Dead Men's Hearts

This elicited a few curt, unintelligible syllables in Arabic from Saleh, and a moment later the policemen had gone, leaving Haddon, Jerry, and TJ staring at one another over the empty box.

“I hope you understand,” Haddon said, “how deeply displeased I am, and that I am forced to consider the two of you responsible for the lapse in proper procedure that allowed this ludicrous incident to take place. As the major said, we’re fortunate it wasn’t more serious. This entire collection might well have been walked off with.”

“Dr. Haddon, let’s look at this reasonably for a minute,” TJ said. She didn’t feel like being reasonable, she felt like bashing him with the Seventeenth Dynasty stone jug on the rack behind him. Seven years she’d been there, and never once until now had she heard him express the slightest interest in the skeletal collection. If he’d ever been in this room before, it was news to her. So why all this goddamn fuss now? He was blowing a trivial, silly incident all out of proportion. It was odd, yes, but hardly earth-shattering.

“Only one set of bones was missing,” she said calmly, doing her best to emulate Jerry. “Whoever threw it out, and whatever reason he did it, we now have it back. In very short order, 4360 will be back in his snug little box again, as good as new.”

“Except for a gnawed bone here and there, and whatever was carried off by the rats,” Haddon said, “but what’s that among friends?”

TJ eked out a smile. “Well, actually, I think the rats got to him back in the Fifth Dynasty. They usually don’t find 4,400-year-old bones very appetizing.”

“I don’t find any of this very appetizing.”

“Sir,” Jerry put in, “you can rest assured that nothing like this will ever happen again. I’ll go over the security arrangements with a fine-tooth comb—”

What security arrangements would those be, TJ wondered.

“—and make whatever changes are necessary. I’ll clear them with you first.”

“Do,” Haddon said aridly, and to TJ: “Shall we return to the scene of the crime, Doctor?”

“Sure,” said TJ, but wasn’t this the scene of the crime?

Haddon picked up a femur and rubbed the dirt off with the heel of his hand. “Forty-three sixty,” he read aloud, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea what a laughingstock we’ll be if this gets out?”

TJ studied her toes.

Haddon dropped the bone back in the dust and wiped his hands on a handkerchief. “First,” he said, “I want this area scoured for every bit of bone that can be found. You do it; your husband wouldn’t know a metacarpal from a marshmallow. Then I want them cleaned and put back where they belong. And then I want this horrible enclosure torn down and its contents thrown away. I want it done immediately, is that understood? Have Mrs. Ebeid see to it.”

“Getting the garbage people to come out anytime soon is going to be a problem,” TJ said. “They’re—”

“Bury it, then. Dig a hole, shovel it in, and cover it over. Use the whatever-it’s-called.”

“Backhoe,” said TJ. “There’s a lot of stuff in here. It’d have to be a pretty big hole.”

“Well, put it—where was it Arlo suggested?—in the northeast corner, where Lambert’s people used to bury their trash. That’s appropriate enough; some of this rubbish has been around at least since then.” He kicked disgustedly at an old-fashioned kerosene space heater, dented and rusty, and gestured with both arms. “What a pigsty. We should have had it cleaned out—” He stopped, frowning and uncertain, his eyes focused on something in his mind. “Wait a minute. Wasn’t there…”

He turned to look at a corner of the enclosure, against which an old bed frame was propped. He pointed at the base of the bed frame. “There was a head there.”

“No, sir,” TJ said after a second, “the skull was over here, by the—”

“Not a skull, a head.”

“A—head?”

“The head of a statue,” he said irritably. “A statuette. What the devil did you think I meant?” He prowled around the enclosure, edging around bones and junk, his eyes searching the ground. “Yellow jasper, or possibly quartzite—about half-life-size, I think. It’s not here.” He peered at her. “You didn’t see it?”

“No, sir,” she said respectfully.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young woman. I was neither overtired nor intoxicated.” But he seemed uncharacteristically indecisive on this point himself. He chewed at his lower lip. “Of course it was dark, and there was a great deal of excitement, what with Arlo hopping about, and the light flashing everywhere. It’s possible that I may have been… didn’t I point it out?”

TJ shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t?” He grew more unsure still. “That’s odd, I’m sure I remember…” He poked randomly at piles of trash with his foot. “Well, it’s not here now, at any rate.”

“No, it doesn’t seem to be,” TJ said.

“Could someone have taken it?”

“Taken it?” TJ said. “You mean, taken it? Between then and now?”

“I mean—never mind.” He continued to worry his lip. “Now that I think of it, I suppose it could have been an illusion caused by the flashlight beams. All those moving shadows…”

“I can ask the others if they saw it.”

“Yes, do. No, don’t. We’ll keep this between ourselves. I shouldn’t want anyone to think…”He cleared his throat and drew himself up, recovering some of his firmness. “And need I point out that nothing about this outlandish affair need be repeated to our visitors? There is no reason in the world for Bruno Gustafson or anyone else connected with the foundation to know anything about—”