pdouglas.thecodex-第2节

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　〃That　must　be　what　this　mysterious　meeting's　all　about；〃　Vernon　said。
　Philip　nodded　and　mopped　his　brow　with　a　silk　handkerchief。　〃I　must　be　tired　from　the　flight。　Vernon；　you're　right。　Of　course　they've　been　packing。　But　what　a　mess　they've　made　of　it。　When　Father　sees　this　he's　going　to　have　a　fit。〃
　There　was　a　silence　as　all　three　sons　stood　in　the　shrubbery　looking　at　each　other。　Tom's　own　sense　of　unease　had　reached　a　high　pitch。　If　their　father　was　moving；　it　was　a　strange　way　to　go　about　it。
　Philip　took　the　pipe　out　of　his　mouth。　〃What　say；　do　you　think　this　is　another　one　of　his　little　challenges　to　us？　Some　little　puzzle？〃
　〃I'm　going　to　break　in；〃　Tom　said。
　〃The　alarm。〃
　〃The　hell　with　the　alarm。〃
　Tom　went　around　to　the　back　of　the　house；　his　brothers　following。　He　climbed　over　a　wall　into　a　small　enclosed　garden　with　a　fountain。　There　was　a　bedroom　window　at　eye　level。　Tom　wrestled　a　rock　out　of　the　raised　flower…bed　wall。　He　brought　it　to　the　window；　positioned　himself；　and　hefted　it　to　his　shoulder。
　〃Are　you　really　going　to　smash　the　window？〃　said　Philip。　〃How　sporting。〃
　Tom　heaved　the　rock；　and　it　went　crashing　through　the　window。　As　the　tinkling　of　glass　subsided　they　all　waited；　listening。
　Silence。
　〃No　alarm；〃　said　Philip。
　Tom　shook　his　head。　〃I　don't　like　this。〃
　Philip　stared　through　the　broken　window；　and　Tom　could　see　a　sudden　thought　blooming　on　his　face。　Philip　cursed　and　in　a　flash　had　vaulted　through　the　broken　windowframe…wingtips；　pipe；　and　all。
　Vernon　looked　at　Tom。　〃What's　with　him？〃
　Without　answering；　Tom　climbed　through　the　window。　Vernon　followed。
　The　bedroom　was　like　the　rest　of　the　house…stripped　of　all　art。　It　was　a　mess：　dirty　footprints　on　the　carpet；　trash；　strips　of　packing　tape；　bubble　wrap；　and　packing　popcorn；　along　with　nails　and　the　sawed　butt　ends　of　lumber。　Tom　went　to　the　hall。　The　view　disclosed　more　bare　walls　where　he　remembered　a　Picasso；　another　Braque；　and　a　pair　of　Mayan　stelae。　Gone；　all　gone。
　With　a　rising　feeling　of　panic　he　ventured　down　the　hall；　stopping　at　the　archway　to　the　living　room。　Philip　was　there；　standing　in　the　middle　of　the　room；　looking　about；　his　face　absolutely　white。　〃I　told　him　again　and　again　this　would　happen。　He　was　so　bloody　careless；　keeping　all　this　stuff　here。　So　damn　bloody　careless。〃
　〃What？〃　Vernon　cried；　alarmed。　〃What　is　it；　Philip？　What's　happened？〃
　Philip　said；　his　agonized　voice　barely　above　a　whisper；　〃We've　been　robbed！〃
　
　2

　Detective　Lieutenant　Hutch　Barnaby　of　the　Santa　Fe　Police　Department　placed　a　hand　on　his　bony　chest　and　kicked　back　in　his　chair。　He　raised　a　fresh　cup　of　Starbucks　to　his　lips；　the　tenth　one　of　the　day。　The　aroma　of　the　bitter　roast　filled　his　hooked　nose　as　he　looked　out　the　window　to　the　lone　cottonwood　tree。　A　beautiful　spring　day　in　Santa　Fe；　New　Mexico；　United　States　of　America；　he　thought；　as　he　folded　his　long　limbs　deeper　into　the　chair。　April　15。　The　Ides　of　April。　Tax　Return　Day。　Everyone　was　home　counting　their　money；　sobered　up　by　thoughts　of　mortality　and　penury。　Even　the　criminals　took　the　day　off。
