Kathy Reichs - Cross bones

“Litvak’s not the sharpest knife in the set. And a bit of a hothead.”

The infant was cranking up for a personal best. The woman walked by, patting its back.

Ryan and I smiled them past.

“What was Kaplan supposed to have delivered to Litvak?” I asked when mother and child had moved off.

“An item of curiosity.”

I rolled my eyes. It hurt.

Ryan folded his shades and slid them into his shirt pocket. Leaning back, he stretched his legs and laced his fingers on top of his stomach.

“A gen-oo-ine Masada relic.”

I was about to say something clever like, “No shit!” when the triage nurse entered the waiting area and strode our way. Ryan and I stood.

“Mr. Drum has suffered a mild concussion. Dr. Epstein has decided to keep him overnight.”

“You’re admitting him?”

“For observation. It’s standard. Other than a headache and possibly some irritability, Mr. Drum should be fine in a day or two.”

“When can I see him?”

“It’ll be an hour or two until he’s transferred upstairs.”

When the nurse had gone, Ryan turned in his chair.

“How about lunch?”

“Sounds good.”

“How about lunch with strong liquor, then sex?”

“You are one silver-tongued devil.”

Ryan’s face lit up.

“But, no.”

Ryan’s face fell.

“I need to tell Jake what I saw in that tomb.”

Two hours later, Ryan and I were in Jake’s room. The patient was wearing one of those tie-at-the-nape gowns that had seen way too much bleach. Tubing ran from his right arm. His left was thrown over his forehead, palm out.

“It wasn’t the tomb,” Jake snapped, voice thick, face paler than the gown.

“Then why the demonstration?”

“The Hevrat Kadisha were targeting you!”

The nurse hadn’t been kidding about irritability.

“Me?”

“They know why you’re in Israel.”

“How could they?”

“You called the IAA.”

“Not since I’ve been here.”

“You contacted Tovya Blotnik from Montreal.” Barked like one who might eat his own young.

“Yes, but-”

“The phones at the IAA are bugged.”

“By whom?” I wasn’t believing this.

“The ultra-Orthodox.”

“Who think you are a child of the devil,” Ryan inserted.

I threw him a look that said I wasn’t amused.

Jake ignored the exchange.

“These people are lunatics,” he went on. “They throw rocks so people can’t drive on the Sabbath. They put up posters damning archaeologists by name. I get calls over and over in the middle of the night, recorded messages, cursing me to die of cancer, hoping that terrible things happen to my family.”

Jake’s eyes closed against the fluorescents burning overhead.

“It wasn’t the tomb,” he repeated. “They know that tomb’s empty. And they haven’t a clue about its true importance.”

“Then what did they want?” I asked, confused.

Jake’s eyes opened.

“I’ll tell you what they wanted. The rabbi kept demanding the remains of the hero of Masada.”

Masada Max.

Whom we’d left in a loculus not twenty feet from them.

“Will they search the tomb?”

“What do you think?” An ornery ten-year-old.

I refused to be sucked in by Jake’s foul mood.

“I think it depends on whether they saw us with the hockey bag.”

“Give the lady a big gold star.”

The little lady.

Jake lowered his arm and stared at his clenched fist. For a few seconds, no one spoke.

I broke the silence.

“There’s more, Jake.”

Jake looked at me. I noticed that his pupils had equalized.

“I dislodged a rock climbing up from the lower chamber. There’s a recess behind the tunnel wall that’s completely closed off.”

“Right.” Scornful. “A hidden loculus.”

“When I shined the flashlight inside, I saw what looked like old fabric.”

“You’re serious?” Jake struggled to sit up.

I nodded.

“There’s no question that tomb dates to the first century. The ossuaries prove that. Textiles from that period have been found in the desert, but never in Jerusalem.”

“If you promise not to take my head off, I’ll tell you the rest.”

Jake lay back on his pillow.

“I think the fabric may be a shroud.”

“No way.”

“I also saw bones.”

“Human?”

I nodded.

At that moment a nurse came through the door, rubber heels squeaking on the shiny gray tile. When she’d finished checking Jake she turned to me.

“You must leave now. This patient needs rest.”

Jake struggled up onto his elbows. “We’ve got to get back out there,” he said to me.

“Lie down, Mr. Drum.” The nurse placed hands on Jake’s shoulders and applied pressure.

Jake resisted.

The nurse gave him a look that suggested rubber hoses were next.

Jake yielded.

The nurse looked at me.

“Now.” Her tone suggested rubber hoses for visitors.

I patted Jake’s arm.

“I’ll go back out first thing in the morning.”

“It can’t wait.”

Nurse Ratchet glared my way.

I stepped back from the bed.

Jake raised his head from the pillow and spit one last word.

“Now!” Sounding just like Nurse Ratchet.

Ryan phoned INP headquarters from the hospital lobby. I was too preoccupied to pay much attention.

How would I find my way back to the Kidron? Who would help me once I got to the tomb? I couldn’t ask Ryan. He was here on police business. Friedman was taking time out of his schedule to help him. Ryan needed to focus on Kaplan.

“Friedman’s coming,” Ryan said, flipping the cover on his rented mobile.

“He’s finished with Kaplan?”

“He’s giving the gentleman time to reflect.”

“Kaplan thinks he’s been arrested because of Litvak’s necklace?”

“And some bad checks in Canada.”

“You haven’t yet questioned him about Ferris?”

Ryan shook his head. “Friedman’s got an interesting approach. Says little, lets the suspect talk, all the while watching for details and inconsistencies he can pounce on later.”

“Give a liar enough rope…”

“Kaplan’s getting enough to dangle from the top of K2.”

“When does Ferris go into the mix?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Will you show Kaplan the picture he gave me at the autopsy?”

“Should give him a jolt.”

I experienced a sudden jolt of my own.

“Ohmygod, Ryan! Do you suppose Max could be Kaplan’s gen-oo-ine Masada relic? Do you suppose Kaplan got wind of the skeleton from Ferris?”

Ryan smiled widely. “Want to come along and ask him?”

“Could help Friedman with his pounce.”

“I’m sure he’d agree.”

“I’m a terrific pouncer.”

“I’ve seen you. It’s frightening.”

“It’s a gift.”

While we waited, Ryan asked how I planned to return to the Kidron.

I admitted to some uncertainty on logistics.

We’d been in the lobby ten minutes when Friedman arrived. En route to the American Colony, he updated Ryan on the Kaplan interrogation.

There was little to update. Kaplan was still saying he’d intended to pay for the necklace. Litvak was now saying maybe he’d been a bit hasty.

Ryan filled Friedman in on my morning’s activities.

“You think this textile’s genuine first century?” Friedman asked into the rearview mirror.

“It’s definitely old,” I said. “And the loculus looks undisturbed.”

“And looters will be on that tomb like flies on a corpse.”

Friedman thought a moment. Then, “Whoo-hoo!!”

Hebrew?

“We be tomb raiders!”

Friedman had been watching far too many movies.