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He reached Savannah’s office, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she called.

“Did you see Beckett’s email to the history faculty?” she asked. “That should make these interviews easier.”

“Great,” he said without enthusiasm. “Who do you want to talk to first?”

“Let’s start with old Charlie Hinkle. His office is just down the hall.”

“Good morning, Charlie!” Savannah said, brightening the dusty room with her smile. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Hinkle shifted in his seat. “I, um, I’m sorry about that.”

Hez’s ears perked up. “Sorry about what exactly?”

“Which pieces?” Savannah asked.

They picked their way around the desk, with Savannah in the lead. Half a dozen pots, dishes, and other items lay haphazardly on piles of paper. She snapped pictures of the items with her phone.

A stone sculpture of a flat-nosed man’s head wearing a helmet sat on a small table. Hez pointed to it. “Can I see that?”

Hez nodded. “I’d still like to see it. Could you hand it to me?”

Hez stopped too. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. There’s something off about these pictures of the warehouse. I feel like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what. This stupid postconcussion brain fog makes it hard to focus.”

She sighed and pocketed her phone. “Maybe it’s nothing. Okay, let’s talk to Tony Guzman next.”