Tavak smiled. "It's a distinct possibility."
"The Egyptian collection is up ahead. It's fairly unremarkable, but the piece you're looking for is featured prominently."
They entered a large room, and Rachel immediately recognized the large display case from the video Tavak had shown her. They stepped closer to the limestone wall, which featured a carved relief of a great feast and an assortment of animals.
Tavak opened his notebook and compared the reliefs with drawings he had made.
"What are you doing?" Rachel asked.
"This depicts an offering to the gods. I just want to make sure there's nothing here that wouldn't normally be found in an Old Kingdom banquet."
"Kind of like, one of these things doesn't belong?" Allie said.
"Yes, but I'm sure we can't be that lucky. The code is probably something more complicated than that."
Allie shook her head. "How could this disciple, Natifah, have come up with these codes? I mean, the 'etched in fire' message was ingenious."
"It was," Rachel said. "And I'm guessing Natifah was ingenious. She was a doctor at a time when it was a rare thing for a woman to be. And she may have had help."
"From another patient of Peseshet's?"
Tavak looked up from his notebook. "It's possible. But whatever information this wall holds, it's nothing I can crack by just glancing at it. It's going to take time."
"I've already made arrangements with a guard," Lev said. "We can come back at ten o'clock to night and get a much more in-depth look."
Rachel smiled. "Another video-game bribe?"
"No, he's much older. Two cases of vodka should do the trick."
"And if that doesn't work?"
Lev shrugged. "Three cases of vodka."
* * *
Finley leaned back as three color-photo printouts suddenly landed on the desk in front of him. He glanced up to see Gonzalez and Tunison smiling as if they'd won the Power-ball lottery.
Finley looked back down at the printouts. "Okay. I'd appreciate it if you could wipe those shit-eating grins off your faces long enough to tell me what I'm looking at here."
Tunison pointed to a tall man in a dark blue Windbreaker. "We think this could be our shooter."
"I'm listening."
"This came off the kid's webcam. Ballistics tells us that the gunshot came from this hill. The only route not covered by campus security cameras is down this path." Gonzalez traced the route with his finger. "And look at this guy."
Finley eyes narrowed on the grainy printout. While the frame grab didn't offer enough resolution to get a clear look of the man's face, Finley could see the jeans, black T-shirt, close-cropped hair, and a large backpack. He glanced up. "Looks like a typical college kid."
"Of course he does. Why would he want to appear any differently? But notice how long that backpack is? And does it look like he has any books in there?"
Finley studied it. "No. But there is something poking at the top and bottom."
"Something like a disassembled SKS rifle, maybe?"
"Possibly."
"There's a digital time stamp," Tunison said. "The timing fits perfectly with Rachel Kirby's shooting."
Gonzalez pointed to the other two printouts. "We can trace him all the way up to the other side of this building, where the path curves around."
"Where does it lead?"
"Lots of places. A performing-arts auditorium, the law library"—Gonzalez raised another photograph printout—"and an off-campus parking lot."
"You're shitting me."
"Our guy didn't park there, but his car was on the street close enough for the lot's security cameras to catch him. Either he didn't know about it, or he thought he was far enough away from the shooting that he wouldn't be connected to it. He obviously didn't count on a student webcam catching him in the quadrangle."
Finley took the fourth printout and looked at the backpack-toting man climbing into a black Mercedes-Benz automobile. "Okay, now he suddenly doesn't look so much like a student."
"It's a 2009 Mercedes 550 SL, and we have a partial on the plate."
"Let me guess. It's stolen."
"Nope. It was towed off the shoulder of a Katy Freeway exit ramp a couple days ago. It's now sitting in one of our impound lots. Wanna go take a look?"
* * *
Less than an hour later, Finley and Gonzalez were walking across the gravel impound lot with the facility manager, a sunburned man with a bright orange clipboard.
"Your forensics guys got here about ten minutes ago," the lot manager said. "I showed them where the car is, but they said they'd wait for you before goin' inside."
Gonzalez nodded. "Did you attempt to contact the vehicle's owner?"
The lot manager spit before consulting his clipboard. "We couldn't match the plate to anybody. It's either a DMV screwup, or the plate's a counterfeit."
They turned down an aisle that bordered a long chain-link fence. Two white-shirted forensics specialists waved from the rear of the black Mercedes. But, as Gonzalez and Finley neared, they could see the grim expressions on the specialists' faces.
"What is it?" Finley asked.
In the next instant a gust of wind sent a sharp, pungent odor to them.
Gonzalez covered his nose and mouth. "Oh, shit." He and Finley exchanged glances. They were both too familiar with that smell.
One of the forensics guys handed them white face masks. "Here, these will help a little."
As they put on the masks, Gonzalez motioned toward the trunk. "If that's the owner we're smelling, it explains why the car wasn't reported stolen. Open it up."
A forensics specialist opened the driver-side door and popped the trunk. Finley pulled on a pair of evidence gloves, gripped the trunk lid, and lifted.
The men gathered around the car and stared inside the open trunk.
Gonzalez asked, "What do you think, Finley? Is it our shooter?"
"Maybe. Good chance."
Although they had been unable to get a clear picture of his face, the rotting corpse could very well be the man they'd seen on the webcam frame grabs. It was the same jacket, the same close-cropped hair, the same awkwardly filled knapsack.
Finley unzipped the knapsack and pulled the main compartment open enough to reveal the parts of a disassembled rifle. "An even better chance than I thought."
"I'll say." Gonzalez looked at the forensic specialists. "Any idea what killed him?"
"Hell, no. You want a guess?" One of the forensics guys shined a flashlight at the corpse's torso. "Maybe a knife wound to the chest?"
Gonzalez backed away. The smell was overpowering even through the mask. "Any ID?"
Finley shook his head. "Not that I can see. I'll leave it to our friends here to paw around that rotting carcass. I can wait." He turned to the specialists. "But not long. We need a positive ID on this fella right away."
ST. PETERSBURG,
RUSSIA
Lev pulled his minivan to a stop along the bank of the Neva River. He smiled. "Here at last. Sorry about the traffic, but that's the price of progress. This city has changed a lot in the past twenty years."
"It's a beautiful city," Rachel said. She had never been to St. Petersburg, but she was impressed by the clean, wide streets and Dutch-inspired architecture. Most of the pedestrians she had seen were young and well dressed, and the city literally gleamed in the late-afternoon sun.