The Second Messiah (9 page)

“At five-forty
A.M.
? I didn’t know archaeologists worked a night shift.”

“Like I said, Green was excited about the find. The team had been up late celebrating.”

“Is the professor’s niece an alibi for Cane’s movements?”

“Not quite. I figure Cane had about fifteen minutes unaccounted for before Yasmin Green spotted him up on the hill. Cane says that he wandered around the camp, thinking about his find before he decided to climb the summit. All of which sounds a bit convenient, if you ask me.”

“Do we have a motive?”

“Not yet. But the consensus is that Green was brash and didn’t always see eye to eye with the crew. Catch him in the wrong mood
and
he could treat you like dirt.
Arrogant
was a word used.
Abrasive
was another. There’s a whole bunch of other words I heard but I’m in a lady’s company so I’ll skip them.”

“Abrasive enough to warrant being stabbed to death?”

Mosberg shrugged.

Lela said, “Was there professional rivalry between the professor and Cane?”

Mosberg scratched his head. “I’ve been told that the two sometimes argued like cat and dog about archaeological matters. But not over the scroll, apparently. Green was thrilled about the find.”

“Told by whom?”

“A few of the other dig members.”

Lela counted more than two dozen civilians over by the johns. “Who are all the crew?”

“It’s an international dig hosted by the Israeli Department of Antiquities. Forty crew in total, thirty men, ten women. Eight are Israelis, the rest Americans, German, British, Italians, and French. There’s even a Palestinian and a Lebanese and about a dozen local Bedu are helping with the donkey work. Everyone’s in shock.”

“What about the Bedu?”

Mosberg shrugged. “I know of many Israelis who say our government has got a lot to answer for because of the way we treat some of the Bedu and Palestinians, confiscating their lands and building settlements on them.”

“You can say that again. Go on.”

“But all that being said, the tribes in this area are usually a well-behaved, decent lot who keep to themselves. No arguments or disagreements with the crew. No motive to go sticking a blade in someone, from what I hear.”

They arrived at the tent. Two officers on guard stood to attention.

Lela saw a couple of plastic sheets pegged over several patches of sand, as if to preserve evidence. “Okay, let’s see if we can find out what the professor did to earn a knife in the chest.”

“I COULDN’T HAVE
done a better job of it myself. A single stab wound. The blade went straight into the heart.” The forensic pathologist stood in the center of the tent. Yad Hershel was a small man with a goatee beard and a permanent grin that seemed to suggest he found death amusing.

In front of him, Green’s body lay on the ground, partly covered with a bloodied white sheet, one end of which was held up by Hershel. “Of course death would have been quick, but very painful.”

Lela studied Green’s corpse. Big and fleshy, the American professor was tall, about 250 pounds, with a mane of gray hair. His eyes bulged, a shocked look on his face as if his own death had come as a complete surprise.

Lela examined the Gerber folding knife planted to the hilt in his upper chest. Channels of dried blood radiated out from the wound. Lela looked away, taking in the expansive walk-in tent.

A camp bed lay in one corner, a storage trunk in another, a tier of bookshelves stacked with books and ledgers by the bed. Nearby was an old desk, and on top of it what looked like a rolled clump of rotting material. An ancient-looking clay urn sat on the ground.

Lela nodded. “I’ve seen enough. What else can you can tell me, Yad?”

Hershel replaced the sheet. “Death happened sometime between five and six
A.M.
The knife hilt had been wiped clean of any prints. We found four sets of footprints leading to the door, but from the wipe marks I found on either side of them I reckon they came after the killer
left
. The floor had been scrubbed, probably just after the killing. I wish my wife was as clean.”

“What else?”

“A couple of partial bootprints to the right outside the tent—we’ll try and match those. As for fingerprints, we’d be busy for another year just trying to document them all. On the bookcases, the storage trunk, even part of the ground sheet. This was the professor’s office, after all. All of the crew came in here at some stage. We took at least twenty sets of prints off the center tent poles alone.”

Lela noticed a dried crimson spatter on the dirt floor, knelt, touched it with her fingertip, and placed the tip to her nostrils. Hershel grinned. “It’s a coffee stain. I checked.”

Lela brushed her hands and stood, turning her attention to the desk and the rolled clump of rotting material that lay on top. “What’s this?”

“The linen cloth the scroll was found wrapped in. It was inside the urn. We’ll take a look at those for prints too.”

Lela leaned over to study the linen and inhaled. It smelled ancient, infused with must and soil. “Any prints on the desk?”

“A lot.” Hershel picked up a plastic evidence bag and showed it to Lela. “We also found these scattered on the floor.”

Lela examined the bag and saw slivers of sepia-colored material that looked like faded newspaper, a couple of inches long. “What are they?”

“I suspect they’re flakes of ancient parchment. They probably came from the scroll.”

Lela said, “Do you think there was a scuffle of some kind?”

“There isn’t much evidence of that. But we’ll analyze the material. We can even have it carbon-dated just to prove the age of the parchment.”

“So when will you have something for me, Yad?”

“Like I told Mosberg, I ought to have the autopsy done by tonight. The other stuff sometime tomorrow.”

Mosberg said, “I’ve sent out a couple of my men to talk with the local Bedu, hoping we might pick up something. So far we’ve drawn a complete blank.”

“Any witnesses? Did anyone see anything, Yad?”

