“When will Madam X go on display for the public?” a reporter called out.

“Within the week, I expect,” said Robinson. “The new exhibit’s already been built and-”

“Any clues to her identity?”

“Why hasn’t she been on display before?”

“Could she be royal?”

“I don’t know,” said Robinson, blinking rapidly under the assault of so many questions. “We still need to confirm it’s a female.”

“You found it six months ago, and you still don’t know the sex?”

“These analyses take time.”

“One glance oughta do it,” a reporter said, and the crowd laughed.

“It’s not as simple as you think,” said Robinson, his glasses slipping down his nose again. “At two thousand years old, she’s extremely fragile and she must be handled with great care. I found it nerve-racking enough just transporting her here tonight, in that van. Our first priority as a museum is preservation. I consider myself her guardian, and it’s my duty to protect her. That’s why we’ve taken our time coordinating this scan with the hospital. We move slowly, and we move with care.”

“What do you hope to learn from this CT scan tonight, Dr. Robinson?”

Robinson’s face suddenly lit up with enthusiasm. “Learn? Why, everything! Her age, her health. The method of her preservation. If we’re fortunate, we may even discover the cause of her death.”

“Is that why the medical examiner’s here?”

The whole group turned like a multieyed creature and stared at Maura, who had been standing at the back of the room. She felt the familiar urge to back away as the TV cameras swung her way.