Alex spent the rest of the morning upstairs in his office. When, finally, he came down, he offered to take me to lunch. I’d committed to Robin, so I had to pass.
After an entertaining hour at Mojack’s, I settled in for a long afternoon, working on contracts and tracking the provenance of several artifacts at the request of clients: A desk that, its owner maintained, had once been the property of Indio Naramatsu. (It hadn’t.) A captain’s chair that was supposed to have once been installed on the bridge of the Ranger. (It also had not.) A communication device that had originally been the property of Clair Pascha—even though the instrument belonged to a different era. And so on. We get a lot of that. People aren’t satisfied with having an antique. They want it to be a piece of history.
The rain didn’t so much stop as gradually exhaust itself, leaving behind a skyful of listless gray clouds. Jack Napier, our delivery guy, brought some shipments that had to be inventoried and added to our available stock. We didn’t keep much on hand. Generally, Rainbow made its money by putting buyers and sellers together. But we didn’t shy away from marketing whatever antiques we were able, through good timing, to acquire.
In the midst of all this, Alex wandered into my office and sat down quietly, pretending to be absorbed in a silver locket that might have been worn by Lara Cheneau, but whose authenticity was not certifiable. I was looking at shipping schedules when he broke the silence: “Rachel called while you were out.”
“Really? What did she have to say?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t here either.” And, of course, Jacob has orders not to relay calls. Alex doesn’t like being tracked everywhere he goes.
“She leave a message?”
“Just that she’d called.”
“You going to call back?”
“I think I’ll let her have the initiative. I’m tired of the mind games.”
“Why do you think she’s calling?”
“Because she knows we’re still looking around. I’ve been trying to find someone who knows what happened to Hugh Conover. I suspect that’s gotten back to her.”
“No luck with Conover?”
“Even his family doesn’t know where he is. He just said good-bye to everybody. Nine years ago. Every once in a while somebody gets a note from him. Says he’s doing fine. Hopes everyone’s okay. Leaves a code number they can reply to.”
“Have you tried contacting him directly?”
“I’ve tried. He hasn’t answered.”
We were getting ready to close for the day when Jacob announced Rachel was on the circuit. Alex took the call in my office. “Mr. Benedict,” she said, “I’m not comfortable with what’s been happening, and I wonder if we might not reach some sort of agreement?” She looked frustrated and less sure of herself than she had been.
“What did you have in mind, Ms. Bannister?”
She was seated on her sofa. A lamp on the side table glowed softly. She was dressed casually in green and white, and wore a woolly white sweater. I was off to one side, out of the picture as far as she was concerned. But I could see her.
“Did you find what you wanted?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“All right,” she said. “Look. I’d like to save us both some time. I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve no interest in keeping the tablet.”
“You’re willing to sell it to me?”
“I’ve destroyed it.”
“I hope you’re not going to tell me you dropped it in the ocean.”
“No. I was simply trying to discourage you from proceeding.”
“Why?”
“Since you are the one on the hunt, Alex—Is it okay if I call you that? Since you are the one on the hunt, you’re surely better equipped to answer that question than I am.” Her eyes sparkled in the light. “I’ll tell you honestly that I wish you’d let things alone. You can do no good, and you might do a great deal of harm.”
Alex was seated in one of the two chairs that faced my desk. “Explain that. Tell me where the danger is. I’ll hold everything you say in confidence, and if I agree, we’ll drop the investigation.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You probably can’t. It depends on what you have to say.”
Her eyes slid shut, and for a long moment, she didn’t move. “Tell me what you know,” she said, “and I’ll try to fill in the blanks.”
Alex straightened himself, gave the impression he was considering whether he wanted to comply. Then: “The language on the tablet can’t be identified. It’s possible it has a human origin, but there’s a decent chance the source is something else. We don’t believe the Mutes are involved although we’re in the process of checking that out now.
“It originally belonged to Tuttle. He’s only known for one thing.” A gust of wind rattled the windows. “So the tablet,” Alex continued, “gets advertised online, you’re surprised to see it, but you know what it is and what it means. I don’t know how that is, but you and he were friends. He confided in you. Hours later, your nephew shows up to collect it. Have I got it right so far?”
“Go on,” she said.
“Since that time, you’ve done everything you could to prevent my getting a look at it. And you seem baffled as to why my curiosity should be aroused.”
She picked up a glass of wine from the side table, took some, and put it down. “And why do you think I’ve been doing all this? I mean, the tablet is essentially worthless. The pictures you have don’t depict the reality. It’s in much worse condition.”
“This is not about money, Rachel. Although if it is what we suspect it might be, then its value would climb considerably.”
“That’s certainly true.” She looked steadily at him. “Ah,” she said suddenly, “you think it’s all a con. You think I’m withholding the tablet to create the impression that yes, it is an alien artifact. Drive the price through the roof, sell the thing, then take the money and run.”
“I don’t believe that at all.”
“Very good. Because there’s nothing to it.”
“Which brings us back to your motives. Why are you keeping it hidden?”
“Keep in mind that I’m no longer hiding it. It has been reduced to rubble.”
“I hope you are not serious.”
“I am.” I was inclined to believe her.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sorry it was necessary.” She took a deep breath. “You’re recording this conversation, I assume?”
“I am.”
“Turn it off.”
Alex told Jacob to comply.
She waited, looking to her right, until she was satisfied she could speak freely. “I assume you’re not alone.”
Alex hesitated. “No,” he said.
“Please have her leave.”
I got up and started to walk out. Alex signaled me to come forward where Rachel could see me, and to sit back down. “Anything you wish to say to me, you can say to her.”
She thought about it. “All right. I’d promised myself to take this matter to the grave. But I don’t want you stirring things up. Asking too many questions. So I’ll tell you what it’s about, provided”—she looked from Alex to me—“provided it goes no further. Not to anyone.” She eased back into the sofa. “Are we agreed?”