“The trouble is, everyone claims to have had a few drinks too many and crashed in their tents, except Jack Cane and Yasmin.”

“Are they involved with each other?”

Mosberg shrugged again. “Nobody’s saying that, but the two were talking on that hill at six
A.M.
I’m thinking it couldn’t have been just social. Buddy Savage says he was woken by the sound of Professor Green’s tent entrance flap cracking in the wind at about six
A.M.
He claims the noise kept him awake and that when he went to investigate he found Green unconscious with the knife in his chest. Mr. Savage woke the others. Later it was discovered that the scroll was gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“Stolen, disappeared, whatever. I had my men search every tent, porta-potty, and office trailer. There’s no sign of it in the camp.”

“Do you think the scroll’s theft might be the motive for Green’s death?”

Mosberg scratched his neck. “It seems likely. My men are still interviewing the crew. It’s going to take some time to get through them all and make any conclusions.”

Lela flicked a nod at Hershel. “Thanks, Yad.”

“Pleasure.” Hershel grinned and went back to work.

Lela said to Mosberg, “Have you interviewed this Buddy Savage?”

Mosberg nodded. “His story seems to fit. I’ve got an interview room set up in one of the office trailers. You can talk to whoever you think you need to.”

“We may as well start now.” Lela followed Mosberg as he moved outside the tent into harsh sunlight.

There was commotion as a stocky, red-haired man approached the guards. He was pushing sixty and wore a khaki military shirt, grubby sneakers, and a pair of knee-length combat trousers. A baseball cap was tilted back off his head,
NYPD
in dark lettering on the front. He seemed irritated as he said in an American accent, “Hey, Mosberg. You mind telling me how much longer we’re going to be hanging around
in
this dang heat? Everyone’s wilting. You’ve got all our statements, haven’t you?”

Mosberg said, “We’ll try not to keep you much longer, Mr. Savage. But Inspector Raul here may want to go through your statements with you, as well as everyone else. So don’t wander off.”

“Who’s wandering? We need to sleep, not wander.”

“This is Inspector Raul, she’ll be in charge of the case.”

The American looked Lela over and offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Inspector. Or maybe not so pleased. We’re all still shocked about what’s happened here.”

Lela saw dark rings under Savage’s eyes. “You’re Mr. Savage, who found the body?”

Savage took a swig from a can of Coke he clutched. “You heard right, and it was pretty unsettling. Professor Green was a longtime friend. The name’s Buddy, by the way. Do you guys have any idea yet who killed him?”

“Not yet.”

Savage crushed the empty can in his hand and tossed it carelessly in the sand. “Listen, inspector, I told Mosberg everything I know, just like everyone else did. You really need to talk again with all of us?”

“Yes, I probably do, Mr. Savage.”

Savage sighed tiredly, took off his baseball cap, and ran a hand through his thinning red hair. “Then can you do us all a favor and do your best to move this thing along? With all respect to the professor, most of the crew didn’t sleep much last night. They’re fit to collapse.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Savage.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Savage tugged his cap back on and wandered back to the crew.

Lela said, “So that’s Buddy Savage.”

“Yes, and he’s got a point. We’ve held everyone here for the last four hours, and they were up most of the night. They’re exhausted.”

“Then let’s try and move things along.” Lela looked over at the crew. This time she saw a tanned man wearing cut-off Chino shorts step out of one
of
the tents. He didn’t look in her direction but spoke with one of the other crew. Mosberg said, “That one’s Jack Cane.”

“Yes, I recognize him.”

Mosberg frowned. “You two know each other?”

“From another life, a long time ago.” The sun came out again and Lela slipped back on her shades. “But it’s probably a lousy time to be renewing an old friendship.”

THE ROOM HAD
a scratched table and a couple of odd chairs. In one corner was stored a pile of archaeological site maps. In another, open wood crates were filled with a selection of label-tagged clay pots, pottery shards, and animal bones that the crew had unearthed.

Lela was alone and she tapped her fingers on the table. Jack Cane was next on her list of people to question. While Mosberg continued questioning other members of the crew, Lela had spoken with Yasmin Green and Buddy Savage. Yasmin was a stunning woman, with a figure that would stop traffic. She also guessed from the undercurrent of the conversation that Yasmin liked Jack Cane. She wondered how deep their relationship went, and just as quickly forced the thought from her mind. Unless it factored into the case in some way it was really none of her business.

Buddy Savage was a different specimen. He reminded her of the kind of man she’d sometimes seen hanging around in bars with a more attractive male friend, in the hope of latching on to any spare women that happened along. Behind it all, Lela figured that Savage was sharp as a barb.

As for Savage’s and Yasmin’s account of their movements, she’d consider them later, when she had gathered all the case facts. Her interview notes were in front of her but she barely studied them as she leafed through her notebook. She had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, a mix of suspense and excitement.

She remembered where exactly she had said her final good-bye to Jack Cane: at Tel Aviv airport twenty years ago. Footsteps sounded outside, the handle rattled, and her heart skipped a beat as the door opened.

Jack stepped in. He wore a cotton shirt with epaulettes. His camel-colored Chinos were cut short, his desert boots covered with a film of sand. He looked fit and tanned, older but handsome. Gone was the teenage face that she remembered. Age and fine lines and a few sun wrinkles around his eyes had matured his features, and his hair was flecked with silver. “Hello, Jack.”