And maybe she was being unfair, but it was going to be a very long time before she called Tonia again. If ever.
"Can I get started?" Her voice came out so sharp that Tonia and Mueller stopped their bantering and stared at her, startled.
"Of course." Mueller indicated a table at the far end of the room.
The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get out of this hellish place. Her mind repeated the thought like a mantra.
Three items lay on the gleaming dark wood table. The folders of provenance papers lay beside them. She dug out her recorder, and grimly disposed her mind to concentrate. Grown-up. Professional.
The first item was a bronze dagger and sheath. The provenance papers placed it as La Tene, 200 B.C.E., dredged out of a river in Wales in the 1890s, but the blade seemed much older to her. The guard, grip, and pommel had been made of some organic material that had rotted away, but the wasp-waisted, leaf-shaped sweep of the blade was still beautiful. It had the reinforcing ridges, grooves, and finger notching that she had seen on many bronze Celtic swords from 1000 B.C.E.
The next piece was a stone statuette, eighteen inches high, of a hideous beast holding out its arms. Huge, thick claws sank into the forehead of two severed heads. An arm dangled out of its fanged, gaping jaws. La Tarasque, very like the Gallo-Roman limestone statue she had studied in Avignon on her junior year abroad in France and Scotland.
She flinched away from it. It was a rare and beautiful piece, but she felt too wretched to cope with bloodthirsty man-eating monsters, unprofessional or not. Later for that one.
The third item was a bronze flagon, decorated in the vegetal swirls and spirals of late La Tene style. It was embossed with several mythical creatures, but the ones that caught her eye first were the two dragons.
Fiery red garnet eyes glared at each other. They were symmetrical, a perfectly balanced pose of eternal mortal challenge. Like the torque. Serpentine tails coiled beneath them, blending into the intricate, flowering tendril design that decorated the whole piece.
The realization crept up on her so slowly, the way a headache gathered force until it had to be acknowledged by the conscious mind. A puzzle she hadn't known she was trying to solve slipped into place. The provenance papers cited the flagon as discovered near Salzburg in 1867 by a gentleman explorer and tomb raider from the nineteenth century, and subsequently sold in the 1950s to a rich Austrian industrialist.
But this flagon was not from Salzburg. It was from the Wrothburn cemetery. As was the dragon torque. And the Silver Fork torques, too.
She felt it in her skin. Her instincts were never wrong. Every hair on her body was on end. The wrongness deepened, widened.
She forced the words out. "Mr. Mueller. I'm sorry to tell you this, but I believe that the provenance papers for this flagon are falsified."
The murmur of conversation from the other side of the room stopped. "I beg your pardon?" Mueller's voice was gentle, puzzled.
"The distinctive designs show it to be almost certainly from the grave mounds in Wrothburn, which were only discovered three years ago. I suspect that the dragon torques, and at least two of the torques I saw in Silver Fork, are from Wrothburn, too. These pieces were looted. They belong to the people of Scotland."
She didn't have the courage to face him. Dread held her body in a paralyzing grip. She heard a dry, whispery chuckle, like a snake sliding through dead leaves. She knew. She turned, slowly.
Mueller's eyes were no longer electric blue. They were a luminous white-green, a cold, dead color. He lifted his hand and waggled his index and middle fingers. The blue discs of his colored contacts clung to the ends of them. "Congratulations, Erin."
"It's you," she whispered. "You're Novak. Connor was right."
His smile widened. "Yes. He was. Poor, mad Connor."
She wondered how anything so alien could have masked itself as human for so long. Then she thought of Tonia, with a shock of guilt and horror. She had dragged poor, unsuspecting Tonia into a world of hurt.
Her anguished eyes met Tonia's—and her heart skipped a beat.
Tonia was smiling. She reached into her white Prada bag, and leveled a small silver revolver at Erin with casual skill. "I'm sorry about this, Erin. I genuinely did like you. You seemed like such a priss when I met you at the clinic, but you're actually smarter than I thought." She shook her head. "But not quite smart enough."
Outrage held the creeping horror temporarily at bay. "You vicious, lying, heinous bitch!" Erin hissed.
"I am impressed with you, my dear," Novak said. "You exceeded my wildest hopes. Not only did you come to the right conclusion in record time, but your first impulse was to uphold the rules. You win the grand prize, Erin. Tamara, show her what she's won."
There was no taunting glitter in Tamara's eyes this time, no smile on her pale lips. She opened the library door. A tall, pale, hairless man stepped inside, grinning. Erin cried out before she could stop herself.
Georg. She knew him, even shaven bald, with the missing teeth. His eye was distorted by the drooping lid. One side of his mouth was thickened and twisted. Crimson weals marred his pallid cheeks.
He leered, his eyes dragging hungrily over her body. "Hello, Erin," he said. "I am happy to see you. You look very pretty."
She backed away. The table bumped painfully hard into her hip. "It really was you in that SUV last Sunday, wasn't it?"
His grin widened, became triumphant. "Yes."
"Georg's usefulness to me was much reduced by your lover's beating," Novak said. "He was once so beautiful, remember? And prison was very hard for Georg. He is very angry. Are you angry, Georg?"
"Yes." Georg's good eye was bright with venomous hatred. "Very."
"He suffered permanent nerve damage to his face, you know," Novak said. "In thanks for all of his pain and sacrifice, Georg shall be the one to execute my plans for you. He lives for this promise."
"No," Erin said. She sidled along the table. "No."
Tonia clucked her tongue in warning. "Don't move, please."
"It is a beautiful plan," Novak said. "Prison gives one time for a great deal of reflection, you see. I'm sure your father finds it to be so."
"So this is all just to get back at Dad?" She hardly cared what he answered. Her words were just a desperate bid for time.
He laughed. "No, Erin. I'm getting back at everyone. Tonia, did you do as you were told this morning?"
"Yes, Mr. Mueller." Her smile was smug. "Barbara Riggs is in a tizzy. Phones are buzzing about McCloud's family history of mental illness, his delusions, his persecution complex. His obsessive pursuit and seduction, and let me add rape, of Erin Riggs—"
"That's ridiculous! No one will ever believe that! My mother saw me with him! She saw how he—"
"When the video footage of last night's tryst is found in his house, she may well take a different view," Novak said. "McCloud couldn't have behaved more perfectly for my purposes if I had given him orders. I loved it when he tore your dress and bent you over the table."
She covered her shaking mouth with her hand. "Video footage?"
"Indeed. You both surprised me last night, my dear. I had no idea that McCloud could be so… raw."
"I had a conversation with your neighbor Mrs. Hathaway today." Tonia was enjoying herself. "She can't wait to tell what she saw last night in the stairwell. It's common knowledge that McCloud killed Billy Vega. A massive manhunt is already underway."
"And they will find him," Novak said. "They will find you, too, but alas, it will be too late. Let me explain the sad sequence of events for you, my dear. After McCloud killed Billy Vega, his mental imbalance escalated, faster than anyone could have anticipated. Brought on by mad jealousy, no doubt. Ah, love is a dangerous thing."