Ghosts of Karnak Page 11

  He realized his cigarette had burned down to his fingers while he’d been talking, and he dropped it in the ashtray. “I thought that was it, some ridiculous magic spell, a ‘curse upon my soul’. Then people started turning up dead.”

  “People?” said Donovan. “Not just Ms. Allen?”

  Abbadelli realized he’d said too much. Donovan could see it in his eyes. He ignored the question. “They killed her over a scrap of land,” he said. “And you know what, I wasn’t even that bothered about it. I saw a chance to make a few quick bucks, that’s all. And now those bastards have gone and done this.”

  “You should have come to us,” said Donovan.

  Abbadelli smiled. “A man like me? Not so much.”

  “Where can we find them?” said Mullins. “The Circle of Thoth. Do they have an office, a church, someplace where you always met?”

  “They did,” said Abbadelli, “but I hear it burned down in a terrible accident.” He stared at Donovan, willing him to defy him.

  Donovan decided to play it cool. “And you’ve no idea where they’ve moved on to since? This scrap of land you mentioned?”

  “There’s nothing there. It’s just a patch of wasteland. The hotel that once stood there was demolished years ago. There’s nowhere for them to go.”

  “This exhibition that’s coming to the Met,” said Donovan. “The one that’s opening tomorrow. Has that got anything to do with this ‘Circle of Thoth’?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” said Abbadelli.

  “All right,” said Donovan. “I think we’ve got enough to be getting along with.” He grabbed his whisky off the desk and drained the glass. It hit the back of his throat with a welcome burn. “Thank you for your time.”

  Abbadelli came around from the other side of the desk, and clasped Donovan by the hand again. “No, thank you, Felix. I appreciate your discretion. I really do. Everything you’re doing to find Autumn’s killers—it won’t go unnoticed. You should come to dinner one night. Maybe bring Flora, eh?”

  Donovan swallowed. “Maybe once this is all taken care of,” he said, as diplomatically as possible.

  “Yes, of course, of course,” said Abbadelli. He patted Mullins on the shoulder. “Don’t let him work you too hard, Sergeant,” he said. He walked them to the door. “I trust you can find your own way out?”

  “We’ll be in touch,” said Donovan.

  “I’ll be waiting,” came the ominous reply.

  THIRTEEN

  “You always manage to pick the worst possible moments. It’s as if you’re trying to make my life difficult.”

  “Only trying?” said Gabriel. “I must admit, I thought I was doing better than that.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean,” said Arthur, heaving an affected sigh. “Remind me what it is that you want again? I tuned out on the holophone after you said the words ‘urgent’, ‘must meet’, and ‘today’.”

  Gabriel laughed. Arthur Wolfe was one of his most trusted acquaintances—a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They’d been through a lot together, and Arthur never allowed him to forget it. Not that he was genuinely put out—it was just another of his English affectations.

  He was a scrawny man, tall and angular, with a thick mop of mousy hair. His wire-framed spectacles always seemed to be sliding down his nose, and he wore pullovers under his jacket, even in the summer. Lately, he’d started to develop a slight mid-Atlantic twang, and he hated it when Gabriel pointed it out.

  Gabriel supposed it was a fairly one-way relationship. He only ever came to visit Arthur when he needed something, and although he’d been clear that it would always work the other way around, too, he supposed a museum curator didn’t have a lot of call for the help of an illegal vigilante. If he was honest with himself, Gabriel was surprised how often he found himself calling on Arthur’s help during the course of his investigations. Maybe, once this business with Ginny was over with, he would make a bit more of an effort, invite the guy over for dinner or something. He didn’t seem like the type to enjoy one of the parties. It was another reason why Gabriel liked him.

  “I was hoping for a bit of a preview,” said Gabriel. “I thought maybe we could take a walk through the new exhibit?” They were sitting on a park bench across the street from the museum entrance. The building cast a long shadow over the park. Pigeons flapped about their boots, searching for non-existent crumbs.

