Murder in the Smithsonian (29 page)

The National Symphony Orchestra started playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” and three hundred thousand voices cheered as one.

She had almost gotten to Fourteenth Street. She looked to her right. The Museum of American History stood silhouetted against a sky streaked with orange-and-white clouds. The music was louder; people around her sang, mostly out of tune. She closed her eyes against a pain in her head that rivaled the one in her foot. She took a deep breath and cut across the Mall to the museum. The steps were filled with people using their
elevation to better observe the festivities. Uniformed security guards had abandoned their interior posts and now occupied the top step.

Heather snaked her way through them and stopped at the doors. A series of cannon volleys, part of the orchestra’s program, shook the air. She looked back at the mass of people; more cannon fire, cheers, hats tossed into the air.

She pushed through the doors, and was assaulted by silence. The museum was dark except for low-wattage perimeter lights. She blinked against the abrupt change, and then her eyes focused on the outline of the Foucault pendulum shaft as it slowly, relentlessly moved back and forth against dim light coming through windows facing out on Constitution Avenue. It was strangely hypnotic, seductive…

She went to it, laid her purse on the railing and looked down. Oh, God…. Lewis had fallen from here, the sword in his back… She slowly lowered her gaze as though she were following his body, all the way to its landing with a sickening thud on the floor below her. And, involuntarily, she let out a cry of misery and terror that pierced the stillness as the sword of Jefferson had pierced her lover’s back—

“Heather…?”

She turned around. Chloe Prentwhistle came out from the shadows.

“Oh, thank God, it’s you.”

“Yes, Heather, it’s me, I’m glad you finally got here. And that you’re safe.”

Heather slumped back against the railing. Chloe stopped a few feet from her. “I’m very glad to see you, Heather. What kept you?”

“Kept me? Oh, I see… he told you to meet me there, then told me the National Gallery and met me himself—”

“He? You mean—”

“Mr.
Saunders
. He must have been the one who ransacked Evelyn’s rooms. He couldn’t find it and when I called you, well… he must have guessed I had it and…”

“And what, Heather? What did he guess you had? Don’t hold back now, Heather. I’m your friend, I’ve proved it. I don’t blame you for being suspicious, even of me. My God, what you’ve been through… Heather? Is it the Harsa…?”

“Yes… how did you know?”

“Good lord, girl… I’ve been looking for it for a very
long time now. It’s difficult to explain, Heather. Come with me to my office where no one will bother us. I’ll explain there.” She held out her hand. “I’ll take it now, dear.”

Heather opened her purse, clutched the chamois bag.

“I know it’s been a nightmare, Heather, but it’s over now.”

Heather pulled the bag halfway from her purse, paused. “I’m very confused about something, Chloe. I have the Harsa, but there’s a Harsa on display. Two Harsas? Why?”

Chloe nodded vigorously. “Yes, there are two Legion of Harsa medals, Heather. One is real, the other is an expert reproduction. I’m afraid there has been a terrible scandal inside the Smithsonian, and the Harsa is at the core of it. Not because it’s
especially
valuable, but because it surfaced at the wrong, or right time, depending on which side you’re on—”

“Which
side
? Which side should I be on, Chloe? Was Lewis on the wrong side? Is that why he was killed?”

“Oh God, I’m afraid so. He found out about the scandal from Peter Peckham and came to Washington to expose it. Those behind it couldn’t allow that to happen…”

“But what could be so terrible that someone would kill a person to keep it secret?”

“Yes… I agree, but there are people who will do anything to preserve their reputation, however ill deserved. They knew Lewis and I were close to exposing them and their schemes. It would all have been resolved much earlier but I had to wait until the Fourth for it to become public. Even now, I’m afraid, it will badly reflect on the Smithsonian, but perhaps the impact won’t be quite as traumatic… The Harsa you
have there in your purse is the key. I’m so terribly sorry you had to go through what you have, Heather, but at least we must take advantage of it, if only to see that Lewis’s awful death wasn’t for nothing. That would be unpardonable.”

“I don’t know, Chloe…” Heather allowed the sack to drop to the bottom of her purse, turned and leaned on the railing. Chloe did not move. She did not speak. Heather watched the giant pendulum move back and forth across the compass rose, silent, perpetual, its brass bob sparkling as it caught rays of incidental light. “Which Harsa do I have, Chloe?”

