The Cabinet of Curiosities

Smithback stood up, waved. Mary Hill ignored him.

“Ms. Perez of New York magazine. Your question, please.”

“I have a question for Dr. Collopy of the Museum. Sir, do you think the killer known as the Surgeon is a Museum employee? Given that the most recent victim seems to have been killed and dissected in the Museum, I mean.”

Collopy cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I believe the police are looking into that,” he said in a well-modulated voice. “It seems highly unlikely. All our employees now go through criminal background checks, are psychologically profiled, and are thoroughly drug-tested. And it hasn’t been proven that the killing actually took place in the Museum, I might add.”

There was another roar as Hill looked for more questions. Smithback shouted and waved his hands along with the rest. Christ, they weren’t really going to ignore him?

“Mr. Diller of Newsday, your question please.”

She was avoiding him, the witch.

“I’d like to address my question to the mayor. Mr. Mayor, how is it that the site on Catherine Street was ‘inadvertently’ destroyed? Wasn’t this a site of major historical importance?”

The mayor stepped forward. “No. It was not of historical significance—”

“No historical significance? The largest serial killing in the nation’s history?”

“Mr. Diller, this press conference is about the present-day homicides. Please, let’s not conflate the two. We had no legal reason to stop construction of a hundred-million-dollar building. The bones and effects were photographed, studied by the medical examiner, and removed for further analysis. Nothing more could be done.”

“Is it perhaps because Moegen-Fairhaven is a major donor to your campaign—”

“Next question,” rapped out Hill.

Smithback stood up and shouted, “Mr. Mayor, since aspersions have been cast—”

“Ms. Epstein of WNBC,” cried Mary Hill, her powerful voice drowning him out. A slender newswoman stood up, holding a mike, a camera turned on her.

“Excuse ME!” Smithback quickly took advantage of the temporary lull. “Ms. Epstein, since I have been personally attacked, may I respond?”

The famous anchorwoman didn’t pause for a second. “Of course,” she said graciously, and turned to her cameraman to make sure he got it on tape.

“I’d like to address my question to Mr. Brisbane,” Smithback continued, not pausing for a second. “Mr. Brisbane, why has the letter that started all this been put off limits, along with all the items from the Shottum collection? The Museum isn’t trying to hide something, is it?”

Brisbane rose with an easy smile. “Not at all. Those materials have merely been temporarily removed for conservation. It’s standard Museum procedure. In any case, the letter has already inflamed one copycat murderer into action—to release it now would be irresponsible. The materials are still available to qualified researchers.”

“Is it not true that you tried to prevent employees from working on the case?”

“Not at all. We’ve cooperated all along. The record speaks for itself.”

Shit. Smithback thought fast. “Mr. Brisbane—”

“Mr. Smithback, care to give someone else a turn?” Mary Hill’s voice once again sliced through the air.

“No!” Smithback cried, to scattered laughter. “Mr. Brisbane, isn’t it true that Moegen-Fairhaven, which gave the Museum two million dollars last year—not to mention the fact that Fairhaven himself sits on your board—has put pressure on the Museum to stop this investigation?”

Brisbane colored and Smithback knew his question had hit home. “That is an irresponsible allegation. As I said, we’ve cooperated all along—”

“So you deny threatening your employee, Dr. Nora Kelly, forbidding her to work on the case? Keep in mind, Mr. Brisbane, that we have yet to hear from Nora Kelly herself. The one who found the third victim’s body, I might add—and who was chased by the Surgeon and almost killed in turn.”

The clear implication was that Nora Kelly might have something to say that would not agree with Brisbane’s account. Brisbane’s face darkened as he realized he’d been backed into a corner. “I will not answer these hectoring questions.” Beside him, Collopy looked grim.

Smithback felt a swell of triumph.

“Mister Smithback,” said Mary Hill acidly, “are you quite done monopolizing this press conference? Clearly the nineteenth-century homicides have nothing to do with the current serial killings, except as inspiration.”

“And how do you know that?” Smithback cried out, his triumph now secure.

The mayor now turned to him. “Are you suggesting, sir,” he said facetiously, “that Dr. Leng is still alive and continuing his business?”

There was a solid round of laughter in the hall.

“Not at all—”

“Then I suggest you sit down, my friend.”

Smithback sat down, amid more laughter, his feelings of triumph squashed. He had scored a hit, but they knew how to hit back.