Airtight Case (37 page)

“If there is a second coffin,” Peter grumbled.

“We’ll know soon enough,” said Jarman. “Do you see any reason not to take Poss’s suggestion?”

“Lindsay?” Lewis had that look she’d seen him use with other people. The one that asked the question: Are you about to make me look bad—this was a hell of a lot of trouble and expense.

“I believe there’s another coffin, based on the archaeological and remote-sensing data I’ve seen. Like Alex Jarman said, we’ll know soon enough. As for this one, I personally don’t see any reason to zap it inside the lead coffin, though I’d like to take traditional x-rays when it’s out. Can you guys do simple stuff?”

Posnansky grinned. “Yeah. We can do the simple stuff.”

“Good,” said Jarman, nodding. “Let’s complete the excavation, see if this thing has any cracks, and get it out of the ground.”

* * *

Juliana Skyler, expert in nondestructive evaluation, sat cross-legged in the pit with the coffin. “What we are going to do here,” she told the archaeology crew with elaborate gestures, “is to see if the coffin is in good enough condition to be lifted out of the ground.”

“If it isn’t?” asked Drew.

“We’ll have to open and analyze it here. Simply put, what we’re going to do now is send different kinds of energy through the coffin. If the coffin is in absolutely perfect condition, whether it’s heat, or sound, or electromagnetic currents being introduced, they will go through relatively undistorted.” She moved her hands smoothly along the top of the coffin. “However, if there are flaws or weaknesses, the various currents and eddies will be distorted.” She moved her hands across again, occasionally wiggling her fingers. “The degree or pattern of distortion tells us how serious the weakness is.” Skyler spoke as if she had explained it a hundred times.

Lindsay was watching Skyler and her assistants monitor their equipment, when she suddenly remembered a call she needed to make. Lindsay slipped out of the tent and headed for the house. On the way she met Phil McBride at the entrance.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long," she said.

“Just got here. I know you said it would probably be tomorrow, but I got a colleague to cover for me all this week and I thought I’d pop down early.”

Lindsay took him to get his pass, which Stagmeyer had ready as promised, and Phil clipped it on his collar. “I didn’t realize you had such security."

“Besides the very expensive equipment, they have some cobalt for the gamma x-rays of the lead coffins. It comes with its own set of guards, inspectors, and sacks of sandbags.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Me, too. And way out of my depth. They’re good at explaining everything as they go along, but it is far more complex than I realized. The first coffin was compromised, so they are checking to see if they can lift it out of the ground. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to Francisco Lewis.”

Lindsay took him to the tent and motioned Lewis over to introduce him to Phil McBride. “Phil and Elaine own the cabin from the site.”

“We appreciate your sharing your photographs,” said Lewis, shaking his hand.

“I’ve got to go make a call. I’ll be back shortly.” Lindsay was off before Lewis could ask her any questions she didn’t want to answer.

This time she decided to use her car phone. Inside the relative privacy of her SUV she dialed the FBI.

“Parker, hi. This is Lindsay Chamberlain.”

“Lindsay, how are you? I heard about what happened. You doing okay?”

“Pretty good.”

“I don’t have to tell you how lucky you are.”

“I try not to think about it too much . . . actually that’s not true. I’m working on something that may or may not be related, and I need to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“If you heard of a theft where the thief took some valuable historical documents and along with them took some items that didn’t seem to have any value, is there anything you could make of it?” Lindsay explained about the missing paper, ledgers, and printer’s blocks. When she finished, she felt a little silly. What could he possibly make of what she had told him? So she was surprised when he gave her an immediate answer.

“Forgery. Particularly, document forgery.”

“Forgery? How?”

“One of the problems with forging documents is making the paper look old. Some do it by soaking it in strong tea to discolor it and by putting coffee grounds on it for the foxing—the speckles often found on old documents—then drying it in the oven. Some forgers make their own paper. But the best method is to use genuinely old paper. Same goes for using the engraver’s blocks for graphics. If you have the real thing, you don’t have to draw it and introduce mistakes.”

“But the ledgers have lines on them. What would—?”

