'Maybe." Celluci pushed open the door marked Department of Egyptology a little more forcefully than necessary. Maybe not.
Besides the uniformed police constable, there were half a dozen people sitting in the large outer office, all exhibiting various forms of shock and/or disbelief. Two of them were crying quietly, a half empty box of tissues on the desk between them. Two were arguing, their voices a constant background drone. One sat, his head buried in his hands. Dr. Shane, her expression wavering between grief and anger, stood as the detectives came into the room and walked toward them.
'I'm Dr. Rachel Shane, the assistant curator. What's going on? No, wait?" Her hand went up before either of them could speak. "That's a stupid question. I know what's going on." She took a deep breath. "What's going to happen now?"
Celluci showed her his badge-from the corner of his eye he saw Dave do the same-and continued to hold it out while she focused first on it and then back on him. "Detective-Sergeant Celluci. My partner, Detective-Sergeant Graham. We'd like to ask Raymond Thompson a few questions."
The young man with his head in his hands jerked erect, eyes wide and face pale.
'We'd like to leave Dr. Rax's office as it is for the moment," Celluci continued, carefully using the matter-of-fact tones most people found calming. "Dr. Shane??"
'Yes, yes, of course. Use mine." She gestured at the door, then laced her fingers together so tightly the tips darkened under the pressure.
'Thank you."
She started a little at the warmth in his voice, then visibly relaxed. Not for the first time, Dave marveled at Celluci's ability to load "I know you're hurting, but we're counting on you. If you fall apart, they'll all go. " onto two small words.
Raymond Thompson was a tall, thin, intense man who couldn't seem to hold still; he kept a foot or a hand or his head constantly moving. He'd come in early to do catch up on a little of the work the sarcophagus had disrupted and found Dr. Rax sprawled on the floor of the workroom. "I didn't touch him or anything else except the phone. I called 911, said I'd found a body, and went into the hall to wait. Christ, this is so? so? I mean, hell, did somebody kill him?"
'We don't know yet, Mr. Thompson." Dave Graham perched on the edge of the desk, one foot swinging lazily. "We'd appreciate it if you could remember how the workroom looked. Did it appear to be the way you'd last seen it?"
'I didn't really look at it. I mean, jeez, my boss was lying dead on the floor!"
'But after you saw the body, you must have taken a quick look around. Just to make sure there was no one else there."
'Well, yeah?"
'And the workroom??"
The younger man bit his lip, trying to remember, trying to see past the sprawled corpse of a man he'd both liked and respected. "There was glass on the floor," he said slowly, "and the plastic had been pulled off the new coffin-looks like Eighteenth Dynasty in a Sixteenth Dynasty sarcophagus, really strange-but nothing seemed to be missing. I mean, we had a pretty valuable faience and gold pectoral out on the counter being restored and it was still there."
Dave raised a brow. "Faience? Pectoral?"
'Faience is, well, a kind of ceramic and a pectoral is a?" long fingers sketched incomprehensible designs in the air. "Well, I guess you could think of it as a fat necklace."
'More than historically valuable?"
Ray Thompson shrugged. "More than half of it is better than eighteen karat gold."
Celluci turned from the window where he'd been watching traffic go by on Queen's Park Road, content to let his partner ask the questions. Whatever the reasons were behind the death of Dr. Rax, he was willing to bet robbery hadn't been a motive. "What about the mummy?"
'There never was one."
'Oh?" He took a step forward. "I talked to one of the officers on the scene yesterday morning as they were carrying that janitor out of the building. She told me he'd seen a mummy and had a heart attack. Essentially, died of fright."
'Thought he saw a mummy. Someone had popped an empty coffin back into a stone box and resealed it. We thought we were getting a new piece of history and all we got was air." Ray's laugh was short and bitter. "Maybe that's what killed Dr. Rax; scientific disappointment."
'So there wasn't a mummy?"
'No."
'You're sure?"
'Trust me, Detective, I'd have noticed." Celluci caught a speaking glance from his partner and, scowling, closed his lips around what he'd been about to say. For the moment, he was willing to believe he'd misunderstood Trembley's explanation.
The rest of the department had even less to offer. They'd all liked Dr. Rax. Sure, occasionally he disagreed with his colleagues, but get twelve Egyptologists in a room and they'd have a dozen different opinions. No, there never had been a mummy. Professional jealousy?
Dr. Shane sighed and pushed her hair back off her forehead. "He was the curator of an underfunded department in a provincial museum. A good job, even a prestigious job compared to many but not one worth killing over."