The guards scurried around, and within five minutes a tall man in a tan suit, black hair combed back with a little too much grease, arrived. He’s an unsavory-looking fellow, Custer thought; but then, so many people in private security were. Not good enough to join the real force.
The man held out his hand and Custer took it reluctantly. “Jack Manetti, director of security. What can I do for you, officers?”
Without a word, Custer displayed the embossed, signed, and notarized bench warrant he’d managed to get issued in close to record time. The security director took it, read it over, handed it back to Custer.
“This is highly unusual. May I ask what’s happened?”
“We’ll get to the specifics shortly,” Custer replied. “For now, this warrant should be all you need to know. My men will need unlimited access to the Museum. I’m going to require an interrogation room set up for the questioning of selected staff. We’ll work as quickly as we can, and everything will go smoothly—provided we get cooperation from the Museum.” He paused, thrust his hands behind his back, looked around imperiously. “You realize, of course, that we have the authority to impound any items that, in our judgment, are germane to the case.” He wasn’t sure what the word germane meant, but the judge had used it in the warrant, and it sounded good.
“But that’s impossible, it’s almost closing time. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“Justice doesn’t wait, Mr. Manetti. I want a complete list of Museum staff. We’ll single out the individuals we want to question. If certain staff members have gone home early, they’ll need to be called back in. I’m sorry, but the Museum will just have to be inconvenienced.”
“But this is unheard of. I’m going to have to check with the Museum’s director—”
“You do that. In fact, let’s go see him in person. I want to make sure we’re clear, clear as crystal, on all points of order, so that once our investigations are underway we will not be inconvenienced or delayed. Understood?”
Manetti nodded, displeasure contracting his face. Good, thought Custer: the more upset and flustered everyone became, the quicker he’d be able to flush out the killer. Keep them guessing, don’t give them time to think. He felt exhilarated.
He turned. “Lieutenant Detective Cannell, take three officers and have these gentlemen show you to the staff entrance. I want everyone leaving the premises to be ID’d and checked against personnel records. Get phone numbers, cell numbers, and addresses. I want everyone available to be called back at a moment’s notice, if necessary.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lieutenant Detective Piles, you come with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Custer turned a stern eye back on Manetti. “Show us the way to Dr. Collopy’s office. We have business to discuss.”
“Follow me,” said the security director, even more unhappily.
Custer motioned to the rest of his men, and they followed him through great echoing halls, up several floors in a giant elevator, and along yet more halls filled with displays—Christ, this place had more than its share of weird shit—until at last they reached a grand paneled door leading to an even grander paneled office. The door was half open, and beyond sat a small woman at a desk. She rose at their approach.
“We’re here to see Dr. Collopy,” said Custer, looking around, wondering why a secretary had such a fancy office.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman said. “Dr. Collopy’s not here.”
“He’s not?” Custer and Manetti said in chorus.
The secretary shook her head, looking flustered. “He hasn’t been back since lunch. Said he had some important business to take care of.”
“But lunch was hours ago,” Custer said. “Isn’t there some way he can be reached?”
“There’s his private cell phone,” the secretary said.
“Dial it.” Custer turned to Manetti. “And you, call around to some of the other top brass. See if they know where this Collopy is.”
Manetti moved off to another desk, picked up a phone. The large office fell silent, save for the beep of numbers being dialed. Custer looked around. The space was paneled in very dark wood, and it was chock-full of bleak oil paintings and forbidding-looking displays parked behind glass-fronted cabinets. Christ, it was like a house of horrors.
“The cell phone’s turned off, sir,” the secretary said.
Custer shook his head. “Isn’t there any other number you can call? His house, for example?”
The secretary and Manetti exchanged looks. “We aren’t supposed to call there,” she said, looking even more flustered.
“I don’t care what you’re supposed to do. This is urgent police business. Call his house.”
The secretary unlocked a desk drawer, rummaged through a file of index cards, plucked one out. She looked at it a moment, shielding it from Custer’s and Manetti’s view. Then she replaced the card, locked the drawer, and dialed a number.
“Nobody’s picking up,” she said after a moment.
“Keep ringing.”