Page 95 of The Dead Come to Stay
“Heavens, Detective, I don’t keep records of every purchase.”
“Provenance, then.”
“I haven’t got it. Not for every piece.”
MacAdams said the next bit through gritted teeth. “Can you prove that you obtained these legally?”
Standish smiled. Benign. Grandfatherly.
“I think the question is, canyouprove otherwise? Don’t be angry, old boy. The British Museum itself can’t tell where it got half its treasures. The important thing is that they’resafe.”
“How do you figure that?” MacAdams demanded.
Standish set down his port and leaned forward as if trying to explain a lesson.
“Becausethey won’t be bombed or looted or destroyed. Saved for the next generation, and so forth. Collectors do the world a service. It’s practically charity.”
MacAdams flexed his fingers, anger rising. He’d been here before. It was even what Foley had told Dmytro. Blind men gloating over their triumphs and their sticky morals.Focus.
“Charity like Fresh Start?” he asked, keeping his voice even. “Burnhope says you’re a model donor. Doing your bit.”
“Exactly, that! Lifting up the downtrodden, investing in the future.” Standish bobbed his head, pleased with himself.
MacAdams swallowed before continuing. “Bringing in kids from war-torn countries,” he said slowly. “Where the sale of artifacts buys bombs and guns. Thisisn’ta victimless crime.”
“It’s just art!” Standish blustered. “What harm can art do?”
“Ronan Foley wasmurdered. And right now, I have a kid named Dmytro in lockup because he was helping him smuggle illegal spoils. Now he might lose his status in the country. How’s that for harm?”
MacAdams hadn’t expected this to make an impression. He turned to go, trying to get outside before he said somethingveryoff the books. But Standish had followed him.
“Dmytro?” he asked, the levity gone. “They won’t deport him, though? Surely?”
“Not for me to say.”
“Well, but... we agreed—”
MacAdams turned on his heel. Standish looked as though he wanted to reswallow every word.
“Wewho, agreedwhat?”
“I—It’s nothing, really,” Standish said, backing away.
MacAdams followed him step for step.
“Nothing would please me more than dragging you to the station for this,” he said. “I am running out of patience.”
Standish heaved a sigh and patted his sides. “We all like that boy, you know. Good lad. Burnhope thought we could keep it tight—why should he take the fall for a man like Foley?”
“Burnhope,” MacAdams repeated. “Not Sophie.”
“Oh, Sophie always gets the job done, certainly. But it was all Stanley’s idea.”
MacAdams had Green on the phone before he got back to his car. “Bring in Burnhope,” he demanded. “And I want the receipts on Burnhope’s career. Rumors. Anything. Clear? He’s up to his neck in this.Somehow.”
He hung up, still fuming—and hadn’t noticed that Standish followed him out.
“Detective? A word—”
