Free The Mask of Atreus by A. J. Hartley Page B

to look at him again?"
    She hated saying it, hated sounding weak and emotional, hated the look of confusion in his eyes.
    "No," he said, his face clearing. "I didn't mean Mr. Dixon. Your identification of his body is done. I meant the other body. The John Doe. The Greek guy."
    Strange, she thought, as she nodded and followed him to his car, that the idea of looking at a dead body could bring such relief. Strange that someone else, this other man's daughter, perhaps, would have felt for this unknown Greek body the same as she did for Richard's. The thought stayed with her as they drove, parked, and walked through the blank, institutional hallways of the county coroner's office. She avoided people's eyes, hung back as Cerniga muttered explanations, followed in silence as they went into the basement with its bare pipes, painted concrete block walls, and its sterile, echoing passages. She had never been inside a morgue before but had seen plenty in movies and TV crime shows, so the place felt strangely familiar in spite of its drawers of corpses. It was so exactly as she had expected that it would be, in fact, that she felt a curious thrill of satisfaction, like she was meeting a 67
    T h e M a s k o f A t r e u s
    celebrity whose face she had known for years. The feeling evaporated as soon as the young assistant in his rectangular glasses unveiled the body itself.
    He was old, seventy perhaps, heavyset, his body mounding under the synthetic sheet. His eyes were closed and sunken, but she knew that if they were to open, they would be bright and intense and would watch her as she crossed the parking lot.
    "Yes," she said. "I've seen him around the last few days. Three days, maybe. He spoke, but I didn't understand him, and he wasn't really talking to me. Just, you know . . . muttering."
    "I guess you wouldn't understand him if he was speaking Greek," said Cerniga.
    "Not Greek," said the guy in the glasses. "Preliminary translation says his effects were in Russian. It uses some of the same letters as Greek, I guess."
    "That probably means he's not connected to the treasure,"
    said Cerniga, frowning.
    "Treasure?" said the assistant, perking up.
    Cerniga ignored him for a moment, then said, "Can we see his effects?"
    "Sure," said the assistant, giving Deborah a searching look. He was still thinking about that preposterous word that Cerniga had dropped so casually: treasure.
    "You should check into a hotel," said Cerniga, to fill the silence the assistant left in his wake. "Just to be on the safe side." He let the words hang in the air and then added more gently, "Consider it a holiday."
    A holiday. Like she'd won it. She couldn't imagine anything she wanted less right now. But maybe it was better for her to be away, rather than sitting on the museum's doorstep loitering . . .
    . . . powerless . . .
    . . . waiting for permission to do her job. Another five seconds of thoughtful silence, and the decision was made.
    "OK," she said. "I'll look for somewhere to stay."
    68
    A. J. Hartley
    "Quietly," he said. She blinked, then nodded, face blank. The assistant returned with a tray of bagged items and a printed list of their contents. He tipped the bags out. There was no wallet or anything resembling official documents. There was a toothbrush which looked new, a lapel pin shaped like a shield, an envelope addressed in Russian, and a single sheet of torn and stained paper, overwritten in a spidery scrawl in black ink. It looked like part of a letter.
    "There was more of that," said the assistant. "But it was . . . damaged. "
    He gave Deborah a quick, awkward look, then returned his gaze to the tray.
    Blood-soaked, she thought. This was all they could save.
    "Do we have a translation?" said Cerniga.
    "Not yet. There's not much that's still legible," said the assistant, checking the printout. He picked up the badge, which was in red, green, and gold enamel with the image of a soldier with a machine gun and Cyrillic lettering around the edge. At