pdouglas.thecodex-第2章

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re；　standing　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　looking　about；　his　face　absolutely　white。　〃I　told　him　again　and　again　this　would　happen。　He　was　so　bloody　careless；　keeping　all　this　stuff　here。　So　damn　bloody　careless。〃
　〃What？〃　Vernon　cried；　alarmed。　〃What　is　it；　Philip？　What's　happened？〃
　Philip　said；　his　agonized　voice　barely　above　a　whisper；　〃We've　been　robbed！〃
　
　2

　Detective　Lieutenant　Hutch　Barnaby　of　the　Santa　Fe　Police　Department　placed　a　hand　on　his　bony　chest　and　kicked　back　in　his　chair。　He　raised　a　fresh　cup　of　Starbucks　to　his　lips；　the　tenth　one　of　the　day。　The　aroma　of　the　bitter　roast　filled　his　hooked　nose　as　he　looked　out　the　window　to　the　lone　cottonwood　tree。　A　beautiful　spring　day　in　Santa　Fe；　New　Mexico；　United　States　of　America；　he　thought；　as　he　folded　his　long　limbs　deeper　into　the　chair。　April　15。　The　Ides　of　April。　Tax　Return　Day。　Everyone　was　home　counting　their　money；　sobered　up　by　thoughts　of　mortality　and　penury。　Even　the　criminals　took　the　day　off。
　He　sipped　the　coffee　with　a　huge　feeling　of　contentment。　Except　for　the　faint　ringing　of　a　phone　in　the　outer　office；　life　was　good。
　He　heard；　at　the　edges　of　consciousness；　the　petent　voice　of　Doreen　answering　the　phone。　Her　crisp　vowels　floated　in　through　the　open　door：　〃Hold　on；　excuse　me；　could　you　speak　a　little　slower？　I'll　get　you　the　sergeant…〃
　Barnaby　drowned　out　the　conversation　with　a　noisy　sip　of　coffee　and　extended　his　foot　to　his　office　door；　giving　it　a　little　nudge　shut。　Blessed　silence　returned。　He　waited。　And　then　it　came：　the　knock。
　Damn　that　phone　call。
　Barnaby　placed　his　coffee　on　the　desk　and　rose　slightly　from　his　slouched　position。　〃Yes？〃
　Sergeant　Harry　Fenton　opened　the　door；　a　keen　look　on　his　face。　Fenton　was　never　one　to　like　a　slow　day。　The　look　was　enough　to　tell　Barnaby　that　something　big　had　just　e　down。
　〃Hutch？〃
　〃Hmmm？〃
　Fenton　went　on；　breathlessly。　〃The　Broadbent　place　was　robbed。　I　got　one　of　the　sons　on　the　phone　now。〃
　Hutch　Barnaby　didn't　move　a　muscle。　〃Robbed　of　what？〃
　〃Everything。〃　Fenton's　black　eyes　glittered　with　relish。
　Barnaby　sipped　his　coffee；　sipped　again；　and　then　lowered　his　chair　to　the　floor　with　a　small　clunk。　Damn。
　As　Barnaby　and　Fenton　drove　out　the　Old　Santa　Fe　Trail；　Fenton　talked　about　the　robbery。　The　collection；　he'd　heard；　was　worth　half　a　billion。　If　the　truth　were　anything　close　to　that；　Fenton　said；　it　would　be　front…page…New…York…Times。　He；　Fenton；　on　the　front　page　of　the　Times。　Can　you　imagine　that？
　Barnaby　could　not　imagine　it。　But　he　said　nothing。　He　was　used　to　Fenton's　enthusiasms。　He　stopped　at　the　end　of　the　winding　driveway　that　led　up　to　the　Broadbent　aerie。　Fenton　climbed　out　the　other　side；　his　face　shining　with　anticipation；　his　head　forward；　his　huge　hatchet　nose　leading　the　way。　As　they　walked　up　the　road；　Hutch　scanned　the　ground。　He　could　see　the　blurred　tracks　of　a　semi；　ing　and　going。　They　had　e　in　bold　as　brass。　So　either　Broadbent　was　away　or　they　had　killed　him…more　likely　the　latter。　They'd　probably　find　Broadbent's　stiff　in　the　house。
　The　road　went　around　a　corner　and　leveled　out；　and　a　pair　of　open　gates　came　into　view；　guarding　a　sprawling　adobe　mansion　set　among　a　vast　lawn　dotted　with　cottonwoods。　He　paused　to　examine　the　gate。　It　was　a　mechanical　gate　with　two　motors。　It　didn't　show　any　signs　of　having　been　forced；　but　the　electrical　box　was　open；　and　inside　he　could　see　a　key。　He　knelt　and　examined　it。　The　key　was　in　a　lock；　which　had　been　turned　to　deactivate　the　gate。
　He　turned　to　Fenton。　〃What　do　you　make　of　that？〃
　〃Drove　a　semi　up　here；　had　a　key　to　the　gate…these　guys　were　professional。　We're　probably　going　to　find　Broadbent's　cadaver　in　the　house；　you　know。〃
