The Collector Challenged My Drawer In A Flagstaff Courtroom

Venn wore a navy suit to the hearing. His lawyer carried my contract in a leather folder.

They had asked the court to stop investigators from using my references. They said I had taken private property and broken my promise of secrecy.

The prosecutor opposed them. Ruth sat beside me because the same claim threatened my shop.

Venn nodded when he saw me.

"We can still settle this like gentlemen," he whispered.

Ruth moved her chair closer to mine.

"Put any proposal in writing."

He stopped smiling.

The search had found the six bones in his glass display. It had also found folders calling them part of the Aranda Collection, Argentina, acquired in 1998.

Investigators had taken the bones under the warrant. Their history remained in dispute.

Venn's lawyer, Mr. Price, stood when my name was called.

"Mr. Okafor, you were paid to make rubber molds?"

"I was hired to make casts. Molds were one step."

"You received $9,200?"

"Half the agreed price."

"And when the client ended the project, you kept material from it."

"The references covered by Schedule C."

"Did you call my client before giving them away?"

"I transferred them for examination. I kept the receipt."

"That's not my question."

"No. I called the investigator listed on the missing property notice."

He laid his folder flat. I could hear someone turning pages behind me.

My mouth had gone dry. I asked for water, drank some, and waited for the next question. It helped to treat each answer like a measured batch. Only what belonged in it.

He held up a photograph of my flat drawer.

"Little pieces of rubber."

"Silicone."

"You aren't a scientist."

"I'm a cast maker."

"You cannot tell this court where a bone came from."

"Not by looking at it."

He waited as if I had finally helped him.

"Then your opinion about Argentina is worthless."

"I haven't given one. I recorded surfaces."

The judge asked him to move on.

Price suggested I had made the references after reading the theft bulletin. He said a man with unpaid bills might enjoy a reward.

There was no reward. I said so.

The prosecutor showed my job log. Each entry listed the mold, the batch, and the reference number. Beside them were dated photographs sent to Venn's own office before the bulletin arrived.

One reply from his office read: underside marks acceptable; proceed.

The reply had come from Ellis Rusk, his accounts manager.

"Who took these photographs?" the prosecutor asked.

"I did. I needed approval before covering fragile surfaces."

"Who owns the references?"

"I do, under the signed agreement."

All that time Venn had treated me as a pair of hands he rented. But I held the surface record, and he had signed my right to keep it.

Omar testified next. The center's private field images showed the same bent tag, tool crescent, and broken edge. He explained where those images had been stored and who could reach them.

A second specialist described the examination of the seized rib. My reference fitted its fracture face. Small pits and steps lined up across the surface.

"Does that alone establish the dig location?" the judge asked.

"No," the specialist said. "The field records establish the location. The physical match connects this specimen to those records."

I watched Adrienne take a slow breath at the back of the room.

The judge rejected the request to block the references. The collection stayed in secure storage while the case continued.

That was all the hearing decided. It was enough for that morning.

In the hall, Venn leaned toward me.

"You could have had steady work."

"I had a contract."

Ruth wrote down what he said and the time he said it. He noticed her pen.

Outside, dirty snow lined the courthouse steps. Adrienne stood with Omar, speaking quietly. When he went to his car, she walked over.

"You did well."

"I was scared."

"Both can be true."

She brushed a little plaster dust off my sleeve. I had missed it that morning.

Then her hand dropped.

"We got the winter fuel payments," she said. "Rusk approved them through a company called High Shelf Services. We're tracing the delivery sites."

"Venn didn't look worried."

"He has been rich for a long time. It can confuse people."

Ruth called from the steps. The judge handling my lease had granted a temporary order protecting my access. My rent receipts had mattered.

I was about to thank her when Adrienne's phone rang.

She listened, then stepped away from the doors.

"Say that again, Ben. Slowly."

Her free hand closed around the rail.

"Don't try to stop them yourself. Tell me what you can see."

She looked at me once.

"They're moving Dr. Duarte," she said.