Chapter four

I parked in the same spot I occupied when I visited Sullivan's. The university was only a block away and finding a parking spot took creative thinking on a good day. The university entrance was big and grand. The arch above read "Professors Gate". As I walked slowly through the grounds, students and faculty alike roamed. A large bronze bust of George Washington himself watched me as I walked past him. There was another George Washington after that, this time it was a full statue. It towered like a guardian, watching over those who sought protection from the harsh, unforgiving sun. The university was around two hundred years old and had been cared for with love and devotion. You could see that very little repair work had been needed over the decades, except for the wear and tear of time. I found my way inside and tried to decipher the maps and directions. Eventually, I approached someone who looked like they worked there and asked where I could find someone I could talk to about archaeology. His off-white linen jacket seemed to match the colour of his hair, and his glasses hung on a chain around his neck. He very enthusiastically showed the way. His hands dancing. I thanked him and moved in the direction he motioned.

The artwork on the walls changed gradually, indicating the subjects being taught in each area. After nearly twenty minutes of walking, the motif became distinctly older, and I knew I was walking in the right direction. I must have had a lost look on my face, because a woman stopped me and asked if I needed help. She was slender and wearing a cream-coloured wraparound dress. Her long hair was a subtle blend of different shades of grey and was styled in a large bun that was seemingly held in place by a pen. The hair provided a comfortable nest for her glasses. She had a sternness to her face that proved to be deceptive. Her gentle nature, hidden just below the surface, revealed itself almost instantly when she spoke. I asked if she knew where I could find Maureen Gantry. Apparently, Maureen had just finished giving a lecture and would be returning to her office and my guide was happy to show me the way. She looped her arm through mine, and we set off down the hall. She told me a little bit of the history as we walked. She reminded me of Dr Longmore walking me through his own private museum, except she was more friendly. We stopped at a door with Maureen Gantry's name on it and my date knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. I never understood why people did that. If you're going to knock, give them a chance to answer.

"Hello Maureen." She said as we entered. Maureen Gantry was older than she sounded on the phone. She had long white hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were watchful, yet gentle and there was a warmth to her smile that I believed was always there, no matter who she was talking to. She wore a yellow cardigan over a white blouse. Her long skirt was a dark brown, with sensible, flat shoes.

"This young man would like to talk to you." My guide announced. I thanked her and introduced myself.

"My name's Jack Pearson, ma'am. We spoke on the phone." Her eyes were searching for the memory of yesterday's conversation and then lit up.

"Yes of course. Do come in Mr Pearson." She beckoned with her hand for me to come further into the room. She turned to her colleague.

"Mr Pearson here is looking for Dr Haynes, Susan." She turned back to me. "We're all terribly worried about him." She lifted some papers off a chair and invited me to sit down. Maureen's office was what some would describe as organised chaos. Papers and books cluttered every surface. Despite its untidy appearance, I would bet Maureen knew exactly where everything was. Her degree certificate was gathering dust, hanging on the wall and there was a photo on her desk. It looked to be of Maureen with her husband in their younger years. Her hair was the same length, but blonde, almost golden. Her husband was a good-looking man with light brown hair that looked as if it would flow in the breeze. They were both elegantly dressed. Maureen caught me looking at the photo.

"Our tenth wedding anniversary." She told me. "What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping you could tell me a bit more." I said after settling into a chair that might have been older than the university itself. "Can you tell me about the recent dig he went on?"

"There isn't much to tell. A few people went over from here. They were met at the airport by some locals who acted as their guides and did some of the heavy lifting. They made a few good finds; some predate what we know about Ancient Egypt. The glove got Randolph the most excited, it didn't look like anything else we'd seen."

"What happened to it?" I asked.

"He told Philip Longmore about it. When his expedition came home, they brought everything to the university. Randolph looked a bit shaken. He said to be extra careful with the glove. Later, someone tried to take it."

"Who?"

"I don't know who he was. He was very tall and smartly dressed."

"What happened?" I wanted to know.

"None of us knew who he was, so we challenged him. He said he was here to pick up the glove and that Randolph knew to expect him. We told him we hadn't heard anything and wanted to check first. Someone must've called security, because when the man grabbed the glove and ran, they were here to tackle him."

"Do you know the name Charles McKenzie?" I asked her.

"No. Should I? Who is he?"

"He's someone Randolph tried to call. Other than that, I don't know." I lied. "Do you mind if I take a look at the other artefacts?" I didn't know what I was looking for. Maybe I was just curious.

