The Cabinet of Curiosities

She nodded dumbly, eyes wide.

“Now go on upstairs. We need twenty-four hours of absolute quiet. Then of course there will be a large group of police arriving. Medical examiners, forensic experts—it will be a mess. Then you can talk. But for now—” He lifted a finger to his lips and pantomimed an exaggerated shhhhhh.

Mrs. Lee turned and shuffled up the stairs. Her movements were slow, like a sleepwalker’s. Nora heard the upstairs door open, then close. And then all was quiet once again.

In the silence, Pendergast opened one eye. It swiveled around to O’Shaughnessy, then to Nora.

“Well done, you two,” he said in a weak voice. And the faintest of smiles played about his lips.

SEVEN

AS THE SQUAD CAR carrying Captain Sherwood Custer turned the corner onto Doyers Street, the captain stared through the windshield, tensing at the noisy group of reporters. It was a smallish group, but he could see they were the worst of the lot.

Noyes angled the car into the curb and Custer opened his door, heaving his frame out onto the street. As he approached the brownstone, the reporters began calling to him. And there was the worst of all, that man— Smithbutt, or whatever—arguing with the uniformed officer standing on the front steps. “It isn’t fair!” he was crying in an outraged tone, oversized cowlick jiggling atop his head. “You let him in, so you’ve got to let me in!”

The officer ignored this, stepping aside to let Custer pass the yellow crime scene tape.

“Captain Custer!” the reporter cried, turning to him: “Commissioner Rocker has refused to speak with the press. Will you comment on the case, please?”

Custer did not respond. The commissioner, he thought. The commissioner himself was here. He was going to be chewed out but good. Let this particular sleeping dog lie, the man had said. Custer had not only wakened the dog, but it had bitten him in the ass. Thanks to O’Shaughnessy.

They signed him in at the door and Custer stepped through, Noyes following at his heels. They made their way quickly down to the basement apartment. Outside, the reporter could still be heard, voice raised in protest.

The first thing Custer noticed when he stepped into the apartment was a big hole, lots of dirt. There were the usual photographers, lights, forensics, an ME, the SOC people. And there was the commissioner.

The commissioner glanced up and spotted him. A spasm of displeasure went across his face. “Custer!” he called, nodding him over.

“Yes, sir.” Custer swallowed, gritted his teeth. This was it.

“Congratulations.”

Custer froze. Rocker’s sarcasm was a bad sign. And right in front of everybody, too.

He stiffened. “I’m sorry, sir, this was completely unauthorized from beginning to end, and I’m personally going to—”

He felt the commissioner’s arm snake around his shoulder, pull him closer. Custer could smell stale coffee on his breath. “Custer?”

“Yes sir?”

“Please, just listen,” the commissioner muttered. “Don’t speak. I’m not here to attend to excuses. I’m here to put you in charge of this investigation.”

This was a really bad sign. He’d been victimized by the commissioner’s sarcasm before, but not like this. Never like this.

Custer blinked. “I’m truly sorry, sir—”

“You’re not listening to me, Captain.” Arm still around his shoulder, the commissioner steered Custer away from the press of officials, back into the rear of the narrow apartment. “I understand your man O’Shaughnessy had something to do with uncovering this site.”

“Yes, and I am going to severely reprimand—”

“Captain, will you let me finish?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The mayor has called me twice this morning. He’s delighted.”

“Delighted?” Custer wasn’t sure if this was more sarcasm, or something even worse.

“Delighted. The more attention that gets deflected from the new copycat murders, the happier he is. New murders are very bad for approval ratings. Thanks to this discovery, you’re the cop of the hour. For the mayor, at least.”

Silence. It was clear to Custer that Rocker didn’t fully share the mayor’s good opinion.

“So are we crystal-clear, Captain? This is now officially your case.”

“What case?” Custer was momentarily confused. Were they opening an official investigation into these old killings, too?

“The Surgeon case.” Rocker waved his hand dismissively at the huge hole with their skeletons. “This is nothing. This is archaeology. This is not a case.”

“Right. Thank you, sir,” Custer said.

“Don’t thank me. Thank the mayor. It was his, ah, suggestion that you handle