“Yes, the daily museum visitors and permanent tenants from the luxury buildings in the neighborhood. As an art lover, it pains me to say that the garage is probably the most significant source of income for the great Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

And I knew Mike was thinking that it was an entirely unexpected headache for him. The fact that one could bring in a private vehicle, park it off the street for days or weeks at a time, and have such immediate access to the institution made it something else to add to his list of facilities to search.

We turned a corner and were walking north now. There were a series of doorways, each with a numbered plaque above the lintel. Gaylord stopped in front of the third one and turned the handle. Inside the large square room two young women sat on opposite sides of a table, wearing magnifying glasses strapped to bands that circled their heads, bent over the model of an ancient boat.

“I’m going to need this area for an hour or so,” Gaylord said in his soft-spoken voice. “Would you mind terribly if we interrupted your work?”

Both of them removed their headpieces and assured us the break was welcome.

We seated ourselves around the table.

“Pierre called to tell me this latest piece of news, and I just want to say how distressing this is to me. To all of us, I’m sure. I have met Katrina Grooten.” He paused and ran a finger over his lower lip. “She was a very serious young scholar. And I’m holding myself responsible for the fact that Ms. Grooten was found in a sarcophagus that belonged to my department.

“I called Erik and Anna in on this because they might have some information that would be helpful. When Pierre told me it was Katrina, I was aware both of them knew her as well, so I’ve asked them to come down here with me. Where would you like us to begin?”

I wanted to know about my victim. The kind of person she was, the things she did for a living, and the things she liked to do when she left her job. What kind of people she socialized with, and whether she was a risk-taker. Who her family was and what they thought had become of her. I needed a sketch of Katrina Grooten that would keep her alive for me in my mind’s eye, so that I could try to re-create the events that had led up to her death.

Mike, on the other hand, did not want to know the deceased any better than the facts forced him to. He kept his sanity by staying at arm’s length from the person whose killer he would try to find. Although he would be dogged in learning every morsel about Katrina’s existence, he wanted to internalize nothing that would make him judgmental about her life or lifestyle. He didn’t care whether she was liked or despised by her peers, sexually active or a recluse. What mattered most to him was that she hadn’t deserved to die, and no one would try harder than he to get the bastard who had brought her to such an ugly end.

“Perhaps each of you could tell us what you knew about Katrina, personally and professionally. We need every detail you can remember.”

Gaylord spoke first. “I would say I have the least to contribute, so I might as well go first. Do you know about the project we’re collaborating on with the Museum of Natural History?”

“I know there’s to be a joint show next year, and that the celebratory announcement was last night. But neither Detective Chapman nor I know any of the details.”

“There’s been a rather intense rivalry between these two institutions for more than a century now. They were both founded in the 1870s, and in fact, the trustees had actually planned that each museum would occupy buildings on the very same site, known as Manhattan Square, on the west side of the park. Only later was the Met resituated to our present site, on what was then called Deer Park, the area between Seventy-ninth and Eighty-fourth streets on the Upper East Side.

“President Grant laid the cornerstone for the Natural History Museum, while President Hayes dedicated the Metropolitan.”

“Why the conflict?” Chapman asked. “Can’t they get over it and talk current events here?”

“Our trustees at the Metropolitan, the fabulously wealthy merchants and businessmen of that period, had extraordinarily lofty goals. They had models in all the great museums of Europe, most of which enjoyed the benefit of centuries of plundering their neighbors or being patronized by royalty. Both methods were tried-and-true for establishing collections. Our founders wanted to use art to educate and refine the American masses, and to provide for them a knowledge of the history of art that existed in civilized countries abroad.”

“Wasn’t Natural History doing the same thing?”

All three of the curators smirked in unison.

“That’s hardlyart, Mr. Chapman. Natural history museums developed from an entirely different type of collecting mania. They are the descendants of what are known as ‘cabinets of curiosities.’ Fossils, minerals, mollusks, shells, bugs, and the ever-popular dinosaurs. They have a fascinating repository of all the bizarre and wonderful creatures that have ever crawled and walked on Earth.”

“They make a good effort at calling themselves scientific in this day and age, but for those of us in the museum business, they’re just pickled remains. Lots of dead things in jars and behind glass walls,” said Erik Poste.

“But put the best of their exhibits beside a painting by Delacroix or Vermeer, or even next to the faience carving of the Sphinx of Amenhotep III, and it’s simply laughable,” said Gaylord. “We’re not a warehouse of the bizarre and extinct. We are quite simply the greatest repository of art in the Western Hemisphere, a living institution that is not only informative but uplifting, in a way that our sister across the park was never meant to be.”

“So, the joint exhibit?”

“Holding hands for the greater good, Detective. It’s all about profit-making, as you might guess. When the national economy took such a marked downward shift this year, the trustees had to ask Thibodaux to tighten his belt.”

“Why him?”

“Because he’s such a big spender. That’s what he was brought in here to do three years ago. All the fat-cat trustees had money to throw at him and adored his boldness. I’m not talking behind his back. One of the things we all like about having him at the helm is that great works of art are being offered to us all the time because collectors know that we have a rich board willing to pay for these masterpieces. No haggling, no bargaining.”

Erik Poste took over from Gaylord again. “The Met puts on special exhibitions all the time, as you probably know. Some more successful than others. This one has been in the planning stage for more than a year. It was Thibodaux’s idea to ask Natural History to partner it with us. It’s never been done that way before, and quite frankly, he thinks it has the potential to be a financial blockbuster.”

“So does UniQuest,” Gaylord said, reminding me of the purpose of last night’s party.

“So what’s this theme?”

“It’s our working title. ‘A Modern Bestiary.’”

“Doesn’t sound too thrilling to me,” Chapman said.

“Don’t worry. Our friends in Hollywood will probably dream up a snappier title before we’re done. We’ve already rejected things like ‘Satyrs, Sirens, and Sapiens.’ It’s actually been a riveting undertaking. There’s something in it to appeal to everyone, which is what makes Thibodaux such a genius at marketing. He and the woman who runs Natural History-Helen Raspen-she’s absolutely brilliant.”

“What’s a bestiary?”

Erik Poste spoke again. “They were originally medieval books, Mr. Chapman. They purported to depict and describe all the animals in the world, and then-because this was the thought in the Middle Ages-what human traits they each represented.”

“Animals with human traits?”

“Bestiaries are the source of all kinds of fabulous beasts, and artists throughout the centuries have used them as guides to literary symbolism. Think of the unicorn. A magnificent pure white beast with a single horn in its forehead. It’s long been the symbol of virginity.”