by Howard Engel
‘Oh, don’t be silly. It’s standing right there beside the door. I’m a great reader of Mr. Poe and he prescribed hiding things in plain view. Take the thing and shut the door behind you. I don’t mean to be rude, but it wouldn’t do to have you bump into these chaps on your way out now, would it? And when this game has played itself out, remember where I am. I can show you a thing or two about your knights in the early game. Goodbye, Mr. Cooperman.’
‘Once these problems have been cleared up, I promise.’ I turned to look for the package and saw it for the first time: a battered leather briefcase with straps to it. It belonged in a museum as well as the megillah. I picked it up and sped down the corridor. Near the front door, I saw Father Quinlan again. He was talking to a black priest with crisp grey hair circling his ears. I told them to keep an eye on Father Campbell’s visitors for the next day or so. I didn’t explain, but I hoped that my haste and urgency argued for the point I was trying to make.
‘If necessary,’ said the black priest in a pleasant inflected voice, ‘we’ll keep away all his blasted visitors. We’ll look after him.’ He lengthened the word blasted so that it reached around the block Tom Quinlan seconded the motion and I took off with the Gerson Soncino Megillah.
Chapter Ten
I took a fast look at the contents of the briefcase as soon as I got to the corner of Spadina and Bloor. In my wanderings I’d discovered the tiny sandwich and soup shop in the basement of the Jewish Community Centre. It was here, over a bowl of split-pea soup, that I first examined the Gerson Soncino Megillah. The first thing I noticed was that it didn’t look like a quarter of a million dollars. It certainly didn’t look like three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. In spite of the fancy jewelry on the cover, it looked, well, unspectacular. It was ornate, but it didn’t say big money. Even inside, the illuminated initial letters were subdued, at least in the early pages. After about eight or ten pages, the blues and golds became brighter and clearer.
It was the Book of Esther, all right. There was Esther, the queen, appearing before her husband, King Ahasuerus. There was Mordecai with Haman and his sons around him. Was Mordecai her uncle or her father? I couldn’t remember. There was the king in his regal robes. On the last page there were Haman and his sons hanging as high as Haman on a gibbet that was tall enough to make me suspect that the contractor was a crook on the take. It wasn’t a large book, but the printing was clear and made with well-founded type. If you could read Hebrew, you could read this book. A woman wearing a pastel yellow pantsuit was looking over my shoulder. ‘Very nice,’ she said. ‘Very nice.’ That pretty well summed up the Gerson Soncino Megillah.
An hour later, I’d been in touch with both my client and Detective Sergeant Pepper of the Metro Toronto Police. I’d also tipped off Wells Dalton about what was going on. I’d told them all that I would have news for them in the front room on the second floor of Book City at eight o’clock that night. That gave us lots of time to settle things before the store closed just after ten.
To kill the time before eight, I wandered down to the Western Hospital near Bathurst and Dundas and asked to see Aaron Kurian. When they denied having one, I tried Michael Brennan and had better luck. He’d cleared Emergency by then and had been officially admitted. The nurse at the station on the tenth floor told me that he was not in a coma, but was sleeping peacefully. She allowed me to look in on him, but there wasn’t much to see: he was alone in a room for four people, in a bed nearest to the window and commanding a view over Toronto Island. Kurian’s old feet stuck out the bottom of the bed, which was a little short for him. The toenails showed signs of living alone and a decade of neglect. But otherwise he looked well enough. The wounds to his forehead were covered with gauze and plaster. There were no tubes running in or out of him. There were splints on the fingers of his right hand. As I was tiptoeing out the door, his voice caught me in the act.
‘Bushmill! Will you look and see what they’ve done to my skull.’
‘You were very lucky,’ I said.
‘The cranium’s split asunder, I tell you. My rational right side is forever separated from my artistic and intuitive left side. They’ll want me to settle two bills before they let me out of here.’
‘I’ve borrowed the package you were storing with your chess partner,’ I said. ‘When I saw what they did to you, I ran all the way to get it.’ He didn’t respond at once. Finally he shook his head as well as he could.
‘A good move, Mr. Bushmill. Did you warn him what might happen?’
‘I did,’ I said and left it at that.
‘What will you do with it now?’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose--damn it! I can’t talk without getting a pain in both my heads. I just got rid of the police, personified in the guise of a certain Sergeant Pepper. Have you run across him? Very thorough, very thorough.’
