Midnight Sun (18 page)

T
he box was here, clutched in the arms of a short woman who glanced furtively around the small terminal. Adrenaline coursed through Sienna. Was the mask inside?
 

“Are there others like it?” Rhys asked.

“No. A year ago, I had a project for a Seattle-area tribe and thought I might find human remains in the collection. My company commissioned the box, just in case. Handling of tribal remains is tricky, and it’s always good to be prepared. I didn’t end up needing it for that client. When the mask started haunting me, I tried several different museum containers for it. Nothing muted the strange vibration I felt whenever I touched it, so I tried the cedar box, and the tension in the mask eased immediately. Do you think that woman has the mask?”

“Let’s go ask her,” Rhys said.

“We can’t—”

He smiled. “Yes, you can. We reported the mask stolen, including the box. You own the box, right?”

“Yes.”

“That woman has something that belongs to you, which was stolen yesterday. And you and I both know it’s connected with a murder.” He walked with confidence across the room. Sienna had to admit, she was so jumbled with what she could and couldn’t admit to anyone other than Rhys—and now Chuck—that she’d lost sight of the fact that they could question this woman as easily as they’d questioned Archie.

The box
was
hers.

The woman, however, wasn’t exactly cooperative. When Rhys began questioning her, she turned defensive and complained. Loudly. Security entered the fray, and she insisted Rhys was harassing her.

It took several minutes and pictures of the box Sienna had on her cell phone to convince the guard to call the police, all while the woman howled that she was shipping her father’s remains to the lower forty-eight for a military honors burial ceremony scheduled for tomorrow, and this delay would mean the dearly departed would be late for his own funeral.

Officer Tourney showed up, very unhappy to see Rhys and Sienna, and he muttered several unflattering things not quite under his breath. It appeared he didn’t appreciate Rhys pulling strings to get the FBI involved, and Sienna guessed Tourney had already been scolded for his shoddy investigating of the break-in at Chuck’s and the shooting. Not to mention that if he’d picked up Helvig for questioning as Rhys had requested, the man might not have been murdered.

All Sienna cared about was the fact that Rhys had put enough pressure on Tourney that the man had to intervene now—especially with Sienna’s photos of the box and the fact that they’d reported the theft by the book.

Now Tourney said in a strained voice, “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to take possession of the box until we sort this out.”

He reached for it, but the woman jerked away. The heavy lines on her face deepened as she struggled with the heft of the container. She coughed, the guttural, morning cough of a long-time smoker, then said, “It’s mine. I paid an Eskimo to carve it for me.”

This told Sienna she probably wasn’t local. Most people here used the term Iñupiat.

Tourney frowned, probably noticing the same thing, and said, “Can you provide paperwork to prove you legally own it and commissioned its construction?”

The woman glared at him as she struggled under the weight of the box. “Of course not. I traded with an old carver in Itqaklut for it. I forget his name. Henry, Harry… started with an H. No receipt.”

“Officer, as I commissioned the construction of that box for my business, I can easily prove it’s mine. I can call an associate in Washington, and she’ll fax the paperwork to you, along with more photos.”

The woman cursed loudly. “I need to mail this box, now. Today. I’m done with this bullshit.” She turned, still clutching the box, and headed to the shipping counter.

“I can’t let you do that, ma’am.”

“This is harassment! I have rights.”

“Ma’am, why don’t you remove the contents of the box and ship it in a different container? They have cardboard boxes here.”

“You want me to send my uncle south in cardboard? That’s desecration.”

Uncle?
Hadn’t she said father? “It’s also desecration to steal an ancient shaman’s mask from the tribe,” Sienna said softly.

“Mask? What mask? You keep mentioning a mask, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ma’am. Just open the box and remove the contents. If somehow you’ve been wronged, and the box belongs to you, it will be returned. Right now, the evidence favors Ms. Aubrey’s claim.”

The woman stood in the center of the narrow terminal, her lined face pinched with anger. Sienna wondered if she was connected to the Pelligrews or had found the box on the street at the Midnight Sun Festival. Finders keepers didn’t apply with stolen goods, no matter how much the woman wanted to believe that, and she hadn’t made it easy on herself by piling on lies about having commissioned the box.

“Ma’am, will you open the box? It would solve a lot of problems if you could just show us the mask isn’t inside.”

“It’s my box. I have rights.”

From the arrivals side of the terminal, a man in a suit, along with a small entourage, entered the building. He scanned the room, and Sienna nudged Rhys. “Looks like the feds have arrived.”

