“There’s a certain element of risk,” Moriarty replied. “If a system operator notices that the tape is being accessed ... well, he could trace it to your terminal ID.”
“I’ll risk it,” Margo said. “George,” she added, “I know you feel this is all a wild goose chase, and I can’t really blame you for that. But I’m convinced those crates from the Whittlesey expedition are connected to these killings. I don’t know what the connection is, but maybe the journal could have told us something. And I don’t know what we’re dealing with—a serial killer, some animal, some creature. And not knowing scares me.” She gently took Moriarty’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “But maybe we’re in a position here to be of some help. We have to try.”
When she noticed Moriarty blushing, she withdrew her hand.
Smiling shyly, Moriarty moved to the keyboard.
“Here goes,” he said.
Margo paced the room as Moriarty worked. “Any luck?” she asked finally, moving closer to the terminal.
“Don’t know yet,” said Moriarty, squinting at the screen and typing commands. “I’ve got the tape, but the protocol’s messed up or something, the CRC checks are failing. We may get garbled data, if we get anything. I’m going in the back door, so to speak, hoping to avoid attention. The seek rate is really slow this way.”
Then the keytaps stopped. “Margo,” Moriarty said quietly. “I’ve got it.”
The screen filled.
**DETAIL LISTING**
Item: 1989-2006.2
###################################
Removed By: Rickman, L. 53210
Approval: Cuthbert, I. 40123
Removal Date: 3/15/95
Removal To: Personal supervision
Reason:
Return Date:
###################################
Removed By: Depardieu, B. 72412
Approval: Cuthbert, I. 40123
RemLW/@;oval Date: 10/1/90
Remov~DS*-~@2e34 5WIFU
=++ET2 34 h34!~
DB ERROR
=:?
“Hell!” Moriarty exclaimed. “I was afraid of that. It’s been partially overwritten, corrupted. See that? It just trails off into garbage.”
“Yes, but look!” Margo said excitedly.
Moriarty examined the screen. “The journal was removed by Mrs. Rickman two weeks ago, with Dr. Cuthbert’s permission. No return date.”
Margo snorted. “Cuthbert said the journal had been lost.”
“So why was this record deleted? And by whom?” Suddenly his eyes widened. “Oh, Lord, I have to release my lock on the tape before somebody notices us.” His fingers danced over the keys.
“George,” Margo said. “Do you know what this means? They took the journal out of the crates before the killings started. Around the time Cuthbert had the crates put in the Secure Area. Now they’re concealing evidence from the police. Why?”
Moriarty frowned. “You’re starting to sound like Smithback,” he said. “There could be a thousand explanations.”
“Name one,” Margo challenged.
“The most obvious would be that somebody else deleted the detail record before Rickman could add a Lost Artifact notation.”
Margo shook her head. “I don’t believe it. There are just too many coincidences.”
“Margo—” Moriarty began. Then he sighed. “Listen,” he went on patiently, “this is a trying time for all of us, you especially. I know you’re trying to make a tough decision, and then with a crisis like this ... well ...”
“These murders weren’t committed by some garden-variety maniac,” Margo interrupted impatiently. “I’m not crazy.”
“I’m not saying that,” Moriarty continued. “I just think you ought to let the police handle this. It’s a very, very dangerous business. And you should be concentrating on your own life right now. Digging into this won’t help you make up your mind about your own future.” He swallowed. “And it won’t bring your father back.”
“Is that what you think?” Margo blazed. “You don’t—”
She broke off abruptly as her eye fell on the wall clock. “Jesus. I’m late for my meeting with Dr. Frock.” She grabbed her carryall and headed for the door. Halfway into the hall, she turned around. “I’ll speak to you later,” she said.
The door slammed.
God, Moriarty thought, sitting at the darkened terminal and resting his chin in his hands. If a graduate student in plant genetics actually thinks Mbwun might be loose—if even Margo Green starts seeing conspiracies behind every door—what about the rest of the Museum?
= 29 =
Margo watched Frock spill his sherry down his shirtfront.
“Blast,” he said, dabbing with plump hands. He set the glass down on the desk with exaggerated care and looked up at Margo.
“Thank you for coming to me, my dear. It’s an extraordinary discovery. I’d say we should go down there this moment and take another look at the figurine, but that Pendergast fellow will be here shortly to make a further nuisance of himself.”