nodded. “The signs were probably there for a decade, but William managed to cover it up well. The collection was left in complete disarray. We didn’t realize how bad things were until I hired Dr. Robinson three years ago, and he discovered that accession ledgers were missing. He couldn’t find documentation for a number of crates in the basement. In January, when he opened up the crate containing Madam X, he had no idea what was inside it. Believe me, we were all stunned. We had no inkling there was
ever
a mummy in the collection.”
“Miss Duke told us that most of the collection comes down from your family,” said Frost.
“Five generations of Crispins have personally wielded trowels and shovels. Collecting is our family passion. Unfortunately, it’s also a costly obsession, and this museum has sucked up what was left of my inheritance.” He sighed again. “Which leaves it where it is today—short of funds and dependent on volunteers. And donors.”
“Could that be how Madam X ended up here?” asked Frost.
“From a donor?”
“Donated artifacts do come our way,” Simon said. “People want a safe home for some prized antiquity that they can’t properly care for. Or they want a nice little plaque with their name on a permanent display for everyone to see. We’re willing to take almost anything.”
“But you have no record of a donated mummy?”
“Nicholas found no mention of one. And believe me, he searched. He made it his mission. In March we hired Josephine to help us with the Madam X analysis, and she couldn’t track down the mummy’s origins, either.”
“It’s possible Madam X was added to the collection when Dr. Scott-Kerr was curator,” said Debbie.
“The guy with Alzheimer’s,” said Jane.
“Right. And he could have misplaced the paperwork. It would explain things.”
“It sounds like a reasonable theory,” said Jane. “But we have to pursue other theories as well. Who has access to your basement?”
“The keys are kept at the reception desk, so pretty much everyone on staff does.”
“Then anyone on your staff could have placed Madam X in the basement?”
There was a moment’s silence. Debbie and Simon looked at each other, and his face darkened. “I don’t like what you’re implying, Detective.”
“It’s a reasonable question.”
“We are a venerable institution, staffed by excellent people, most of them volunteers,” said Simon. “Our docents, our student interns—they’re here because they’re dedicated to preservation.”
“I wasn’t questioning anybody’s dedication. I just wondered who had access.”
“What you’re really asking is, Who could have stashed a dead body down there?”
“It’s a possibility we have to consider.”
“Trust me, we’ve had no murderers employed here.”
“Can you be absolutely certain of that, Mr. Crispin?” Jane asked quietly, but her gaze left him no easy escape. She could see that her question had disturbed him. She had forced him to confront the awful possibility that someone he knew, now or in the past, could have brought death into this proud bastion of learning.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Crispin,” she finally said. “But things may be a little disrupted here for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“Somehow a dead body ended up in your museum. Maybe she was donated to you a decade ago. Maybe she was placed here recently. The problem is, you have no documentation. You don’t even know what else is in your collection. We’re going to need to take a look at your basement.”
Simon shook his head in bewilderment. “And just what are you expecting to find?”
She didn’t answer the question; she didn’t need to.
SEVEN
“Is this absolutely necessary?” said Nicholas Robinson. “Do you have to do it this way?”
“I’m afraid we do,” said Jane, and handed him the search warrant. As he read it, Jane stood by with her team of three male detectives. Today she and Frost had brought in
Linda Green
Carolyn Williford
Eve Langlais
Sharon Butala
William Horwood
Suz deMello
Christopher Jory
Nancy Krulik
Philipp Frank
Monica Alexander