a narrow shop with a low ceiling. There was almost no light, and the confined space was making her claustrophobic. Dana wanted to get out of the shop, but the floor was covered with so many keys that she could barely move. She was starting to panic because each step made her sink deeper into the pile of keys, which sucked at her like quicksand. Dana struggled toward the door. She began flailing and she didn’t stop until she shot up in bed, damp with perspiration, her heart beating furiously.
Dana cast a quick glance at Jake to see if she’d awakened him but he was sleeping soundly. She went to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and sat at the table. It was four in the morning and the sky was pitch-black. No moon, no starlight. She could sure use something to illuminate the problem Charles Benedict had posed for her, Dana thought. She was certain he had murdered Carrie Blair, but she hadn’t a clue as to how she could prove it.
If only they could ask Horace Blair if Benedict had an opportunity to get Horace’s front-door key. But no one could talk to Blair while Charles Benedict was representing him.
Then an idea occurred to Dana. She smiled. She thought about it some more and her smile widened. To the best of her knowledge, she and Charles Benedict had never met, and Benedict definitely did not know about the Ottoman Scepter. Dana looked at the clock on the kitchen stove. It was 4:45 on the East Coast and three hours earlier out west. Dana was fired up, but she knew that she would have to practice patience, because Marty Draper would be too upset to give her a crash course on Asian antiquities if she woke him out of a deep sleep at 1:45 in the morning.
Part III
The Revenge of the Ottoman Scepter
Chapter Forty-Eight
Santoro and Robb got out of the elevator and spotted the nurses’ station. A heavyset brunette was on the phone, reading from a medical chart, when they walked up. The detectives held up their identification and the woman held up her hand as she continued to talk.
“How can I help you?” the nurse asked as soon as she hung up the phone.
“We want to speak to a patient.”
“What’s the patient’s name?”
“Gregor Karpinski.”
The nurse had started to look at a white board with room numbers and patient names, but she stopped.
“Mr. Karpinski passed away last night.”
“He’s dead?” Santoro said.
The nurse nodded.
“How did he die?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t on duty.”
“Is there someone we can speak to?”
“Dr. Raptis was here. Let me see if he’s available.”
Santoro and Robb walked far enough away from the nurse’s station so they could talk without being overheard.
“What do you think?” Robb asked.
“I don’t know. From what I heard, he was in pretty bad shape, stab wounds to the groin, head trauma.”
Before Robb could reply a young man in a white coat walked up to the nurses’ station. He was short and slender, and his long black hair looked as if it had been finger-combed. Santoro guessed he was in his late twenties. The nurse pointed to the detectives. The doctor’s glasses had slipped down his nose and he pushed them up as he walked over.
“Hi, I’m Dave Raptis. Nurse Arlen said you wanted to know about Gregor Karpinski.”
“He is—I guess ‘was’ is more appropriate—a witness in a case we’re investigating,” Santoro said. “We came up here hoping to talk to him, but the nurse told us he died last night.”
“That’s right. He passed away about three in the morning.”
“Was Mr. Karpinski your patient?” Robb asked.
“Dr. Samuels did the surgery. I’d looked in on him a few times since he was admitted.”
“Was his death a surprise?” Robb asked.
“Actually, it was.”
“Why is that?” Santoro asked.
“He died of cardiac arrest.”
“Why was that surprising? I thought he was in pretty bad shape.”
“Oh, he was, but the damage he suffered was to his genitals and head. There was nothing wrong with his heart.”
“Was there anything suspicious about the death? Anything that would make you suspect that he was murdered?”
“Murdered?”
“Mr. Karpinski was a witness in a murder case. His death could benefit some people. Can you think of anything that would help us figure out whether he died from natural or unnatural causes?”
The doctor looked concerned. “Gee, I don’t know. He had died by the time I got to his room. It never occurred to me that he might have been murdered, so I wasn’t looking for