“The real one.”

“The one on display is a… a—?”

“A replica. Yes. We had to create the impression that it was real so that the public wouldn’t be aware of the investigation.”

“What about that man in London? The Arab? Who killed
him
? And who killed Peter Peckham?”

“Heather, please, let’s go to my office. I’ll make some tea and we can go over everything in detail. Answer all your questions. You’re certainly entitled to know…”

Heather stayed as she was. She heard the faint strains of music and crowd noise from outside. She was breathing normally now, and the air conditioning had evaporated her perspiration, leaving her skin cold, clammy.

“Come on,” Chloe said kindly.

Heather turned. She badly wanted to believe, to trust in this seemingly warm and understanding woman. She went back to her purse, took the sack from it but did not yet hand it over.

Chloe smiled reassuringly.

“Don’t, Heather,” a male voice said. Both women looked in its direction and saw the huge outline of
Evelyn Killinworth as he stepped out from behind a glass display case. “I’m surprised at you, Heather, and very disappointed,” he said.

“With
me
?” Heather said.

“Yes, indeed, Dr. Killinworth. How dare you, considering
your
role in this—” Chloe said.

“What are you doing here?” Heather said, holding tight to the chamois sack.

“I am here, young woman, among other things, to attempt to help you distinguish friend from foe, something it seems you have difficulty with on your own—”

“You had this,” Heather said sharply, raising the sack with the Harsa. “
I found it in your apartment
.”

“Of course you did, and I would have expected you to have waited to talk to
me
about it. Instead you ran off in quite the wrong direction, to very much the wrong person—”

“
Stop
it, damn you, Evelyn, I still hate having to face it… you were my friend, or seemed to be. My uncle swore by you. But you fooled us all, and for too long… you went to Belgravia and killed that Arab and took the Harsa from him. I think I knew it even then… at least the killing part… but I refused to accept it—”

“Tell her, Chloe,” Killinworth finally broke in.

“Tell her
what
, Dr. Killinworth, that she is looking at the man responsible for her fiancé’s death—?”

“Nonsense… Heather, you know that I was not even here the night of Lewis’s murder.”

“But those who have been involved with you for all the years you’ve plundered the Smithsonian were here to do your dirty work,” said Chloe. “He’s been behind it for years, Heather, stealing pieces from the back rooms and selling them on the black market—”

“Is that what happened to the Harsa my uncle donated?”

Killinworth said nothing.

“Exactly. He waited until your uncle was
presumed
dead, then removed the Harsa from the back room with the help of friends who worked here. The medal was offered for sale through the Arab, Ashtat. But unfortunately for Dr. Killinworth your uncle was not dead. He returned, knowing that his Harsa, which he’d given the Smithsonian, had gone on the market. Which is why Ashtat killed your uncle.”

“And made it appear to be suicide?”

“Precisely, my dear. Well, am I correct so far, Dr. Killinworth?”

“Continue, Chloe. I find it fascinating.”

“I certainly shall, doctor. But I doubt you will continue to find it so fascinating… You see, Heather, when Peter Peckham learned what had happened to the Harsa, he confided in his good friend, your Lewis. That was terribly unfortunate for him. Both Peter and Lewis had to be… what shall we say, Dr. Killinworth, eliminated? Silenced? Otherwise your whole highly lucrative career in crime would be revealed.”

Heather stood rigid. She fought to keep her rage from erupting. “I
trusted
you,” she said to Killinworth. “And Saunders is your man, accomplice… he does what you tell him. Such as trying to get the Harsa from me.
Such as killing Lewis
—”

“Exactly right, Heather,” Chloe said. Her voice took on a threatening edge. “Dr. Killinworth, Heather and I are walking away from here now. I suggest you not try to stop us. I’ve just come from my office, where I dictated a full account of my investigation. You will only make things worse for yourself if you harm us in any way—”

Killinworth did not move, but said to Heather, “Much of what this incredible woman has said is true, Heather. She knows a great deal. But that is only because
she
has masterminded this whole sorry business… I know it is difficult for you to believe this, but you must. If you go with her and give her the Harsa you will jeopardize months of important investigative work, not to mention your life—”

Heather shook her head. “No, damn it, you’re lying, you’ve lied all along—”

“It’s no use, Dr. Killinworth, these clever lies and accusations. The only way Heather will be in danger is if she believes you… It’s all right now, Heather, give me the Harsa and we’ll turn it over together to Captain Hanrahan—”

The sound of fireworks crashed in on them, the flash of the airborne explosions causing the windows to become momentary strobe lights.

