Read Online The Mask of Atreus by A. J. Hartley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A. J. Hartley
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Antiquities, greece, Theft from museums, Museum curators
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think I killed Richard?"
"Hey, lady, I'm just saying."
"Please stop just saying, " she said, some of her old defiance flashing up through her confusion. "I don't understand what you mean by it. And I'd prefer it if you didn't call me lady ."
"That," he said, looking her up and down with clumsy irony, "will be no problem at all."
Deborah just looked at him. She felt out of her depth. In fact that phrase made sense to her in ways it never had before. She was floating out to sea. The water was dark and cold beneath her, and there were things down there with teeth, watching, circling . . .
"One other thing," said the uniform. "That John Doe: the shooting?"
"What about it?" said Cerniga.
"He had a couple of personal effects in an inside pocket. The writing on them is foreign. Greek, maybe."
"Greek?" said Cerniga.
"Maybe," said the cop. "They weren't sure. They're checking it out."
57
T h e M a s k o f A t r e u s
"If he turns out to be a foreign national, won't that just be perfect?" said Keene, his expression sour.
"Maybe we should have you look at him," said Cerniga to Deborah. "See if you've seen him around."
"Because he's Greek and there's a room full of old Greek crap upstairs?" said Keene in a tone of scornful disbelief.
"You think that's a connection?"
"Probably not," said Cerniga. His eyes narrowed, and he turned to Deborah. "Did you know that Mr. Dixon made a series of long-distance calls to Greece in the past two weeks?"
"No," said Deborah honestly.
"Do you know why he may have done so?"
"No," said Deborah miserably.
More secrets.
Cerniga sighed and considered the uniformed cop.
"It's probably not connected," he said, "but let's check out the other victim."
"It's not our case," said Keene, petulant now. "We have enough on our plate without making these dumb-ass links from one stiff--wealthy, stab wounds, indoors--to another--
homeless, gun shot, outdoors!"
"He was homeless?" asked Deborah, remembering the strange lurker in the parking lot.
"Probably," said Cerniga, "we don't know for sure--"
Without warning, the door kicked open and a tall, young, blond man came in. He was slim and wore a pale, rumpled suit with a stone-colored shirt, open at the throat. He looked like a man unused to being messed about.
"Miss Miller?" he said, ignoring the cops completely,
"I'm Calvin Bowers. I was Mr. Dixon's lawyer. Since I'm responsible for his estate--including the museum--I thought I would offer my services."
His eyes were a deep, unsettling blue, almost purple in their intensity.
"Miss Miller has not been charged," said Cerniga, getting to his feet and shooting Keene an irritated look.
"Just as well," said Bowers, his blue eyes flashing danger-58
A. J. Hartley
ously in Cerniga's direction. "But this is Miss Miller's second extended interrogation in a few hours, and on the night she found the body of her mentor. I think that any evidence you gathered in such circumstances would be considered of questionable reliability, wouldn't you? I'm damned sure a jury would."
"Now you just hold it right there," said Keene, rising.
"Are you in charge of this investigation?" Bowers shot back.
The question seemed to give Keene pause, and his righteous certainty flickered. He looked at Cerniga.
"I am," said Cerniga. "Can we get back to the matter of the intruder at Miss Miller's apartment--?"
"An intruder?" said Bowers, his eyes turning to Deborah.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded, tense, wondering who he was, why he seemed to be taking her part.
"I got out before I even saw him."
Keene grinned.
Bowers rounded on him. "If I find that you've created a hostile interrogation environment for this witness," he said,
"I'll have her entire testimony thrown out. Is that clear?"
Keene's sneer wilted, and though it didn't completely vanish, he shrugged his assent.
"I want to make it clear," said Cerniga, "that Miss Miller is being interviewed, not interrogated."
"Have you determined the motivation for the attack
"Hey, lady, I'm just saying."
"Please stop just saying, " she said, some of her old defiance flashing up through her confusion. "I don't understand what you mean by it. And I'd prefer it if you didn't call me lady ."
"That," he said, looking her up and down with clumsy irony, "will be no problem at all."
Deborah just looked at him. She felt out of her depth. In fact that phrase made sense to her in ways it never had before. She was floating out to sea. The water was dark and cold beneath her, and there were things down there with teeth, watching, circling . . .
"One other thing," said the uniform. "That John Doe: the shooting?"
"What about it?" said Cerniga.
"He had a couple of personal effects in an inside pocket. The writing on them is foreign. Greek, maybe."
"Greek?" said Cerniga.
"Maybe," said the cop. "They weren't sure. They're checking it out."
57
T h e M a s k o f A t r e u s
"If he turns out to be a foreign national, won't that just be perfect?" said Keene, his expression sour.
"Maybe we should have you look at him," said Cerniga to Deborah. "See if you've seen him around."
"Because he's Greek and there's a room full of old Greek crap upstairs?" said Keene in a tone of scornful disbelief.
"You think that's a connection?"
"Probably not," said Cerniga. His eyes narrowed, and he turned to Deborah. "Did you know that Mr. Dixon made a series of long-distance calls to Greece in the past two weeks?"
"No," said Deborah honestly.
"Do you know why he may have done so?"
"No," said Deborah miserably.
More secrets.
Cerniga sighed and considered the uniformed cop.
"It's probably not connected," he said, "but let's check out the other victim."
"It's not our case," said Keene, petulant now. "We have enough on our plate without making these dumb-ass links from one stiff--wealthy, stab wounds, indoors--to another--
homeless, gun shot, outdoors!"
"He was homeless?" asked Deborah, remembering the strange lurker in the parking lot.
"Probably," said Cerniga, "we don't know for sure--"
Without warning, the door kicked open and a tall, young, blond man came in. He was slim and wore a pale, rumpled suit with a stone-colored shirt, open at the throat. He looked like a man unused to being messed about.
"Miss Miller?" he said, ignoring the cops completely,
"I'm Calvin Bowers. I was Mr. Dixon's lawyer. Since I'm responsible for his estate--including the museum--I thought I would offer my services."
His eyes were a deep, unsettling blue, almost purple in their intensity.
"Miss Miller has not been charged," said Cerniga, getting to his feet and shooting Keene an irritated look.
"Just as well," said Bowers, his blue eyes flashing danger-58
A. J. Hartley
ously in Cerniga's direction. "But this is Miss Miller's second extended interrogation in a few hours, and on the night she found the body of her mentor. I think that any evidence you gathered in such circumstances would be considered of questionable reliability, wouldn't you? I'm damned sure a jury would."
"Now you just hold it right there," said Keene, rising.
"Are you in charge of this investigation?" Bowers shot back.
The question seemed to give Keene pause, and his righteous certainty flickered. He looked at Cerniga.
"I am," said Cerniga. "Can we get back to the matter of the intruder at Miss Miller's apartment--?"
"An intruder?" said Bowers, his eyes turning to Deborah.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded, tense, wondering who he was, why he seemed to be taking her part.
"I got out before I even saw him."
Keene grinned.
Bowers rounded on him. "If I find that you've created a hostile interrogation environment for this witness," he said,
"I'll have her entire testimony thrown out. Is that clear?"
Keene's sneer wilted, and though it didn't completely vanish, he shrugged his assent.
"I want to make it clear," said Cerniga, "that Miss Miller is being interviewed, not interrogated."
"Have you determined the motivation for the attack
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