The Reincarnationist

“What were you doing down here?”

“I had just met the professor, he was telling me about the find.” Damn, had he screwed up? Had he just admitted he was in the tomb?

“What time did you get here?”

“Around six-thirty this morning.”

“Why so early?”

“I don’t need much sleep.”

“I talked to Dr. Samuels while I waited for the ladder. He told me that you are from New York, that the two of you had an appointment to meet Professor Chase at the hotel at eight o’clock but that you didn’t show up.”

“No, I was here.”

“That’s what is so confusing. Why would you come here a few hours before you were going to be brought here by Professor Chase? Was there something here that couldn’t wait?”

Gabriella listened just as intently as Tatti; after all, she didn’t know what had happened, either.

“I couldn’t sleep. Jet lag. Too much coffee. I don’t know. I took a walk.”

“You took a walk. Fine. You could have walked anywhere. Why here? Why didn’t you wait? Why did you come here alone without your associate and without Professor Chase?”

“I told you. I was restless.”

“How did you get here? There is no car for you.”

“No. I said I walked.”

“You walked? Walked from where?”

What was it about Tatti that seemed so familiar?

“From the hotel. The Eden. We’re staying there.”

“I really need to go to the hospital,” Gabriella interrupted.

“Professor Chase, please. As I have said, the doctors are going to call me as soon as they know anything. This is the scene of a murder attempt, and you know the man who was attacked. You might also know who attacked him. There are also, potentially, priceless artifacts here. You are the only one who knows what they are, where everything was, what has been moved, what might have been taken if something was taken. You will do me more good here than you will do him there. At least for now.”

Turning his attention back to Josh, he picked up where he’d left off.

“So. Yes. You said you walked here from the Eden?”

“Yes.”

“You evidently like to walk.”

It wasn’t a question, and Josh didn’t answer it. He was still trying to figure out what was so familiar about Tatti. When he realized it he almost laughed. It wasn’t some memory lurch. Every one of the detective’s mannerisms seemed borrowed from one of two Hollywood stereotypes, either Inspector Clouseau or Detective Columbo.

“Now, Mr. Ryder. Please.” He let his exasperation show. “Tell me what the truth is about what really happened.” He was a movie star playing the part of a real-life detective.

“I did tell you. I slept badly. I woke up, I took a walk.”

“It’s ten kilometers from the Eden, Mr. Ryder. Exactly what time did you leave the hotel?”

“I’m not sure, I wasn’t paying attention. It was still dark.”

“Professor Chase, did Mr. Ryder or Dr. Samuels know the address of this site?”

“No. We didn’t tell them. But despite all our efforts it has been in the press.”

“Yes, it has.” Tatti nodded. “Is that how you found it, Mr. Ryder? From the newspapers? From a taxi driver?”

“No. No one told me. I didn’t know where I was walking. Ask the emergency operator. I didn’t know where I was when I called.”

“She told us that you had to call someone on the phone to find out the address. But that might be a very convenient ploy, no? You pretend you don’t know where you are so as not to look suspicious.”

Again, it wasn’t a question, so Josh didn’t give him an answer.

“Let’s assume you are telling me one truth. How can you explain that truth? How can you make sense out of leaving your hotel at, say, five o’clock in the morning, and finding your way here?”

“I can’t.”

“What do you take me for, Mr. Ryder, a fool? What were you doing here?”

All Josh could think of was the explanation Malachai gave to the children he worked with: the five-, six-, seven- and eight-year-olds who were frightened by the power of the stories in their heads. “You are unforgetting the past, that’s all. It might seem scary but it’s really quite wonderful,” he would tell them.

That might have been what Josh was doing there, but it was the last explanation he was going to give.

Gabriella interrupted the detective and begged him to conduct the rest of the interview outside of the tomb. “This is an ancient site that we’ve just begun to work on. I need to protect it and close it down as soon as possible.”

Tatti promised her they would work as quickly and carefully as possible and leave as soon as they could, but not quite yet. He turned back to Sabina, and his eyes rested on her. For a few seconds, it was totally silent in the tomb. And then he asked Gabriella, once more, what she thought had been taken.

She was losing her patience. “We’ve been over this, haven’t we?”

“We have. But I’m still not satisfied that you and the professor found this tomb, excavated it, started to catalog its contents and yet never looked inside the box. Weren’t you curious?”

“Of course. But there is a protocol. To us, every inch of this tomb is as exciting as what might be in the box. The very fact that the woman buried here was comparatively incorruptible was of greater archaeological and scientific importance—even religious significance—than some trinket inside a box.”

“So it was a trinket?”

She flew into a rage at that and spoke to him rapidly in Italian. Surprisingly, he seemed to be agreeing with what she said and nodded along with her tirade. When she was done, he climbed up the ladder and stayed perched there, half in and half out, as he called over the two policemen who had first arrived at the scene and had spoken to them.

Gabriella waited by the bottom of the ladder, watching him, listening to what he was saying. Beneath her anger, she was still extremely anxious. Twice, she glanced at her watch. Several times she looked over at Sabina with a curious, questioning expression in her eyes. And although Josh didn’t know Gabriella yet, he knew she was wishing that the mummy could communicate, that Sabina could tell them what she’d seen, who had come down here and invaded this sacred space.

For the next few minutes, while the detective continued his discussion with the two officers, Josh struggled not to lose touch with reality and give in to where his mind wanted to go. Tried not to think. But the images were crowding in, demanding attention, refusing to go away. He held his camera up to his face and focused on Gabriella while she listened to the detective talk with his minions. From behind the lens he examined her face—the broad forehead, the high cheekbones. The intelligent eyes.

He remembered a sculpture in the Museum of Modern Art in New York, a head entitled The Muse, by Brancusi, made of highly polished bronze: golden, spare, cerebral. Wide almond eyes, perfect oval face.