Douglas Preston - The Book of the Dead

“Your comments?”

“I’m in agreement with Ms. Darling. We’ve got to show the public that it’s not business as usual.”

“Thank you.” Collopy turned to Menzies. “Do you have anything to add, Dr. Menzies?” He was amazed at how cool, collected, and composed Menzies looked. He wished he had the same sangfroid.

Menzies nodded toward Darling and Rocco. “I would like to commend Ms. Darling and Ms. Rocco for their well-considered comments, which under almost any other circumstances would be excellent advice.”

“But you differ?”

“I do. Most decidedly.” Menzies’s blue eyes, so full of calm self-assurance, impressed Collopy.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“I hesitate to contradict my colleagues, whose wisdom and experience in these matters exceeds my own.” Menzies glanced around humbly.

“I’ve asked for your unvarnished opinion.”

“Well, then. Six weeks ago, the diamond collection was stolen and destroyed. Now an outside contractor-not a museum employee-kills a co-worker. Then a museum consultant-a temporary hire, not an employee-assaults one of our top curators and is killed by a guard in the ensuing melee. Now, I ask you: what do these events have in common?” Menzies looked around inquiringly.

No one answered.

“Ms. Darling?” Menzies persisted.

“Well, nothing.”

“Exactly. During the same six-week period, New York City had sixty-one homicides, fifteen hundred assaults, and countless felonies and misdemeanors. Did the mayor shut down the city? No. What did he do instead? He announced the good news: the crime rate is down four percent from the previous year!”

“So,” drawled Darling, “what ‘good news’ would you announce, Dr. Menzies?”

“That despite recent events, the grand opening of the Tomb of Senef is still on schedule and will go off exactly as planned.”

“And just ignore the rest?”

“Of course not. By all means, issue a statement. But be sure to point out that this is New York City and that the museum is a vast place covering twenty-eight acres of Manhattan with two thousand employees and five million visitors a year, and that under these circumstances it’s surprising that more random crimes don’t happen. Be sure to emphasize the latter point: the crimes are not connected, they’re random, and they’ve all been solved. The perpetrators have been caught. A run of bad luck, that’s all.”

He paused. “And there’s one final point to consider.”

“What’s that?” Collopy asked.

“The mayor is coming and plans to give an important speech. It’s possible he might just use the auspicious occasion to announce his bid for re-election.”

Menzies smiled and fell silent, his bright blue eyes surveying the room, challenging them all to respond.

The first to stir was Beryl Darling. She uncrossed her legs, tapped the pencil on the table. “I must say, Dr. Menzies, that’s a rather interesting take on things.”

“I don’t like it,” said Rocco. “We can’t just dismiss all this, sweep it under the rug. We’ll be crucified.”

“Who suggested sweeping anything under the rug?” said Menzies. “On the contrary, we’ll release all the facts. We’ll hide nothing. We’ll beat our breasts and take full responsibility. The facts work in our favor because they clearly demonstrate the random nature of the crimes. And the perpetrators are either dead or behind bars. Case closed.”

“What about the rumors?” asked Rocco.

Menzies turned a pair of surprised blue eyes on her. “Rumors?”

“All the talk about the tomb being cursed.”

Menzies chuckled. “The mummy’s curse? It’s marvelous. Now everyone will want to come.”

Rocco’s bright red lips tightened, cracking her heavy lipstick.

“And let’s not forget the original purpose of the Tomb of Senef-to remind the city that we are still the greatest natural history museum in the world. We need this distraction more than ever.”

A long silence settled on the group. Collopy finally stirred. “That’s damned persuasive, Hugo.”

“I find myself in the curious position of changing my mind,” said Darling. “I believe I concur with Dr. Menzies.”

Collopy looked at the PR head. “Josephine?”

“I still have my doubts,” she replied slowly. “But it’s worth a try.”

“Then that’s settled,” said Collopy.

As if on cue the door opened, with no knock, no announcement. A policewoman stood there, dressed in a smart gray suit, brass on her collar. Collopy glanced at his watch-she was on time to the second.

He rose. “May I introduce Captain of Homicide Laura Hayward. This is-”

“We’re all acquainted,” she said crisply. She turned a pair of violet eyes on him. She was disconcertingly young and attractive. Collopy wondered if she was some kind of affirmative-action type, advanced beyond her competence. Somehow, looking at those eyes, he doubted it.

“I’d like to speak with you privately, Dr. Collopy,” she said.

“Of course.”

The door closed after Menzies-the last to leave-had said his good-byes. Collopy turned his attention on Hayward. “Would you like to take a seat, Captain?”

After the briefest of hesitations, she nodded. “I think I will.” She sank down in a wing chair and Collopy noted that her skin was pale and she looked exhausted. And yet her violet eyes were anything but dull.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” he asked.

She withdrew a sheaf of folded papers from her pocket. “I’ve got here the results of the autopsy on Wicherly.”

Collopy raised his eyebrows. “Autopsy? Is there some mystery about how he died?”

By way of answer, she withdrew another piece of paper. “And here’s a diagnostic report on Lipper. The bottom line is they both suffered identical, sudden brain damage to the ventromedial cortex of the brain.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. In other words, they both went insane in exactly the same way. The damage produced a sudden, violent psychosis in each of them.”

Collopy felt a cold sensation along the base of his spine. This was exactly what they had dismissed-that the incidents were somehow connected. This could ruin everything.

“The evidence suggests there’s some kind of environmental cause, and that it may be in or around the Tomb of Senef.”

“The tomb? Why do you say that?”

“Because that’s where both of them were immediately prior to the onset of symptoms.”

Collopy swallowed painfully, pulled at his collar. “This is astonishing news.”

“The M.E. thinks the cause could be anything: electrical shock to the head, poison, fumes or perhaps a malfunction in the ventilation system, an unknown virus or bacterium… We don’t know. This is, by the way, confidential information.”

“I’m glad of that.” Collopy felt the sensation of cold begin to spread. If this got out, it could put the lie to their statement and destroy all they had worked so hard for.

“Since I received this information two hours ago, I’ve put a special toxicological forensic team into the tomb. They’ve been at it for an hour and so far haven’t found anything. Of course, it’s early in their search.”

“This is very disturbing, Captain,” Collopy replied. “Is there any way the museum could be of assistance?”

“That’s exactly why I’m here. I want you to postpone the opening until we can locate the source.”

This was precisely what Collopy had been afraid of. He let a beat pass. “Captain, forgive me for saying so, but it seems you’ve jumped to two huge conclusions here: first, that the brain damage was caused by a toxin, and second, that this toxin is present in the tomb. It could have been anything-and happened anywhere.”