　〃That's　why　I　like　you；　Fenton。　You're　my　second　brain。〃
　He　heard　a　shout　and　glanced　up　to　see　three　men　crossing　the　lawn；　ing　toward　him。　The　kids；　walking　right　across　the　lawn。
　Barnaby　rose　in　a　fury。　〃Jesus　Christ！　Don't　you　know　this　is　a　crime　scene！〃
　The　others　halted；　but　the　lead　character；　a　tall　man　in　a　suit；　kept　ing。　〃And　who　might　you　be？〃　His　voice　was　cool；　supercilious。
　〃I'm　Detective　Lieutenant　Hutchinson　Barnaby；〃　he　said；　〃and　Sergeant　Harry　Fenton。　Santa　Fe　Police　Department。〃
　Fenton　flashed　them　a　quick　smile　that　did　little　more　than　bare　his　teeth。
　〃You　the　sons？〃
　〃We　are；〃　said　the　suit。
　Fenton　gave　them　another　feral　twitch　of　his　lips。
　Barnaby　took　a　moment　to　look　them　over　as　potential　suspects。　The　hippie　in　hemp　had　an　honest；　open　face；　maybe　not　the　brightest　bulb　in　the　store　but　no　robber。　The　one　in　cowboy　boots　had　real　horseshit　on　the　boots；　Barnaby　noted　with　respect。　And　then　there　was　the　guy　in　the　suit；　who　looked　like　he　was　from　New　York。　As　far　as　Hutch　Barnaby　was　concerned　anyone　from　New　York　was　a　potential　murderer。　Even　the　grandmothers。　He　scanned　them　again：　Three　more　different　brothers　could　not　be　imagined。　Odd　how　that　could　happen　in　a　single　family。
　〃This　is　a　crime　scene；　so　I'm　going　to　have　to　ask　you　gentlemen　to　leave　the　premises。　Go　out　through　the　gate　and　go　stand　under　a　tree　or　something　and　wait　for　me。　I'll　be　out　in　about　twenty　minutes　to　talk　to　you。　Okay？　Please　don't　wander　around；　don't　touch　anything；　and　don't　talk　to　each　other　about　the　crime　or　what　you've　observed。〃
　He　turned；　and　then　as　an　afterthought　turned　back。　〃The　whole　collection　is　missing？〃
　〃That's　what　I　said　on　the　phone；〃　said　the　suit。
　〃How　much…ballpark…was　it　worth？〃
　〃About　five　hundred　million。〃
　Barnaby　touched　the　rim　of　his　hat　and　glanced　at　Fenton。　The　look　of　naked　pleasure　on　Fenton's　face　was　enough　to　scare　a　pimp。
　As　Barnaby　walked　toward　the　house　he　considered　that　he　had　better　be　careful…there　was　going　to　be　a　lot　of　second…guessing　on　this　one。　The　Feds；　Interpol；　God　knows　who　else　would　be　involved。　He　figured　a　quick　look　around　before　the　crime…lab　people　arrived　would　be　in　order。　He　hooked　his　thumbs　into　his　belt　and　gazed　at　the　house。　He　wondered　if　the　collection　had　been　insured。　That　would　bear　some　looking　into。　If　so；　maybe　Maxwell　Broadbent　wasn't　quite　so　dead　after　all。　Maybe　Maxwell　Broadbent　was　sipping　margaritas　with　some　piece　of　ass　on　a　beach　in　Phuket。
　〃I　wonder　if　Broadbent　was　insured？〃　asked　Fenton。
　Hutch　grinned　at　his　partner；　then　looked　back　at　the　place。　He　looked　at　the　broken　window；　the　confusion　of　footsteps　on　the　gravel；　the　trampled　shrubbery。　The　fresh　tracks　were　the　sons'；　but　there　were　a　lot　of　older　traces　here　as　well。　He　could　see　where　the　moving　van　had　parked；　where　it　had　laboriously　backed　around。　It　looked　as　if　a　week　or　two　had　passed　since　the　robbery。
　The　important　thing　was　to　find　the　body…if　there　was　one。　He　stepped　inside　the　house。　He　looked　around　at　the　packing　tape；　bubble　wrap；　nails；　discarded　pieces　of　wood。　There　was　sawdust　on　the　rug　and　faint　depressions。　They　had　actually　set　up　a　table　saw。　It　had　been　an　exceptionally　petent　piece　of　work。　Noisy；　too。　These　people　not　only　knew　what　they　were　doing；　but　they　had　taken　the　time　to　do　it　right。　He　sniffed　the　air。　No　sweet…and…sour…pork　smell　of　a　stiff。
　Inside；　the　robbery　felt　just　as　old　as　it　did　outside。　A　week；　maybe　even　two。　He　bent　down　and　sniffed　the　end　of　a　cut　piece　of　lumber　lying　on　the　floor。　It　lacked　that　just…cut　fresh…wood　smell。　He　picked　up　a　piece　of　grass　that　had　been　tracked　into　the　house　and　crumbled　it　between　his　fingers…dry。　Clots　of　mud　tracked　in　by　a　lugged　boot　were　also　thoroughly　dry。　Barnaby　thought　back：　Last　rainfall　was　two　weeks　ago　today。　That's　when　it　had　happened；　within　twenty…four　hours　of　the　rain；　when　the　ground　was　still　muddy。
