Neil put a hand up as if to sayhold that thought. He walked to the main door of the bathroom, opened it, made a come-hither motion, then stepped back as Quinn walked inside. Neil threw the dead bolt, securing us in the men’s room and keeping out any prying eyes or ears.
Quinn gave me one look and shook her head. She held her winter coat in one hand, the other resting on her hip. “Your ability to show up in all the wrong places should be considered an Olympic sport.”
“Sebastian was called in by Wainwright too,” Neil supplied.
“It’s protocol,” she said. “You’re not a suspect.”
“But Iama person of interest,” I said. “Wainwright suggested my hospital bills are a financial strain I can’t handle. He not-so-tactfully suggested I could have easily set this dumpster fire myself in order to have a viable outlet in which to steal an expensive artifact.”
Quinn scrunched up her face. “Let me see if I understand. In Wainwright’s version of the story, you’re the Collector. And you exchange an artifact with yourself for Calvin’s safe return?”
“Basically,” I answered. “I’m an antique dealer, so I can find the item of interest, Calvin will miraculously come back safe, and then I’ll fucking sell it on the black market for cash.”
Neil shook his head. “He was trying to get a rise out of you.”
“Well, it worked!” I snapped. Before Neil could get his next word out, I added, “Don’t tell me to calm down. It’s bad enough he’s suggesting I’d hurt Calvin. But being accused of dirty business practices is like being punched in the dick after I’m already on the floor.” I took my sunglasses off, closed my eyes, and pinched the bridge of my nose. “No one islisteningto me.”
Neil said, quite low, “We are.”
I hadn’t realized how badly I’d needed those words said to me.
My eyes still closed and head down, I muttered, “This is usually when Calvin lets me bounce ideas off him. Where he gives in to my sleuthing enough for it to be of some use to him.”
“So start bouncing,” Neil replied. I heard him pull the sleeve of his coat back to check his watch again. “You’ve got three minutes.”
“Any additional factoids will need to be the abridged version,” Quinn added.
“I have three sets of suspects,” I said.
“Three?” Quinn repeated warily.
I put my sunglasses on and looked at her. “First—Dr. Logan Thyne, head curator of the paleontology department at the Museum of Natural History, and accomplice, Angela London, who was recently fired from said division.”
“Reasoning?” Quinn asked. She was all business now.
“Frank Newell’s upcoming exhibit on the Bone Wars was set to feature the actual skull of famed paleontologist Edward Drinker Cope. Thyne was against the skull being on display, and Angela was let go for possibly attempting to steal? The details are a bit murky.”
“Is that the skull referenced in the Collector’s notes?” Quinn asked.
I made a shaking motion with my hands. “The Magic 8 Ball says… all signs point to yes.”
“What’s the skull worth?” Neil asked.
“See, you always ask me that,” I replied, indicating toward him, “when I’mnotholding an antique in my hands to appraise.”
“Ballpark it,” he growled.
“Zero dollars.A million dollars. It’s a human skull, Neil. It’ll go for whatever someone is willing to pay.” I held up two fingers. “Second—Marc and Ellen.”
“Who?” That was Neil.
“Calvin’s brother and sister?” Quinn spoke over him.
They both looked at each other.
“It’s a bit of a long shot—” I started.
“It’s a fucking tinfoil-hat theory,” Quinn corrected.