  “It’s not finished yet,” said Arthur. “Thus my admonishing tone. We’re opening tomorrow, and I could really do with being on hand to help with the final preparations.”

  “I know,” said Gabriel, “and I’m sorry. It’s just—look, Ginny has gone missing.”

  “Missing?” said Arthur. “Didn’t she head off to Egypt to see the sights?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Yes. And she was supposed to come back on that ship, the Centurion.”

  “The same one that brought the exhibits?”

  “Exactly. Only she didn’t make it. Or rather, she did, but something happened to her onboard. Something that Felix thinks might be linked to the exhibition and Robert Landsworth.”

  Arthur rolled his eyes. “Why is it always my museum? Tell me that.”

  “There’s more, I’m afraid,” said Gabriel. “There’ve been a couple of murders, too, and the victims have both carried certain… marks. One a tattooed cartouche of the name ‘Thoth’, the other… well, let’s just say it was similar, and leave it at that.”

  “And with the timing and nature of the exhibition, you’re drawing a parallel,” said Arthur. “Well, I guess that’s understandable. Although I’m not sure what I can do to help.”

  “Well, you can start by telling me if you’ve seen anything untoward going on, from Landsworth, or anyone else who’s got a hand in the exhibit?”

  Arthur thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “Not that I can think of. They’re just a bunch of academics, like me. Landsworth’s a bit of an old fop, really, a bit ineffectual. He likes to stomp around, giving everyone orders, and then when his back is turned they all get on with doing what really needs to be done. I have a hard time imagining him as a killer, or masterminding some sort of evil plot.”

  “All right,” said Gabriel. “What about Thoth?”

  “What about him?”

  “Anyone shown a bit too much of an interest lately? Have you heard anything about a revivalist religion, a cult, anything like that?”

  “No, definitely not. I mean, everyone’s interested. The exhibition is basically a recreation of part of a temple to Thoth, from a previously undiscovered complex at Karnak. We’ve got visiting academics here to write papers, university students, that sort of thing.” Arthur paused while he shooed a pigeon away with the edge of his boot. “There’s a big buzz about it all, actually. The relationship between the temple and a nearby tomb suggest a hitherto unexplored connection between Thoth and Sekhmet, and the manner in which they were worshipped.”

  “Sekhmet?” said Gabriel. “Remind me, it’s been some years.”

  “Daughter of the sun god Ra. She was a warrior goddess, who often took the aspect of a lion.”

  “Ah… now that makes sense,” said Gabriel.

  “It does?”

  “This is going to seem like a strange question, Arthur, but have you ever heard of any Egyptian statues… coming to life?”

  “Only in cheap dime novels and story papers,” said Arthur. “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Gabriel. “It was just a passing thought. Are you going to let me take a look, then? I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  “I suppose so,” said Arthur. “We can take a quick walk around. If anyone asks, you’re a patron of the museum, all right?”

  “I am a patron of the museum,” said Gabriel.

  “I think, after all of the things you destroyed last year, you’re still operating at a deficit,” said Arthur.

  Gabriel laughed. “Come on, I know you’re busy.” He stood, scattering pigeons, his face creasing in
pain. He was going to see Astrid after this, in the hope that she could fix him up a bit, as well as shed some light on the more unconventional aspects of the case.

  “Are you all right?” said Arthur as he crossed the road.

  “Nothing to worry about,” said Gabriel. “Just one too many of those dime novels you mentioned.”

  * * *

  Given that the exhibition was meant to be opening the next morning, everything behind the scenes appeared to be in rather a state of disarray. This, Arthur told him, was down to Landsworth, interfering at the last moment to make changes to the planned layout. It hadn’t gone down well with the setup crew.

  “He’s here?” said Gabriel.

  “Somewhere about,” said Arthur. “Probably making a nuisance of himself.” He hitched up the edge of a heavy red drape, which hung over the entrance to the temporary wing where the exhibition was being assembled. “Through here. And remember—a quick look.”

