Kathy Reichs - Cross bones

“No need. I’ll call you in a couple of hours.”

“You’ll have dinner with us tonight?”

Jake nodded, thinking, no longer listening.

Ryan arrived at my room shortly after I did. I must have looked unhappy.

“You okay?”

I nodded, not wanting to go into details of my spat with Jake.

“How’s your pal?”

“His head’s hurting, but he’s fine.” I slammed the door on the minibar. “Judgmental, but fine.”

Ryan let it go.

“Learn anything useful at thePost?”

Popping a Diet Coke, I told Ryan about the articles in which Yadin contradicted himself concerning the use of radiocarbon dating.

“So the old boy did send materials out of the country. Why wouldn’t he do that with the Masada skeletons?”

“Why not indeed.”

“But listen to this. I got DNA results. A number of individuals in the Kidron tomb had identical sequencing.”

“Meaning they’re related.”

“Yes. But that’s no big deal. It’s a family tomb. You’d expect the people buried there to be related. What is a big deal is that mitochondrial DNA links Max’s odd tooth to that family.”

“Meaning someone buried in Cave 2001 was a member of the family buried in the Kidron tomb.”

I love Ryan’s quickness.

“Exactly. And since Jake’s convinced the Kidron tomb held the members of the Holy Family, that would place early Christians on Masada at the time of the siege.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. The Israelis will be antagonistic to any such suggestion.”

“Jesus people at Masada, maybe even a member of the Holy Family.”

“Exactly. But I still have no idea who Max is.” I took a swig. “Was. His DNA sequencing was unique. If he was related to those in the Kidron tomb, it wasn’t through any of the ladies Jake recovered.”

“Kaplan was dancing around the subject this morning.”

That got my attention.

“Claimed Ferris was on a first-name basis with Max.”

“He had proof of identity?”

“The world according to Kaplan.”

A tingle of excitement ran up my spine. I’d spent a month trying to attach a label to the Masada skeleton. It’d been like chasing smoke in a pitch-black tunnel. If I was honest with myself, I’d come to suspect all hope of individualization had evaporated with time.

“For God’s sake, Ryan. Tell me what Kaplan said.”

“Kaplan claims he never found out. But word on the street was, the bones were big.”

“The street of illegal antiquities?”

Ryan nodded. “Here’s the bad news. Friedman had to cut Kaplan loose.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Kaplan lawyered up. Counsel suggested, ever so politely, that his client’s rights were being violated in that he’d been held well past the legal limit. I believe the term ‘constitutionally impaired’ was directed at Friedman.”

“What about the shoplifting?”

“Litvak dropped his complaint. And I’ve got zilch to tie Kaplan to the Ferris hit.”

“Kaplan admitted he was hired to shoot the guy.”

“He says he didn’t do it.”

“He planned to sell a stolen skeleton.” My voice sounded shrill in the quiet room.

“Intent isn’t a crime. Besides, he’s now claiming he never really intended to hawk the thing. Just made some calls out of curiosity.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Here’s another interesting development. Courtney Purviance is in the wind.”

“Ferris’s secretary has disappeared?”

“When Kaplan first told us about the Masada skeleton, we asked why Ferris decided to sell after hiding the bones for more than thirty years.”

I’d wondered that myself.

“He claimed Ferris’s business was tanking.”

“That’s not what Purviance told you.”

“Not at all. So somebody’s lying. That’s why we wanted to ask Purviance some more questions. I fired off a query. Guy named Birch is working this with me.”

“The blond detective I saw at the Ferris autopsy.”

Ryan nodded. “Birch has been trying to contact Purviance for several days now. She’s not at Ferris’s warehouse. She’s not at home. The lady appears to have vanished.”

“Did anyone tell her not to leave town?”

“She isn’t a suspect. I couldn’t order her to stay put. I did suggest it would be useful to be able to touch base, but I doubt Purviance plays by any rulebook but her own.”

“Any evidence of a planned trip?”

Ryan shook his head.

“That’s not good,” I said.

“No. It’s not. Birch is on it.”

Ryan came to me and placed a hand on each of my shoulders.

“Friedman and I are going to stick to Kaplan like white on rice. We’ll know every place this turkey goes, everything he does, everyone he sees.”

“Friedman’s rope.”

“We’re betting Kaplan’ll tie himself a noose.”

Ryan drew me close.

“You’ll be on your own for a while.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve got my mobile number.”

I broke free and gave Ryan a falsely bright smile. “Don’t hold your breath, handsome. I’m dining with a tall, debonair man tonight.”

“Bit bald.”

“Bald is the new beautiful.”

Ryan smiled. “I hate it when you get all weepy over me.”

“Go.” I turned Ryan toward the door. “Heart-pumping surveillance awaits.”

When Ryan had gone, I phoned Jake to settle on a restaurant. No answer.

My watch said five. I’d been up since dawn, and was starting to fade.

Power nap? Why not. Jake would call within the hour.

Seconds later I was awakened by a noise at my door.

A key? A rattling knob?

Disoriented, I looked at the clock.

Seven thirty-two.

I flew across the room.

“Jake?”

No answer.

“Ryan?

Something swished on the tile at my feet. Looking down, I saw a folded paper slide through the crack.

I opened the door.

A young woman was scurrying down the corridor. She wore ahijab, dark dress, and oxfords.

“Miss?”

Without stopping the woman spoke over her shoulder. “This man hurt your room.”

With that the woman rounded the corner, and her footsteps receded down the stone steps.

I closed and locked my door. Outside, traffic hummed. Inside, the room screamed silence.

Bending, I picked up and unfolded the paper. On it were the same words the woman had spoken. And a single name. Hossam al-Ahmed.

Was the woman a maid? Had she witnessed the break-in to my room? Why come forward now? Why in this manner?

Snatching up the phone, I asked for Mrs. Hanani. I was told the manager had gone for the day. I left a message, asking that she call me.

Placing the note in my purse, I called Jake. Still no answer. Was he still out? Had he tried to contact me? Had I slept through his call?

I tried again at seven forty-five, eight, and eight-fifteen. At eight-thirty I gave up and went down to the Cellar Bar.

Though my dinner was good, I was too agitated to appreciate the chef’s efforts. I kept wondering why Jake hadn’t returned my calls.

Could he still be at the Rockefeller?

But hadn’t Jake planned to swing by his site first, then visit Bloom at the Rockefeller? Had he changed his mind about visiting Bloom? Maybe decided against driving alone with the shroud bones?

But he couldn’t still be at the dig. It was dark.

Maybe he’d called my room, gotten no answer, and decided to dine with his crew.

Had I been so tired I’d slept through the ring? I doubted it.

The more I mulled it over, the more worried I became.

Across the bar, I could see two dark-skinned men seated at another alcove table. One was short and wiry, with skull-tight hair and a gap between his front teeth. The other was a beluga, with long, thin wisps pulled into a ponytail.