The Samurai Inheritance by James Douglas Read Free Book Online Page B

things on his mind as he followed his escort through the exquisitely painted rooms and past the glass cases to the Herr Direktor’s modest office on the fourth floor. When the Neues opened, it had been the repository for anything that couldn’t be displayed properly in the Altes, which meant just about everything not Greek or Roman. If the Bougainville head had been deemed of sufficient importance it could be here.
    A secretary ushered him through a door and a tall, lean figure in a dark suit welcomed him with a grave smile and a formal handshake. ‘You would like some coffee, Herr Saintclair?’
    ‘That would be lovely, sir,’ Jamie greeted Museum Direktor Muller. ‘Milk, no sugar.’
    It was two years since Jamie had last been here, just after the museum reopened, but the man opposite him appeared about a decade younger. Then, the Herr Direktor had exhibited all the signs of a man under overwhelming stress: all twitching moustache and eyes darting nervously from a bony, pallid face. Now he exhibited the urbane air of a man in charge of his destiny. A man who knew the position of every bust and every mummy in his diverse collections. They waited until the coffee arrived and Muller took a delicate sip before opening the conversation.
    ‘First I must thank you for the generous donation to our funds,’ he said with a smile. ‘The state, of course, is bountiful, but conservation and research is expensive.’
    Jamie returned the smile. ‘It was the least I could do after the help you provided on my previous commission,’ he acknowledged. ‘My client was most grateful for the return of the crown.’ In truth, the recovery of the Crown of Isis had brought him a modest cheque from the New York Police Department. The donation had come from the Princess Czartoryski Foundation finder’s fee for the Raphael. Nonetheless, contacts like Herr Direktor Muller were like plants: they required nurturing. A few thousand euros was money well spent now he could afford it, as his host’s genial cooperation confirmed.
    ‘And now you are here on another mysterious quest. I am intrigued. How can we be of assistance to you?’
    Jamie hesitated. He’d been turning this conversation over in his mind since he’d landed at Tegel. It was all very well asking about Italian renaissance masterpieces and Egyptian crowns, but how did one broach the subject of a severed human head? There really was only one way. He took a deep breath and twisted his features into the apologetic grin that had seen him through a hundred dodgy negotiations.
    ‘The object I’m attempting to locate is a shrunken head that originated on the island of Bougainville.’ He saw the smile freeze on Herr Direktor Muller’s face but carried on without pausing for breath. ‘It would have been donated to the museum by an anthropologist named Adolfus Ribbe at some point between the years eighteen ninety-five and nineteen hundred. I’m aware it won’t be in any of your main collections, but I wondered if it might be hidden away somewhere in your basement?’ he ended lamely.
    Muller stared at him, lips twisted in an expression that might have been puzzlement, disapproval or the precursor to a burst of hysterical laughter. The manicured hands rubbed at each other as though he were trying to rid them of some unwanted substance. Now Jamie thought of it, the idea seemed so outlandish he felt like running from the room. Before he could decide, the Herr Direktor remembered the cheque, composed himself and gave a sorrowful shake of his head.
    ‘I’m afraid that anything hidden away in my basement would have been consumed by American incendiary bombs in February nineteen forty-five, Herr Saintclair. To my certain knowledge we do not have an artefact of that nature within these walls …’
    The news felt like a kick in the teeth, but why should he be surprised? It had always been a long shot. Still, something in Muller’s voice gave Jamie hope that it wasn’t a complete dead