Linda Fairstein - The Bone Vault

“But put the best of their exhibits beside a painting by Delacroix or Vermeer, or even next to the faience carving of the Sphinx of Amenhotep III, and it’s simply laughable,” said Gaylord. “We’re not a warehouse of the bizarre and extinct. We are quite simply the greatest repository of art in the Western Hemisphere, a living institution that is not only informative but uplifting, in a way that our sister across the park was never meant to be.”

“So, the joint exhibit?”

“Holding hands for the greater good, Detective. It’s all about profit-making, as you might guess. When the national economy took such a marked downward shift this year, the trustees had to ask Thibodaux to tighten his belt.”

“Why him?”

“Because he’s such a big spender. That’s what he was brought in here to do three years ago. All the fat-cat trustees had money to throw at him and adored his boldness. I’m not talking behind his back. One of the things we all like about having him at the helm is that great works of art are being offered to us all the time because collectors know that we have a rich board willing to pay for these masterpieces. No haggling, no bargaining.”

Erik Poste took over from Gaylord again. “The Met puts on special exhibitions all the time, as you probably know. Some more successful than others. This one has been in the planning stage for more than a year. It was Thibodaux’s idea to ask Natural History to partner it with us. It’s never been done that way before, and quite frankly, he thinks it has the potential to be a financial blockbuster.”

“So does UniQuest,” Gaylord said, reminding me of the purpose of last night’s party.

“So what’s this theme?”

“It’s our working title. ‘A Modern Bestiary.’”

“Doesn’t sound too thrilling to me,” Chapman said.

“Don’t worry. Our friends in Hollywood will probably dream up a snappier title before we’re done. We’ve already rejected things like ‘Satyrs, Sirens, and Sapiens.’ It’s actually been a riveting undertaking. There’s something in it to appeal to everyone, which is what makes Thibodaux such a genius at marketing. He and the woman who runs Natural History-Helen Raspen-she’s absolutely brilliant.”

“What’s a bestiary?”

Erik Poste spoke again. “They were originally medieval books, Mr. Chapman. They purported to depict and describe all the animals in the world, and then-because this was the thought in the Middle Ages-what human traits they each represented.”

“Animals with human traits?”

“Bestiaries are the source of all kinds of fabulous beasts, and artists throughout the centuries have used them as guides to literary symbolism. Think of the unicorn. A magnificent pure white beast with a single horn in its forehead. It’s long been the symbol of virginity.”

“And I used to think that was a blonde prosecutor,” Chapman mumbled under his breath.

Gaylord went on. “Lewis Carroll, James Thurber, Jorge Luis Borges-they’ve all done bestiaries. Much more recent, of course. This gives us a chance to pull together centuries of work from both collections with a common theme. We’ve got the artistic representations in our paintings and sculpture, while Natural History has the fossils and skeletons. Art lovers or animal fans, kids and grown-ups, there’s something for everyone to relate to in a show like this.”

Roll out those giant silk banners that announce new shows as they hang from the museums’ rooftops, open the cash registers, stock the gift shops, and the masses will come.

Where had we lost Katrina in this? “How was Ms. Grooten involved?”

Timothy Gaylord rolled his lacquered fountain pen back and forth between his palms. “When Thibodaux first proposed this idea in-house early last year, we decided to get together with someone from each collection within the Met.”

“How many are there?”

“Eighteen curatorial departments-everything from the three we represent to musical instruments and photography. We started with the heads of each group. Some of the smaller divisions sent representatives. I remember that Hiram Bellinger, from the Cloisters, came to the first meeting in Pierre’s office, isn’t that right?” Gaylord said, looking to Poste and Friedrichs for confirmation.

“Yes,” Friedrichs answered. “It was after that point he designated Katrina to work on the project and pick the exhibits that might be included from the Cloisters, which he runs.”

“Mr. Bellinger specializes in delegating assignments, Miss Cooper,” Erik Poste said, crossing his legs as he laughed aloud. “Pierre made it clear that even those of us who ran major departments in the museum-well, Timothy here, and me-had to sit on this show ourselves. It was a serious investment of our time and energy, but I knew Pierre would make it worthwhile for us with the money the exhibition could raise.”

“Bellinger himself is like a throwback to medieval times,” Gaylord said. “Sits up there as though he’s a monk in his own monastery, studying illuminated manuscripts. He doesn’t seem to realize that if we don’t make the money to support the museum, he’ll be taking the vow of poverty himself. Unfortunately, a lot of our scholars, like Hiram, have nothing but contempt for Thibodaux and his entrepreneurial vision.”

“And you?”

“I quite admire Pierre. I think all three of us do. There’s no other way to compete against the other great museums of the world if we don’t have the financial means to buy the pieces that come on the market. It can’t be any simpler than that.”

“Is it in these meetings where you first met Ms. Grooten?” I asked Gaylord.

“It’s the only place. Pierre put me in charge of the Met’s role in the joint exhibit. I chaired several of the planning sessions.”

“Was Mr. Thibodaux himself present for those?”

Gaylord took a moment to think. “Maybe one or two. Once he turned it over to me, I don’t remember that he came to many of them.”

“And Ms. Grooten?”

“As I said, she wasn’t at the first one.”

“But were they ever in meetings together?”

The three curators exchanged glances. “Hard to say,” Poste answered. “Thibodaux would occasionally stick his head in the room, when he wasn’t traveling abroad. Just to make the point that the program was his baby, a directive straight from the top.”

“Does he travel often?”

“All the time. Some middleman calls and says there’s a krater in the hands of a private owner in Athens who needs some cash, or a Caillebotte coming up for auction for the first time in Geneva, or a rich old dame who’s thinking about leaving her Stradivarius to whichever museum will give it the most prominent placement. That’s the way the game is played.”

“Did any of you ever socialize with Ms. Grooten, apart from these sessions?”

“We both did,” Anna Friedrichs said, pointing from herself to Erik Poste.

“What did you know about her? How well did you know her?”

“I was very fond of Katrina,” Friedrichs said. “We had dinner together on occasion, after work; sometimes lunch. She was about ten years younger than I. Twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Studied in England. Oxford, I believe. Got a master’s in medieval art before she came to the States three years ago to work with us.”

“Single?”

“Yes. Lived alone. Rented a studio apartment in Washington Heights so she’d be close to the Cloisters. She liked to bike to work.”

“Did she have any relatives here?”

“None that she spoke of. Her mother had died while she was at university. And I believe her father was quite ill, at home in South Africa.”

Erik Poste knew more about that. “It was one of the reasons she was torn about her work here. Her father was failing, and despite how much she loved her job, she talked about going home to care for him.”