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However, it appears he didn’t get his name changed until after he graduated. He worked for more than a year in a pet-grooming business in Milwaukee before becoming an “associate” at a large home-improvement chain in upstate New York.

During this time, he enrolled in a doctoral program run by an online university not known for its rigorous standards. His doctorate was in “Classical Studies.” The title of his dissertation, if any, was not listed.

How he ended up in Seaboard is not recorded. Under the late Dr. Comer, he began in a curatorial training program. From there, he simply insinuated himself into the woodwork of the place, starting as an interim curator for the Greco-Roman Collections.

The lieutenant appeared in my doorway wearing a light tan jacket and open collar. “I was in the neighborhood,” he said without preliminaries. “What’s up?”

“Some developments, I believe.” I stood and shook his hand. “We may have a break.”

He looked at me quizzically as we both sat down, the tension in the room suddenly electric. “You’ve been busy.”

“I have. And I think we will have to move quickly.”

“I’m listening.”

I launched into a brief account of what I had been doing, starting with the day we went out to inform Merissa Bonne of her husband’s murder and the number I found on the pad near the phone.

“You should have told us about that,” he said, half smiling, half rebuking.

“I forgot about it myself until a couple of days ago. Anyway, Diantha traced it to an antiques restorer in the Berkshires by the name of Alain LeBlanc. Not only was he gone when we got there, but the building where he’d had his shop had burned to the ground in what the fire marshal out there regards as a suspicious fire.”

The lieutenant listened with a frown as I detailed the rest of the story. Chief Ballard’s description of de Buitliér as someone else who had been out poking around. How I found and questioned a local named Wally Marsden who confirmed that LeBlanc made replicas of coins and that he had made two sets for von Grümh.

“So you think de Buitliér …?”

“There’s more.” But I made it brief. The fact that the curator frequents the Pink Shamrock, indicating that he could have been in the neighborhood at the time. The fact that there was a back door to the museum that didn’t record swipes. And, finally, the results of the Alphus test I put de Buitliér through.

It surprised me to find the lieutenant skeptical. “So what do you suggest we do?” he asked.

“At the very least we should search his office.”

“What do you think you’ll find there?”

“My gun.”

“You’ll need a warrant to do that.”

“Why? It’s museum property.”

“Because you need a warrant these days to look in your own refrigerator.”

“Then let’s get one.”

“On what grounds? No judge is going to grant one on the basis of what a chimpanzee thinks.”

For a moment I was stymied. Then I said, fishing in the folder I had on the case, “These are the phone records for the Greco-Roman Collection. They indicate that someone in that office of one employee called LeBlanc several times in March and April.”

The lieutenant glanced at it for a moment. He took out and snapped open a cell phone. I produced the documentation as he required it, exact name and location of office, Chief Ballard’s name and phone number, and other details.

“Tell Lemure to get it here as quickly as possible,” he said into the phone. He snapped it shut. “Let’s go down and talk to Mr. de Buitliér.”

24

I pushed open the door to de Buitliér’s office without knocking and walked in, the lieutenant just behind me. I hadn’t quite expected to find the curator so obviously covering his tracks, but there were two cardboard packing cases on his desk and files and drawers opened up.

“Are you leaving us?” I asked him. We had caught him off guard and he looked vulnerable without the carapace of his tweed jacket, which hung on the back of a chair.

“As a matter of fact, here is my letter of resignation.” The man made a visible effort to muster some