The Inquisitor's Key

“The police are probably still watching the chapel,” I said. “Anyhow, I can’t get to the bones until day after tomorrow.”

 

 

“What? What are you talking about?” His tone was sharp and suspicious. “What do you mean, you can’t get to them? Why not? Where are they?”

 

“Stefan and I put them in a very secure place. A Swiss bank vault. I have to go to Geneva to get them, and the bank’s closed tomorrow. Sunday. The Sabbath, Reverend.”

 

“You’re lying.” My heart nearly stopped when he said it. There was a pause; I thought I heard whispers. “Which bank?”

 

“Credit Suisse.”

 

“What street is it on?”

 

“Give me a break, Reverend. I’m supposed to help you plan my own ambush? I might be from Tennessee, but I’m not that stupid.”

 

“Stefan said the bones were here. He was supposed to bring them that night.”

 

“But he didn’t bring them,” I countered. “Why wouldn’t he have brought them if they were here?”

 

“I told you. Because he got greedy. We’d agreed on a million, but that night he said he’d gotten another bid, a higher bid. He said the new price was two million.”

 

I was stunned by the figures, but didn’t dare show it. “That’s not the way I do business, Reverend. If Stefan agreed to a million, I’ll honor that price.”

 

There was a pause, then more whispers. “I don’t think you understand the situation yet, Doctor.” His voice sliced into me, as cold and sharp as a straight-edge razor on a winter morning. “The new price I’m offering—the only price I’m offering—is the safe return of your assistant.” He paused to let that sink in. “If you don’t actually care about her, I suppose we could talk money instead. But that means I’ll have to kill her. And killing her would mean considerable inconvenience and risk for me. You yourself said the FBI would come after me. So if you’d rather have money than the girl, the new price is half a million.”

 

“You know I don’t want money,” I said. “I just want her back safe.”

 

“Then quit playing stupid games.”

 

“I’m not playing games. I’ll be back from Geneva with the bones Monday night.”

 

“If you’re not, she’ll die—and she’ll die a much worse death than Stefan did. And after she does, so will you. By God, you will.” With that, he hung up.

 

“Damn it, Inspector, why’d you put me in a cell-phone-proof building for that phone call? I missed half of what she was saying.”

 

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “I never have a problem using my mobile in there. It must be something about your American phone.”

 

“She was trying to tell me something important,” I fumed. “Something about where the bones were hidden.” Twice she’d said something about “key” and “the bones.” Piecing together the two fragmentary versions, I suspected she’d said, “the key is to get the bones.” By key, did she mean crucial, as in “it’s crucial to get the bones”? That seemed absurdly obvious; of course it was crucial to get the bones. No, she must have been talking about an actual key. She seemed to be telling me that the bones were locked in a hiding place that the key would open. But what key, what hiding place, and where? Wherever it was, the Geneva ploy had bought us thirty-six hours to find it.

 

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