promised myself I wouldn’t stick my neck out like that again and figured I’d get hold of this Sequeira fella and see if I couldn’t get most of my money back. He was interested up to a point.” Prosch paused and his voice turned a little harder. “Unless Mr. Benyovszky and this Sequeira fella were working together to set me up. That what happened?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Prosch. For right now, I’d hang on to your money. Nobody seems to know where that elephant is.”
“Is that so? Well, now that does make a body curious, don’t it?”
Bart grinned. “It does indeed. Hang on to my number if you will, Mr. Prosch.”
“Oh, trust me, I will, Detective.”
“I’ll call back if I have any more questions, and if something turns up on your end, I’d appreciate hearing from you.”
“You will. Count on it.”
Bart broke the connection, laid his phone on the table and glared at it. “So I got a guy out in the wilds of Idaho who hasn’t been to New York in years, and I got a guy in Lisbon, Portugal, who were both interested in that elephant.” He wiped a hand over his mouth and smothered a yawn, but his eyes still glowed with bright interest. “How many others were bidding on that thing?”
Annja checked the list. “Eight people.”
“But they all bailed early.”
“They did.”
“And we still haven’t found the thing.” Bart knotted his hand. “I hate mysteries.” He looked up at her. “I know you enjoy them, but I could live without them. Give me a case where I catch a perp red-handed and just have to fill out the paperwork. Those are the investigations I like.”
Annja knew that wasn’t true. Bart McGilley was clever and knowledgeable. Those were things that underpinned their friendship. They loved puzzles and mystery shows. She didn’t offer to argue the point at the moment.
An Asian man entered from the street and the way he didn’t fit in caught Annja’s attention immediately. Bart tilted his head slightly, shifting his gaze to the man, as well.
The man wore a dark gray suit and a long jacket. On his head he had a black woolen cap. A shade under six feet tall, he looked thin for his size, but his shoulders were broad and he moved with economical grace as he strode toward their table.
Bart shifted slightly so that he could get to his service weapon more quickly, but the nonchalant look on his face never waned.
The Asian man stopped a few feet short of their table, just out of arm’s reach, and smiled slightly at them. “Good morning. I do not mean to trouble you.” His accent held a note of British English in it. “My name is Nguyen Rao. I have come about the elephant Mr. Benyovszky had for sale on his website. Do you have the elephant?”
Feeling nervous and out of place, Rao smiled at the man and woman seated at the table in front of him. Neither of them appeared to be surprised to see him, and that was good. Nervous people could sometimes make quick mistakes that would bring misfortune to all concerned.
The man broadcasted his profession in his narrowed eyes and readiness for physical confrontation. The move to access the pistol belted at his hip had not gone unnoticed. Rao had seen plenty of policemen during his journeys across Europe and throughout Asia. Criminals and policemen could be confusing, though, because both of them were similar in nature. Rao had dealt with criminals, as well. He much preferred dealing with neither and instead working on his studies.
The woman, though, was similar in some ways, but different in others. She did not seem like a policeman or a criminal because she was more open, more accepting and not shut down. Her curiosity about him showed in the glint of her eyes and the set of her lips. But she kept herself balanced and ready all the same. Composed for confrontation, yes, but she was more curious than cautious. In many, that would be a weakness. Rao was not certain that such motivation was a weakness in her.
He knew of her and of her work. Anyone who labored in the field of antiquities might possibly know her name and her face. The television show rendered her familiar to a great number of the populace, but such familiarity also took away remembrance of her work as an archaeologist.
The policeman spoke first. “What did you say your name was?”
The ploy allowed the man to think a little longer, or perhaps it was only so the microphone of the recording device he wore might pick up his name better.
“Nguyen Rao.”
“I’m Detective McGilley of the New York Police Department.” The detective smiled a little, and the effort was almost guileless. His face was placid as a lake in a dead calm, but his body language was tight. Rao had learned to read both while in the temple.
“It is good to meet you, Detective McGilley.”
McGilley didn’t offer to introduce Annja Creed. “What are you doing here?”
“I came about the elephant.”
“You’re not from around here.”
“No.” Rao made himself endure the inane questions. He knew they would be coming and he had prepared himself to deal with them.
“Where are you from?”
“Phnom Penh.”
McGilley’s eyes cut to Annja Creed for just a moment.
Rao spoke again to remove the confusion and lack of knowledge. “Phnom Penh is in Cambodia.”
McGilley smiled a little at that. “Cambodia’s a long way off, Mr. Nguyen.”
“It is.” Rao thought being agreeable would be best. “The trip by plane required many hours.”
“I’m sure it did. When did you get to New York?”
There was almost no suspicion in the man’s words to touch the ear, but Rao knew the focus that drove the question. “Too late to save Mr. Benyovszky.”
“To save him?”
“Your inference was that I had killed him,” Rao said politely. “I did not. Had I gotten to him in time last night, or this morning—I must admit to some confusion regarding the time, I might have saved him.”
The cop surfaced in McGilley then, and Rao knew that the conversation was going to go badly. Still, he knew he had to try to convince the American that he was in no way responsible for Benyovszky’s death.
“You knew that Benyovszky was going to be killed?”
“No. Had I known that, I would have notified authorities. I was not there. Mr. Benyovszky was. If he felt he was in no danger, then why would I have thought so?”
“You said if you had reached him earlier he might not be dead.”
“I misspoke. It could just as well have been that both of us were killed. I choose to think that
