Grim Shadows
Page 16
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“I thought as much. Money isn’t a problem. Whatever you think is fair. But if you’re interested, I have a proposition for you, related to the amulet, for which I’m willing to pay a much higher sum. It’s right up your alley, I think.”
“I’m listening.”
“I used to excavate in Egypt every year when I was younger, you know.” He leaned back in his chair. “Half the museum’s Egyptian collection, I found personally.”
“I’m aware,” Lowe said.
“What if I were to tell you that I’d found the four missing crossbars of the djed years ago?”
Lowe stilled. Was the man serious? A piece of the amulet was one thing, but the entire thing, assembled? That would be worth—well . . . so much more.
“If that’s true—” Lowe started.
“Why haven’t I sold them? The first reason would be that the amulet has personal meaning. But the second reason, the pressing one, is why I’m interested in hiring your services. The four crossbars are here in the city. At least, I believe they are. I just don’t know where, exactly.”
“I’m not following.”
The man felt around his desk for a gold cigarette case. He managed to extract a cigarette with some effort. Watching him was painful, so Lowe offered to strike a match. “Thank you,” Bacall mumbled as he puffed the cigarette to life. “When I was younger, my excavation partner and I experienced what you might refer to as an occult phenomenon in Cairo. I won’t bore you with the details—”
“I’m not easily bored.”
“Suffice it to say, after that experience, we became enemies. Not the kind of enemies who squabble over petty things in the office, but the kind of enemies who spend much of their free time plotting to kill one another.”
Well, well. “If you’re going to do something, might as well do it right.”
“This isn’t a joking matter, Mr. Magnusson.”
Grouchy old bastard, wasn’t he? “My apologies,” Lowe said. “Please continue.”
Bacall took a long drag off his cigarette.
“Before we became enemies, we spent a lot of time searching for mythical objects. The infamous Backbone of Osiris was one of them. Obsession does strange things to the mind, and I was obsessed to outdo my partner.”
“So you hunted the amulet.”
“For years. Such a disappointment to discover it had been split up in the Amarna Period. Imagine trying to find something whose pieces were scattered around an entire country almost three thousand years ago.”
“But you did?”
“Spent a fortune scouring excavation sites, only to find them all in one place. Not in a tomb or temple or any sort of excavation site, but in the hands of a wealthy British earl, who’d bought them from grave robbers in 1879.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, not exactly the victory a young archaeologist craves, but I didn’t care. So I gave the earl the better part of my wife’s gold fortune to acquire them. That’s when I ran into a problem.”
“You didn’t have the base of the amulet.”
“That was one problem, yes. But at the time, I believed I could eventually find it. The problem was, my partner heard a rumor I’d found the crossbars. And I couldn’t risk him stealing them from me before I found the last piece. Too dangerous to keep them, so I shipped them home to my wife.”
Lowe crossed his legs. “Your deceased wife.”
“She wasn’t at the time,” Bacall said. “The year was 1906. I had a lead on the last piece—a wrong lead, as you’ve proven—but I didn’t know that at the time. So I chased the lead to Cairo and instructed my wife to hide the pieces in our house. She hid them, all right. Hid them around the city of San Francisco. I got a series of telegrams from her, in which she explained that she was ending my obsession with the amulet in some misguided attempt to mend the rift between me and my partner. She tried to destroy the pieces—said no fire would melt the gold.”
Fascinating. “So she hid them around the city?”
“Indeed. Hid them, wrote a coded map of the hiding places, and hid the map as well. In her last telegram, she said no one would find the map or the pieces until I made peace with my partner. And before I could get back home to talk some sense into her, the earthquake hit. Vera didn’t survive.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“More than twenty-one years have passed, but I still miss her.” His mouth lifted in a soft smile. “Her hiding the amulet pieces didn’t surprise me in hindsight. She was always fond of puzzles, you see. Very good at deciphering code. A bit like you, actually.”
Lowe exhaled heavily. “You want me to decipher your wife’s code?”
“I’d like you to decipher her code and find where she hid the pieces, yes. A sort of urban treasure hunt, if you will. If you find them all, and if you hand them over to me along with the amulet’s base, which you’ve already found, I’ll write you a check for a hundred grand.”
A hundred thousand! Enough to cover his debt with Monk, with plenty left to burn. A familiar thrill—one of possibility and the promise of his luck changing—made his pulse pound.
“What’s the catch?” Lowe asked. There was always a catch. Always, always, always.
