Read Online The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel by Tess Gerritsen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tess Gerritsen
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Detectives Tripp and Crowe for the search, and they all waited as Robinson took a painfully long time examining the warrant. The ever-impatient Darren Crowe give a loud huff of frustration, and Jane shot him an annoyed look of
Cool it,
a pointed reminder that she was in charge of this team, and he’d better toe the line.
Robinson frowned at the paperwork. “You’re searching for human remains?” He looked up at Jane. “Well, of course you’ll find them here. This is a
museum.
And I assure you, those bones on the third floor
are
ancient. If you’d like me to point out the relevant dental evidence—”
“It’s what you have stored in the basement that interests us. If you’ll unlock the door down there, we can get started.”
Robinson glanced at the other detectives who stood nearby and spotted the crowbar in Detective Tripp’s hands. “You can’t just go breaking open crates! You could damage priceless artifacts.”
“You’re welcome to observe and advise. But please don’t move anything or touch anything.”
“Why are you turning this museum into a crime scene?”
“We’re concerned that Madam X may not be the only surprise in your collection. Now, please come down with us to the basement.”
Robinson swallowed hard and looked at the senior docent, who’d been watching the confrontation. “Mrs. Willebrandt, would you call Josephine and tell her to come in right away? I need her.”
“It’s five minutes to ten, Dr. Robinson. Visitors will be arriving.”
“The museum will have to stay closed today,” said Jane. “We’d prefer that the media not catch wind of what’s going on. So please lock the front doors.”
Her order was pointedly ignored by Mrs. Willebrandt, who kept her gaze on the curator. “Dr. Robinson?”
He gave a resigned sigh. “It appears we have no choice in the matter. Please do as the police say.” Opening a drawer behind the reception desk, he took out a set of keys, then led the way past the wax statue of Dr. Cornelius Crispin, past the Greek and Roman marble busts, to the stairwell. A dozen creaking steps took them down to the basement level.
There he paused. Turning to Jane, he said: “Do I need an attorney? Am I a suspect?”
“No.”
“Then who is? Tell me that much at least.”
“This may date back to before your employment here.”
“How far back?”
“To the previous curator.”
Robinson gave a startled laugh. “That poor man had Alzheimer’s. You don’t really think old William was storing dead bodies down here, do you?”
“The door, Dr. Robinson.”
Shaking his head, he unlocked the door. Cool, dry air spilled out. They stepped into the room, and Jane heard startled murmurs from the other detectives as they glimpsed the vast storage area, filled with row upon row of crates stacked almost to the ceiling.
“Please keep the door closed, if you could,” said Robinson.
“This is a climate-controlled area.”
“Man,” said Detective Crowe. “This is going to take us forever to look through all of these. What’s in these crates, anyway?”
“We’re more than halfway through our inventory,” said Robinson. “If you’d only give us another few months to complete it, we’d be able to tell you what every crate contains.”
“A few months is a long time to wait.”
“It’s taken me a year just to inspect those rows there, all the way to the back shelves. I can personally vouch for their contents. But I haven’t yet opened the crates at this end. It’s a slow process because one needs to be careful and document everything. Some of the items are centuries old and may already be crumbling.”
“Even in a climate-controlled room?” asked Tripp.
“The air-conditioning wasn’t installed until the 1960s.”
Frost pointed to a crate on the bottom of a stack. “Look at the date stamped on that one. ‘1873. Siam.’”
“You see?” Robinson looked at Jane. “There may be treasures here that haven’t been unpacked in a
Cool it,
a pointed reminder that she was in charge of this team, and he’d better toe the line.
Robinson frowned at the paperwork. “You’re searching for human remains?” He looked up at Jane. “Well, of course you’ll find them here. This is a
museum.
And I assure you, those bones on the third floor
are
ancient. If you’d like me to point out the relevant dental evidence—”
“It’s what you have stored in the basement that interests us. If you’ll unlock the door down there, we can get started.”
Robinson glanced at the other detectives who stood nearby and spotted the crowbar in Detective Tripp’s hands. “You can’t just go breaking open crates! You could damage priceless artifacts.”
“You’re welcome to observe and advise. But please don’t move anything or touch anything.”
“Why are you turning this museum into a crime scene?”
“We’re concerned that Madam X may not be the only surprise in your collection. Now, please come down with us to the basement.”
Robinson swallowed hard and looked at the senior docent, who’d been watching the confrontation. “Mrs. Willebrandt, would you call Josephine and tell her to come in right away? I need her.”
“It’s five minutes to ten, Dr. Robinson. Visitors will be arriving.”
“The museum will have to stay closed today,” said Jane. “We’d prefer that the media not catch wind of what’s going on. So please lock the front doors.”
Her order was pointedly ignored by Mrs. Willebrandt, who kept her gaze on the curator. “Dr. Robinson?”
He gave a resigned sigh. “It appears we have no choice in the matter. Please do as the police say.” Opening a drawer behind the reception desk, he took out a set of keys, then led the way past the wax statue of Dr. Cornelius Crispin, past the Greek and Roman marble busts, to the stairwell. A dozen creaking steps took them down to the basement level.
There he paused. Turning to Jane, he said: “Do I need an attorney? Am I a suspect?”
“No.”
“Then who is? Tell me that much at least.”
“This may date back to before your employment here.”
“How far back?”
“To the previous curator.”
Robinson gave a startled laugh. “That poor man had Alzheimer’s. You don’t really think old William was storing dead bodies down here, do you?”
“The door, Dr. Robinson.”
Shaking his head, he unlocked the door. Cool, dry air spilled out. They stepped into the room, and Jane heard startled murmurs from the other detectives as they glimpsed the vast storage area, filled with row upon row of crates stacked almost to the ceiling.
“Please keep the door closed, if you could,” said Robinson.
“This is a climate-controlled area.”
“Man,” said Detective Crowe. “This is going to take us forever to look through all of these. What’s in these crates, anyway?”
“We’re more than halfway through our inventory,” said Robinson. “If you’d only give us another few months to complete it, we’d be able to tell you what every crate contains.”
“A few months is a long time to wait.”
“It’s taken me a year just to inspect those rows there, all the way to the back shelves. I can personally vouch for their contents. But I haven’t yet opened the crates at this end. It’s a slow process because one needs to be careful and document everything. Some of the items are centuries old and may already be crumbling.”
“Even in a climate-controlled room?” asked Tripp.
“The air-conditioning wasn’t installed until the 1960s.”
Frost pointed to a crate on the bottom of a stack. “Look at the date stamped on that one. ‘1873. Siam.’”
“You see?” Robinson looked at Jane. “There may be treasures here that haven’t been unpacked in a
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