“Ordinarily, the Bureau’s way would be to close the Museum, suspend operations, cancel exhibitions. Very bad publicity, I assure you. Very expensive, to the taxpayers and to you. But my way is a bit more hospitable. All other things being equal, the Museum can remain open. Still, there will be certain conditions. Number one,” he said, “I want you to assure complete cooperation of Museum personnel. We will need to speak to you and other senior staff members from time to time, and I want total compliance. I will also need a list of the entire staff. We want to interview everyone who works in, or has had any reason to be in, the vicinity of the murders. There will be no exceptions. I would appreciate your making sure of this personally. We’ll be setting up a schedule, and everyone is to show up on time.”
“But there are twenty-five hundred employees—” began Wright.
“Number two,” Pendergast continued. “Starting tomorrow, we’re going to be limiting employee access to the Museum, until such time as this investigation is concluded. The curfew is to be for the safety of the staff. At least, that is what you will tell them.”
“But there’s vital research going on here that—”
“Number three—” Pendergast casually pointed three fingers, derringer-like, at Wright “—from time to time we may need to close the Museum, either fully or in part. In some instances, only visitors will be denied entry; in others, the Museum will be closed to staff as well. Notice may be short. Your cooperation will be expected.”
Wright’s fury mounted. “This Museum is closed only three days a year: Christmas, New Year’s, and Thanksgiving,” he said. “This is unprecedented. It will look terrible.” He gave Pendergast a long, appraising look. “Besides, I’m not convinced you have the authority to do that. I think we should—” He stopped. Pendergast had picked up the telephone.
“What’s that for?” Wright demanded.
“Dr. Wright, this is growing tiresome. Perhaps we should discuss this with the Attorney General.”
Pendergast started to dial.
“Just a moment,” said Wright. “Surely we can discuss this without involving other people.”
“That’s up to you,” said Pendergast as he finished dialing.
“For Heaven’s sake, put down that phone,” Wright said angrily. “Of course, we’ll cooperate fully—within reason.”
“Very good,” Pendergast said. “And if in the future you start to feel that anything is unreasonable, we can always do this again.” He replaced the receiver gently.
“If I’m going to cooperate,” Wright continued, “I think I’ve a right to be informed about just what’s been done since this latest atrocity. As far as I can see, you’ve made precious little progress.”
“Certainly, Doctor,” Pendergast said. He looked at papers on the desk. “According to your time clocks, the most recent victim, Jolley, met his demise shortly after ten-thirty last night,” he said. “The autopsy should confirm this. He was, as you know, lacerated in a fashion similar to the previous victims. He was killed while making his rounds, although the stairwell where he was found wasn’t part of his normal route. He may have been investigating a suspicious noise or something of that nature. He may have just stopped for some reefer. A recently smoked marijuana cigarette was found near the archway directly outside the stairwell exit. We will, naturally, be testing the body for drug use.”
“God, that’s all we need,” said Wright. “But haven’t you found any useful clues? What about this wild animal business? You—”
Pendergast held his palm up and waited for silence. “I would prefer not to speculate until we discuss the available evidence with experts. Some of these experts may be from among your own staff. For the record, we’ve found no signs as yet that any kind of animal had been in the vicinity.
“The body was found lying at the bottom of the stairwell, although it was clear that the attack occurred near the top, as blood and viscera were found along the length of the stairs. He either rolled or was dragged to the bottom. But don’t take my word for it, Dr. Wright,” Pendergast said, picking up a manila envelope from the desk, “see for yourself.” He pulled out a glossy photograph and laid it carefully on the tabletop.
“Oh, my God,” Wright said, staring at the photograph. “Heaven help us.”
“The right-hand wall of the stairwell was covered with splattered blood,” Pendergast said. “Here’s a photograph.”
He handed it to Wright, who slid it quickly on top of the first.
“It’s a simple matter to do a ballistics analysis on splattered blood,” Pendergast went on. “In this case, the evidence is consistent with a massive blow directed downward, instantaneously disemboweling the victim.”
Pendergast replaced the photographs and checked his watch. “Lieutenant D’Agosta will be checking in with you to make sure that everything is proceeding along the lines we’ve discussed,” he said. “One last question, Doctor. Which of your curators knows the most about the anthropology collections here?”
Dr. Wright seemed not to have heard. Finally he said, “Dr. Frock,” in a barely audible voice.
“Very good,” said Pendergast. “Oh, and Doctor—I told you earlier that the Museum can remain open, all other things being equal. But if anybody else dies inside these walls, the Museum will have to be shut down immediately. The matter will be out of my hands. Understood?”