“You’re welcome, sir.”
Even with her slightly olive-hued skin, he could see that she was blushing. She returned to her seat somewhat self-consciously. She was smart, but not the kind of person who liked being the center of attention, he thought. She’d probably go into the research side of the profession, he mused, become a number cruncher for a polling or marketing company. She had an eye for detail that would serve her well in that role. Verraday cleaned the few drops of blood off the lectern and tossed the wipe into a nearby wastebasket. Then he wrapped the Band-Aid around his finger.
“All right, now that the medical emergency is over, let’s carry on, shall we?”
CHAPTER 12
Maclean cruised past Pioneer Square, went a couple more blocks then made a right-hand turn. She pulled the unmarked Interceptor up to the curb a couple of doors short of The Victorian Closet so the vehicle wouldn’t draw attention from within the store. She walked back to the cruiser accompanying her and leaned in to speak to the uniformed officer behind the wheel.
“Wait here. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
As she surveyed the front window, Maclean tried to look like a casual shopper. Or as casual as you could look surveying a window display that included a female mannequin dressed in a nineteenth-century whalebone corset holding a riding crop with which she was spanking a winged taxidermy monkey that wore a gold-tasseled fez and a salacious grin.
Maclean drew in a deep breath and entered. A small brass bell chimed. She didn’t immediately see the proprietor or any other signs of life. The shop was musty-smelling and crowded with the sort of antiques that would appeal only to customers of extremely particular tastes. There were more vintage corsets, Victorian spanking mechanisms, antique paddles, and several cast-iron “Naughty Nellie” boot jacks, their 120-year-old legs spread wide, at the ready to accept a gentleman’s heel. There was a nineteenth-century sex swing. Maclean pretended to browse what appeared to be an entire case filled with antique vibrators, creaky-looking, alternating-current affairs to be used at one’s peril.
At the end of another aisle, in a place of honor within a glass case, was a phallic-looking carved wooden object. Its handle was decorated with a crudely fashioned diamond pattern. The business end consisted of three long prongs the length of a large human hand, gradually curving inward until the tips almost met. Maclean didn’t know what to make of it, but it looked utterly depraved.
“It’s probably not what you think it is,” said a male voice from behind her. “It’s probably worse.”
She turned to see a man in his forties, with a thick moustache and deep-set eyes. His hair was long and slicked back, some of it pulled into a topknot. He appeared to be the only other person in the store.
“Would you like to hazard a guess?” he asked.
“I’m thinking a utensil of some sort, but not for anything I do on a regular basis.”
The man chuckled and smiled at Maclean lasciviously. “It’s a Fijian cannibal fork. It was the personal property of chief Ratu Udre Udre. He was the greatest of the Fijian rulers, the most prolific cannibal in the history of the islands, and the last one to consume human flesh. At least officially. According to the Guinness Book of World Records, he devoured eight hundred and seventy-two men. That’s the very fork with which he held the remains of his last victim, a rival chieftain named Lahelahe.”
“How much is it?”
“Oh, it’s not for sale. But I do bring it out for what you might call ‘private ceremonial occasions.’ Is there something in particular that you’re looking for?”
He leaned in uncomfortably close until she could feel his breath and smell some sort of industrial cleaner or disinfectant on him.
“I’m just browsing, really.”
“Well, if you need any help, I’ll be at the counter. Just got a new shipment of Peruvian shrunken heads in that I need to sort through. The exporters will try to pass off capuchins as Aguarana tribesmen if you don’t keep your eye on them.”