“Money.”

“Money? I thought . . . I don’t understand.”

He laughed. “Can’t spend it, but you can sell it to collectors. At one time, states and even companies printed their own money. Companies printed it to be exchanged for only their own goods. Anyway, when paper was scarce . . . as it was from time to time, they used what paper was available . . . recycled old ledger paper was common. Very collectible stuff.”

“How hard is it to forge documents and the like?”

“Depends on how talented you are.”

“Is it hard to detect?”

“Sometimes very hard. Forgers can be very clever. There’s hardly anything one person can make that another can’t make just like it.”

“But old things . . . aren’t there tests?”

“Yes, but if you use old paper, chemically age the ink, have a good hand . . . One popular thing to do is to use a genuinely old document . . . like a letter written and signed by a president. Then add something, like a postscript about a notorious event in his life. You have a more valuable document, and most of it’s authentic.”

“Is there a type of person who is a forger?”

“Not one particular type, but a collection of possible traits. For example, some are artistic, but some are just good with a computer. Often they are very meticulous and detail oriented—have to be, to do what they do. Rarely women, but not completely unheard of. Some are motivated by the desire to prove they can do it. Some are people who feel they have been wronged in some way and want to show their ability. Or they are people with low self-esteem and success reinforces their self-image. Some like to match their ability against an expert—risk takers. Some are just greedy.”

“This is something I never thought of.”

“I can fax you some information, if you like. Got a number?”

Lindsay thought a second. “The library. I don’t have the number here, but if you call Afton Phillips at the Marella Oliver Public Library in Kelley’s Chase, Tennessee, and ask her for the fax number, I’m sure she’ll give it to you. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Glad to help. You think this has something to do with what happened to you?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible, but I really don’t know.”

“Be careful. People don’t like getting caught.”

“Right now I’ve got the army reserve camped out in my front yard.” Lindsay told him about the site and what they were doing.

“Damn, that sounds interesting as hell. Let me know how it turns out. You know, once upon a time, I wanted to be an archaeologist.”

“It’s not too late.”

“Maybe that will be my retirement vocation. Take care, Lindsay. I’ll send this information right away.”

“Thanks.”

Lindsay got out of her Explorer and ran into the man who was earlier bussing tables in the mess.

“Hi. My name’s Mike Gentry. I thought maybe you and me could go out when I get off. I saw you making eyes at me.” He winked at her.

“You saw me being polite, Mr. Gentry.” Lindsay started around him, but he blocked her path.

“Call me Mike.”

“They’re expecting me to look at some bones right now. Don’t block my path. I’m not going out with you.”

He stepped aside. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend. I saw you looking at me and thought you were interested. I like girls with long legs and long hair.”

Lindsay brushed past him. Her heart was pounding. She didn’t know why she felt so afraid—there were plenty of people around. The crew and science personnel were eating lunch at different times, so Mrs. Laurens had had her people bringing trays of food to the mess tent since noon. But she didn’t like that man. She didn’t like the way he wore his hair, his gold jewelry, his voice. Especially, she didn’t like presumptuous men. She would have taken flight if she could; she would have run if it wouldn’t have made her look afraid—and vulnerable.

A shadow startled her as she walked past a copse of trees. “Hey,” a voice said. “You okay?” It was Luke leaning against a tree out of view of the house.

“Luke.” She put a hand to her chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Just looking out for you. I saw you come up here and thought I’d follow. That guy’s had a couple of intense conversations with Eric Van Horne. I’ve been watching like you said.”

“I’m glad to know that you were there. He . . . well he frightened me.”

“Have you ever seen him before?”

“No. Just here. He’s just a type I don’t like.”

“I’ll find out who he is. The people around here seem to like to talk to Indians. Maybe I’ll become a private investigator.” Luke grinned, showing even, sparkling white teeth.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Have you talked to John?”

“Last night.”

“I suppose you told him about what’s been happening.”

“He’s not real happy. He wants me to stay here a while. I agree.”