The sound of footsteps coming from the Mall entrance made them turn around… and see Ford Saunders running toward them.

Chloe’s previous composure seemed to leave her. She looked from Killinworth to Saunders. Her mouth tightened.

“You bitch,” Saunders stopped some ten feet from them, fighting to catch his breath and pointing at Chloe. “Damn you—”

“Be
quiet
.” Her look was murderous.

“So smart, so proper, and yet when it comes down to it, just a pair of thieves falling out… Enough of this, Heather,” Killinworth said. “Give me the Harsa and we’ll see that these people never again play their terrible games—”

“No.”

Killinworth shook his head and turned his attention to Saunders. “What do you plan to do now, Mr. Saunders? What control she’s managed to exert over you all these years… was Lewis Tunney the first person she had you kill? Were there others—?”

“Tell them what happened, Chloe,
tell
them,” Sanders said. “Yes… I’d dress up like a woman for you and steal her purse and search through rooms for that damn medal, but you know I’d never
kill
anybody for you or anybody else—”

Chloe lost more of her composure. “You disgust me,” she said. “So incredibly brazen… trying to switch your guilt…” To Heather she said, “They’d been in league all along, Heather. My own assistant and
Professor
Killinworth. When I found out about it I was devastated. I’d been good to him, was even fond of him. I’ve defended, protected him in his perverse needs… now this. I told you how he lied to me about where to meet you—”

“
You
are the liar… oh God,
she
killed Tunney, all I did was get rid of the medal that night—”

Saunders was cut short by Chloe reaching into the folds of her caftan and bringing out a Swiss .357 Hammerli “Virginian” revolver.

“More killings to keep people quiet, Miss Prentwhistle?” Killinworth asked. “Tunney, and Ashtat and Peckham in London. Nobody to do your dirty work there, I reckon.” Killinworth couldn’t be sure of those last accusations, but it made sense, he felt.

More so when Chloe ignored him and said to Heather. “I won’t ask again, Heather. You and I are both in terrible danger. We
must
act now. Come with me, we’ll call the police and it will be over—”

“Over my dead body—” Saunders began.

“
Damn
you.” Chloe raised the revolver, pointed it at him. He raised his hands as she pulled the trigger. The bullet struck him in the chest. He collapsed inward and pitched forward, his head thudding against the floor.

“The Harsa,” Chloe said. “Give it to me now, Heather.”

Killinworth quickly stepped between. “Give the gun to me Chloe. This is, as you say, over. You are only making it worse—”

This time, Chloe’s aim was lower. Killinworth’s eyes opened wide. His mouth formed a word that was never said or heard. He clutched his stomach, as though trying to close flesh torn apart by the bullet, then fell forward, hands still gripping his stomach, his large body hitting the floor with a thud. Somehow, as though refusing to be humiliated by his position, he managed to roll over onto his back.

Heather bolted and moved quickly into the shadows of the Harsa-Cincinnati exhibition, went behind a towering statue of George Washington and looked around it at the pendulum railing where Evelyn Killinworth writhed in pain a few feet from Ford Saunders’s motionless body.

Behind them was Chloe Prentwhistle.

Chloe turned and looked in the direction Heather had gone. “Heather? It’s all right now. No need to be afraid. Heather…?”

Heather looked for the next place to hide. She watched Chloe walk away from the bodies and slowly approach the exhibition area, gun still in her hand.

Heather held her breath as Chloe reached the exhibit entrance and stopped. “Heather,” she called, “don’t be foolish. Can’t you see the truth
now
? Killinworth was right about one thing… You don’t seem able to tell who your friends really are… Listen to me, Heather… Lewis was killed for the medal you have right now. He would want us to work together. Let’s not let his death be even more tragic than it is. He
cared
about the Harsa and what it meant, Heather. You know I do. Come…”