"If you think it will help, of course." Maureen Gantry stood up and beckoned for me to follow her.

"By the way," I started to say as Maureen reached the door. "You said on the phone you were the one who reported Randolph missing?" At first, she acted as if she didn't expect the question. But after a few seconds seemed to accept it as something perfectly natural, given the circumstances.

"Yes. Even though he worked from home mostly, it was still unlike him to be out of contact for so long. Someone from the office went to his home to check on him. They said the door was locked and there was no answer when they knocked, but his car was still there."

"When was this?" I asked.

"Regrettably, it was nearly a week after we stopped hearing from him." I thought about that as we left her office and were almost swept away by the current of students swarming past. Maureen pushed her way through with great ease, as she had no doubt done many times before, and waited for me to join her.

"Is it always like this?" I asked after straightening my tie and hair.

"It's either a guest speaker giving a lecture or a new menu in the cafeteria." We walked for a while. I looked around at my surroundings as we did. My education pretty much ended after high school. I thought about getting a degree, but I was never academically gifted. After I graduated, I wandered for a while, not knowing my place, hoping for inspiration to strike and discover my true calling. Eventually my soul searching led me to the Police. We stopped outside a door and Maureen punched a code into an electronic keypad. The door unlocked loudly, and we walked in.

The room was big. There were shelving units lined up against the walls and a series of tables joined together in the middle. A computer sat on a desk in the corner of the room. There was an old and musty smell. Lights in the ceiling glared down unrelentingly. Some of the items on the tables were what you would expect from an archaeological dig in Egypt. Plenty of pots and vases. There were a few items of jewellery. There were even some bronze tipped spears and knives with strange, curved blades. One or two looked out of place; a golden seal with a jewel in the centre similar to the one in the glove and what could only be described as a crystal ball or some sort of small globe. I tried to picture the glove among the items here. Why was Longmore more fixated on the glove and not these other items that seemed equally strange. Maureen assured me that all these items were found together at the same dig.

"Is this everything that was found?" I asked, scanning the room.

"Most of it." Maureen confirmed. "Some items have been archived. Is there anything in particular you were looking for?"

"I'm not sure." I responded absently, while glancing at the tables. "What about these two?" I asked, pointing to the two pieces that I though stood out.

"Yes, these are very unusual. They're the ones I spoke of earlier. They call into question everything we thought we knew about Ancient Egypt."

"Any ideas why Longmore wasn't as interested in these?" Maureen shook her head with a resigned shrug. "What happened to the glove? You mentioned that someone tried to steal it when it first arrived. Was there another, successful attempt or had it been moved?" Maureen looked at me, deciding if she could tell me.

"Randolph was worried about another attempt to steal it. He said he would move it somewhere more secure until the business with Dr Longmore was resolved." I thanked Maureen for her time and made my way through the labyrinth, back to my car.

As I walked through the university grounds, my cell phone rang.

"Hello, is this Jack Pearson?" The voice asked.

"The one and only." I replied. "My name is Randolph Haynes. I understand you're looking for me." I didn't say anything for a while.

"Yes, Dr Haynes." I said finally. "I would like to speak with you."

"What about?" Haynes asked.

"I would rather discuss that in person." I wasn't sure he'd go for it, but it was worth a try.

"If you can't tell me over the phone why you're looking for me, I don't think I want to meet with you. Good day, Mr Pearson."

"Hold up." I blurted out to stop him from hanging up. "I'm looking for a glove from Ancient Egypt. I think you know what I'm talking about and where it is."

"The glove does not belong to Dr Longmore." Haynes said with a sigh. It seemed only the mention of the glove was enough to connect me to Dr Longmore. "If we must talk, and if you insist on it being in person, come to Bridget's place." Haynes gave me an address right on the doorstep of the university. I read the address back to him. It was close by, so I decided to walk.

Bridget Murphy lived in a modern looking apartment building called The Ambassador. It was a place where you could get lost even if you knew where you were going. I took the elevator up to the third floor and found Bridget's studio apartment. I reached out my hand to knock but the door opened before I got the chance. Bridget stood in the doorway. The hardwood floors shone, reflecting the lights in the ceiling. I could smell coffee. Bridget didn't speak. She just moved aside to let me in. I walked through the hall into the living room. As I looked back at Bridget, I caught a glimpse of a short man in a suit that may once have been blue. He looked like he had been living rough but smelled clean enough. His hair was sticking up in places, though not through any fashionable choices. He was unshaven, and it grew in clumps. He held a small pistol in his hand, but didn't look comfortable with it.

