Although he had been let go from his own position at Old Frequency College more than a decade earlier, Maltby had evidently not lost his air of professorial authority. The tone of his voice on her answering machine had been that of a department head summoning a junior staff member to his office.

In spite of the rudeness, Lydia had wasted no time. The magic words urgent news concerning the incident in the catacombs a few months ago had gotten her full attention.

But the expensive cab ride to Hidden Lane had been for naught. She was too late.

She saw no reason to mention the reasons she happened to be standing over Maltby's dead body to the emergency operator, however.

"Look, this isn't a crime scene or anything," she said quickly. "Professor Maltby wasn't murdered. It looks like he OD'd on Chartreuse. There's no point in having me stick around to answer a lot of questions. I don't have any answers."

The operator was unmoved. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but rules are rules. Stay right where you are until the police and the medics arrive."

"Yeah, sure." Lydia ended the call abruptly. She glanced once more at the body and then quickly looked away.

She had not known Maltby personally, but she had heard the gossip along Ruin Row for years. His tragic end had been forecast for some time by all of the gallery owners who had dealt with him. In his heyday he had been a respected, tenured professor of para-archaeology. But his career had foundered after he had sunk into the dark netherworld of drug addiction.

After his dismissal from the staff at Old Frequency College, he had moved here to Cadence City where he had attempted to make a living as a private consultant to collectors and gallery owners along Ruin Row. But the drugs had made it impossible for him to function reliably. Eventually his deteriorating reputation had caused his consulting work to dry up.