I followed Special Agent Jackson and the police cruiser transporting Devin to Oak Bluff’s police department in the Land Rover while Tanner drove Nate to Preston’s to retrieve his rental. Devin would spend the rest of the weekend in Dukes County Jail in Edgartown, which was no country club for convicts despite the gorgeous Main Street facade. But first I had a lot more questions I wanted to ask him.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one with questions.
Mom phoned, having just heard about the afternoon’s attack. “Do you think it’s safe for Ben to stay at the house with you and Ashley?” Mom asked in a hushed tone. “Can’t the police put him in protective custody or something?”
What was I, chopped liver? “You don’t have to worry, Mom. The attacker was after Nate, not Ben.”
“What?” she shrieked.
I pulled the phone from my ear to soften the blow. Okay, I could’ve phrased that better. I nodded to the officers escorting Devin to an interrogation room to await the officer who’d been investigating this afternoon’s fires.
“Mom, I need to go. Nate will explain when he gets there.” I clicked off before she could grill me further. I bypassed the interrogation room and followed Isaak to a back room. The rest of my questions for Devin could wait until after I looked inside the package.
Isaak dusted the parcel and lifted more than two dozen prints. He then removed the outer layer of brown wrapping paper and repeated the process on the interior layer, managing to lift a half dozen more prints.
I handed them off to the expert who’d compare them to the prints taken from Charlie’s body and then I scooped up the PD’s camera to take pictures of what was inside the box.
“Ready?” Isaak asked me, grinning.
“Get on with it!”
He slit the tape sealing the cardboard box and gingerly plucked at the packing paper inside.
At the sight of an ancient vase, I gasped and lowered the camera for a closer look. “It looks almost identical to the Fenton Vase in the picture Jack had been carrying.” I studied the images on the side of the vase of a Mayan ruler sitting cross-legged on a bench, wearing an enormous headdress, pointing to a basket full of corn. Such a crime. “To think if an archeological team had excavated this vase, it may’ve significantly deepened our knowledge of the Mayan culture. Instead, thanks to some looter, the context of the find—the key to our understanding—has been lost forever.”
“I suspect the looter would’ve been more concerned about putting food on his table,” Isaak said.
“True enough. And it doesn’t help when indigenous people can make more money digging for terra cotta than farming. What irks me is the entitled attitude of the collectors who fuel the market.”
“Is it genuine?” Isaak asked as I picked it up to examine the bottom then the interior.
“We’re going to need an expert to make that judgment call.” Estimates pegged the number of fake Mayan pots on the market these days at 85 percent. Even U.S. museums were suspected by some of unwittingly displaying the odd forgery.
I phoned Preston and explained the situation. “Can you give us your opinion on its authenticity?”
“Tonight?” He didn’t sound as if he liked the idea of venturing out again.
I guess I should’ve expected the reaction. Professors kept different hours than law enforcement.
“Tomorrow is fine,” Isaak said.
I relayed the message to Preston and told him I’d touch base with him again in the morning.
Isaak took over the camera and snapped more photos of the vase, then inserted the memory card into a printer in the corner of the room and printed copies.
A knock sounded at the door and our fingerprint expert let himself in. “We have a positive match. Several in fact.”
“To Charlie Anderson’s prints?” I clarified.
The man consulted the paperwork in his hand. “That’s right. Three thumbprints. Two index finger prints and a pinky.” He handed over the paperwork.
“Great, thank you.” Oddly, I didn’t feel the elation I’d expected. Pinning a smuggling charge on Marianne’s son, on top of what she’d already been through this week, gave me little satisfaction. I shook my head. “I really wanted to believe Carly’s adamant defense of her brother this afternoon wasn’t an act.”
“I suppose there’s a remote chance that she honestly didn’t know what her brother was into. At least not until she heard Ben’s story.”
My heart hitched. “If that’s true, then Carly could be our killer’s next target.” Then again, it was more palatable than the alternative. I texted Moore, but recalling Nate’s suspicions of him, I hesitated clicking SEND. Then again . . . his response could be telling.