"You Haynes?" I asked. He nodded and sat down on the couch. "Wanna tell me what's going on?" I asked him. Bridget shouted from the kitchen asking if I wanted a coffee or something stronger. I called back for a coffee. A few minutes later, she appeared in the kitchen doorway with a tray containing a cafetiere, a jug of milk and three cups. I thanked her and took a seat on the armchair facing Haynes while Bridget busied herself with the coffees. I watched Randolph Haynes for a minute. He shifted in his seat. He had put down the gun but kept glancing at it. I took out a cigarette and stuck it in my mouth, then threw Randolph the packet. He clumsily picked it up and let it slip through his fingers. He eventually got one out and put in in his mouth. His shaking hands struggled with the lighter, so I helped him. The tip of the cigarette glowed orange and he pulled his cheeks in as he took a deep drag and leaned back, his head tilting back as he blew smoke at the ceiling. Finally, he spoke.

"Two years ago, I made the acquaintance of Dr Philip Longmore; he was a medical professional and founder of some pharmaceutical company, I forget the name. Doesn't seem important anymore. He had suddenly developed an interest in Ancient Egypt and began financing digs in and around Giza. I remember there was talk about some significant finds over there back in the twenties, but information was scarce. His interest, at first, was equal to my own and I encouraged his pursuit, recommending books and papers. After some time, his interest became an obsession. I wanted to distance myself, but it can be hard to find funding, and here was a willing cash cow. I'm not proud of myself.

"Three months ago, Philip funded an expedition in Zamalek, an island on the Nile, just outside Giza. We came back with some incredible pieces; one was a glove of some kind. It had a spiralled sleeve, covered the fingertips but not the fingers, and had a brilliant jewel where the palm would be. It was made from a mineral I had never before encountered. I told Phil, and at first, I thought he was sharing my excitement. But there was something in his manner. He asked for the glove, but I told him no. Something like this should be shared. It was an incredible find and shouldn't be hidden away in one man's collection, hidden from the rest of the world." He stopped to take another drag on his cigarette. I had forgotten about mine. I crushed what was left in the ashtray that sat on the small table between us.

"One day, there was a knock on my door." Haynes continued. "When I opened it, someone pushed the door in, knocking me down. We ended up in the living room and I hit my head." He showed me the scar that was still healing. "I managed to fight him off, but I got scared. I left my car at home and used the bus to come here." I leaned back in my chair and took in what I had been told.

"What's your connection to Charles McKenzie?" I asked. The question caught him off guard.

"He came to see me. Thought I had the glove." Haynes pulled a bottle of whiskey out from seemingly nowhere and poured some into his coffee.

"Did you?" I asked him.

"Not at the time. After someone tried to steal it from the university, I took it home."

"I stopped by your apartment the other day." I told him. "Someone turned the place over. A witness saw two men. Both big, both black. Does that mean anything to you?" He shook his head while reaching for another cigarette out of my packet.

"It must've happened since I left."

"So, if you don't have the glove, where is it?" I doubted he would tell me just like that, but you can tell a lot by how someone answers.

"I don't know." He answered too quickly, and his eyes shifted to the floor. His stare returned to me just as quickly, as if he knew he had given something away.

"Either you know where it is, or you've got a pretty good idea." I told him. He doubled down on his answer, his eyes drifting to the gun again. "Don't get any ideas." I said, following his eyes. I could feel my own gun pressed, reassuringly against me. I didn't want to kill him though.

"I think it's time for you to leave." Haynes said quietly, he didn't meet my eyes when he spoke.

"I'll go." I told him. "But sooner or later, he's gonna come for you. When he does, if you don't want my help, either give him what he wants, or don't be here." I got up and thanked Bridget for the coffee before leaving.

At some time after midnight, I was awoken by a knock at the door. I groaned and slowly climbed out of bed and slowly walked to the door after making sure I was decent. Two cops stood in the doorway. They weren't in uniform, but some people can't help but look like cops. They flashed me their badges and came in without waiting for an invitation.

"You Pearson?" The first one asked. He was bald and his jacket buttons fought hard to contain the bulbous frame underneath. His partner came in behind him. He was smaller in height. His suit struggled in the same way, but I could tell that it was muscle that was trying to break free. I told them I was Pearson and stood aside to let them enter. "Sergeant Redgrave." The fat man introduced himself. He nodded in the direction of the other cop. "This is Detective Novak." Redgrave walked over to a shelf on the wall and inspected my record collection. Novak planted himself on the armchair in my living room.