Lindsay felt very relieved, but a little disappointed that John didn’t drop everything and come down himself. But she wouldn’t have liked that, either. Somehow, she had to figure out how to get her old independent feeling back. Every time she seemed to be making progress, something set her back.
Unfinished business
, a voice in her head said. “Where did that come from?”

“What?” asked Luke.

“Nothing.” As they crossed the bridge, they heard whooping and clapping coming from the tent over Feature 3, the cemetery. “Must have found something,” Lindsay told Luke and increased her pace around to the gate.

“I’m going to ask about that guy,” Luke told her as they parted ways.

“You be careful,” she warned.

Most of the archaeology crew was crowded around the entrance. Lindsay squeezed through. “Find something?” she asked.

“Yeah. Second coffin.” Kelsey was fanning her T-shirt in and out. “Hot in the tent. I think I’ll go talk to some of the army guys.”

Lindsay grinned and went into the tent. Lewis, Phil McBride, Peter Willis, and Alex Jarman were staring down into the pit at a lead coffin sticking out about a foot from the profile. Joel and Sharon were in the ditch next to it, with Powell sitting on the edge drinking a bottle of water.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get to it,” said Peter. Lindsay imagined that Joel and Sharon’s painstaking excavation technique drove Peter nuts.

Lewis turned toward Lindsay, giving her one of his brightest smiles. “Looks like you were right.”

“Lewis, you’ve known me what—about two years now? Have you ever known me to be wrong about anything?”

He laughed out loud, from relief as much as anything else, she guessed.

“Let’s just hope punching holes in the sides isn’t some kind of burial ritual here,” said Peter.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“We need to uncover more before we try to get an air sample.” Peter looked at his watch. “I think I’ll wait until tomorrow for that. Everyone’s kind of tired. Joel, let’s go ahead and finish excavating this half and get a profile and soil samples, and we’ll quit.”

Lewis put an arm around Lindsay’s shoulders, giving her a slight hug. “You had any lunch?”

“It’s about suppertime,” Lindsay told him.

“So it is. Did you eat?”

“No. Not since breakfast. How’s the other coffin doing—passing the tests?”

“Don’t know yet. Let’s go take a look.”

“Francisco told me you think our ‘Cherry’ is in this next coffin,” said McBride. “I phoned Elaine.” He patted his jacket. “She’s very excited.”

“She’s welcome to come over,” said Lewis.

“Right now, she’s waiting for a call about Hope Foute’s diaries. I have a feeling the owners are talking to a lawyer or an appraiser. Probably decided they can send their kids to college on them.”

“How much would they be worth?” asked Lindsay.

Phil shook his head. “I have no idea. I have a feeling they are going to turn out to be Elaine’s birthday and Christmas presents for the next ten years.”

Just as they were about to go into the tent, Lindsay saw a car drive up and stop on the grass near the fence. It looked like Afton behind the wheel.

“Be right back.” Lindsay trotted to the gate and over to meet her just as she was getting out of the car. She had a manila envelope in her hand.

Afton stared wide-eyed at the compound and people milling about. “My goodness. You putting on a circus?” She took off her sunglasses and put them on her head. “Double-O Afton here, librarian with a license to kill. Boy, don’t I wish that were true.” She handed Lindsay the envelope. “A man called saying he was with the FBI and would I mind receiving a fax for you. Who could turn down that, right? Couldn’t help but glance and see what they were about. Please, when you finish whatever you’re doing, fill me in. I know this is going to be a whole episode in my memoirs about my life as a small-town librarian.”

“Thanks, Afton. I appreciate this. You didn’t have to drive out here. I would have come to pick them up.”

“And miss all this?” Her gesture took in the entire compound. “It takes this many people to dig up two coffins?”

“Apparently. It’s all pretty amazing. I’m sure Lewis will want to write it up for a newspaper article.”

“I heard you had a couple of protesters,” said Afton.

“A couple’s about all. They didn’t protest too much, fortunately. Do you know the reporter?”

“Yeah. He wants to date my younger sister. He told her some woman here attacked him. He thinks you guys are weird, so don’t expect good press from him.”

“Some of us are weird. Just as long as he gets the archaeology right . . .”