Still no sign of her, he texted back.
I expected him to hand off the search now that we’d confirmed Charlie was dealing in antiquities, but he wasn’t ready to dismiss his intel on a drug connection. A reasonable enough explanation.
Isaak gathered up the printouts and tapped them into a neat stack. “Let’s talk to Devin.”
We carefully wrapped the vase, labeled it for evidence, and checked it into the PD’s evidence room until we could arrange for its transport to the FBI’s Boston headquarters. By the time we reached the interrogation room where Devin had been deposited, the room was empty. We stopped a passing officer. “Where’s the suspect who was being held in this room?”
“Transported to lockup. Too drunk to question, the detective said.”
I thanked him for the update but inwardly fumed. I didn’t disagree Devin might’ve been too sloshed, but the detective should’ve at least consulted us first. I believed Devin’s story that he acted out of jealousy, but if he’d dated Carly for any length of time, he might know a thing or two about Charlie’s apparent sideline business.
Isaak glanced at his watch. “We’re going to need search warrants for the architect firm, for Frank’s and Carly’s homes, and for whatever else they own or rent—car, boat, storage locker. But I’ll have an easier time convincing the judge once your expert confirms the vase’s authenticity.”
“Two people are already dead and Carly is missing or gone to ground. Take your pick. From where I’m standing, whether it’s genuine or not, someone didn’t want us connecting it and who knows how many more pieces to him.”
“Or her.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, we could stop by Marianne Delmar’s and see what she has to say about her son’s alleged activities and her daughter’s possible involvement. If she grants us permission to search the house, it’ll save us the red tape.”
I exhaled a reluctant sigh. The poor woman had already had a brutal enough day.
As we reached the lobby, Tanner strode in carrying a bag of Chinese takeout. “Finished already? I figured you could use some supper.”
The food smelled fantastic.
“I ate before the memorial service,” Isaak said.
“We’re heading to Marianne’s to question her about Charlie,” I added even though I was salivating like a Pavlov dog.
“I can help Serena with that,” Tanner said to Isaak. “You’re supposed to be on vacation here, aren’t you? I’m sure your family would appreciate having you back.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they would. But if you two want to question Marianne, I’ll pay Frank Dale a visit.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I concurred, practically tasting the moo goo gai pan already. “I’ll update you on what we learn.”
Isaak gave a casual salute and strode out.
Tanner handed me the take-out bag. “Leave the Land Rover here and you can eat while I drive.”
I was too famished to argue. As he wound through Oak Bluffs’ residential streets, I gobbled the food, mmm-ing over the yummy taste, between telling him about the vase and Charlie’s fingerprints on the package.
“So I guess I was wrong about the Fenton Vase picture found in Jack’s pocket being a plant to misdirect investigators.”
“Frank mentioned that Carly printed some Mayan pictures for him. Frank had assumed they were for a design he was working on, but maybe it was to show the feds what Charlie had allegedly mailed. Or maybe to show Marianne.”
“And if Carly knew what her brother mailed to the office, she could’ve been the one who set off the alarm bells.”
“For Marianne’s sake, I hope not.”
Tanner parked at the curb opposite Marianne’s house and I gobbled faster. The living room light was on and the shadow of an occupant was visible behind the drapes. “No hurry,” Tanner said. “She’s not going anywhere.”
I shoveled the last few forkfuls into my mouth, then stuffed the carton back in the bag. “That was good. Thank you.”
“Hey, don’t forget the fortune cookie. It’s in the bag.”
“I’m good.”
“Ah, c’mon. Don’t you want to know what your fortune is?”
“You don’t actually believe in them?”
He grinned. “They’re fun.”
I pulled the plastic-wrapped cookie out of the bag and pressed it into his hand. “The fun’s all yours.”
“If you insist. I’m not afraid to embrace my future.” He ripped the plastic, cracked open the cookie, and silently read the little slip of paper inside, then popped the cookie into his mouth.
“What did it say?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in them.”
I plucked the slip of paper from his fingers, not trusting the laughter in his eyes.
Romance will soon blossom.