　He　wandered　down　the　huge　vaulted　central　hall。　There　were　pedestals　with　bronze　labels　where　statues　had　once　stood。　There　were　faint　rectangles　with　hooks　on　the　plastered　walls　where　paintings　had　once　been。　There　were　straw　rings　and　iron　stands　where　antique　pots　had　once　sat；　and　empty　shelves　with　dust　holes　where　treasures　had　once　stood。　There　were　dark　slots　on　the　bookshelves　where　books　had　been　removed。
　He　reached　the　bedroom　door　and　looked　at　the　parade　of　dirty　footprints　ing　and　going。　More　dried　mud。　Christ；　there　must've　been　half　a　dozen　of　them。　This　was　a　big　moving　job；　and　it　must　have　taken　a　day　at　least；　maybe　two。
　A　machine　sat　inside　the　bedroom。　Barnaby　recognized　it　as　a　foam…in…place　machine；　of　the　kind　you　see　at　UPS。　In　another　room；　he　found　a　shrink…wrapping　machine　for　doing　the　really　big　stuff。　He　found　stacks　of　lumber；　rolls　of　felt；　metal　strapping　tape；　bolts　and　wing　nuts；　and　a　couple　of　skill　saws。　Couple　of　thousand　dollars'　worth　of　abandoned　equipment。　They　hadn't　bothered　taking　anything　else；　in　the　living　room　they'd　left　a　ten…thousand…dollar　television；　along　with　a　VCR；　DVD；　and　two　puters。　He　thought　of　his　own　crappy　TV　and　VCR　and　the　payments　he　was　still　making；　while　his　wife　and　her　new　boyfriend　were　no　doubt　watching　porno　flicks　on　them　every　night。
　He　carefully　stepped　over　a　videotape　cassette　lying　on　the　floor。　Fenton　said；　〃Lay　you　three　to　five　the　guy's　dead；　two　to　five　it's　an　insurance　scam。〃
　〃You　take　all　the　fun　out　of　life；　Fenton。〃
　Someone　must　have　seen　the　activity　up　here。　The　house；　sitting　on　its　mountaintop；　was　visible　to　all　of　Santa　Fe。　If　he　himself　had　bothered　to　look　out　the　window　of　his　double…wide　in　the　valley　two　weeks　ago　he　might　have　seen　the　robbery；　the　house　ablaze　all　night　long；　the　truck　headlights　winding　down　the　hill。　Again；　he　marveled　at　the　moxie　of　the　robbers。　What　made　them　so　sure　of　pulling　it　off？　It　was　too　casual　by　half。
　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　He　didn't　have　much　time　before　the　crime…scene　van　arrived。
　He　moved　swiftly　and　methodically　through　the　rooms；　looking　but　taking　no　notes。　Notes；　he　had　learned；　always　came　back　to　bite　you。　Every　room　had　been　hit。　The　job　had　gone　to　pletion。　In　one　room　a　bunch　of　boxes　had　been　unpacked　and　paper　lay　scattered　on　the　floor。　He　picked　up　a　piece；　some　kind　of　bill　of　lading；　dated　a　month　ago；　for　twenty…four　thousand　dollars'　worth　of　French　pots　and　pans；　German　and　Japanese　knives。　Was　the　guy　starting　a　restaurant？
　In　the　bedroom；　in　the　back　of　a　walk…in　closet；　he　found　a　huge　steel　door；　partway　open。
　〃Fort　Knox；〃　said　Fenton。
　Barnaby　nodded。　With　a　house　full　of　million…dollar　paintings；　it　kind　of　made　him　wonder　what　was　so　valuable　that　it　had　to　go　into　a　vault。
　Without　touching　the　door　he　slipped　inside。　The　vault　was　empty　save　some　scattered　trash　on　the　floor　and　a　bunch　of　wooden　map　cases。　Slipping　out　his　handkerchief；　he　used　it　to　open　a　drawer。　The　velvet　bore　indentations　where　objects　had　once　nested。　He　slid　it　shut　and　turned　to　the　door　itself；　giving　the　lock　a　quick　examination。　There　were　no　signs　of　a　forced　entry。　None　of　the　locked　cases　he'd　seen　in　the　rooms　had　been　forced；　either。
　〃The　perps　had　all　the　codes　and　keys；〃　said　Fenton。
　Barnaby　nodded。　This　was　no　robbery。
　He　went　outside　and　made　a　quick　circle　of　the　gardens。　They　looked　neglected。　Weeds　were　ing　up。　Nothing　had　been　tended　to。　The　grass　hadn't　been　cut　in　a　couple　of　weeks。　The　whole　place　had　a　seedy　air　about　it。　T