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Cartwright was suddenly nodding vigorously. “There, there, an excellent solution! We’re doing all we can to assist, Lieutenant.”
“Dr. Mussorgsky,” said D’Agosta, “could I ask you a few questions while you’re here? We’re going to want a formal interview later, but there are a few things that perhaps we can clear up right now.”
“Of course.”
D’Agosta nodded him aside. Cartwright made a move to accompany them, but D’Agosta shook his head.
As they moved around a corner and away from the group, D’Agosta held up his cell phone. “Mind if I record?”
“Be my guest.”
“Did you know the decedent?” D’Agosta asked. A large body bag was now being toted past the intersection, containing the contorted, frozen shape of the victim inside.
“I do.” He pushed his glasses back up on his face. “Or rather did. Dr. Mancow was a curator in the Anthropology Department.”
“What was he like?”
“Affable. I didn’t know him well, really, but he seemed to get along with everyone just fine.”
“Any idea what he was doing here?”
“None.”
“Was it something he did regularly?”
“As far as I know, he never came up to the mammal preparation area. This isn’t a popular place, on account of the smell. The only people here regularly are technicians and curatorial assistants—and they’re rarely around at night.”
“He seems to have gone in without a coat, and the door mechanism was sabotaged to prevent him getting out. That all points to homicide. Any idea why?”
“None at all. It’s a terrible shock.”
“Was he particular friends with anyone in the Mammalogy Department?”
“Not that I know of, but you can certainly ask around.”
“What was his field of study?”
“North American ethnology, I think—but you’d best talk to the Anthro Department about specifics like that.”
“Anything else you can think of that might be useful?”
The man hesitated. “If I might offer a little conjecture?”
“Please.”
“This was a bizarre way to kill someone. Why not just shoot them in a street or restaurant, or some dark corner of a subway station? Risk was involved in getting Dr. Mancow up here and into the freezer. Unless he was drugged, he would have been pounding on the door before he succumbed to the cold. There are people around the museum all night—curators, night guards, and so forth. So my conjecture is that this was done to send a message.”
D’Agosta was surprised to see Mussorgsky riding the very train of thought that had been running through his own brain. He was careful not to show it. “Interesting…What sort of message?”
“I don’t know. But of course, when this gets out to the press—if it hasn’t already—I’m afraid the museum is going to be very embarrassed.”
D’Agosta slid a card out of his pocket and gave it to the curator. “Feel free to call me with any fresh information. Day or night. Oh, and one final question: in addition to being head of the department, do you have a particular area of study?”
“The evolution of the genusRattus.”
“Rattus?”
“Rats.”