The Keepsake: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

remember.
    “It’s time to talk about Madam X,” he said. “And what you may really be dealing with.”
    “How much do you know?”
    “I know you have three linked deaths.”
    “We don’t know they’re linked.”
    “Three victims, all preserved in grotesque ways? That’s a rather unique signature.”
    “I haven’t done the autopsy on the third victim, so I can’t tell you anything about her. Not even how she was preserved.”
    “I’m told it wasn’t a classic mummification.”
    “If by
classic
you mean salted, dried, and wrapped, no, it wasn’t.”
    “Her features are relatively intact?”
    “Yes. Remarkably so. But her tissues still retain moisture. I’ve never autopsied a body like this one. I’m not even sure how to keep her preserved in her current state.”
    “What about the owner of the car? She’s an archaeologist, isn’t she? Does she have any idea how the body was preserved?”
    “I didn’t speak to her. From what Jane told me, the woman was pretty shaken up.”
    He set down his coffee cup and his gaze was so direct it almost felt like an assault. “What do you know about Dr. Pulcillo?”
    “Why are you asking about her?”
    “Because she works for them, Maura.”
    “Them?”
    “The Crispin Museum.”
    “You make it sound like a malevolent institution.”
    “You agreed to view the CT scan. You were part of that media circus they organized around Madam X. You must have known what you were getting into.”
    “The curator invited me to observe. He didn’t tell me there
would
be a media circus. He just thought I’d be interested in watching the scan, and of course I was.”
    “And you didn’t know anything about the museum when you agreed to participate?”
    “I visited the Crispin a few years ago. It’s a quirky collection but it’s worth seeing. It’s not that different from a number of other private museums I’ve visited, founded by wealthy families who want to show off their collections.”
    “The Crispins are something of a special family.”
    “What makes them special?”
    He sat down in the chair across from her so their gazes were level. “The fact that no one really knows where they came from.”
    “Does it matter?”
    “It’s a bit curious, don’t you think? The first Crispin on record was Cornelius, who surfaced in Boston in 1850. He claimed to be a titled Englishman.”
    “You’re implying it wasn’t true.”
    “There’s no record of him in England. Or anywhere else, for that matter. He simply materialized on the scene one day, and was said to be a handsome man of great charm. He married well and proceeded to build his wealth. He and his descendants were collectors and tireless travelers, and they brought home curiosities from every continent. There were the usual items—carvings and burial goods and animal specimens. But what Cornelius and his family seemed especially interested in were weapons. Every variety of weapon used by armies around the world. It was an appropriate interest of theirs, considering how their fortune was made.”
    “How?”
    “Wars, Maura. Ever since Cornelius, they’ve been profiteers. He became wealthy during the Civil War, running weapons to the South. His descendants continued the tradition, profiting from conflicts all over the world, from Africa to Asia to the Middle East. They made a secret pact with Hitler to provide weapons for his troops, and simultaneously armed the Allied forces. In China, they supplied both the Nationalist and the Communist armies. Their merchandise ended up in Algiers and Lebanon and the Belgian Congo. It didn’t matter who was fighting whom. They didn’t take sides; they just took the money. As long as blood was being shed somewhere, they stood to make a profit.”
    “How is this relevant to the investigation?”
    “I just want you to understand the background of this institution, and what kind of legacy it carries. The Crispin Museum was paid for with blood. When you walk through that building, every gold coin you see, every piece of pottery, was paid for by a war somewhere. It’s a foul place, Maura, built by a family that hid its past. A family whose roots we’ll never know.”
    “I know where you’re going with this. You’re going to tell me the Crispins have a demonic bloodline. That they’re descended from the biblical Nephilim.” She shook her head and laughed.
    “Please. Not the Dead Sea Scrolls again.”
    “Why do you think Madam X ended up in that