Page 94 of The Dead Come to Stay
“Jealous, every one of you,” Standish said with a grin. Then turned a surprisingly keen eye upon MacAdams. “You’ll need expertise. You might have calledme, you know. I’ve never been part of an investigation. What a treat!” He replaced his well-rubbed lenses. It did give him a vaguely professorial air. “The papers didn’t say region or era.”
MacAdams presumed there would be no harm in providing detail. Possibly Standish could be of use. If hewaspresently a suspect. He decided to set the bait.
“Syria. Eleventh or twelfth century. Gold. Pottery. Mosaics,” he said, watching Standish narrowly.Tell me something I can use.Standish merely wiped his mouth on a napkin and told Simon (again the barman) to put it on his tab.
“Tell you what, Officer. Let me take you round my place; it’s not far and we can have a proper chat.”
***
Standish lived less than a mile from Lime Tree Greens. It wasn’t an estate like Burnhope’s, but an old, well-pedigreed town house of brick and stone. They entered through enormous double doors into a foyer of chessboard tile and mahogany walls. Flanking the stairs were two ebony statues, doglike with highly pointed ears. Anubis, he supposed. Jo would know.
“Don’t be fooled,” Standish said, closing the doors. “Those are replicas created in the early 1800s.Notfrom the ancient world. I don’t collect Egyptian art; it’s a bit overdone.”
He led MacAdams through to a large reception room. Some sort of wooden mask hung over the fireplace.
“That comes from the Krahn people, Liberia.” Standish hitched his trousers higher. “Nineteenth century again, if you’re wondering.”
“I thought you collected antiquities.”
“Oh I do, son. But I’m not leaving them out in the front room, am I?” He chortled to himself and beckoned him on. “We’ll take a turn in the study, shall we? Have a nice port in there.”
MacAdams found himself trying to make sense of the man’s easy manners.
“You know I am investigating a crime,” he said. “Not just the trafficking of stolen artifacts but also the murder of Ronan Foley.”
“Ah, sad business, that. Played golf with him once or twice.”
“So you knew him,” MacAdams clarified, his hand itching to pull out the battered notebook.
“Only knew he was terrible at golf,” Standish said, then led the way into his study.
This was a room of private opulence. Two chairs in bomber leather and brass studs flanked the far corner. He’d flicked a switch that illuminated several brass lamps; the room had a single window, but it had been well shaded. It smelled of woodgrain, leather, pipe smoke and alcohol and offered up the antithesis of Burnhope’s residence. No glass except the decanter of port, but every surface held a precious object of stone, pottery or precious metal. MacAdams pointed to a small star-shaped amulet with floral designs.
“Arabesque open work,” he said.
Standish clapped his hands. “Oh very good!”
MacAdams felt a sudden heat in his gut.
“So it’s from ancient Syria, like the stolen ones,” he said sharply.
“Tut, now you’re guessing. It’snot. Iran, in fact. Ilkhanid period, 1256–1353. And you’ll find I bought it at auction.” He swept his hand about the room. “That’s where most of this comes from, you know. Auctions, private collectors, museums in trouble—” he winked “—and eBay.”
“You just make your bids, I take it.”
“Oh yes.” Standish poured himself a glass of port. “You won’t join me? No, of course. Let’s say I want something specific. And Ido, at that. I can search, or I can hire people who search.”
“What people.”
“Online people.” Standish settled himself into one of the leather chairs. MacAdams was meant for the other. He declinedthat offer, too. “Some men my age don’t like new technology. I find it allfascinating. I could pull up three websites dedicated to sourcing rare objects.”
“Such as?” MacAdams asked.
“You’d hardly be impressed if I told you. The best things are often seemingly the least significant.”
MacAdams was far from impressed by this banter. “I want a list of every place you’ve purchased from.”
Standish let his eyes drift from one antique to the next.
