“We’ve made calls to some of your father’s associates. I understand his behavior had become erratic since your mother’s death. He’d become withdrawn and obsessive in his studies, spending more and more time in Egypt—”
“He’s a bloody Egyptologist! You should be looking for him, not asking stupid questions!”
“Sadie,” he said, and I could hear in his voice that he was resisting the urge to strangle me. Strangely, I get this a lot from adults. “There are extremist groups in Egypt that object to Egyptian artifacts being kept in other countries’ museums. These people might have approached your father. Perhaps in his state, your father became an easy target for them. If you’ve heard him mention any names—”
I stormed past him to the window. I was so angry I could hardly think. I refused to believe Dad was dead. No, no, no. And a terrorist? Please. Why did adults have to be so thick? They always say “tell the truth,” and when you do, they don’t believe you. What’s the point?
I stared down at the dark street. Suddenly that cold tingly feeling got worse than ever. I focused on the dea
d tree where I’d met Dad earlier. Standing there now, in the dim light of a streetlamp, looking up at me, was the pudgy bloke in the black trench coat and the round glasses and the fedora—the man Dad had called Amos.
I suppose I should’ve felt threatened by an odd man staring up at me in the dark of night. But his expression was full of concern. And he looked so familiar. It was driving me mad that I couldn’t remember why.
Behind me, the inspector cleared his throat. “Sadie, no one blames you for the attack on the museum. We understand you were dragged into this against your will.”
I turned from the window. “Against my will? I chained the curator in his office.”
The inspector’s eyebrow started to creep up again. “Be that as it may, surely you didn’t understand what your father meant to do. Possibly your brother was involved?”
I snorted. “Carter? Please.”
“So you are determined to protect him as well. You consider him a proper brother, do you?”
I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to smack his face. “What’s that supposed to mean? Because he doesn’t look like me?”
The inspector blinked. “I only meant—”
“I know what you meant. Of course he’s my brother!”
Inspector Williams held up his hands apologetically, but I was still seething. As much as Carter annoyed me, I hated it when people assumed we weren’t related, or looked at my father askance when he said the three of us were a family—like we’d done something wrong. Stupid Dr. Martin at the museum. Inspector Williams. It happened every time Dad and Carter and I were together. Every bloody time.
“I’m sorry, Sadie,” the inspector said. “I only want to make sure we separate the innocent from the guilty. It will go much easier for everyone if you cooperate. Any information. Anything your father said. People he might’ve mentioned.”
“Amos,” I blurted out, just to see his reaction. “He met a man named Amos.”
Inspector Williams sighed. “Sadie, he couldn’t have done. Surely you know that. We spoke with Amos not one hour ago, on the phone from his home in New York.”
“He isn’t in New York!” I insisted. “He’s right—”
I glanced out the window and Amos was gone. Bloody typical.
“That’s not possible,” I said.
“Exactly,” the inspector said.
“But he was here!” I exclaimed. “Who is he? One of Dad’s colleagues? How did you know to call him?”
“Really, Sadie. This acting must stop.”
“Acting?”
The inspector studied me for a moment, then set his jaw as if he’d made a decision. “We’ve already had the truth from Carter. I didn’t want to upset you, but he told us everything. He understands there’s no point protecting your father now. You might as well help us, and there will be no charges against you.”
“You shouldn’t lie to children!” I yelled, hoping my voice carried all the way downstairs. “Carter would never say a word against Dad, and neither will I!”
The inspector didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed.
He crossed his arms. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Sadie. I’m afraid it’s time we went downstairs...to discuss consequences with your grandparents.”