“That’s reassuring.”
“To a certain extent, you feel it’s your place. You feel protective of the Museum.”
“I do.”
Custer nodded, his gaze moving along the shelf to an antique Chinese snuffbox set with stones. He picked it up. “Naturally, you don’t like a bunch of policemen barging in here.”
“Frankly, I don’t. I’ve told you as much several times already. That’s a very valuable snuffbox, Captain.”
Custer returned it, picked up something else. “I imagine this whole thing’s been rather hard on you. First, there was the discovery of the skeletons left by that nineteenth-century serial killer. Then there was that letter discovered in the Museum’s collections. Very unpleasant.”
“The adverse publicity could have easily harmed the Museum.”
“Then there was that curator—?”
“Nora Kelly.”
Custer noted a new tone creeping into Brisbane’s voice: dislike, disapproval, perhaps a sense of injury.
“The same one who found the skeletons—and the hidden letter, correct? You didn’t like her working on this case. Worried about adverse publicity, I suppose.”
“I thought she should be doing her research. That’s what she was being paid to do.”
“You didn’t want her helping the police?”
“Naturally, I wanted her to do what she could to help the police. I just didn’t want her neglecting her museum duties.”
Custer nodded sagely. “Of course. And then she was chased in the Archives, almost killed. By the Surgeon.” He moved to a nearby bookshelf. The only books it contained were half a dozen fat legal tomes. Even their bindings managed to look stultifyingly dull. He tapped his finger on a spine. “You’re a lawyer?”
“General counsel usually means lawyer.”
This bounced off Custer without leaving a dent. “I see. Been here how long?”
“A little over two years.”
“Like it?”
“It’s a very interesting place to work. Now look, I thought we were going to talk about getting your men out of here.”
“Soon.” Custer turned. “Visit the Archives much?”
“Not so much. More, lately, of course, with all the activity.”
“I see. Interesting place, the Archives.” He turned briefly to see the effect of this observation on Brisbane. The eyes. Watch the eyes.
“I suppose some find it so.”
“But not you.”
“Boxes of paper and moldy specimens don’t interest me.”
“And yet you visited there”—Custer consulted his notebook—”let’s see, no less than eight times in the last ten days.”
“I doubt it was that often. On Museum business, in any case.”
“In any case.” He looked shrewdly back at Brisbane. “The Archives. Where the body of Puck was found. Where Nora Kelly was chased.”
“You mentioned her already.”
“And then there’s Smithback, that annoying reporter?”
“Annoying is an understatement.”
“Didn’t want him around, did you? Well, who would?”
“My thinking exactly. You’ve heard, of course, how he impersonated a security officer? Stole Museum files?”
“I’ve heard, I’ve heard. Fact is, we’re looking for the man, but he seems to have disappeared. You wouldn’t know where he was, by any chance, would you?” He added a faint emphasis to this last phrase.
“Of course not.”
“Of course not.” Custer returned his attention to the gems. He stroked the glass case with a fat finger. “And then there’s that FBI agent, Pendergast. The one who was attacked. Also very annoying.”
Brisbane remained silent.
“Didn’t much like him around either—eh, Mr. Brisbane?”
“We had enough policemen crawling over the place. Why compound it with the FBI? And speaking of policemen crawling around—”
“It’s just that I find it very curious, Mr. Brisbane…” Custer let the sentence trail off.
“What do you find curious, Captain?”
There was a commotion in the hallway outside, then the door opened abruptly. A police sergeant entered, dusty, wide-eyed, sweating.
“Captain!” he gasped. “We were interviewing this woman just now, a curator, and she locked—”
Custer looked at the man—O’Grady, his name was—reprovingly. “Not now, Sergeant. Can’t you see I’m conducting a conversation here?”
“But—”
“You heard the captain,” Noyes interjected, propelling the protesting sergeant toward the door.
Custer waited until the door closed again, then turned back to Brisbane. “I find it curious how very interested you’ve been in this case,” he said.
“It’s my job.”
“I know that. You’re a very dedicated man. I’ve also noticed your dedication in human resources matters. Hiring, firing…”
“That’s correct.”
“Reinhart Puck, for example.”
“What about him?”
Custer consulted his notebook again. “Why exactly did you try to fire Mr. Puck, just two days before his murder?”
Brisbane started to say something, then hesitated. A new thought seemed to have occurred to him.