　He　sipped　the　coffee　with　a　huge　feeling　of　contentment。　Except　for　the　faint　ringing　of　a　phone　in　the　outer　office；　life　was　good。
　He　heard；　at　the　edges　of　consciousness；　the　petent　voice　of　Doreen　answering　the　phone。　Her　crisp　vowels　floated　in　through　the　open　door：　〃Hold　on；　excuse　me；　could　you　speak　a　little　slower？　I'll　get　you　the　sergeant…〃
　Barnaby　drowned　out　the　conversation　with　a　noisy　sip　of　coffee　and　extended　his　foot　to　his　office　door；　giving　it　a　little　nudge　shut。　Blessed　silence　returned。　He　waited。　And　then　it　came：　the　knock。
　Damn　that　phone　call。
　Barnaby　placed　his　coffee　on　the　desk　and　rose　slightly　from　his　slouched　position。　〃Yes？〃
　Sergeant　Harry　Fenton　opened　the　door；　a　keen　look　on　his　face。　Fenton　was　never　one　to　like　a　slow　day。　The　look　was　enough　to　tell　Barnaby　that　something　big　had　just　e　down。
　〃Hutch？〃
　〃Hmmm？〃
　Fenton　went　on；　breathlessly。　〃The　Broadbent　place　was　robbed。　I　got　one　of　the　sons　on　the　phone　now。〃
　Hutch　Barnaby　didn't　move　a　muscle。　〃Robbed　of　what？〃
　〃Everything。〃　Fenton's　black　eyes　glittered　with　relish。
　Barnaby　sipped　his　coffee；　sipped　again；　and　then　lowered　his　chair　to　the　floor　with　a　small　clunk。　Damn。
　As　Barnaby　and　Fenton　drove　out　the　Old　Santa　Fe　Trail；　Fenton　talked　about　the　robbery。　The　collection；　he'd　heard；　was　worth　half　a　billion。　If　the　truth　were　anything　close　to　that；　Fenton　said；　it　would　be　front…page…New…York…Times。　He；　Fenton；　on　the　front　page　of　the　Times。　Can　you　imagine　that？
　Barnaby　could　not　imagine　it。　But　he　said　nothing。　He　was　used　to　Fenton's　enthusiasms。　He　stopped　at　the　end　of　the　winding　driveway　that　led　up　to　the　Broadbent　aerie。　Fenton　climbed　out　the　other　side；　his　face　shining　with　anticipation；　his　head　forward；　his　huge　hatchet　nose　leading　the　way。　As　they　walked　up　the　road；　Hutch　scanned　the　ground。　He　could　see　the　blurred　tracks　of　a　semi；　ing　and　going。　They　had　e　in　bold　as　brass。　So　either　Broadbent　was　away　or　they　had　killed　him…more　likely　the　latter。　They'd　probably　find　Broadbent's　stiff　in　the　house。
　The　road　went　around　a　corner　and　leveled　out；　and　a　pair　of　open　gates　came　into　view；　guarding　a　sprawling　adobe　mansion　set　among　a　vast　lawn　dotted　with　cottonwoods。　He　paused　to　examine　the　gate。　It　was　a　mechanical　gate　with　two　motors。　It　didn't　show　any　signs　of　having　been　forced；　but　the　electrical　box　was　open；　and　inside　he　could　see　a　key。　He　knelt　and　examined　it。　The　key　was　in　a　lock；　which　had　been　turned　to　deactivate　the　gate。
　He　turned　to　Fenton。　〃What　do　you　make　of　that？〃
　〃Drove　a　semi　up　here；　had　a　key　to　the　gate…these　guys　were　professional。　We're　probably　going　to　find　Broadbent's　cadaver　in　the　house；　you　know。〃
　〃That's　why　I　like　you；　Fenton。　You're　my　second　brain。〃
　He　heard　a　shout　and　glanced　up　to　see　three　men　crossing　the　lawn；　ing　toward　him。　The　kids；　walking　right　across　the　lawn。
　Barnaby　rose　in　a　fury。　〃Jesus　Christ！　Don't　you　know　this　is　a　crime　scene！〃
