“I have some good news,” Jack said when he heard James’s voice.
“That’s a welcome relief,” James replied. “Is Dr. Bingham going to allow Shawn and Sana to use his crowning-glory facility?”
“He is indeed!” Jack reported proudly. “It’s a perfect situation. It’s one of several completely self-contained laboratories, with space for both Shawn and Sana and all the equipment they should need. It’s very private and secure. They can start tomorrow if they like.”
“Praise the Lord,” James said. “I spoke with Shawn not an hour ago. I told him you had agreed to intervene on his behalf as far as the lab space was concerned, and that you’d call later today to give him the news.”
“You want me to call him rather than yourself?”
“I do. I think it is more appropriate. I know he wants to thank you directly for your help. That’s what he said, but between you and me, I think he wants to make sure that I adequately emphasized the secrecy involved. He’s as paranoid as I am about leaks.”
“I don’t mind telling him, especially since it’s good news.”
James gave Jack Shawn’s office number at the museum and his home number, then said, “Let me know as soon as you and Shawn talk! I’m nervous about all this, and the more information I have, the better I’ll feel because the more I think about it all, the more damage I’m afraid this could wreak on the Church, and my career.”
“I’ll call you right after I speak with him.”
“I’d appreciate it,” James said before hanging up.
Jack tried Shawn’s office number but got a busy signal. Foiled for the moment, he turned to locating all the material on the teenage shooting death in Central Park, where the hands had not been bagged by the tour doctor. Jack wanted to stay on Bingham’s good side, and one way was to sign out that case as soon as possible, as he had asked. Once Jack had the necessary information, he was able to complete the paperwork in less than twenty minutes and e-mail Bingham saying that he’d done so.
Trying Shawn again, he got through but instead of getting his old friend, he got Shawn’s secretary. It seemed that Shawn was out of the office but was due back shortly.
Jack decided not to wait. “Can you tell me when the museum closes?” he asked the secretary. “I think I’ll stop in and wait for him.”
“Nine p.m., but I’ll be leaving at four-thirty.”
“Would you take a message for him? Please tell him Dr. Jack Stapleton is coming in for a visit. I can’t make it before you leave, but I should be there before, say, four-forty-five.”
After hanging up, Jack took a few minutes to straighten up his very messy office. While he did so he located the paperwork and slides on the suicide case Lou had called about. He knew the DA would be looking for it. When he was finished, he grabbed his damp bomber jacket from behind the door and his bike helmet from atop the file cabinet and was out the door.
18
4:21 P.M., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2008
NEW YORK CITY
The sky was clear and the sun near the western horizon when Jack emerged from the OCME and turned northward on First Avenue. The temperature had dropped to a bracing level, and his cheeks burned as he raced the traffic uptown.
At 81st Street he turned west, and soon had the Metropolitan Museum of Art directly before him.
With its tan, neoclassical façade brightly illuminated against the coal black of Central Park, the huge building momentarily took Jack’s breath away. As night had now fallen, the building looked like a jewel on a square of black velvet.
Jack checked his watch. It was exactly quarter to five. Hurrying forward and up the front steps, he entered the renowned museum, asking himself why he didn’t take advantage of its treasures. Somewhat guiltily, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been there.
The huge multistory lobby was filled with people. Jack had to wait at the large oval information booth in the center of the room to talk to one of the museum’s employees. When he asked for the location of Shawn Daughtry’s office, he was given a map with the route drawn with a marker.
As Jack approached the office, he was pleased to see the door ajar. He walked in and found himself in an outer office with a secretary’s desk. Beyond the desk was a second door, also ajar. Jack continued in and, reaching the threshold, he rapped forcefully on the jamb.
“Aha!” Shawn voiced, leaping to his feet. “Here’s a sight for sore eyes. How the hell are you?”
Shawn moved toward Jack with his hand extended.
“I got your note,” he added, with a smile splashed across his face. “I’m so pleased you stopped by. And look at you, you look as fit as you did the last time we were together. How do you do it?”
“Mostly street basketball,” Jack said, a bit taken aback by Shawn’s exuberance.
“I should follow your example, buddy,” Shawn said. He leaned back and stuck out his already protruding gut, patting himself as if proud of it.
“So, how long’s it been?”
“I don’t remember exactly,” Jack admitted. He glanced around the spacious office whose windows looked out on Fifth Avenue. A number of early Christian artifacts sat on a large rectangular center table. An entire wall of bookshelves was filled with an impressive collection of art books. The far wall was dominated by an enormous dark green leather couch.
“Beautiful office,” Jack remarked, thinking of his own tiny cubicle.
“Before I say anything else,” Shawn began, “I want to thank you for being willing to help in this affair. It truly means a lot to me, for many reasons, but mostly because I think this extraordinary find is going to define my career.”
“I’m happy to do it,” Jack said, wondering what Shawn would think if he knew that Jack was doing it as much for himself as for Shawn. Being involved in Shawn’s project was a hundred times more absorbing than investigating alternative medicine, the results of which people didn’t want to hear.
“What’s the bottom line? Have you had a chance to ask your chief about lab space?”
“I did. There’s no problem. You and your wife will have to sign a comprehensive liability waiver, but that’s it. No one has even spoken of any charges.”
Shawn clapped his hands loud enough to make Jack jump. “All right!” he cried, before placing his palms together, closing his eyes, and tilting his head up at the ceiling in a crude mime of praying. A moment later he leaned forward and assumed a serious expression. “Jack,” he said. “I’m thrilled you got us permission to use OCME lab space, but there is one thing I do want to talk to you about. It’s an important issue, and one that His over-the-top Holiness said he’d already mentioned. I’d just like to emphasize the fact that we want this whole project to stay completely secret, especially as it pertains to the Virgin Mary. Are you okay with that? If what we expect is in the ossuary, we want to be able to break the news only after we’ve totally finished our respective studies. I want to be entirely sure of the facts when we make the announcement.”
“James was very clear about the secrecy issues. In fact, he’s probably more interested in secrecy than you. I don’t know if you are aware of this, to the extent that you should be, but he means to launch a serious campaign to convince you never to publish anything at all about the Virgin Mary’s connection to the bones. I believe he’s already mentioned to you that he’s totally convinced this is an elaborate fake: a first-century fake but a fake nevertheless, which he is certain you will learn eventually, as a consequence of your investigations.”