"Crystal Skull" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacGregor Rob)

"That was M-A-Y-A dash 2, correct?" The clerk spoke in a syrupy Southern accent typical of Tallahassee natives. "Is that a personalized license?"
He tapped his pen impatiently against his notepad. "Yes, it is."
"Oh, no wonder I'm having trouble. That's another code. You'll have to excuse me. I'm new. One moment, please."
Yeah, and I'm getting old waiting. Anyone could call Tallahassee and obtain the name and address of a car's owner with only the Florida license number. But sometimes he wished it was more difficult. Oddly enough, if you had the contacts to expedite matters, privileged information was sometimes easier to obtain than so-called public documents, because you sidestepped bureaucratic procedures.
"Okay," she said a moment later. "The vehicle is registered to Elise Simms." She spelled both names for him, then gave him an address.
"Thank you, ma'am." He hung up, rubbed his ear, and stared at the name and address he'd jotted down.
She lived in Coconut Grove. No wonder "Monica" knew about the Chinese restaurant, he thought.
Maybe the license plate was just a coincidence and Elise Simms had nothing to do with the crystal skull and its disappearance. Maybe she played tourist to fulfill some fantasy, or she was married and used a false name when she met someone new. Or she was an heiress and got her kicks slumming on South Beach. Then again, maybe she was like the girl in the photo -- shrouded, but right at the center and staring intently at him. If that was the case, he wanted to find out everything he could about her.
He lifted his reverse directory from a metal bookshelf and laid the twenty-pound tome on his desk. He'd paid $150 for it three years ago, and it had paid for itself many times over. He paged through it until he found the address. The entry listed Stephen and Elise Simms as the owners of the property. It also gave their occupations. He was listed as a lawyer, and she was an archaeology professor.
He lugged the directory back to the shelf. Monica, or rather Elise, was getting more interesting by the moment. He picked up his phone and dialed information. "Florida International University, please. Archaeology Department." He was assuming she and Professor Redington were campus colleagues.
"One moment. Checking under FIU, I don't see any Archaeology Department."
"How about Anthropology?"
"Thank you." A recorded voice gave him the number, and he quickly dialed it.
"Do you have an Elise Simms teaching there?" he asked the receptionist.
"No. Are you sure you have the right department?"
"Is there any other university in the area that would have an archaeologist on its teaching staff?"
"The University of Miami has an Anthropology Department. You might try there."
A moment later he had the number, dialed it, and asked for Elise Simms.
"She's not in. Would you like to leave a message?"
"That's okay. Could you just tell me what her specialization is?"
"Of course. She specializes in Mayan studies."
He hung up, walked over to his bedroom closet, and pulled out the suit coat he'd worn the day of his visit to the museum. He reached in the right-hand pocket and smiled as he felt the booklet the guard had given him. He flipped through it and on the back page found what he was looking for. His investigation of William Redington was going to have to wait. Finding out everything he could about Elise Simms was more important. She was listed as a consultant to the exhibit, and he damn well knew that somehow she was entwined with Loften's murder and the theft of the skull.
He spent his afternoon at the courthouse. It was a familiar routine for him, going through huge ledger books of county property records and viewing microfiche documents of civil and criminal records. He found out the Coconut Grove house was valued at $245,000 and the property was now listed solely in her name. She'd been to court in Dade County once, to get a divorce.
He walked down the hall to the marriage and divorce records office and asked for the file on the case. In some of his cases, courthouse checks had yielded mother lodes of suspicious evidence. Once he'd discovered that a bereaved husband who was suing over his wife's fatal accident had filed for divorce a week before the accident, and had withdrawn the divorce procedure the day after the accident and two days before his wife died from the injuries.
In another case, a man claimed that his car slipped out of park on an incline and pinned him against a wall, causing multiple fractures to one of his legs. Pierce's record check uncovered three arrests for check-kiting schemes and one for insurance fraud. Besides that, a half-dozen subcontractors had sued his construction firm. Two days after the information was presented to the defense attorney, the case was dropped. One of the insurance company's attorneys told Pierce that the information he'd obtained would have made it impossible to convince a jury that the man had actually set his car in park.
When the file arrived, he went through it page by page. Even though there was no transcript for the case, he learned a variety of details about Elise Simms's life from the documents that had been filed. She had been raised in Guatemala, the daughter of an archaeologist, and after marrying Stephen Simms, had lived in Chicago and taught at a university until moving to Miami six years ago.
She'd filed for the divorce, and he'd opposed it. She claimed he was obsessed with weight lifting and took steroids. The drugs made him abusive when he was on them, and sexually impotent when he wasn't. He also hated to travel and refused to go to Guatemala with her or even visit her while she was involved in fieldwork at Mayan sites. In the end, she'd been awarded the house in the settlement.
The ex-husband might prove worthwhile later, he decided. But first he wanted to confront Simms in person. He'd drive over to the Grove tonight and arrive unannounced. He couldn't wait to see the expression on her face.
As he left the courthouse a few minutes later, he decided to make one more stop. The library was just a few blocks from the courthouse, and unless she'd changed her schedule, Tina would be still be there. When he arrived, he took the stairs. Her office was located on the top floor, five flights of stairs, ninety-six steps. Pierce's best time was twenty-eight seconds. Today, however, with his head still recovering from its recent blow, he took his time.
Tina was on the phone when he reached her glass-walled office. He tapped on the door, and she glanced briefly at him, signaled him to enter. He made his way between two metal carts stacked with books and stepped over a cardboard box. Somehow, she managed to work amid the clutter.
She hung up and looked him over with an appraising eye -- as if he were here to apply for a job or had been caught stealing books. He knew it was her way of saying she hadn't seen him for a while. He simply smiled and looked her over, too. She wore a deep red blouse with a high collar, and matching ruby lipstick. Her thick black hair fell over her shoulders, but didn't hide the half-dozen gold chains that dangled from her neck.
"How is your head?" she finally asked.
"Better."
"Good. Let me guess. You want me to look something up."
"That's your job, right?"
"Yeah. That is my job," she said in a weary tone. "What is it now?"
"You having a bad day?"
"I have had better ones."
"When you get a chance, I'd like you to look for any published works by a William Redington or Elise Simms. He's psychology; she's archaeology. I'm especially looking for anything about a crystal skull."
She jotted down the names. "Does this have something to do with that murder at the museum?"
"Tina, I didn't think cross-examining library patrons was part of your job."
She dropped her pen on the desk. "I want to know about it."
He folded his arms over his chest, and regarded her a moment. "Ray Andrews hired me. It was his money."
"Raymond? I am surprised he even talks to you after you double crossed him."
"I didn't double cross anyone," he said testily. "I was the one who lost the clients, not Ray."
"Well, if it was not for him..."
"Yeah, yeah. That's enough, Tina."
"Just do not offend him this time, all right?"
He placed his hands on the edge of her desk and leaned over. "You going to help me or not?"
"Of course, I am. Let me see your head."