“No shit… but I don’t think it was anything more sinister than a simple cataloging error. Edward Cope has probably been missing from UPenn ever since Beanie Babies and fanny packs were cool. Which means he wasn’t on display. Storage, most likely. Maybe no one at UPenn had reason to even suspect he wasn’t in his assigned box.” I pointed at the laid-out photographs. “But why the hell was Dover bringing him on a sightseeing trip?”
“Always use the buddy system when traveling.”
I considered a plastic bin of wall mounts to the side of the table before suggesting, “I don’t think he was prepping these for a show. It looks like he was working on layouts for a book.”
“At least it’s unique subject matter for a coffee-table display,” Quinn said with a shake of her head.
“It might explain why he can afford this place on a teaching salary. A nice advance from a New York publishing house,” I explained. “Try checkingPublishers Weekly. You might find confirmation of a contract and an agent to reach out to for details. Plus, if news like that is public, Rossi could have easily learned about it….” I tapped my chin with my magnifying glass. “He could have come here looking for the skull, thinking Dover still had it after all this time….”
Quinn raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I griped. “You wanted me to do the thing—I’m doing the thing.”
“All right. Anything else?”
I straightened my hunched position and winced as my back and shoulder popped. “It might be worth looking into exactlywhyDover gave up his photojournalism career. Pilfering UPenn of its famous paleontologist head might have put a bad taste in his industry’s mouth, you know? It would at least explain—” I stopped abruptly.
“Explain?” Quinn prodded.
“Stuff,” I muttered before hastily squeezing between her and the wall.
“That’s real fucking helpful. Thanks.” Quinn turned to follow my line of motion. “What’re you doing?”
I pushed in a workbench and walked to the far, heavily shelved wall opposite us. Right there, dead center, staring at me with empty and dark orbital sockets—
Edward Drinker Cope.
Chapter Fourteen
“ARE YOUsure it’s arealskull?” Neil’s voice asked over speakerphone.
“No, Neil,” I snapped. “I can’t tell the difference between human bone and polyresin.”
“Millett,” Quinn warned. “If you get him started on the history of mourning masks or some shit, I will find you.” She had her eyes on the road while driving, but still pointed emphatically at my phone while speaking.
I sat shotgun, holding the head portion of Cope in one hand and his mandible in the other. “A special stationery was necessary to use for those in mourning during the Victorian era,” I replied. “The envelope and notepaper were lined in black, and a gradient was used to signify—”
Quinn and Neil both moaned simultaneously.
“You know,” I started, motioning at Quinn with the jaw, “one day I won’t be around anymore, and then where will you be? Bored as hell.”
“With significantly more headspace available,” Neil said from the phone resting on my thigh.
Quinn glanced sideways. “Stop waving that at me.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I lowered the bone. “Neil, if you’re going to admit that I’m smart, believe me when I tell you this skull is the real deal.” I dug out my magnifying glass again, brought the head closer, and studied inside the socket. “There’s a serial number etched into the bone.”
“UPenn would be able to confirm it’s theirs,” Neil muttered.
I stuck the handle of the magnifying glass between my teeth and ran my fingertip around the smooth bone of the eye socket. “Eeeil?”
“What?” he asked.
“Id oou et—”
“Oh my God. Sebastian, whatever is in your mouth, spit it out,” he murmured with an overwhelming sense of restrained tension.
I dropped the magnifying glass onto my lap. “Did you ever get the ME’s report for the body parts?”
