The Faceless One (35 page)

Steven felt a wave of revulsion pass through him, followed by the first stirrings of rage toward the man who might have killed his brother.

But wouldn’t the police have talked to Tully? He knew they interviewed all his brother’s friends and colleagues. But Tully could have hidden behind a mask of concern and grief. Without the perspective of his recent encounter with the man, they might have no reason to suspect him. It was up to Steven to give them that perspective.

Steven glanced at his watch. About fifteen minutes before they would board the flight for home. “I have to make a phone call,” he told Liz, who was wetting a napkin with her tongue and wiping Bobby’s face, the quintessential maternal gesture. She cocked an eyebrow.

“I think the NYPD might want to talk to Max Tully,” he said.

Realization dawned on her, and she nodded.

Steven rose, kissed them both on the head, and went to a relatively quiet spot near a set of posters for various New York attractions. He took out his phone and dialed the number Roberts had left them what seemed like months ago.

“Detective Clement,” came the reply. It was a woman’s voice, and Steven was a little taken aback.

“Is Detective Roberts in?”

“Detective Roberts isn’t here at the moment. This is Detective Clement. Can I help you?”

“This is Steven Slater.”

“Oh, Mr. Slater. I was just about to call you. I’m taking over your brother’s case for the time being.”

He wanted to ask her about Roberts but decided he wouldn’t be privy to whatever politics went on at the NYPD. Besides, he had a flight to catch.

“I had a run-in with one of my brother’s colleagues, and I thought the police should know about it.”

“And who was that?” She was very attentive now—eager for any details he could give her. He told her about his conversation with Tully at the memorial and how he had shown up at the airport.

“And you say this Jake Sparks detained him.”

Steven cringed. Was this going to make trouble for Jake?

“He was just trying to keep Tully from bothering me and my family.”

“Sounds like a good friend.”

“We just met, but yes, he is.”

He could tell she was making notes.

“And you and your family are on your way home, Mr. Slater?”

“Yes. We’ll get into L.A. about one-thirty
P.M.
, four-thirty New York time.”

“Fine. This number Roberts had, it’s still good?”

“Well, with all this going on, I was planning to change it.”

“I understand. Give us a call if your number changes, okay, Mr. Slater?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks for the information. We’ll follow up on it.” She started to hang up.

“Detective Clement?”

“Yes?”

“Where is Detective Roberts?”

There was the slightest pause, then she said, “He’s on a leave of absence. Some kind of family emergency.”

Something about her tone told him she was lying. Her reply seemed almost rehearsed, something she had been told to say.

“I hope everything’s all right,” he said.

“Thank you for your call, Mr. Slater. Have a safe trip home.” She hung up without any reassurance that Detective Roberts or his family would indeed be all right. He hung up the receiver and decided he was being a bit paranoid. Maybe Stan Roberts was a drunk. Maybe he had hit a superior. Maybe his kid had nearly drowned at summer camp.

Maybe he’s gutted and crucified, his flayed skin stuffed with confetti like some grisly party favor …

The words had sprung unbidden in his head. He wondered if he would ever be free of such grisly images. With Daniel involved, probably not.

Steven heard their flight announced and went to collect Liz and Bobby.

When he saw his family, Steven smiled.

Wherever Stan Roberts was, he was probably fine.

Max Tully tried to push Jake Sparks away as the Slaters disappeared into the terminal. “Get off me, you big oaf,” he sputtered, his face turning scarlet.

“Calm down, Max,” Sparks warned.

Tully was afraid of Sparks. The big man was a head taller, and though Tully outweighed him, Sparks had more muscle. Tully’s customary bluster didn’t intimidate Sparks, and they both knew it.

“I don’t want no trouble!” This from the cab driver, a worried little man recently arrived from Kingstown. He didn’t want to lose a potential fare in a police interview.

A security guard saw the argument and approached them.

“Cool it, Max,” Sparks said under his breath, “or we’ll both be spending the afternoon with the TSA.”

Tully tried to calm himself, and both men stepped up onto the curb. The driver, seeing his opportunity, jumped into the cab and drove down to wait for fares emerging from baggage claim.

