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They both nodded。
〃Did he have a maid？〃
〃He had a woman who came daily。〃
〃Gardener？〃
〃A full…time man。〃
〃Any others？〃
〃He employed a full…time cook and a nurse who looked in three days a week。〃
Fenton now interrupted； leaning forward and smiling in that feral way of his。 〃Mind if I ask you a question； Philip？〃
〃If you must。〃
〃How e you're talking about your father in the past tense？ You know something we don't？〃
〃Oh； for God's sake！〃 Philip exploded。 〃Who will rid me of this Sherlock Holmes manqué？〃
〃Fenton？〃 murmured Barnaby； casting him a warning glance。
Fenton looked over and saw Barnaby's look； and his face fell。 〃Sorry。〃
Barnaby asked； 〃Where are they now？〃
〃Where are who？〃
〃Maid； gardener； cook。 This robbery took place two weeks ago。 Somebody dismissed the help。〃
Tom said； 〃The robbery occurred two weeks ago？〃
〃That's right。〃
〃But I only got my letter by Federal Express three days ago。〃
This was interesting。 〃Did any of you notice the sender's address？〃
〃It was some kind of drop…shipping place； like Mail Boxes Etc。；〃 said Tom。
Barnaby thought for a moment。 〃I have to tell you；〃 he said； 〃that this so…called robbery has insurance fraud written all over it。〃
〃I already explained to you the collection wasn't insured；〃 said Philip。
〃You explained it； but I don't believe it。〃
〃I know the art insurance market； Lieutenant…I'm an art historian。 This collection was worth about half a billion dollars； and it was just sitting in a house in the country protected by an off…the…shelf security system。 Father didn't even have a dog。 I'm telling you； the collection wasn't insurable。〃
Barnaby looked at Philip for a long time； and then he looked at the other two brothers。
Philip let out a hiss of air and looked at his watch。 〃Lieutenant； don't you think this case is a little big for the Santa Fe Police Department？〃
If it wasn't insurance fraud； then what was it？ This was no damn robbery。 A crazy idea began to form； still vague。 A truly nutty idea。 But it was starting to take shape almost against his will； assembling itself into something like a theory。 He glanced at Fenton。 Fenton didn't see it。 For all his gifts； Fenton lacked a sense of humor。
Barnaby then remembered the big…screen television； the VCR； and the videotape lying on the floor。 No； not lying： placed on the floor； next to the remote。 What was the hand…lettered title？ WATCH ME。
That was it。 Like water freezing； it all locked into place。 He knew exactly what had happened。 Barnaby cleared his throat。 〃e with me。 The three sons followed him back into the house； into the living room。
〃Have a seat。〃
〃What's this all about？〃 Philip was getting agitated。 Even Fenton was looking at Barnaby quizzically。
Barnaby picked up the tape and the remote。 〃We're going to watch a video。〃 He flicked on the television set and slid the tape into the VCR。
〃Is this some kind of joke？〃 Philip asked； refusing to sit； his face flushed。 The other two stood nearby； confused。
〃You're blocking the screen；〃 said Barnaby； settling himself on the sofa。 〃Have a seat。〃
〃This is outrageous…〃
A sudden burst of sound from the video silenced Philip； and then the face of Maxwell Broadbent； larger than life； materialized on the screen。 All three sat down。
His voice； deep and booming； reverberated in the empty room。
〃Greetings from the dead。〃
4
Tom Broadbent stared at the life…size image of his father slowly ing into focus on the screen。 The camera gradually panned back； revealing Maxwell Broadbent seated at the giant desk in his study； holding a few sheets of paper in his large hands。 The room had not yet been stripped； the Lippi painting of the Madonna was still on the wall behind him； the bookshelves were still filled with books； and the other paintings and statues were all in their places。 Tom shivered： Even his father's electronic image intimidated him。
After the greeting his father paused； cleared his throat； and focused his intense blue eyes on the camera。 The sheets shook slightly in his hands。 He seemed to be laboring under a strong emotion。
Maxwell Broadbent's eyes dropped back to the papers； and he began to read：
Dear Philip； Vernon； and Tom；
The long and short of it is this： I've taken my wealth with me to the grave。 I've sealed myself and my collection in a tomb。 This tomb is hidden somewhere in the world； in a place that only I know of。
He paused； cleared his throat again； looked up briefly with a flash of blue； looked down； and continued reading。 His voice took on that slightly pedantic tone that Tom remembered so well from the dinner table。
For more than a hundred thousand years； human beings have buried themselves with their most valuable possessions。 Burying the dead with treasure has a venerable history； starting with the Neanderthals and running through the ancient Egyptians and on down almost to the present day。 People buried themselves with their gold； silver； art； books； medicine； furniture； food； slaves； horses； and sometimes even their concubines and wives…anything they thought might he useful in the afterlife。 It's only in the last century or two that human beings stopped interring their remains with grave goods； thus breaking a long tradition。
It is a tradition I am glad to revive。
The fact is； almost everything we know of the past es to us through grave goods。 Some have called me a tomb robber。 Not so。 I'm not a robber； I'm a recycler。 I made my fortune on the wealth that foolish people thought they were taking with them to the afterworld。 I've decided to do just what they did and bury myself with all my worldly goods。 The only difference between me and them is that I'm no fool。 I know there's no afterworld where I can enjoy my wealth。 Unlike them； I die with no illusions。 When you're dead you're dead。 When you die you're just a duffel bag of rotting meat； grease； brains； and bones…nothing more。
I'm taking my wealth to the grave for another reason entirely。 A very important reason。 A reason that concerns the three of you。
He paused； looked up。 His hands were still shaking slightly； and the muscles in his jaw were flexing。
〃Jesus Christ；〃 Philip whispered； half rising from his seat； his hands clenched。 〃I don't believe this。〃
Maxwell Broadbent raised the papers to read some more； stumbled over the words； hesitated； and then abruptly stood and tossed the papers onto the desk。 Screw this； he said； shoving back the chair with a violent motion。 What I've got to say to you is too important for a damn speech。 He came around the desk with several great strides； his enormous presence filling the screen and； by extension； the room where they were sitting。 He paced in front of the camera； agitated； stroking his close…cropped beard。
This isn't easy。 I don't quite know how to explain this to you three。
He turned； strode back。
When I was your age； I had nothing。 Nothing。 I came to New York from Erie； Pennsylvania； with just thirty…five dollars and my father's old suit。 No family。； no friends； no college degree。 Nothing。 Dad was a good man； but he was a bricklayer。 Mom was dead。 I was pretty much alone in the world。
〃Not