Page 42 of The Cabinet of Dr. Leng

Looking at the treasures of the past, Coldmoon suddenly felt like a dagger had been plunged into his heart. Here were the remains of a rich culture, locked away behind glass: fading echoes of a once-proud nation. He thought of everything that had been taken from his people—their culture, their land—and mentally contrasted it with where they were today, living in cheap HUD houses on impoverished reservations.

He almost wished he hadn’t come in here. What was he thinking? He went to the back and looked at the case of Twoeagle’s replicas. They were gorgeous and finely made; the man was a true artist. But what was he hoping to see? He shook his head at his own folly. Maybe Pologna was right and Running was guilty.

On his way out, he paused at a large case dominating the center of the hall. It displayed a single, extraordinary artifact, beautifully lit: Sitting Bull’s famous peace pipe. Coldmoon recognized it instantly as the one with the twisted stem so prominently featured in the photograph of the Lakota chief. And nearby was that very photo, blown up, of Sitting Bull. He stared into the camera with a face full of sadness, the face of a man who had witnessed the destruction of his way of life.

Coldmoon stared at the renowned pipe with its wooden stem, the hanging bundle of beads and eagle feathers, the long, polished bowl carved out of red pipestone. He had just seen dozens of broken or imperfect examples of this same bowl design in the rubbish heap behind Twoeagle’s studio, along with half-finished examples of that twisted wooden stem.

Twoeagle hadn’t been making a copy of any old peace pipe: he’d been working on a replica ofthisone.

An idea came into Coldmoon’s head, and he froze. Was it possible?

He raised his cell phone and took a series of pictures of the pipe through the glass, from every angle he could manage. When he was done, he looked around for Pologna. He found him on the far side of the room, staring at a wall of beaded baby cradles. “Okay, we can go now.”

Pologna turned. There was a different look on his face than Coldmoon had seen before.

“There’s some incredible stuff in here,” he said.

Coldmoon nodded.

“It must be something for you to see this,” Pologna said. “I mean, your history and all. It’s probably like how I felt when I went to Rome and saw whatmyancestors created.”

Coldmoon thought it prudent not to mention that the ancestors on his mother’s side, the Espositos, had come from Naples. But he was surprised at Pologna’s sudden empathy. Maybe the guy wasn’t such a dick after all.

They left the museum. It was five o’clock, and dark clouds were drifting across the sky.

They got in the car, Coldmoon once again behind the wheel. He sat for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then turned to Pologna.

“I think,” he began slowly, “I’ve found the motive—the real motive—for the murder.”

Pologna stared at him.

“Did you see Sitting Bull’s peace pipe?”

“I sure did.”

“It’s a fake. Made by Twoeagle.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“All those broken pipe bowls behind Twoeagle’s studio? They were all in that distinct shape. His wife said he was a perfectionist, but nobody’sthatanal without a damned good reason. And that twisted stem—there were a lot of those, too. He was trying to make a perfect replica of that pipe.”

“But why?”

“Why? I can give you exactly ten thousand reasons. Twoeagle made it to be substituted for the real one, which was then stolen from the museum.”

“Stolen?”

“Sitting Bull’s peace pipe has got to be worth millions.”

“And the motive for murder?”

“That’s a little less obvious. Maybe the people who hired Twoeagle to replicate the pipe killed him to cover it up. Maybe Twoeagle wanted more money. Maybe he had misgivings and was going to confess.”

Pologna stared at him. “Have you gone off the deep end?”

“What I’ve just told you can be proved. I took photographs of that pipe. I’m going to send them to the FBI image-analysis lab in Quantico and ask them to compare my photos to the pipe in Sitting Bull’s photograph. They can tell us right away whether it’s the same object—or not.”

Pologna continued staring at him, and then he finally said: “Man, you are one tenacious son of a bitch.”

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