Cross Bones (35 page)

Jake turned, eyes burning with something that froze my response.

“I thought we had two unrelated first-century finds, each mind-blowing on its own. That’s not true. It’s al connected. The missing Masada skeleton and the Kidron tomb are al part of the same story. And it’s mega, maybe the biggest discovery of the century. Hel , the mil ennium.”

Jake strode back to the table, picked up the physical anthropology report, laid it down, touched an ossuary photo, then another, stacked the photos, laid the report on top of the stack, ran his finger around its edge.

“This is bigger than evenI imagined, Tempe. And more dangerous.”

“Dangerous? But we no longer have Max. And no one knows about the shroud bones.”

“Not yet.”

“It’s time we tel Blotnik.”

Jake spun on me. “No!”

I jerked as though shocked by live current.

Jake raised an apologetic hand.

“Sorry. My head’s cranking up again. It’s just. I—Not Blotnik.”

“Jake, are you al owing personal feelings to cloud your judgment?”

“Blotnik’s a has-been. No.” Jake snorted. “That’s being charitable. He’s a never-was. And a real asshole.”

“Blotnik could be Caligula, but he heads the IAA. The man must have done something to earn that position.”

“He published a few bril iant articles back in the sixties, got the academic world shitting its fancy French shorts, got a lot of plum offers, then sat back and never wrote another thing of merit. Now he rides on the backs of others.”

“Despite your view of Blotnik, the IAA has authority over antiquities in this country.”

Outside, a car door slammed. Jake’s eyes skittered to the window, to the locked cabinet, then back to mine. Sighing, he picked up and began clicking a bal point pen.

“I’l visit Ruth Anne Bloom this afternoon.”

“Bloom is the physical anthropologist attached to the IAA?”

Jake nodded.

“You’l tel her about the shroud bones?”

“Yes.” With his free hand, Jake squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not just saying that.” Jake threw down the pen. “You’re right. It’s too risky to keep the bones here.”

Risky for whom? I wondered, watching Jake cross back to the window. The bones? Jake? Jake’s future career? I knew my friend. He, too, had academic ambitions.

“Would you like me to go with you to the Rockefel er?”

Jake shook his head. “I’ve got to swing by the dig and warn my crew about the Hevrat Kadisha. They know the dril , but I want to be sure the damn bone police don’t take them by surprise.”

I looked at my watch.

“I’m supposed to meet Ryan at the hotel at four. But I can change that.”

“No need. I’l cal you in a couple of hours.”

“You’l 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 wil be antagonistic to any such suggestion.”

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

“Exactly. But I stil 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 al hope of individualization had evaporated with time.

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

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

“The street of il egal 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 wel past the legal limit. I believe the term ‘constitutional y 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 sel a stolen skeleton.” My voice sounded shril in the quiet room.

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

“Bloody hel .”

“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 sel 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 al . 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 tel 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’l know every place this turkey goes, everything he does, everyone he sees.”

“Friedman’s rope.”

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

Ryan drew me close.

“You’l be on your own for a while.”

“I’l 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 tal , debonair man tonight.”

“Bit bald.”

“Bald is the new beautiful.”

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

“Go.” I turned Ryan toward the door. “Heart-pumping surveil ance 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 cal 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 cal me.

Placing the note in my purse, I cal ed Jake. Stil no answer. Was he stil out? Had he tried to contact me? Had I slept through his cal ?

I tried again at seven forty-five, eight, and eight-fifteen. At eight-thirty I gave up and went down to the Cel ar 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 cal s.

Could he stil be at the Rockefel er?

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

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

Maybe he’d cal ed 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 mul ed 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 skul -tight hair and a gap between his front teeth. The other was a beluga, with long, thin wisps pul ed into a ponytail.

I thought of Hossam al-Ahmed. Who was he? Had he real y ransacked my room? Why?

The men in the alcove were drinking juice, not speaking. A yel ow candle lit their table. Shadows slid upward, morphing their features into Hal oween masks.

Were the men watching me? Was my imagination in overdrive?

I snuck a peek.

The beluga removed shades from a pocket, slipped them on, and gave me an oily smile.

My eyes snapped back to my plate.

Signing for my meal, I hurried to my room and again cal ed Jake.

No answer.

Maybe the headache had intensified, so he’d pul ed the plug on his phone and crashed.

For lack of a better plan, I took a bath. My usual remedy for agitation. No go.

Who were the guys in the bar?

Who was Hossam al-Ahmed?

What had happened to Courtney Purviance?

Where was Jake?

How was Jake? Was he having a relapse? Had he thrown an embolism? Developed a subdural hematoma?

Mother Mary! I was going completely schizoid.

While toweling off, my eyes fel on Ryan’s phone records, dry now, but browned and rippled from their encounter with the Coke.

Why not? It would keep my mind from worrying about Jake.

Propping myself in bed, I turned on the lamp and stared out the window. Thin wisps of fog blurred the minaret’s top.

While not the ful , majestic sweep of Jerusalem, my view was reassuring. Night sky. Lots of it. The same sky that had hung in this place forever.

My focus moved inward.

Arrows of light played on my dimmed ceiling. The day’s heat had waned, and the room was pleasantly cool. A perfumed dampness permeated the air.

I closed my eyes and listened, the printouts lying on my upraised knees.

Traffic. The tinkle of a shopkeeper’s bel . Cats meeting cats in the courtyard.

A car alarm cut the night with staccato beeps.

Opening my eyes, I took up Ryan’s printouts.

I was faster than I’d been on my first go-round. I could see patterns now, and recognized more numbers.

But the bath had been more calming than I’d thought. My lids grew heavy. More than once, I lost my place.

I was about to kil the light when a number caught my attention. Was it drowsiness, or was something wrong there?

I ran the sequence again and again.

I felt blood making the rounds in my brain.

Grabbing the phone, I dialed Ryan.

36

“RYAN HERE.”

“It’s Tempe.”

“How was dinner?” Subdued.

“Jake never showed.”

Slight hitch. Surprise.

“I’l have the cad flogged.”

“Turned out for the better. I may have found something in the phone records.”

“I’m listening.”

“When did Ferris take Miriam to Boca?” I asked.

“Mid-January.” Ryan was keeping his answers short. I pictured him and Friedman folded like pretzels in a darkened car.

“Okay. Here’s the sequence as I’ve been able to piece it together. On December twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth, cal s were made from the Mirabel warehouse to the Renaissance Boca Raton Hotel. That was Ferris making arrangements.”

“Okay.”

“On January fourth a cal was placed to l’Abbaye Sainte-Marie-des-Neiges. That was Ferris giving Morissonneau a heads-up on his plan to col ect Max.”

“Go on.”

“On January seventh a cal was made to Kaplan’s home. That was Ferris contacting his middleman. Kaplan was cal ed again on January tenth. Then, from the sixteenth through the twenty-third, there’s a marked drop-off in outgoing cal s from Mirabel.”

“Ferris was down south with Miriam.”

“Right. Two cal s were made to the Boca resort. Probably Purviance with questions for the boss. But get this. On January nineteenth, Kaplan’s home number was again dialed from the warehouse.”