　The　others　halted；　but　the　lead　character；　a　tall　man　in　a　suit；　kept　ing。　〃And　who　might　you　be？〃　His　voice　was　cool；　supercilious。
　〃I'm　Detective　Lieutenant　Hutchinson　Barnaby；〃　he　said；　〃and　Sergeant　Harry　Fenton。　Santa　Fe　Police　Department。〃
　Fenton　flashed　them　a　quick　smile　that　did　little　more　than　bare　his　teeth。
　〃You　the　sons？〃
　〃We　are；〃　said　the　suit。
　Fenton　gave　them　another　feral　twitch　of　his　lips。
　Barnaby　took　a　moment　to　look　them　over　as　potential　suspects。　The　hippie　in　hemp　had　an　honest；　open　face；　maybe　not　the　brightest　bulb　in　the　store　but　no　robber。　The　one　in　cowboy　boots　had　real　horseshit　on　the　boots；　Barnaby　noted　with　respect。　And　then　there　was　the　guy　in　the　suit；　who　looked　like　he　was　from　New　York。　As　far　as　Hutch　Barnaby　was　concerned　anyone　from　New　York　was　a　potential　murderer。　Even　the　grandmothers。　He　scanned　them　again：　Three　more　different　brothers　could　not　be　imagined。　Odd　how　that　could　happen　in　a　single　family。
　〃This　is　a　crime　scene；　so　I'm　going　to　have　to　ask　you　gentlemen　to　leave　the　premises。　Go　out　through　the　gate　and　go　stand　under　a　tree　or　something　and　wait　for　me。　I'll　be　out　in　about　twenty　minutes　to　talk　to　you。　Okay？　Please　don't　wander　around；　don't　touch　anything；　and　don't　talk　to　each　other　about　the　crime　or　what　you've　observed。〃
　He　turned；　and　then　as　an　afterthought　turned　back。　〃The　whole　collection　is　missing？〃
　〃That's　what　I　said　on　the　phone；〃　said　the　suit。
　〃How　much…ballpark…was　it　worth？〃
　〃About　five　hundred　million。〃
　Barnaby　touched　the　rim　of　his　hat　and　glanced　at　Fenton。　The　look　of　naked　pleasure　on　Fenton's　face　was　enough　to　scare　a　pimp。
　As　Barnaby　walked　toward　the　house　he　considered　that　he　had　better　be　careful…there　was　going　to　be　a　lot　of　second…guessing　on　this　one。　The　Feds；　Interpol；　God　knows　who　else　would　be　involved。　He　figured　a　quick　look　around　before　the　crime…lab　people　arrived　would　be　in　order。　He　hooked　his　thumbs　into　his　belt　and　gazed　at　the　house。　He　wondered　if　the　collection　had　been　insured。　That　would　bear　some　looking　into。　If　so；　maybe　Maxwell　Broadbent　wasn't　quite　so　dead　after　all。　Maybe　Maxwell　Broadbent　was　sipping　margaritas　with　some　piece　of　ass　on　a　beach　in　Phuket。
　〃I　wonder　if　Broadbent　was　insured？〃　asked　Fenton。
　Hutch　grinned　at　his　partner；　then　looked　back　at　the　place。　He　looked　at　the　broken　window；　the　confusion　of　footsteps　on　the　gravel；　the　trampled　shrubbery。　The　fresh　tracks　were　the　sons'；　but　there　were　a　lot　of　older　traces　here　as　well。　He　could　see　where　the　moving　van　had　parked；　where　it　had　laboriously　backed　around。　It　looked　as　if　a　week　or　two　had　passed　since　the　robbery。
　The　important　thing　was　to　find　the　body…if　there　was　one。　He　stepped　inside　the　house。　He　looked　around　at　the　packing　tape；　bubble　wrap；　nails；　discarded　pieces　of　wood。　There　was　sawdust　on　the　rug　and　faint　depressions。　They　had　actually　set　up　a　table　saw。　It　had　been　an　exceptionally　petent　piece　of　work。　Noisy；　too。　These　people　not　only　knew　what　they　were　doing；　but　they　had　taken　the　time　to　do　it　right。　He