In 1949, Narmer took over for Khaffre.
Pharaoh in, pharaoh out. Was it some sort of Masonic group?
I moved forward, added the year for each list.
Nineteen fifty-nine, 1972, 1979, 1986.
I stared at the years. Then I flew to my briefcase, pulled out other notes, and checked.
“Sonofabitch!”
I looked at my watch: 3:20 A.M. Where the hell was Lucy Crowe?
To say I rested poorly would be like saying Quasimodo had a bad back. I tossed and turned, hovering on the edge but never moving into real sleep.
When the phone rang I was already up, sorting laundry, sweeping the patio, snipping dead leaves, drinking cup after cup of coffee.
“Did you get it?” I almost shrieked.
“Repeat the punch line.”
“I can't tie up the line, Pete.”
“You have call waiting.”
“Why are you phoning at seven in the morning?”
“I have to return to Indiana to reinterview Itchy and Scratchy.”
It took me a moment to connect.
“The Bobbsey twins?”
“I've downgraded them. I'm calling to tell you that Boyd will be furloughed to the Granbar Kennel.”
“What? The towels were too rough here?”
“He didn't want to impose.”
“Isn't Granbar awfully expensive?”
“Knowing I'm in Big Law, Boyd has come to expect a certain lifestyle.”
“I could work him in.”
“You like that dog,” he wheedled.
“That dog is a moron. But there's no reason to lay out bucks when I'm still stuck with five pounds of Alpo.”
“The Granbar staff will be crushed.”
“They'll work through it.”
“I'll bring him by in an hour.”
I was spray-cleaning the inside of the trash can when the phone rang again. Lucy Crowe's voice was taut with frustration.
“It's still no go with the magistrate. I don't get it. Frank's usually reasonable, but he got so angry this morning I thought he was going to have a heart attack. I backed off because I was afraid I'd kill the weasel.”
I told her what I'd found in the Veckhoff diary.
“Can you check on MPs from seventy-two and seventy-nine?”
“Yeah.”
A long silence rolled down from the highlands. Finally, “I noticed a metal bar when we were out at that place, lying in the dirt by the front porch.”
“Oh?” My burglary tool.
Another pause.
“If wreckage is discovered on property within reasonable proximity of an airplane crash, my office has jurisdiction during the period of active recovery.”
“I see.”
“Only for matters relating directly to the crash. To check for survivors who might have crawled off, for example. Maybe died under the house.”
“Or inside the courtyard.”
“Anything suspicious found while inside, I'd need a regular warrant.”
“Of course.”
“There are still two passengers unaccounted for.”
“Yes.”
“Did that bar look like wreckage to you?”
“Could have been a piece from the cabin floor.”