The old man leaned back in his chair. “The catch is, you’ll have to speak to my dead wife to find out where she hid the map.”
“I’m listening.”
“I used to excavate in Egypt every year when I was younger, you know.” He leaned back in his chair. “Half the museum’s Egyptian collection, I found personally.”
“I’m aware,” Lowe said.
“What if I were to tell you that I’d found the four missing crossbars of the djed years ago?”
Lowe stilled. Was the man serious? A piece of the amulet was one thing, but the entire thing, assembled? That would be worth—well . . . so much more.
“If that’s true—” Lowe started.
“Why haven’t I sold them? The first reason would be that the amulet has personal meaning. But the second reason, the pressing one, is why I’m interested in hiring your services. The four crossbars are here in the city. At least, I believe they are. I just don’t know where, exactly.”
“I’m not following.”
The man felt around his desk for a gold cigarette case. He managed to extract a cigarette with some effort. Watching him was painful, so Lowe offered to strike a match. “Thank you,” Bacall mumbled as he puffed the cigarette to life. “When I was younger, my excavation partner and I experienced what you might refer to as an occult phenomenon in Cairo. I won’t bore you with the details—”
“I’m not easily bored.”
“Suffice it to say, after that experience, we became enemies. Not the kind of enemies who squabble over petty things in the office, but the kind of enemies who spend much of their free time plotting to kill one another.”
Well, well. “If you’re going to do something, might as well do it right.”
“This isn’t a joking matter, Mr. Magnusson.”
Grouchy old bastard, wasn’t he? “My apologies,” Lowe said. “Please continue.”
Bacall took a long drag off his cigarette.
“Before we became enemies, we spent a lot of time searching for mythical objects. The infamous Backbone of Osiris was one of them. Obsession does strange things to the mind, and I was obsessed to outdo my partner.”
“So you hunted the amulet.”
“For years. Such a disappointment to discover it had been split up in the Amarna Period. Imagine trying to find something whose pieces were scattered around an entire country almost three thousand years ago.”
“But you did?”
“Spent a fortune scouring excavation sites, only to find them all in one place. Not in a tomb or temple or any sort of excavation site, but in the hands of a wealthy British earl, who’d bought them from grave robbers in 1879.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, not exactly the victory a young archaeologist craves, but I didn’t care. So I gave the earl the better part of my wife’s gold fortune to acquire them. That’s when I ran into a problem.”
“You didn’t have the base of the amulet.”
“That was one problem, yes. But at the time, I believed I could eventually find it. The problem was, my partner heard a rumor I’d found the crossbars. And I couldn’t risk him stealing them from me before I found the last piece. Too dangerous to keep them, so I shipped them home to my wife.”
Lowe crossed his legs. “Your deceased wife.”
“She wasn’t at the time,” Bacall said. “The year was 1906. I had a lead on the last piece—a wrong lead, as you’ve proven—but I didn’t know that at the time. So I chased the lead to Cairo and instructed my wife to hide the pieces in our house. She hid them, all right. Hid them around the city of San Francisco. I got a series of telegrams from her, in which she explained that she was ending my obsession with the amulet in some misguided attempt to mend the rift between me and my partner. She tried to destroy the pieces—said no fire would melt the gold.”
Fascinating. “So she hid them around the city?”
“Indeed. Hid them, wrote a coded map of the hiding places, and hid the map as well. In her last telegram, she said no one would find the map or the pieces until I made peace with my partner. And before I could get back home to talk some sense into her, the earthquake hit. Vera didn’t survive.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“More than twenty-one years have passed, but I still miss her.” His mouth lifted in a soft smile. “Her hiding the amulet pieces didn’t surprise me in hindsight. She was always fond of puzzles, you see. Very good at deciphering code. A bit like you, actually.”
Lowe exhaled heavily. “You want me to decipher your wife’s code?”
“I’d like you to decipher her code and find where she hid the pieces, yes. A sort of urban treasure hunt, if you will. If you find them all, and if you hand them over to me along with the amulet’s base, which you’ve already found, I’ll write you a check for a hundred grand.”
A hundred thousand! Enough to cover his debt with Monk, with plenty left to burn. A familiar thrill—one of possibility and the promise of his luck changing—made his pulse pound.
“What’s the catch?” Lowe asked. There was always a catch. Always, always, always.
The old man leaned back in his chair. “The catch is, you’ll have to speak to my dead wife to find out where she hid the map.”
