovered Henry Tomlinson—dead. Correct?”

Harley had never thought of herself as particularly strong, but his words, coming out like an accusation, were too much.

She heard a guttural exclamation from behind her. Craig or Micah Fox, she wasn’t sure which.

But it didn’t matter. She could—and would—fend for herself. She leaned forward, too.

“Yes. I found Henry. A beloved friend and mentor. I found him, and I raised an outcry you wouldn’t believe. And no one in a position of power or authority gave a damn. First, it was oh, the insurgents were coming! Saving our lives was more important—and yes, of course, that was true—than learning the truth about the death of a good man. I could buy that! It’s an obvious decision. But then, no decent autopsy, and his niece, bereft, had him cremated. And now you’re asking me about Henry—and about Vivian Richter. You have nerve. I was here tonight in honor of Henry. I didn’t see the exhibit before tonight. I haven’t been associated with Alchemy since we returned. I suggest you speak with the people who were involved there and worked on the exhibit.”

McGrady actually sat back.

Everyone in the room was silent.

Then Harley thought she heard a softly spoken “Bravo.”

McGrady cleared his throat. “Sorry, Ms. Frasier, but you do realize that Vivian Richter is dangerously close to... Well, we might have a murder on our hands.”

“You do have a murder on your hands. Dr. Henry Tomlinson was murdered. Now we have to pray that Vivian comes out of this, but still, you’ve got a killer here. Do you have anything more to ask me?” Harley demanded. They did need to hope and pray for Vivian, but by now, surely they had to recognize the truth of what had happened to Henry!

“Did you see Vivian this evening?”

“No.”

“But you arrived early, didn’t you?”

“Only by a few minutes. I walked out to the temple area.”

“Which is off-limits until after the exhibit officially opens tomorrow.”

“I was allowed to go back there because I’d been on the expedition.”

“And you were close to the backstage area where exhibits are prepared?”

“Yes.”

“Where Vivian would have been?”

“Possibly.”

“But you didn’t see her. Who did you see?”

“Just Jensen. Jensen Morrow. He’s working here, with the exhibit. This is actually his field of work. I saw Jensen—oh, and Special Agent Fox.” She glanced back at him. He and Craig were flanked behind her like a pair of ancient Egyptian god-sentinels. They almost made her smile. Not quite. She couldn’t believe that this detective was quizzing her—when she couldn’t get any help before, no matter how she’d begged and pleaded!

“Special Agent Fox?” McGrady said.

“I arrived within minutes of Ms. Frasier. I was told she’d just headed for the temple. I wanted to speak to her about the death of Henry Tomlinson. I went straight there. We were speaking when her colleague Jensen Morrow appeared. Exactly as she indicated,” Micah Fox said.

McGrady stood up. “Fine. Ms. Frasier, you’re free to go.”

Harley stood up and glared at him. “I’m delighted to leave. But perhaps first you’d be kind enough to let me know how Vivian’s doing. We might not be close, but we were serious associates.”

McGrady sighed. “She’s holding her own. The doctors are combatting the effects of the poisoning.”

“What was the poison?”

“It’s an ongoing investigation. That’s information we can’t give out right now, even if we had it.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Craig opened the door; she marched out. He and Micah followed. She thought she heard McGrady mutter, “And take your Feds with you.”

“Not the usual helpful attitude, at least not in my association with the NYPD,” Craig said. “Usually, we have an excellent working rapport.”

“Maybe he’s resentful because he’s not sure what this is yet. It’s impossible at this time to say what happened,” Micah said.

Harley spun around to stare at him. “What are you, a fool?” she snapped. “We both know—not suspect, but know—that Henry Tomlinson was murdered. Then Vivian Richter comes out wrapped in mummy linens, screaming and poisoned with some kind of skin toxin, and we don’t know what happened? Obviously, someone tried to kill her!”

Craig grabbed her by the shoulders. “Harley! Stop. Micah’s on your side. What are you?” he asked. “A fool?”

She flushed uneasily. They were just outside the door. The nicer cop, the quiet one with the baby face, Rydell, came out and approached Jensen Morrow. He was next on the block, Harley thought. And how stupid of the cops. Jensen had been with her, away from the camp, when Henry Tomlinson was killed. They just didn’t seem bright enough to realize that there was a far bigger picture here. They needed to see it—before someone else died.

But Craig was right. She shouldn’t be taking it out on Micah Fox.

Why was she being so hostile, so defensive?

Pushing him away on purpose.

He was trying to help her. He was...

