Read Online The Mike Murphy Files and Other Stories by Christopher Bunn - Free Book Online Page B

as the Han and Ming Dynasties and the Greco-Roman era,” said Dr. Bulstrode modestly.
    “He’s the world’s premier ass, is what he is,” snapped Polly. “My uncle took him under his wing when he was a snot-nosed graduate student, taught him almost everything he knew, and what did he get as thanks? Wonderboy here stole priceless jewels from the Amarna Dig and sold them on the black market.”
    “I was fully exonerated in court,” said Dr. Bulstrode. “As fiery as ever, aren’t you, Polly? I’ve always admired that about you.”
    “Open the door,” said Mr. Brown. “The IRS does not like to be kept waiting.”
    Polly delved in her purse and retrieved the keys. The door was a rusty slab of iron that looked more like it belonged on a bank vault than a warehouse. It had no less than six locks, each one rustier and more recalcitrant than the last. And when the last key turned, the door took a great deal of pulling and tugging before it reluctantly opened.
    The little group hurried inside out of the rain and stood dripping in the gloomy shadows. Dr. Bulstrode looked around, his nose twitching like a hound dog’s. It was a large warehouse, with a tall, cavernous ceiling of metal rafters and dusty beams that vanished up into darkness. There were no windows. A musty, peppery sort of odor filled the air. Mr. Fleming found a fuse box near the door and began flipping switches until a series of hanging lamps bloomed into radiance, blinking on one by one in a long line away from them. The place was crowded with stacks of enormous wooden crates. Each crate was neatly labeled with a typed white card.
    “Here you are, Dr. Bulstrode,” said Mr. Brown, handing him the list of Professor Inch’s assets. “We thought we’d start with the most valuable objects and work our way down from there. If you would be so kind as to advise us on where to begin?”
    “Patience, my good accountant, patience. Now, he lists a lot of nice Mayan statuary here. The Cacaxtla Dig, I would think. Splendid stucco reliefs on those, don’t you know. The depictions of human sacrifice to their god of death, Huncame, are quite moving. A similar piece, dated from around 1100 bc , recently sold at auction in London for 4.3 million.”
    Dr. Bulstrode strode down an aisle between the stacks of crates, reading through the list. The three IRS agents hurried after him. Polly and Mr. Fleming followed more sedately.
    “Dollars?” said Mr. White, whipping out his calculator.
    “English pounds. Aha! Here’s a promising item. The funeral urn of Queen Hadaname of Ur. Complete with ashes and bone shards. More than two thousand years before the birth of Christ, give or take a few years. How’d you like that on your mantle alongside your Aunt Marge? A jeweled Phoenician grave mask. Not one, but three of them. Now we’ve hit the jackpot!”
    “What?” said Mr. Brown, looking around at the wooden crates. “The grave masks? The urn? How much can we get for the urn?”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” Dr. Bulstrode gave him a withering look. “The sarcophagi. Though I had serious professional disagreements with Professor Inch over his methods, I would be the first to admit he knew his sarcophagi. You, sir, might know your forms and your circulars and your exemptions, but Inch knew his sarcophagi. Priceless!”
    “How big of you to admit that,” mumbled Polly.
    “Which one?” said Mr. Brown. “Or, rather, which ones? How much can we sell them for?”
    “Well, it isn’t that straightforward. It’s more a question of who will buy them. An Etruscan sarcophagus will have certain buyers that an Incan sarcophagus will not have, and vice versa. Some collectors are buying history with their antiquities. Others are in it for portfolio diversification. There are other motivations, such as national pride, boredom, revenge, all that sort of stuff. But the most valuable sarcophagus in Professor Inch’s collection would have to be—well, let’s see. Hmm. I’d have to