Robin Burcell: The Bone Chamber

“Third key? You didn’t mention that the first time.”

“It was just such a strange conversation. At the time it meant nothing. Do you think it’s important?”

He gave a shrug, brushing it off. “When did you last hear from her?”

“She called while I was still in Egypt, but I didn’t get the message until several days later.”

“That’s what I don’t like. No one’s heard from her since.” He rested his hand on top of the box. “And now there’s this.”

She didn’t move, simply stared at the box. And even though she was a forensic anthropologist, and she had dozens more boxes like it on the shelves behind her, it was apparent that this one got to her. Was it really necessary to do this?” she said. “A skull in a box?”

“If you saw her, yes. The pathologist is the one who insisted we had to go this route. Bring the skull to you. Trust me, we tried everything else.”

“Maybe there’s another way. Surely DNA…?”

“She was adopted.”

“What about her apartment?”

“Unfortunately, the cover story we thought would buy us time actually created a few problems. In theory, telling everyone that she was sent home to her father’s, and wasn’t expected to return back to UVA anytime soon, should have worked. We didn’t take into account that her roommate, short on cash, figured to make a quick buck by subletting Alessandra’s room, or that her new tenant would carefully launder and box up the clothes left behind.”

“No toothbrush or hairbrush?”

“Alessandra probably had them with her. In hindsight, we should have created the cover story after we’d searched her room. But at the time, we didn’t believe she was dead.”

“What about dental records?”

“Still looking. Because of her father’s occupation, the majority of her dental history is spread about in countries that don’t keep such meticulous records. The records we found were inconclusive. We need a forensic sketch. If it is her, her father will want to-” He stopped, ran his fingers through his hair. “How did I ever let her get involved?”

Tasha looked up at Griffin. “Maybe her disappearance has nothing to do with this? Like I said, it was a legitimate dig. And maybe it’s not her in that box.”

“The boss wants something a bit more definitive than maybe it is or isn’t her. And if it does have to do with Adami, then we need to be careful. You’re absolutely sure this friend of yours will come through?”

“Someday you’re going to have to learn to trust someone else’s judgment.”

“I’ve gone that route. It didn’t work.”

A loud bang echoed just outside the closed door. Tasha’s breath caught, and she paled, even as her secretary called out, “Sorry. Just a box of file folders.”

Griffin looked down at Tasha’s hands, saw they were shaking. “What the hell is going on?”

“Besides too much caffeine? It’s nothing,” she said, clasping her hands in her lap. He crossed his arms, looked her right in the eye. “Fine. But don’t laugh. It was this curse. I know it sounds odd, but just hearing about the damned thing gave me nightmares, and I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he said. Even though he didn’t have time for this, it was clear that Tasha needed to talk about it. “What does this curse do?”

She gave a sigh, then tried to smile, as though she knew how silly it was going to sound. “Allegedly anyone who enters the tomb will be dead within a fortnight. At least that’s the rumor according to the locals we hired.” She stared at the box containing the skull, as if to say, And Alessandra was in that tomb, so that proves it is true.

“That is not why Alessandra died-if this is her.”

“I know you’re right.”

He wasn’t sure what else he could do or say. “Maybe you should start your report on the skull tomorrow. You look tired.”

She shook her head. “Trust me. I’ll be fine. I’ll even put myself together properly before I meet Sydney.”

“Call me after your dinner. Let me know how it goes,” he said, turning to leave.

“Zach?” He stopped, knowing what she was going to say. “I can go with you, if you like. To the cemetery. I have time.”

“I’ll be fine.” He left, said good-bye to her secretary, who was busy sorting through the files she’d dropped. He continued on down the long hallway, his footsteps echoing through the dimly lit corridor. Every office door but the one he’d left was closed. Above him a fluorescent light flickered, then went out. He heard the swish of the elevator door, apparently just missing it, and not wanting to wait, he took the stairs three flights down. Once he’d reached the street he pulled out his cell phone to call his office.

When his boss answered, Zach said, “Did Natasha Gilbert say anything to you when she returned from that dig?”

“I haven’t even seen her. Why?”

“She seems on edge.” He thought about the ridiculousness of this two-thousand-year-old curse she spoke of. “Whatever it is, I’m not sure she’s telling me everything. She did recall that Alessandra spoke of a third key, but that was it.”

“You’re sure that’s what she said?”

“I’m sure that’s what Tasha said she heard.” He hesitated before adding, “And she thought there was some biblical slant.”

“Biblical…?”

“ Don’t even go there. I don’t trust Dumas.”

“You don’t trust anyone. Since he’s the only religious expert we have, I don’t see a way around it. We’re going to have to contact him.”

Zach knew that, but it didn’t make things easier. Especially considering what day it was. “One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I need a complete dossier on an FBI agent working out of Quantico. Someone named Sydney Fitzpatrick.”

“This that forensic artist you’re trying to use?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me you have a good reason for me to get my hand spanked poking around in Bureau files?”

“Tasha’s meeting her for dinner tonight. If she can’t convince her to do this drawing, I may have to intervene and I want to know who I’m dealing with.”

Griffin disconnected, dropped his phone in his pocket, then looked at his watch. Just enough time to get to the florist before it closed.

A fitting end to an already bad day, and he wondered if it could get any worse.

Sydney Fitzpatrick looked at the boxes stackedaround the living room of her apartment, boxes she’d yet to unpack since her transfer to the FBI Academy at Quantico almost a month ago. She thought about digging through them to find her favorite cashmere sweater, only because Tasha usually dressed for dinner, even at the more casual restaurants. Then again, anything she pulled out of a box was bound to be wrinkled, and after the errands she’d been running this afternoon, she had just about enough time to brush her hair and race out the door as she was.

Tasha was waiting for her at a table in the Ristorante Primavera, an upscale Italian eatery. She stood when Sydney approached, her gaze locked on the door behind her, for what seemed a second too long, before suddenly smiling, then reaching out to give a hug. “Syd! You haven’t changed a bit.”

“In seven months? I hope not.” Sydney eyed her friend as she took a seat opposite her. “How is it you have a tan, when the rest of us haven’t seen the sun in weeks?” she said, when what she really wanted to ask was if Tasha was unwell. Beneath that tan, she looked tired, nervous even.

“Just got back from a dig. I’ll pay for it down the road, wrinkled like an old prune, but that’s the hazard of working in the sun.”