But the guns weren’t. The only contents of the safe were a check register and a memory stick for a computer. The check register wasn’t from the bank the Vartanians had used for generations. Even before he opened it, Daniel knew what he’d find.
There were a steady progression of withdrawals, all written in his father’s hand. Every transaction was written “to cash” in the amount of five thousand dollars.
It was most certainly blackmail. But Daniel was un-surprised.
He wondered which part of Arthur’s past had come back to haunt them all. He wondered what was on the memory stick that his father hadn’t wanted anyone else to see. He wondered when the next flight left for Philadelphia.
Monday, January 15, 1:40
P.M.
Sophie ripped at the Velcro that held the armor together. “Ted, for the third time, I don’t know why they want to talk with me,” she snapped. Ted Albright’s grandfather was an archeological legend, but somehow not one of those brilliant genes had been passed down to Ted. “This is a history museum. Perhaps they have a history question. Can you stop with the third degree and get this off me? It weighs a freaking ton.”
Ted lifted the heavy breastplate over her head. “They could have asked me.”
Like you’d know Napoleon from Lincoln. Outwardly she gathered her composure and calmly replied. “Ted, I’ll talk to them and see what they want, okay?”
“Okay.” He helped her remove the greaves from her shins and she sat down to yank off the boots that covered her own shoes. Vito “The Rat” Ciccotelli was waiting outside. That she wanted to see him less than Ted Albright said it all. That they’d seen her in period garb made it even worse. It was humiliating.
“Next time you schedule a knight tour, make sure Theo is here. That armor really does weigh a ton.” She stood up and stretched. “And it’s hot under there.”
“For someone who claims to love authenticity, you complain a helluva lot,” Ted grumbled. “Some historian you are.”
Sophie bit back what would have been a nasty retort. “I’ll be back after lunch, Ted.”
“Don’t take too long,” he called after her. “You’re a Viking at three.”
“You can take your Viking and…” she muttered, then rolled her eyes when she saw Patty Ann leaning across the front desk, flirting shamelessly with the two detectives.
She had to admit they were two fine-looking men. Both tall and broad shouldered, handsome by anyone’s standards. With his sandy red hair and earnest face, Nick Lawrence had a country-boy kind of appeal, but Vito Ciccotelli was… Admit it, Sophie. You know you’re thinking it. She let out a weary sigh. Fine. He’s hot, okay? He’s hot and he’s a rat, just like all the others.
She stopped next to the desk. “Gentlemen. How can I help you today?”
Nick flashed her a look of relief. “Dr. Johannsen.”
Patty Ann’s look was decidedly more threatening as she arched an overplucked eyebrow. “They’re detectives, Sophie,” she said and Sophie swallowed her sigh. Patty Ann had apparently decided to be British today. The proper blue suit now made more sense. “Homicide detectives,” she added menacingly. “They want to question you.”
Nick shook his head. “We’d just like to talk with you, Dr. Johannsen.”
Because he wasn’t a rat, she gave him a smile. “I was about to get lunch. I can give you thirty minutes.”
Vito held the door open for her. He hadn’t said a word, but that probing gaze of his hadn’t left her face either. She gave him a glance that she hoped was as menacing as Patty Ann’s had been to her. He frowned, so she considered herself successful.
The air outside felt wonderful against her skin. “If we could make this quick, I’d appreciate it. Ted has another tour scheduled and I have to get dressed.” She stopped at the end of the sidewalk. “So shoot.”
Vito looked up and down the street. It was midday, and both car and foot traffic was heavy. “Can we go someplace a bit more private?” The frown on his face had made it into his voice. “We don’t want to be overheard.”
“How about my car?” Nick asked smoothly and led the way, then held open the front passenger door. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea by making you sit in the back,” he said with an easy smile, then quickly slid in the back seat. She watched Vito aim a dirty glare Nick’s way before taking the driver’s seat next to her. Nick simply raised a brow in response and Sophie knew she was being manipulated.
Annoyed, she grabbed the door handle. “Gentlemen, I don’t have time for games.”
Vito clasped her shoulder, his hand gentle but firm as he held her in place. “This is no game,” he said grimly. “Please, Sophie.”
Reluctantly she let go of the handle and Vito let go of her. “What’s this about?”
“First of all, we wanted to thank you for your help yesterday,” Nick said. “But studying the bodies we’ve recovered so far has raised more questions.” He leaned one shoulder against the back of the driver’s seat and dropped his voice. “We found a strange pattern of punctures on one of our victims. Katherine believes they were caused by nails or some kind of sharp spikes. The punctures start at the neck and stretch down the back of her body to the middle of her calf. There are similar punctures down the back of her arms. We think the victim was forced to sit on a chair of nails.”
She shook her head in reflexive denial. “You’re joking, right? Please say you’re joking.” But the memory of the dead man’s face, posed hands, and disemboweled body pushed the denial from her mind. “You’re serious.”
Vito nodded once. “Very.”
A shiver shook her. “The inquisitional chair,” she said quietly.
“Nick found a photo on a museum website,” Vito said. “So the chairs did exist.”
She nodded, her imagination painting horrific pictures. “Oh yes, they existed.”
“Tell us about them,” Vito said. “Please.”
She drew a deep breath, hoping her stomach would calm. “Let’s see… Well, first, the chair was one of many tools used by inquisitors.”
“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Nick murmured grimly.
“The Spanish Inquisition is the one that most people are familiar with, but there were several inquisitions.” It was easier to lecture than to think about the victims. “The first was the Medieval Inquisition. The chair existed during the later Spanish period and may have existed in the Medieval, but its use is a topic of debate among historians. If it was used, it wasn’t used as often as most of the other torture methods or devices.”
Nick looked up from the notes he’d been scratching in his notebook. “Why not?”
“According to original accounts, the inquisitors got a lot of benefit just by showing the chair to the accused. It’s a terrifying sight, more terrifying in person than the picture.”
“You’ve seen one?” Nick asked.
“Where?” Vito added when she nodded.
“In museums. There are several in Europe with good examples.”
“So, where would someone get an inquisitional chair today?” Vito pressed.
“It wouldn’t be that hard to make a simple one, if someone really wanted to. Of course there were more sophisticated models, even in the Middle Ages. Most of the chairs had simple restraints, but some had cranks that could tighten the restraints, forcing the nails deeper. And…” She sighed. “Some had metal sheeting that could be heated, burning the accused’s skin as well as puncturing it.” Vito and Nick exchanged a look and she lifted her hand to her mouth, horrified. “No.”
“Where would someone get such a chair?” Vito repeated. “Please, Sophie.”
The reality of their request began to sink in and a sense of panic began to crowd the horror. They were depending on her knowledge to find a killer and suddenly she felt totally inadequate. “Look, guys, my specialty is medieval fortifications and strategic warfare. My knowledge of inquisitional hardware is very basic at best. Why don’t I call an expert? Dr. Fournier at the Sorbonne is world renowned.”