One corner of Rhys’s mouth kicked up when he turned and saw the group. “Agent Upton?” he called out.

The man nodded and approached, the three people with him following a pace behind.

The woman holding the box said, “Agent?”

“He’s FBI, ma’am,” Rhys answered with a cunning smile.

Her eyes widened as the officials neared. She dropped the box and bolted for the exit.

Chapter Fourteen

T
he heavy wooden box cracked open upon hitting the floor, and a mother lode of artifacts spilled out. Tools made of bone, stone, and wood. Awls and adzes, a small maul, projectile points that ranged in size from tiny darts to a large spearhead. An obsidian blade shattered on the hard floor. Given the heft of the stone artifacts, no wonder the box had appeared too heavy to be holding ashes.

Officer Tourney chased after the fleeing woman, while the FBI agent and his party stayed behind to talk to Rhys. The woman had a sizable head start in the commotion, and Sienna wondered if Tourney would give the chase his all.

After introductions were completed and the situation explained, FBI Agent Matt Upton turned to her. “Ms. Aubrey, can you identify these artifacts?”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to match them to the accession numbers the tribe assigned. It looks like most are labeled. My guess is this is an assortment of artifacts the Pelligrew brothers stole before they learned that some artifacts are more valuable than others. With the possible exception of the spearhead and maul, they probably couldn’t get a good price for these items.”

“You’re certain the box is the one you stored the mask in?”

“Yes. Absolutely. The mask is probably worth a thousand times what these artifacts would be worth on the black market. The thieves might have ditched the box because it’s so large compared to the mask, which is roughly the size of a human face. While the box”—she gestured to the rectangular container—“is cumbersome. I needed special permission to bring it on my flights as a carry-on because it’s a little too big for a rolling bag.”

Sienna and Rhys ended up returning with the FBI agent and his crime scene investigators to the tribal storage facility, where a quick check of the inventory numbers proved the artifacts recovered at the airport had indeed been stolen from the tribe.

The agent’s team set to work on documenting and dismantling the shelf in the back, and to no one’s surprise, they found an opening into the net manufacturer’s shop. A simple phone call and a warrant was issued for the Pelligrew brothers. The charge was artifact theft for now, but odds were money laundering, racketeering, and murder would be added during the course of the investigation. They had much evidence to gather, starting with a full search of the net manufacturing shop to make sure the charges would stick.

Agent Upton called Archie as a courtesy, but with the hole cut in the wall, they already had a warrant to search his shop.

Officer Tourney had caught and arrested the woman at the airport, and she revealed she was in town for the Midnight Sun Festival. Early that morning, when she’d stepped outside her motel room to smoke, she’d seen a man in a pickup truck pull up next to the motel’s Dumpster and drop the box inside. Curious as to why someone would discard something so beautiful, she’d fished it out. Discovering it was full of artifacts, she decided to ship it home.

Her description of the driver fit Doug Pelligrew, and the truck was likely the Pelligrews’ Ford.

Agent Upton speculated that the Pelligrews were opportunists: they’d seen an opening to steal artifacts and seized it. But they’d started with items they couldn’t unload, and once they learned what collectors
would
buy, they started cherry-picking the collection. At some point, they’d formed an alliance with Adam Helvig, and the brothers became players in the illicit artifact trade.

It had all come apart for Helvig when Sienna started asking questions about the mask.

Sienna and Rhys settled in the storage facility office, going over the catalogue printout, matching items that had been recovered to their log entry, while the federal investigators searched the facility and the net shop. When this task was done, Rhys told her he wanted to take her back to the airport and send her home. He still didn’t know about the flames that had licked at her face, or the cold burn, which she knew in her gut couldn’t be avoided.

Pain was coming. As was fire. Leaving wouldn’t change a thing.

Agent Upton appeared in the doorway. “Vaughan, I’ve read your background file. Am I correct in remembering you were an explosive ordnance disposal specialist in the army?”

Rhys stiffened. “Yes.”

“I need you to take a look at something. Ms. Aubrey, you need to evacuate the building. Now.”

“G
et in the car,” Rhys said. “Drive to the power plant and wait. I won’t be able to think if I’m worried about you. You have to get out of the blast zone.” Rhys fully intended to ask Agent Upton to handcuff her and drag her away if she refused. She hadn’t told him, but he was certain the mild burn he experienced had been horrible for her.
 

Her beautiful eyes were full of fear. “I’m scared, Rhys.”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” He waved his hands in front of her. “Check it out, two tours in Iraq, and I still have all my fingers.”