  He’d expected the exhibition to resemble every other gallery of antiquities he’d ever seen—broken pots, rusted tools and grave goods displayed inside glass cabinets, rows of statues mounted on plinths, the occasional tour guide to ensure you weren’t touching anything you weren’t supposed to, or to offer a dry, onerous commentary on the nature of each exhibit and those who had made it.

  Here, though, things were a little different. They’d taken the whole business of recreating the temple to heart. The exhibits were arranged in the manner they’d been discovered, or at least in the way they’d been intended; the toppled statues had been righted and the columns had been propped upright with scaffolds, carefully painted in the same hues as the stone.

  They’d partially rebuilt a colonnade, as well as reassembling a small building, its outer walls decorated in worn, but still visible, friezes. Sand had been scattered underfoot to add to the effect, and Gabriel half expected to feel the hot desert wind on his face as he followed Arthur along the colonnade, feeling dwarfed by the enormity of it all. He wondered if there was anything left at the original site. The museum must have paid a small fortune to the Egyptian government to gain permission to ship it all across the water.

  Arthur stopped at the end of the colonnade, in the shadow of the building. Here, scores of men buzzed around carrying hand tools, while others were up ladders, still splashing sand-colored paint onto the walls, or hanging small printed signs beside the exhibits. Two of them were even manhandling an ancient statue into place inside an alcove, and Gabriel bristled at the sight of it.

  “I have to admit, Arthur, the effect is quite striking.”

  “Isn’t it just? Whatever Landsworth’s faults, he’s really delivered the goods,” said Arthur. He scratched his nose, a little sheepish. “Of course, it’s not exactly accurate. They’ve shortened the length of the colonnade, and the tomb was much further away and buried under the sand. But I think people will appreciate the effort.”

  “And all of this is dedicated to Thoth?”

  “Yes. It’s a small part of a much larger temple complex. Over there, for example,” he pointed to the other end of the colonnade, “they found the upper body of a colossal statue with the head of an ibis, and beneath it was a pretty substantial network of tunnels and chambers.”

  “And mummies, presumably? You mentioned a tomb?”

  “Ah, now that’s the fascinating thing. They still haven’t turned up any bodies. Even in the tomb, they didn’t find a coffin, just a statue of Sekhmet presiding over a stone table or altar. We think it might have been used as a preparation area for the dead. In fact, it might not even be a tomb at all, but a different sort of temple altogether, of a sort we’ve never seen before. That’s what’s so exciting about it.”

  “Arthur? Arthur?” They both turned at the sound of another Englishman, to see a large man in a gray suit stomping over the sand toward them.

  “Ah, hello, Mr. Landsworth,” said Arthur. He sounded less than enthused.

  “Listen, we’ve got a terrible problem back there with the signage. How are people going to know which way they’re supposed to flow around the exhibits?”

  “They probably haven’t had chance to put the signs out yet. I’ll look into it,” said Arthur. He glanced at Gabriel. “Please, allow me to introduce my friend. He’s a patron of the museum.”

  Landsworth stuck his hand out, and Gabriel took it. “Sorry, old chap. I’m afraid we’re feeling the pressure a bit today, what? Grand opening tomorrow and all that.”

  “I understand,” said Gabriel. “Nevertheless, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Landsworth. I must compliment you on the exhibition. What a find! And so interesting…” He continued to pump Landsworth’s hand enthusiastically, drawing an uncomfortable frown from the man.

  “Yes, well, I fear I can’t take all the credit,” said Landsworth, brimming with false modesty.

  “That’s right,” said Gabriel. “You had a partner back in Egypt, didn’t you? I forget his name now…”

  “Amaury,” said Landsworth, “but how did you…?”

  Gabriel, still holding the other man’s hand, gently rotated his arm, revealing a small black cartouche on the underside of his wrist. He’d drawn it there with a fine black pen earlier that morning, carefully copying the symbols from the photographs Donovan had given him, hoping it wasn’t going to smudge. “I believe we have a mutual friend,” he said. “Miss Ginny Gray?”