The security guard walked up. He was no more than twenty, his skin fair and heavily freckled. His hair was the color of a newly minted penny.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, his hand resting near his radio. One push of the squawk button and several members of New York’s finest would be swarming around them like angry beetles.

“Just a professional dispute, sir,” Sparks said. “We’re professors at NYU.”

“You have tickets?” the guard asked.

“No,” Sparks admitted.

“Yes,” said Tully triumphantly.

“If you don’t have business here, clear out. Nobody’s in the mood for screwing around.”

“Sorry, sir,” Sparks said, trying to keep his voice low and courteous.

Satisfied he had exerted his authority, the guard nodded curtly and moved back toward the terminal. He turned back once to demonstrate he would be keeping an eye on them.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Tully said to Sparks, “I have to get inside.”

“Let me buy you a beer, Max.”

Tully’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?” he asked.

“Because I’d like to apologize, and it’s damn hot,” Jake said.

“I have a plane to catch—a flight that wouldn’t have been necessary, by the way, if you had let me talk to Steven Slater.”

“Why do you have it in for them?”

“That’s none of your business,” Tully growled.

“C’mon, Max, one beer. I’ll throw in a cheeseburger.”

The suggestion of food made Tully’s stomach rumble.

“Just listen to what I have to say,” Sparks continued amiably. “If I can’t change your mind in five minutes, I’ll leave you in peace.”

Tully made a show of consulting his watch. “I guess I have time for that,” he said.

Jake grinned and clapped him on the back, not too hard, and they headed into the terminal. The security guard narrowed his eyes as they walked past but said nothing.

Inside, there was a series of fast-food places and gift shops. They each got a cheeseburger and a beer, then Tully followed Jake to an empty table near the entrance. He juggled his carry-on bag and the tray, finally taking his seat without tipping over the beer in its plastic cup. It was a near thing.

They ate in silence for a moment. Tully was thinking that perhaps Sparks had given up on his questions.

“So, why do you have it in for Steven Slater?” Jake asked, as if reading Max’s thoughts.

Tully sighed. “It’s not Steven. It’s Daniel.”

“Daniel? Why in God’s name?”

Tully looked at him. “Why should I tell you, Jake? You’ve made it very clear to others in the department that you don’t think much of me.”

“That’s not true, Max. Just the other day, I was quoting your work to some of my students.”

“Which work?”

“Your paper on similarities in Tibetan and Navajo symbolism.”

Tully actually smiled.

“I was pretty proud of that,” he admitted.

“It was amazing work,” Jake continued.
Amazing you weren’t accused of plagiarism
, Jake thought. He had read the original book from which Tully had cribbed his theories.

Tully relaxed a bit. “Can I count on your discretion, Jake?”

“Always,” Jake said. “You have my word I won’t share this with anyone.”

Tully glanced at his watch, then pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. “As
you know, some of my research deals with areas not endorsed by the archaeological or anthropological community at large,” he began. “Research involving objects of power.”

* * *

“If you could find them,” Jake said. “It’d be like a piece of the True Cross or the bones of Mohammed. Lots of facsimiles, but no authentic artifacts.”

Tully looked around. “Years ago, when you and Daniel Slater went to Alaska, he stumbled onto something although he didn’t know it.”

“Stumbled onto what?”

“An object crafted by some of the first people on this continent. An object that I felt might be one of the more powerful artifacts still in existence.”

“So what is this thing?” Jake asked, sounding dubious.

“It’s a mask, rumored to be a representation of the God of Chaos.”

“And you believe this mask contains power.”

“I’m sure of it. It fits within findings from Asia and tribes in Canada and the Pacific Northwest.”

“And how did Daniel Slater figure into this?”

“Daniel heard stories from some guy at a store in a small village. Yanut, it was called. The guy was drunk and bitter, complaining how the young no longer believed in the old ways. Said there had been rumors in his youth about a particularly malevolent god. The elders had kept it secret, but such things have a way of leaking out. He and his friends had found a cave sometime after the last shaman had died. They were going to go in, but their fears got the better of them.”

