Mariah Stewart - Last Breath

“You were asking about the griffins.” He paged through the notebook. “It took me a while to find the sale, but I did.”

He opened an eyeglass case that was sitting on the desktop and took out the glasses. He put them on and pored over the notebook carefully.

“I thought I marked that page…just give me a minute here…”

“Do you remember if you sold them to Mr. or to Mrs. Sevrenson?” Connor asked.

Cavanaugh peered at him from over the top of the glasses. “I said the dog has Alzheimer’s, not that I did.” He coughed. “Of course I know. I sold them to Mitch back in 1964. Forty-three years ago.” He looked out over his desk at nothing in particular and said, “Can you imagine, it was that long ago? Where the hell have the years gone?”

He thumbed through a few more pages, then said, “Ha. Here it is. Pair of gold griffins. They had arrows in their claws. Never saw anything like them, before or since. They were just spectacular. Mitch bought them for Elena, for their anniversary. They’d only been married a few years back then, but they both had an eye for art, that’s for sure. Always bought the best.”

“How did that sale come about?” Daria asked. “Did you have the griffins, and offer them to the Sevrenson’s, or did he come to you, looking for something special?”

Cavanaugh smiled at Daria.

“You understand that, don’t you? That relationship between dealer and collector.” He nodded. “Mitch came by my shop several times, bought the occasional piece. Delightful man, knew his stuff. We’d been doing business for several years when he came in one day-in the spring, I seem to recall. Said they’d be having an anniversary in the fall and he wanted something very special, something very unique, to surprise Elena. I told him I’d see what I could find.”

“Where did you find the griffins?” Connor asked.

“Dealer down your way, actually. Friend of a friend of a friend. Name was Dragonis. Henry Dragonis. When you said Howe University, that’s the first thing I thought of, what a coincidence that was, that you were down there at Howe, and that he lived in Howeville.”

“Dragonis lived in Howeville?” Connor asked.

“Yes. Seems to me he had some connection to the college there, but I don’t recall what it was.”

“Was he employed there?”

“I don’t remember ever discussing that with him, Agent Shields, but it’s in my mind that there was some connection.”

“Did you know him before you bought the griffins from him?”

“No. I’d heard that he had some very unusual pieces, so I drove down there one afternoon to see what he had.”

“The griffins were in his shop?” Daria leaned forward, enjoying the story.

“No, no. He asked me what I was looking for. I told him what Mitch had said, and that I hadn’t been given a price limit. Well, he thought it over and told me to come back in a week and he’d have something for me. I went back a week later and there were the griffins. I knew they were just what Mitch was looking for. We negotiated a price and I left with them in a cardboard box.”

“Did he tell you where he got them?” Connor asked.

“No, he wouldn’t give that up,” Cavanaugh said. “He just said he had a source, a collector who from time to time had something special to sell.”

Cavanaugh turned to Daria. “Fifty years ago, provenance wasn’t as big a deal as it is now. There were few laws on the books, none of them enforceable unless a piece was out-and-out stolen. For the most part, collectors back then didn’t ask many questions. Up until 1970, there wasn’t even much international interest in the subject.”

“That was the year of the UNESCO convention that addressed the international trade of cultural property,” Daria said.

“Correct. There was no ban on the sale of artifacts back then. So while it was nice to know how a piece came to be placed on the market, it wasn’t against the law to not know, and collectors weren’t that concerned where an item had been.” Cavanaugh met her eyes without apology. “All that has changed, of course, but things were different then.”

“Were you aware that the griffins were from Shandihar?”

“Yes, though I knew almost nothing about Shandihar. I knew it had been some ancient city in Turkey, but truthfully, I knew little more than that. When Dragonis showed me the griffins, he merely referred to them as Turkish. I believe Mitch may have educated himself a bit, sought out some books so that he could discuss the origins of the griffins with Elena, but I don’t know that even he knew all that much.”

“Did you purchase other pieces from this dealer?” Connor asked.

“Oh, yes, several pieces over the years, though nothing else from Shandihar. The Sevrensons were aware that what they had was extremely rare, but they weren’t interested in starting a collection of objects from Shandihar. Mostly what I bought from Dragonis, as I recall, were earlier objects. Mesopotamian, I believe.”

Daria exchanged a long look with Connor.

“Would that have been around the same time, Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“After the griffins, yes. I purchased items from him up until his death in 1998.”

“Do you know if someone took over his business?”

“I don’t believe anyone did. I never heard about it, if so.”

“So his shop just closed?”

“He didn’t have a shop. He did business out of his home.”

“Do you remember the address?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I can look through some old files, see if I can come up with something, but…” He shrugged.

“We’d appreciate it.” Connor stood. “We’d appreciate anything else you can recall, as well. Anything at all…a description of the house he lived in, the neighborhood, landmarks-anything that could help us track his family.”

“Doesn’t seem to me that he had much of a family.” Cavanaugh closed his notebook. “Had a daughter, she was just a little thing. I think he raised her by himself. Seems there was something about the wife dying. And I think he may have mentioned a brother, but I don’t think I ever met him. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” Connor told him. “You’ve certainly given us a lot to think about.”

“So where do you go from here?” Daria asked when they’d arrived back in Howeville.

“First things first.” He parked in the shade of a huge oak tree. “We find this Henry Dragonis.”

“He’s dead, remember.”

“I mean we find out everything about him that we can.”

“How do we do that?” Daria asked.

“When you’re learning about an ancient culture, what’s the first thing you do?”

“I look for written records.”

“Same thing here. We look for written records.” Connor took the phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

“Will…Connor. I’ve got a job for you. I need some information and I need it really fast. I need you to run a check on a man named Henry Dragonis. Howeville, PA. Everything you can find.” He reported what little information he’d gotten from Cavanaugh. “And while you’re at it, could you run a few more names? Start with Louise Burnette. Casper Fenn. Vita Landis. Nora Gannon. Olivia Masters. Sabina Bokhari. Stefano Korban.”

“Can you think of anyone else?” he asked Daria.

“You mean any other names that have come up?”

He nodded. “People connected to the university over the years.”

“I can’t think of anyone else right now.”

“Will, that’s it for now. If there are others I’ll call you back. Yeah, yeah, I know. The tab is running. Thanks, buddy.” He closed the phone. “I want to question the kid again, before they transfer him. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house. Unless you want to come with me.”