The Cabinet of Curiosities

O’SHAUGHNESSY FOLLOWED PENDERGAST up the red-carpeted steps toward the Museum’s great bronze doors, convinced that every eye in the place was on him. He felt like a jerk in his policeman’s uniform. He let his hand drop idly to the butt of his gun, and felt gratified as a nearby tuxedoed man gave him a decidedly nervous glance. He further consoled himself with the thought that he was getting time and a half for this dog-and-pony show—and time and a half from Captain Custer was nothing to sneeze at.

Cars were lining up along Museum Drive, disgorging beautiful and not-so-beautiful people. Velvet ropes held back a small, disconsolate-looking group of photographers and journalists. The flashes of the photographers’ cameras were few and far between. A van with the logo of a local television station was already packing up and leaving.

“This opening for the new Primate Hall is rather smaller than others I’ve attended,” said Pendergast as he glanced around. “Party fatigue, I expect. The Museum’s been having so many these days.”

“Primates? All these people are interested in monkeys?”

“I expect most of them are here to observe the primates outside the exhibition cases.”

“Very funny.”

They passed through the doors and across the Great Rotunda. Until two days ago, O’Shaughnessy hadn’t been inside the Museum since he was a kid. But there were the dinosaurs, just like they’d always been. And beyond, the herd of elephants. The red carpet and velvet ropes led them onward, deeper into the building. Smiling young ladies were positioned along the way, pointing, nodding, indicating where to go. Very nice young ladies. O’Shaughnessy decided that another visit to the Museum, when he wasn’t on duty, might be in order.

They wound through the African Hall, past a massive doorway framed in elephant tusks, and entered a large reception area. Countless little tables, set with votive candles, dotted the room. A vast buffet heaped with food ran along one wall, bookended by two well-stocked booze stations. A podium had been placed at the far end of the room. In a nearby corner, a string quartet sawed industriously at a Viennese waltz. O’Shaughnessy listened with incredulity. They were appalling. But at least it wasn’t Puccini they were butchering.

The room was almost empty.

At the door stood a manic-looking man, a large name tag displayed below his white carnation. He spotted Pendergast, rushed over, and seized his hand with almost frantic gratitude. “Harry Medoker, head of public relations. Thank you for coming, sir, thank you. I think you’ll love the new hall.”

“Primate behavior is my specialty.”

“Ah! Then you’ve come to the right place.” The PR man caught a glimpse of O’Shaughnessy and froze in the act of pumping Pendergast’s hand. “I’m sorry, Officer. Is there a problem?” His voice had lost all its conviviality.

“Yeah,” said O’Shaughnessy in his most menacing tone.

The man leaned forward and spoke in most unwelcoming tones. “This is a private opening, Officer. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave. We have no need of outside security—”

“Oh yeah? Just so you know, Harry, I’m here on the little matter of the Museum cocaine ring.”

“Museum cocaine ring?” Medoker looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

“Officer O’Shaughnessy,” came Pendergast’s mild warning.

O’Shaughnessy gave the man a little clap on the shoulder. “Don’t breathe a word. Imagine how the press would run with it. Think of the Museum, Harry.” He left the man white and shaking.

“I hate it when they don’t respect the man in blue,” said O’Shaughnessy.

For a moment, Pendergast eyed him gravely. Then he nodded toward the buffet. “Regulations may forbid drinking on the job, but they don’t forbid eating blini au caviar.”

“Blini auwhat?”

“Tiny buckwheat pancakes topped with crème fraîche

and caviar. Delectable.”

O’Shaughnessy shuddered. “I don’t like raw fish eggs.”

“I suspect you’ve never had the real thing, Sergeant. Give one a try. You’ll find them much more palatable than a Die Walküre aria, I assure you. However, there’s also the smoked sturgeon, the foie gras, the prosciutto di Parma, and the Damariscotta River oysters. The Museum always serves an excellent table.”

“Just give me the pigs in a blanket.”

“Those can be obtained from the man with the cart on the corner of Seventy-seventh and Central Park West.”

More people were trickling into the hall, but the crowd was still thin. O’Shaughnessy followed Pendergast over to the food table. He avoided the piles of sticky gray fish eggs. Instead, he took a few pieces of ham, cut a slice from a wheel of brie, and with some pieces of French bread made a couple of small ham-and-cheese sandwiches for himself. The ham was a little dry, and the cheese tasted a little like ammonia, but overall it was palatable.

“You had a meeting with Captain Custer, right?” Pendergast asked. “How did it go?”

O’Shaughnessy shook his head as he munched. “Not too good.”