Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [37]
Maybe it had been a robbery—random or otherwise—after all.
And there was still the possibility that the killer was someone who knew about Derek’s purchase of the goblet on the black market. Someone who had followed Derek from Italy, or someone he’d told about his find.
Sean began to make a list of all the questions he’d need answered about that goblet, starting with its authenticity. He had only Amanda’s word for what the item actually was. Well, her word, and the emails from this Daria McGowan. He’d have to check her out, too, make sure she was who Amanda claimed. He made a note to call Dr. Abraham at the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Perhaps he could corroborate Amanda’s version of what the goblet was and its potential value to a collector.
And he’d need a list of collectors of this sort of object. Maybe have Amanda go through her list of customers and see if she could figure out who the intended buyer might have been. And wasn’t there a possibility that the intended buyer was another dealer? Guess he’d have to stop by her shop this morning and ask.
Of course, he’d planned on stopping at Crosby & England anyway on his way back from the prison after he’d had a little chat with Archer Lowell. Which reminded him that he needed to leave now if he was going to arrive by eight.
He’d intended to make this trip on Monday, like he’d told Amanda he’d do. But a major accident out on River Road involving several cars and a tractor trailer had resulted in three fatalities, and the investigation—not to mention the paperwork—had consumed much of the past two days.
Well, no harm, no foul, he told himself. Archer Lowell wasn’t going anyplace any time soon.
The Avon County prison—also known as High Meadow—sat on 265 acres in the middle of what had at one time been a cow pasture. Now housing developments encroached from every side. Though why in the world anyone would pay big dollars to live in the shadow of a prison, Sean could not fathom. The developers could build their berms and plant their trees and erect their stone walls, but they couldn’t change the fact that just beyond those flimsy little barriers lived some of the most hardened men—and women—in the state.
Nice place to raise your kids, he thought dryly as he turned off the main road and stopped at the guard post. He reached for his identification, but was waved through by the guard, who called, “Go on up, Chief.” He drove to the visitors’ lot, which lay just beyond the row of reserved parking for prison VIPs. The warden’s spot was still empty. Sean rolled down his windows and leaned back against the seat. He could wait.
He mentally ran through the questions he planned to ask Archer Lowell. He’d read the file through twice over the weekend and was probably more current with the story than Lowell himself was at this point. Though Sean doubted anything would change, as far as Lowell was concerned. It was obvious from the file that Lowell believed that he and Amanda were star-crossed lovers; obvious too that he’d believed Derek was his rival for Amanda’s affections. He apparently hadn’t known that Derek was gay, hadn’t realized that the two were best of friends, hadn’t realized that Derek was in the shop all the time because he was half owner of the business. According to the interview, Lowell believed that Derek was in love with Amanda, that he was trying to wrest her away. It was textbook classic. The court-appointed psychiatrist who examined Lowell had been fully prepared to testify that Lowell suffered from delusions as well as erotomania. While Amanda was an acquaintance of Lowell’s, he could hardly be called her peer. Which was, of course, typical in a case like this, where the victim was often of higher social standing.
And Lowell’s pattern of stalking had also been lifted right out of a textbook. He wrote notes to Amanda, called her home and shop at all