“And how did your sister get this power?” he asked, unable to keep the hint of skepticism from his voice.
Harper’s eyes flew open.
They looked a fainter shade of gray than they had earlier.
“Lightning,” she said.
“Really?” He couldn’t hide the incredulity in his voice.
“I was struck by lightning as a teenager. I lived. Most people don’t. Tolliver started my heart again.” She took her brother’s hand. “Since then I’ve had this power. It was hard to deal with.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “I can see you don’t believe me, Mr. Hauck. Many of the police are skeptical. At least, at first.”
“I’m no longer a policeman,” he said. “But I’ll be interested to see you at work.”
Which was the truth.
“Don’t be so Western, Ty,” Nabila chided him.
He figured she was trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“In Alexandria, we are all in a partnership with the dead. As I said, our city is built on prior civilizations. The dead are alive to us here. In America, when you dig, you strike oil or water. Here, we find two-thousand-year-old ruins. Even the person who founded this city, Alexander the Great—the legend is buried here somewhere. Though no one knows where.”
“I thought he died in Asia? Babylon?” he said. “And no one knows for sure what killed him, right?”
“Alexander died in Babylon. Maybe he was murdered, poisoned. Maybe he had blood poisoning. Or an illness. His bones were on the way to Macedon when they were hijacked. Perhaps the hijacker was his leading general, Ptolemy, who stayed and founded the five-hundred-year Greek dynasty here. Of all the places Alexander conquered, he loved Alexandria the best. He wasn’t the last Greek to rule Egypt. You know of Cleopatra? She was Greek. The last of the Greeks, as it turned out.”
“Maybe Ms. Connelly will find Alexander’s bones while she’s here.”
He turned back to her with a smile.
“Maybe I will,” Harper said, staring at an open truck with an ox in the cargo bay. “If there are any bones left.”
“Do we get to see any pyramids?” Tolliver asked, eyes wide, scanning out the window. But it was only a highway, with the same rushing traffic you would find anywhere in the world, the scenery relentlessly modern.
“No, there are no pyramids here. Those are farther west. Along the Nile. Out of Cairo.” Nabila sounded as though she’d said the same thing many times, and it never made her happy.
He could understand her viewpoint.
Pyramids equaled tourist dollars.
Tolliver appeared disappointed and glanced at his sister, as if that was the reason they had taken this gig.
She patted his shoulder.
They were sure a bit touchy for brother and sister.
THE FOUR SEASONS ALEXANDRIA WAS as striking as any four Seasons, and it was situated right on the harbor. Considering that Harper and Tolliver dressed inexpensively and in general gave such an air of having been brought up rough, Hauck expected the two to be more impressed with the gleaming lobby.
But if they were, they covered it up well.
An hour later the four met again in front of the concierge desk. Hauck could tell that Harper had had a shower. Her hair looked much calmer, her face fresher. Even Tolliver looked more relaxed. This time, Nabila drove them through the souk sector of the city, down a crowded market street. The brother and sister got a taste of the foreign there with the limbs of livestock hanging from hooks in the open air, stalls of fruits, melons, and dates.
“We have also a specialized market area called the Attarine, where you can find many antiques,” Nabila told the newcomers.
The two looked at her blankly, so she got to business.
“We are heading to three places. The Coolnet café, the last place Ms. Winters was seen. Then her apartment. After that, I’ll take you to the museum. I’ve arranged a time to speak with Professor Razi, Ms. Winters’s superior.”
“Her bones are not going to be in her apartment, or the Internet café, or the museum,” Tolliver said.
“We’re also conducting a conventional investigation,” Hauck said, beginning to be pissed off by the two Americans’ indifference to the rest of the world, including anyone else’s experience.
He addressed his next remarks exclusively to Nabila.
“So what do we know about her? Did she like to party? What about any relationships with men? Ex-boyfriends? Anyone who might have a motive for harming her. Was she active in local affairs? Did she go to the synagogue, have contacts there?”
“By all accounts she was like any of the students who come here,” Nabila said. “Alexandria is a place that sets your spirits free. She went to some parties. Still, Dr. Omar Razi, her superior at the museum, says she was a serious girl and a dedicated worker. Her primary focus was the discovery of ruins of past civilizations.”
The car wound down a narrow street.
“In fact, we are entering the old Roman part of the city. There is not much left from that era. What the Ottomans or earthquakes did not destroy, time has built over.”
Hauck pointed at a tall column amid a walled-in field of white marble rubble. “What’s that?”
“That is Pompey’s Pillar,” Nabila said. She pulled to a stop and turned to face all her guests. “You know the famous Roman consul? The Romans appointed him as Cleopatra’s guardian. She hated him though. He fought Caesar and Anthony. When he was on the run from Caesar, he was assassinated here. His bones are rumored to be under the pillar, but in fact—”
“He’s not,” Harper interrupted.
“Not what?” asked Hauck.
“There’s no one buried there. No bones, no bone powder.”
“In fact, as I was about to say,” Nabila said stiffly, turning to her, “you are right. It is now known that Pompey is not in fact buried inside the tomb. And also—”
“It’s not even a pillar,” Harper said. “It’s round. Pillars have sides. It’s a column.”
“Yes,” Nabila said, with a glance at Hauck, “that’s what I was about to say. It’s a column. Everything about it is incorrect.”
Hauck grunted to himself. He was not a big fan of what he’d seen so far of the Winterses’ consultant. Psychic bone detector?
“Maybe it’s time for an Egyptian coffee,” Nabila said, and started driving again. The car pulled up at a street-side café. “We are here. This is the Internet café that Ms. Winters patronized.”
Inside, the place looked a lot like an American Internet café. Lots of young people sitting at the small tables, using their laptops. The click of the keys was louder than the conversation.
They all ordered coffees.
Tolliver and Harper, who hadn’t eaten, ordered a Greek salad and chicken in yogurt sauce.
“Be careful of the salad,” Nabila warned. “You never know how things are washed.”
“No, we are good, madame,” the waiter said. “You see, tourist menu.”
“Very well,” she said. “Still.”
A tall, lanky young man of about twenty-five with a mop of light brown hair wearing a soccer T-shirt and jeans approached the table.