help. Justice demands they be returned." He stopped, moved closer and gazed into her eyes. "It surprises me that you can have so little knowledge of what you profess to study. The artifacts you display are thousands of years old and represent a culture which existed before recorded history. Magic and wonder are connected with each piece. But like the rest of your kind, you perceive only the analytical, the tangible. There's no room for myth, magic or tradition.
Only the monetary value you can assign to an object." He paused. "Not everything comes with an admission price such as those charged by your museum, Heather. There are things in this world best left alone. Those stones are sacred. They will be returned" He turned and walked into the darkness.
Heather stared after him and muttered to herself, "What's all this to…supposed to mean...power...outsider? And what in hell is my kind? That man isn't right!" She took a deep breath, picked up her belongings and drove away as fast as she could.
FIVE
The next morning, the doorbell rang. Heather looked through the peephole of her apartment door, recognized Detective Dayton and let him in.
"Hello, Ms. Green. I was in the neighborhood and took a chance on you being home. I hope you don't mind. I was wondering if we could talk?"
Despite the friendly tone, Heather knew his request to speak with her wasn't a question. "If it's about Ned Williamson, I'm afraid I don't know what else I can add," she said as she ushered him into her living room. She offered him coffee which he refused.
"There are one or two questions I'd like to ask you concerning Mr. Williamson's relationship with you.
Then I'll be on my way."
"How can I help?" Heather sat down, pushing her hair back from her face. She settled herself on the sofa while Detective Dayton sat in a matching arm chair across from her.
"According to some of the staff who work at the museum, you two were very close. I was wondering if you ever heard of Mr. Williamson having any enemies?"
"No, of course not. Ned was liked by everyone who knew him."
"There are indications Mr. Williamson may have known his killer. Of course, I'm telling you this in confidence. I'd like you to keep this information to yourself for the time being."
"You think someone at the museum may have...Oh, God," Heather whispered.
"Ms. Green, this is just a hunch. I'm only telling you this because you seem to be the one person closest to the victim.
At first, we thought the murder may have been random. One theory we had was that a junky had hidden in the museum looking for something to steal to get money for drugs. Nothing's missing from the displays. And the more we investigate, the more it appears that the guard walked in on someone familiar to him."
Heather nervously pushed her hair back again. She remembered Gryph O'Connor's words about Ned being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Ms. Green, are you all right?" Dayton asked, staring at her.
Heather knew she must look pale. She could almost feel the blood draining from her face. "I can't believe this. I want the person responsible for Ned's death brought to justice."
"I was hoping you'd feel that way. I need to ask you for a favor."
"Of course. I'll do anything to help."
"If you hear of anything unusual, or find out anything that doesn't fit in with the normal pattern of operations there, will you let me know?"
"I'm not sure I know what that means, Detective, but I'll keep my eyes and ears open."
"Thank you, and Ms. Green...? A word of caution. Until now everyone was considered a suspect. I've contacted you because I'm personally and professionally certain you had no hand in Mr. Williamson's murder. But there are others about whom I'm not so certain. For your own safety, please keep this conversation to yourself."
"I understand."
Heather escorted the detective back to the door, closed it, then stared into space. She had heard the same words of warning from Gryph O'Connor. Why didn't I tell him
Only the monetary value you can assign to an object." He paused. "Not everything comes with an admission price such as those charged by your museum, Heather. There are things in this world best left alone. Those stones are sacred. They will be returned" He turned and walked into the darkness.
Heather stared after him and muttered to herself, "What's all this to…supposed to mean...power...outsider? And what in hell is my kind? That man isn't right!" She took a deep breath, picked up her belongings and drove away as fast as she could.
FIVE
The next morning, the doorbell rang. Heather looked through the peephole of her apartment door, recognized Detective Dayton and let him in.
"Hello, Ms. Green. I was in the neighborhood and took a chance on you being home. I hope you don't mind. I was wondering if we could talk?"
Despite the friendly tone, Heather knew his request to speak with her wasn't a question. "If it's about Ned Williamson, I'm afraid I don't know what else I can add," she said as she ushered him into her living room. She offered him coffee which he refused.
"There are one or two questions I'd like to ask you concerning Mr. Williamson's relationship with you.
Then I'll be on my way."
"How can I help?" Heather sat down, pushing her hair back from her face. She settled herself on the sofa while Detective Dayton sat in a matching arm chair across from her.
"According to some of the staff who work at the museum, you two were very close. I was wondering if you ever heard of Mr. Williamson having any enemies?"
"No, of course not. Ned was liked by everyone who knew him."
"There are indications Mr. Williamson may have known his killer. Of course, I'm telling you this in confidence. I'd like you to keep this information to yourself for the time being."
"You think someone at the museum may have...Oh, God," Heather whispered.
"Ms. Green, this is just a hunch. I'm only telling you this because you seem to be the one person closest to the victim.
At first, we thought the murder may have been random. One theory we had was that a junky had hidden in the museum looking for something to steal to get money for drugs. Nothing's missing from the displays. And the more we investigate, the more it appears that the guard walked in on someone familiar to him."
Heather nervously pushed her hair back again. She remembered Gryph O'Connor's words about Ned being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Ms. Green, are you all right?" Dayton asked, staring at her.
Heather knew she must look pale. She could almost feel the blood draining from her face. "I can't believe this. I want the person responsible for Ned's death brought to justice."
"I was hoping you'd feel that way. I need to ask you for a favor."
"Of course. I'll do anything to help."
"If you hear of anything unusual, or find out anything that doesn't fit in with the normal pattern of operations there, will you let me know?"
"I'm not sure I know what that means, Detective, but I'll keep my eyes and ears open."
"Thank you, and Ms. Green...? A word of caution. Until now everyone was considered a suspect. I've contacted you because I'm personally and professionally certain you had no hand in Mr. Williamson's murder. But there are others about whom I'm not so certain. For your own safety, please keep this conversation to yourself."
"I understand."
Heather escorted the detective back to the door, closed it, then stared into space. She had heard the same words of warning from Gryph O'Connor. Why didn't I tell him
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