Jake looked at him.

“And on the basis of that—the fears of some indigenous locals—you believe that this artifact exists?”

Tully nodded fiercely.

“That’s not exactly conclusive evidence, Max.”

“No, it’s not,” Tully agreed, “but listen to this: I shared my speculation with Daniel Slater, told him I was going to mount an expedition and find this artifact, but he was able to get there first and steal it.” Tully glared at Sparks, the betrayal looming large in his memory.

“That doesn’t sound like Daniel Slater,” Jake said doubtfully.

Tully snorted in derision. “Everyone thinks Daniel Slater was some kind of goddamned saint. But the moment a colleague put forth a theory that could result in prestige and untold
wealth, he showed himself to be a base and conniving weasel.”

“Did you confront Daniel about this?”

“I tried to reach him when he came back. He wouldn’t return my calls. I went by his place, but he refused to see me. People think he was nuts, putting those fetishes on his doors and windows. I think he realized just how powerful the mask was.”

“Why didn’t you report him to the university, Max?” Jake asked.

“Because the university has a very dim view of these theories. And, like you, they think Daniel Slater is a scholar above reproach. They would never believe he was capable of such criminal acts.”

“But weren’t you going to take the mask, Max?”

“Under the strict guidelines of our profession,” Tully replied. “An organized dig with plenty of documentation.”

And publicity
, Jake thought.

“So nobody knows this but me?” Jake asked.

“And Daniel’s family, once they receive the mask.”

Jake shook his head. “It’s a pretty tall tale, Max,” he said.

“Believe what you like,” Tully said. He glanced at his watch again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to catch.”

Jake nodded. He offered his large hand to Tully, and Tully shook it.

“Have a good flight, Max,” Jake said sincerely.

Tully nodded, then winked. “Think I might sneak a smoke before we board.”

Jake smiled and sat back down to finish his beer.

* * *

Tully headed for the restroom, patting his jacket to make sure he had his pipe and tobacco. The conversation with Jake Sparks had been a pleasant surprise. He had always thought of Sparks as an asshole, one of those uncultured louts who made a big display about how rugged they were. He hadn’t expected Sparks to believe his theories but had been pleased that the man seemed to be keeping an open mind. Given time, Sparks might be a valuable ally.

The only person in the restroom was the janitor, who was installing a new roll of paper towels in the dispenser. He gave Tully a nod, which Tully returned.

Tully washed up and ran his fingers through his red hair. Rather than grooming, he was stalling so he might light up after the janitor left. The man walked out, pushing the cart ahead of him. Tully could see that no one occupied any of the stalls, so he could light up in relative
privacy.

Tully walked briskly back to the handicapped stall and pushed lightly on the door. It swung open, and he entered, dragging his carry-on bag with him.

As he was starting to swing the large door closed, something slammed into him, knocking him into the tile wall. His glasses flew off, hitting the floor with a loud crack. He had barely registered what was happening to him when he felt hot, garlic-laden breath in his ear.

“Surprise, asshole,” Jake Sparks whispered. Jake reached back and gave the knob on the door a twist, locking the stall.

Tully started to protest when a sour-smelling rag was jammed into his mouth. Jake had picked it up from the counter of the fast-food place when he followed Tully to the restroom.

Now Tully began to panic. Jake Sparks was a lot stronger than he was, and he was now forcing Tully’s left arm up behind his back. The pain went from mild discomfort to searing agony, and he was sure Sparks meant to break his arm. The foul-smelling gag was choking him, and he tried to spit it out. It was wedged too tightly in his mouth.

Sparks forced him back to the toilet, and Tully had a momentary feeling that he was going to be raped. The thought brought a chill that coursed through him but also a mild thrill. He felt himself harden slightly and he felt his face grow hot with shame.

He struggled with Jake Sparks, who momentarily lost his balance. The two large men slammed into the sheet-metal partition that separated the stall from the next one. It reverberated with a hollow thud.

“You okay in there?” It was the voice of a teenager, who evidently had just entered the restroom.