He was a promise she was afraid to accept. He claimed he wanted the truth, and he seemed to have all the assets needed to get at that truth. He was too damned good to be true, and she didn’t dare depend on someone like that when the very concept of an ally, someone to depend on, was still so...

Foreign to her! He was law enforcement—and on her side. It was good. After all this time, it felt rather amazing.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

She’d barely spoken when Kieran Finnegan came hurrying up next to her. “I have a car outside. Come on, I’ll get you home.”

“But—”

“There’s nothing else you can do here tonight, Harley,” Micah said.

“Remember, you came to me.”

“Yes. And there’s nothing else you can do here tonight,” he repeated.

Harley stiffened.

“Let’s go,” Kieran said gently.

So she nodded. “Thank you,” she said to Craig and Micah, and then she allowed Kieran to lead her out the door, to the front of the museum.

A light-colored sedan was waiting, just as Kieran had promised. Kieran wasn’t driving; Harley assumed the driver was FBI and that Micah or Craig had made the arrangements.

Once in the car beside Kieran, Harley regretted the fact that she’d already left. “I should still be there. I should be back with the exhibits. I should see the prep rooms. I was with them on that expedition and I know what we discovered. I saw the tomb when it was opened. And I... Lord, yes, I’m the one who found Henry.”

“Logically, there isn’t a damned thing you could’ve done tonight. They won’t let anyone back by the exhibits, the prep rooms, the offices—anywhere!—until the crime scene people have gone through it all. Naturally, everyone’s hoping that Vivian Richter pulls through. If she does, maybe she’ll be able to remember something that will help. For now, well...”

“McGrady is NYPD. He isn’t letting Craig and that Agent Fox in on anything.”

“They’ll get in on it. Trust me. Craig will talk to his director. His director will call the chief of police or the mayor or someone, but they’ll get in on it,” Kieran said with assurance.

Harley leaned back for a moment, suddenly very tired. She closed her eyes and then opened them again, looking over at Kieran. She liked her cousin’s girlfriend. Really liked her. She wasn’t sure why they weren’t engaged or married yet, but...

Kieran, of course, knew all about what had gone on during and after the expedition out to the Sahara in the search for Amenmose’s tomb. Considering what she did for a living—a psychologist who worked with law enforcement—nothing much surprised her or rattled her. Besides, she’d met Craig during a period when the city was under siege with a spate of diamond heists.

“So tell me—what’s your take on this?” Harley asked Kieran. “Who would kill Henry Tomlinson? Or rather, who’d dress up as a mummy to kill him, and then dress Vivian Richter like a mummy to try and kill her?”

“The incidents might not be related,” Kieran said.

“Oh, please! Don’t tell me Henry wasn’t murdered! Don’t tell me I want that to be the case because I don’t want to believe he went crazy and committed suicide.”

“I’m not saying that at all. Here’s the thing. You were in the desert, so it had to be someone there. Henry’s dead and maybe this would-be killer is playing on that. Or maybe the two are related. The problem is, I don’t know anyone involved. It’s hard enough to make judgment calls when you’ve had a chance to speak with people and question them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“That said...”

“Yes?”

Kieran smiled and shrugged. “You’ve had as much education as me, if not more.”

“Ah, but in different courses! I need more in psychology.”

“Specifically in human emotions. Like jealousy.”

“Jealousy? As in...someone who wanted to be a famed Egyptologist?”

“Possibly. Some people kill because they’re deranged. They’re psychotic, or they’re sociopaths. Then, of course, you have the usual motives. Love, greed, hatred...jealousy. Think about everyone involved if you’re convinced that the two situations are related. The rest of us weren’t there. Only you know the dynamics among all the people who were on that expedition.”

“I can’t imagine anyone who would’ve wanted Henry dead. I just can’t.”

“It’s not that you can’t. It’s that you don’t want to,” Kieran told her.

They’d reached Rector Street and the old warehouse apartment that legally belonged to Harley’s uncle, who was mostly out of state now and had generously given the large, rent-controlled space to Harley while she finished her degree and decided on her permanent vocation.

The driver hopped out of the car, opening the door for Harley. Kieran leaned out to say goodbye and thank the man.

“Get on home, get into bed, go to sleep,” Kieran said. “Much better to start fresh in the morning.”

Harley gave her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “Thanks. Thanks for getting me here. But... I’ll be back on it in the morning.”

Kieran grinned. “We’d expect no less.” She leaned back in the car and the driver shut the door. He offered Harley a grave nod, and waited until she was safely at the door to her building.