"The Cabinet of Curiosities" - читать интересную книгу автора (Preston Douglas)

She examined the skull once again. "Well, to start with, I'd say this child had a pretty sad life."
Pendergast made a tent of his fingers, raising one eyebrow in mute query.
"The lack of sutural closing indicates a young teenager. The second molar is only just erupted. That would put him or her at around thirteen, give or take a few years. I would guess female, by the gracile brow ridges. Very bad teeth, by the way, with no orthodontry. That suggests neglect, at least. And these two rings in the enamel indicate arrested growth, probably caused by two episodes of starvation or serious illness. The skull is clearly old, although the condition of the teeth suggests a historic, as opposed to prehistoric, dating. You wouldn't see this kind of tooth decay in a prehistoric specimen, and anyway it looks Caucasoid, not Native American. I would say it's at least seventy-five to a hundred years old. Of course, this is all speculation. Everything depends on where it was found, and under what conditions. A carbon-14 date might be worth considering." At this unpleasant reminder of her recent meeting, she paused involuntarily.
Pendergast waited. Nora had the distinct feeling that he expected more. Feeling her annoyance returning, she moved toward the window to examine the skull in the bright morning light. And then, as she stared, she felt a sudden sick feeling wash over her.
"What is it?" Pendergast asked sharply, instantly aware of the change, his wiry frame rising from the chair with the intensity of a spring.
"These faint scratches at the very base of the occipital bone . . ." She reached for the loup that always hung around her neck and fitted it to her eye. Turning the skull upside down, she examined it more closely.
"Go on."
"They were made by a knife. It's as if someone were removing tissue."
"What kind of tissue?"
She felt a flood of relief as she realized what it was.
"These are the kind of marks you would expect to see caused by a scalpel, during a postmortem. This child was autopsied. The marks were made while exposing the upper part of the spinal cord, or perhaps the medulla oblongata."
She placed the skull on the table. "But I'm an archaeologist, Mr. Pendergast. You'd do better to use the expertise of someone else. We have a physical anthropologist on staff, Dr. Weidenreich."
Pendergast picked the skull up, sealing it in a Ziploc bag. It disappeared into the folds of his suit without a trace, like a magician's trick. "It is precisely your archaeological expertise I need. And now," he continued briskly, replacing the telephone and unlocking the door in swift economical movements, "I need you to accompany me downtown."
"Downtown? You mean, like headquarters?"
Pendergast shook his head.
Nora hesitated. "I can't just leave the Museum. I've got work to do."
"We won't be long, Dr. Kelly. Time is of the essence."
"What's this all about?"
But he was already out of her office, striding on swift silent feet down the long corridor. She followed, unable to think of what else to do, as the agent led the tortuous back way down a series of staircases, through Birds of the World, Africa, and Pleistocene Mammals, arriving at last in the echoing Great Rotunda.
"You know the Museum pretty well," she said as she struggled to keep up.
"Yes."
Then they were out the bronze doors and descending the vast sweep of marble stairs to Museum Drive. Agent Pendergast stopped at the base and turned in the bright fall light. His eyes were now white, with only a hint of color. As he moved, she suddenly had the impression of great physical power beneath the narrow suit. "Are you familiar with the New York Archaeological and Historic Preservation Act?" he asked.
"Of course." It was the law that stopped digging or construction in the city if anything of archaeological value was uncovered, until it could be excavated and documented.
"A rather interesting site was uncovered in lower Manhattan. You'll be the supervising archaeologist."
"Me? I don't have the experience or authorityЧ"
"Fear not, Dr. Kelly. I'm afraid we'll find your tenure all too brief."
She shook her head. "But why me?"
"You've had some experience in this, ah, particular kind of site."
"And just what kind of site is that?"
"A charnel."
She stared.
"And now," he said, gesturing toward a '59 Silver Wraith idling at the curb, "we must be on our way. After you, please."
FOUR
NORA STEPPED OUT of the Rolls-Royce, feeling uncomfortably conspicuous. Pendergast closed the door behind her, looking serenely indifferent to the incongruity of the elegant vehicle parked amid the dust and noise of a large construction site.
They crossed the street, pausing at a high chain-link fence. Beyond, the rich afternoon light illuminated the skeletal foundations of a row of old buildings. Several large Dumpsters full of bricks lined the perimeter. Two police cars were parked along the curb and Nora could see uniformed cops standing before a hole in a brick retaining wall. Nearby stood a knot of businessmen in suits. The construction site was framed by forlorn tenements that winked back at them through empty windows.
"The Moegen-Fairhaven Group are building a sixty-five-story residential tower on this site," said Pendergast. "Yesterday, about four o'clock, they broke through that brick wall, there. A worker found the skull I showed you in a barrow inside. Along with many, many more bones."
Nora glanced in the indicated direction. "What was on the site before?"
"A block of tenements built in the late 1890s. The tunnel, however, appears to predate them."
Nora could see that the excavator had exposed a clear profile. The old retaining wall lay beneath the nineteenth-century footings, and the hole near its base was clearly part of an earlier structure. Some ancient timbers, burned and rotten, had been piled to one side.
As they walked along the fence, Pendergast leaned toward her. "I'm afraid our visit may be problematic, and we have very little time. The site has changed alarmingly in just the last few hours. Moegen-Fairhaven is one of the most energetic developers in the city. And they have a remarkable amount of, ah, pull. Notice there are no members of the press on hand? The police were called very quietly to the scene." He steered her toward a chained gate in the fence, manned by a cop from whose belt dangled cuffs, radio, nightstick, gun, and ammunition. The combined weight of the accoutrements pulled the belt down, allowing a blue-shirted belly to hang comfortably out.
Pendergast stopped at the gate.
"Move on," said the cop. "Nothing to see here, pal."
"On the contrary." Pendergast smiled and displayed his identification. The cop leaned over, scowling. He looked back up into the agent's face, then back down, several times.
"FBI?" He hiked up his belt with a metallic jangle.
"Those are the three letters, yes." And Pendergast placed the wallet back in his suit.
"And who's your companion?"
"An archaeologist. She's been assigned to investigate the site."
"Archaeologist? Hold on."
The cop ambled across the lot, stopping at the knot of policemen. A few words were exchanged, then one of the cops broke away from the group. A brown-suited man followed at a trot. He was short and heavyset, and his pulpy neck bulged over a tight collar. He took steps that were too big for his stubby legs, giving his walk an exaggerated bounce.
"What the hell's this?" he panted as he approached the gate, turning to the newly arrived cop. "You didn't say anything about the FBI."