  Landsworth’s reaction was quite startling. He practically yanked his hand free of Gabriel’s, as if suddenly the recipient of an electric shock. “Well, I… I’m not really sure I recognize the name,” he said, full of bluster. “But then, there are so many people associated with an archaeological dig of this scale, Mr…?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you remember her! A blonde woman, a native New Yorker? You wouldn’t have been able to miss the accent. She wrote me from Egypt, told me she’d got involved with your expedition. It sounded as if she was having a whale of a time. She mentioned you by name, Mr. Landsworth! She only had good things to say.”

  “Oh, well, yes, perhaps now you come to mention it, maybe I did meet her on one or two occasions.” He took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped his brow. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Well, of course, I’ll be sure to remember you to her,” said Gabriel. “I’m seeing her later for dinner. In fact—you’d be more than welcome to join us?”

  The lack of comprehension on Landsworth’s face told Gabriel everything he needed to know.

  “Oh, no, thank you, but I fear duty calls,” said Landsworth. He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I really must be getting back to the exhibition. There’s still so much to be done before tomorrow’s grand opening.” He held out his hand again. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr…?”

  Gabriel shook it a little too vigorously. “No, no, the pleasure is all mine. Thank you for your time. And good luck with the exhibition.” He released Landsworth’s hand and turned on the spot, taking Arthur by the arm and leading him in the opposite direction.

  He heard Landsworth make an odd little sound, somewhere between a sigh and an mmph!, but didn’t look back, despite the fact he could feel Arthur tugging rather frantically on his sleeve.

  “Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all,” said Arthur, when Gabriel finally allowed him to stop in the shelter of a doorway. They were standing in one of the Greco-Roman galleries, adjacent to the Egyptian wing. It was looking sadly depleted. Gabriel decided not to mention the fact to Arthur, imagining it was still something of a sore point.

  “You know I don’t go in for subtlety,” said Gabriel.

  Arthur gave him the sort of disapproving look that only an English public schoolboy could achieve. “Yes, and now he’s going think I’m mixed up in whatever’s going on, too. What am I going to say when he asks for your name?”

  “Oh, tell him. I was only trying to spook him a bit. It worked, too. Did you see his face when I mentioned Ginny?”

  Arthur nodded. “Unfortunately, I did. What
do you think is really going on?”

  “I have no idea yet,” said Gabriel, “but I intend to find out. I’m going to call on Astrid. She might be able to shed some light on the more… metaphysical aspects of it all.”

  “All right. I’ll keep my ear to the ground here,” said Arthur.

  “Well be careful. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with yet,” said Gabriel. “And stay away from those statues.”

  “What is it with you and statues today?”

  “Trust me. You never know what they’re thinking.”

  “You’re a strange man, Gabriel Cross,” said Arthur. “Oh, and will we be seeing you for the parade tomorrow?”

  “A parade?”

  “To open the exhibit. They’re closing Fifth Avenue. Floats, candy floss, the lot.”

  “Yes, all right. I’ll be there,” said Gabriel. “Now get back to work, before Landsworth comes looking for you. Otherwise no one will know which way to flow around the exhibits tomorrow.”

  “I hate you,” said Arthur. “I really, really do.”

  FOURTEEN

  Astrid Lunn was an unconventional woman, both in terms of her beauty—which was exceptional—and her general outlook on life. She was intensely feminine, yet often wore men’s clothes, and didn’t mix well with others, typically preferring the company of books to people.

  She referred to herself as an “occult detective”, although Gabriel thought what she really meant to say was “soothsayer” or “witch”, or whatever the modern equivalent might be. He presumed her to be independently wealthy, although it was entirely possible that she was, indeed, operating a private detective agency out of the back of her premises, specializing in a very particular sort of case. She certainly had the wherewithal.

  She lived in an abandoned church in Greenwich Village, a venerable, crumbling old building that had been boarded up for years, while modern, commercial buildings had sprouted all around it, hemming it in, diminishing its place in the world.