"You know anybody by the name of Haynes, Randolph Haynes?" Redgrave asked without looking away from the records.

"I'm not sure I wanna say. What's it to you?" It probably wasn't the best way to handle him, but I was tired.

"What about Bridget Murphy?" He turned his head slowly and looked at me. I sat down opposite Novak.

"You feel like telling me what this is about?" I asked back. Redgrave had a Duke Ellington record in his hands. He seemed to approve.

"Someone matching your description was seen talking to Bridget Murphy, and a private investigator called Jack Pearson was talking to a young mechanic and asking questions over at Randolph Haynes' apartment building."

"Is talking to people against the law now?" I replied.

"No, but shooting them is." Novak spoke for the first time. Redgrave put the record back in its place and walked over to us.

"We're just hoping you can help us figure out where all that lead in Haynes' body came from. Whoever did it, worked him over first. Him and his girlfriend." I tried my best to hide my reaction. "What kind of gun do you have?" Redgrave asked me.

"It's a Colt .45." I responded. "What was it that killed them?"

"Any other guns lying around?" He asked, still fishing.

"I keep a .38 snub in the office. I don't take it out much. Haynes had one when I saw him. It looked like a small compact beretta." The two cops looked at each other.

"Mind if we have a look around?"

"Sure, I don't mind." I replied. Novak stood up and they were both about to start their search. "If you've got a warrant." I finished. Redgrave gave an exaggerated sigh. Novak just looked unhappy.

"Now, why do you want us to go get a warrant? There a reason you don't want us looking around?"

"Sure there is." I replied. "It's two in the morning. You show up here and get heavy with me and expect me to roll over and take it. Now either show me a warrant or get out. If you want me to make a statement, ask. But don't come around here and try and put the squeeze on me." Redgrave smiled. He didn't lose his cool. He spoke with a resigned voice.

"Alright, Shamus. Don't get excited, we've got a job to do. Maybe you got a right to be sore at how we played it, but that don't change anything. Now, will you let us look around, or won't you?" I sat back down and lit a cigarette.

"Sure, fellas. Go ahead." I put one leg up over the arm of the armchair and leaned my head back. They began going through the place. They weren't trying to break anything but weren't trying to be gentle either. After a couple of hours, and they hadn't turned anything up, they came back to where I was sat.

"This would've gone easier on everyone if you'd just let us get on with it." Redgrave said to me. They were about to leave when I stopped them.

"Let me pour you a drink before you go, fellas." I offered. "It's a cold night. Plus, I'd feel a whole lot better about you."

"We're on duty." Novak said, in that tone you use when you want to end a conversation. A half-smile crept onto Redgrave's face.

"Sure, pal. It is a cold one out there." Novak shot him a look, but he ignored it and sat down. I went into the kitchen and after a while came back with three highballs. I set two on the table in front of them and brought mine back to my seat. Redgrave lifted his glass, and I watched it disappear down his throat as quickly as I had given it to him. I took a drink from mine and watched as he claimed the third glass for himself. I lit a cigarette and threw the packet across. They both took one. We were finally becoming friends. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling and puffed on my cigarette for a while. I watched the cloud of smoke rise and break apart before looking back down.

"What else have you got to go on?" I asked.

"You first." Redgrave replied. Novak was still working on his tough guy stare. I decided to leave him to it. He needed the practice. "Why are you interested in Haynes?"

"I'm working a case. His name came up." I drank more of my drink. "There's a chance he has something that belongs to my client. There's also a chance he doesn't, and an outside chance that what he does or doesn't have, doesn't belong to my client."

"Clients must be lining up at the door for a service like that." Redgrave smirked. I shrugged.

"So, what else have you got?" I asked again. Novak tried to protest but Redgrave stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"Someone broke into the Murphy dame's apartment. She took two slugs to the chest and then they started to work on Haynes. If he knew anything worth telling, he would have told. I've checked you out, Jack. This doesn't seem how you would normally handle a case."

"That's real cute, Sergeant." I countered. His stomach moved up and down and he gave a short laugh.

"This something that may or may not belong to your client, that Haynes may or may not have. Wanna tell me what it is, something worth killing over?"

"An ancient Egyptian artefact." I told him candidly. "Something for his collection."

"Must be worth a fair bit, to go to all this trouble." I shrugged.

"I guess." I didn't think he was going to share anymore with me, and I didn't feel like sharing anymore with him. I finished my drink and watched Redgrave do the same before they both got up and headed back out into the night. I went back to bed but couldn't sleep. At some point, I guess I must have done.