Page 41 of Homeport

“Dr. Jones. Pronto.” No, not Italy. Maine. Home. “Hello?”

“Dr. Jones, this is Ken Scutter, security.”

“Mr. Scutter.” She got no image from the name and was too bleary to try for one. “What is it?”

“We’ve had an incident.”

“An incident?” As her mind began to clear she pushed herself up in bed. The sheets and blankets were tangled around her like wrappings on a mummy, and she cursed under her breath as she fought her way free. “What sort of incident?”

“It wasn’t noticed until the change of shifts, moments ago, but I wanted to contact you immediately. We’ve had a break-in.”

“A break-in.” She bolted up fully awake, the blood rushing into her head in a flood. “At the Institute?”

“Yes, ma’am. I thought you’d want to come right over.”

“Was there damage? Was something stolen?”

“No real damage, Dr. Jones. One item is missing from the South Gallery display. Cataloguing indicates it’s a fifteenth-century bronze, artist unknown, of David.”

A bronze, she thought. She was suddenly plagued by bronzes. “I’m on my way.”

She bolted out of bed, and without bothering with her robe, raced in her blue flannel pajamas to Andrew’s room. She burst in, shot toward the mound in the bed, and shook viciously.

“Andrew, wake up. There’s been a break-in.”

“Huh? What?” He shoved at her hand, ran a tongue around his teeth, started to yawn. His jaw cracked as he shot up in bed. “What? Where? When?”

“At the Institute. There’s a bronze missing from the South Gallery. Get dressed, let’s move.”

“A bronze?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Miranda, were you dreaming?”

“Scutter from security just phoned,” she snapped out. “I don’t dream. Ten minutes, Andrew,” she said over her shoulder as she hurried out.

Within forty, she was standing beside her brother in the South Gallery, staring down at the perfect circle in the glass, and the empty space behind it. Miranda’s stomach rolled once, then dropped to her knees.

“Call the police, Mr. Scutter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He signaled to one of his men. “I ordered a sweep of the building—it’s still under way—but so far we’ve found nothing out of place, and nothing else missing.”

Andrew nodded. “I’ll want to review the security tapes for the last twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, sir.” Scutter heaved a sigh. “Dr. Jones, the night chief reported a small problem with two of the cameras.”

“Problem.” Miranda turned. She remembered Scutter now. He was a short, barrel-shaped man, a former cop who’d decided to trade the streets for private security. His record was spotless. Andrew had interviewed and hired him personally.

“This camera.” Scutter shifted, gestured up. “It blanked for about ninety seconds yesterday morning. No one thought much of it, though the standard diagnostic was run. Last night, at about midnight, the exterior camera on the south entrance failed for just under a minute. There were high winds, and the glitch was attributed to weather. This interior camera also went off, for about eighty seconds between midnight and one. The exact times will be stamped on the tapes.”

“I see.” Andrew stuck his hands in his pockets and balled them into fists. “Opinion, Mr. Scutter?”

“My take would be the burglar’s a pro, with a knowledge of security and electronics. He got in through the south side, bypassed the alarm, and the camera. He knew what he was after, didn’t piss around—excuse me, Dr. Jones,” he muttered with an apologetic nod toward Miranda. “It tells me he knows the museum, the setup.”

“And he waltzes in,” Miranda said with barely suppressed fury, “takes what he wants, then waltzes out—despite a complex and expensive security system, and half a dozen armed guards.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Scutter’s lips thinned as he pressed them together. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“Thank you. Will you go out in the lobby and wait for the police, please?” She waited until his footsteps receded; then because she was alone with Andrew, she allowed the steam to show.

“Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch, Andrew.” She stalked in a straight line to the camera in question, scowled at it, then stalked back. “That man wants us to believe that someone can override the security, slide in here, and steal one specific piece of art in less than ten minutes.”

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