‘We’ve crossed paths,’ I admitted. ‘As a matter of fact, he’s coming to a meeting I’ve arranged. I’ll give him your love.’
‘Are you sure we can’t continue this visit tomorrow?’
‘Sure we can. Didn’t mean to stay. Just meant to look in on you. See you tomorrow, when I may have lots of news.’
‘You wouldn’t just turn the thing back to me, would you? I bought it with good money, you know.’
‘What did you pay Tony Moore for it? It must have been under three hundred and fifty thousand, since that’s the going price now.’
‘He let me have it for three hundred. Special price for keeping the sale quiet. I didn’t ask any questions.’
‘Tonight I need it to bait a little trap I’m setting. You can have it tomorrow if you like. But a hospital room’s not the safest place on earth, you know.’
‘It is for books. But I take your point. I can trust your judgement, Mr. Bushmill, I think you said.’
‘Don’t worry. I won’t let it out of my sight. I’ll tell you all about what happened in the morning.’ He tried to raise his head, but thought better of it, letting it slide back into the pillow. ‘Take care of the briefcase as well,’ he said, having watched me pick up the whole megillah. ‘It belonged to my father.’
I promised and backed out of the room. In the burgundy elevator I began wondering whether to stow my parcel so that it couldn’t be taken away from me. I was still pondering this question when I walked into Book City at about seven forty-five. A voice from behind the desk at my left solved my problem. ‘Would you mind leaving your briefcase behind the cash?’ It was a smiling young fellow I’d not run into before. When I raised my eyebrows, he added: ‘Store policy,’ so I handed over the Gerson Soncino Megillah and watched as it was placed between a bag of groceries and a handsome square-cornered attache case. ‘I’ll keep an eye on it,’ he said, looking with mock concern at my antique bundle of leather and straps.
On the second floor, nobody had arrived yet. I told my friend Alison that I was expecting to meet a few friends. She looked up from her computer terminal and smiled. She knew me from my long afternoons at the round table; ‘I hope that one of them will be bringing cookies,’ she said. I guess that made it semi-official. She seemed relaxed enough, so I could see that it was no big deal as far as she was concerned.
Sergeant Pepper was the first to arrive. As usual, he wasn’t in uniform, but he would have a military bearing wearing a fig leaf or a tutu. ‘This better be good,’ he said, so that I would know exactly where he and the department stood on the night’s planned entertainment.
‘Have you arrested Honour Griffin yet?’ I asked.
‘Hell, no. The body’s hardly cold, Cooperman. I don’t want to be stampeded into anything.’
At this point, I told Pepper about my plans for the next two hours. He was surprised at first, but ended by sharing with me some of the things he’d found out. To be honest, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me sure that this meeting at Book City was going to prove most interesting. I bit down hard on a Hall’s and popped another one into my mouth.
Chapter Eleven
They
were all there in the upper room. Honour Griffin was sitting in one of the captain’s chairs by the round table. Lowther had perched on the circular stairs leading to the third-floor office above. Sergeant Pepper was leaning against a tableful of attractive remainders, mostly about European cities and Impressionist painters. Dalton stood for a few minutes, rather testily, and finally took a chair next to Honour. They didn’t talk to one another. They were all looking at me.
‘Well,’ said Sergeant Pepper, ‘since you called this meeting, why don’t you tell us what it’s all about, Mr. Cooperman.’
Dalton nodded. He couldn’t have put it better himself
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll begin as soon as I can find a place to start.’
‘I have an appointment in an hour,’ said Lowther, checking his watch, while Honour sat thumbing through a book on figure drawing, the kind of book that makes me nervous even when I’m alone.
‘I’ll try to get through as fast as possible,’ I said. ‘Before we’re done, we might get a chance to see the Gerson Soncino Megillah.’ Faces brightened at that and chill of hostility warmed as I went on talking.
‘For a start, let’s look at the facts as we know them. First, we know that Tony Moore acquired the megillah some time ago. I’m not sure whether we should measure that time in weeks, months or days. He didn’t tell me. We also know that the megillah had been in a private collection for many years, at least since 1919, when it was described in some detail in a catalogue.
‘We know that Tony had been unwise enough to talk about his acquisition, and even more foolishly, he kept it in his house on Albany Avenue, where, he told me, there had been attempted break-ins. So, from that and from what followed, one can see that there were a number of people, collectors, who both knew about Tony Moore’s good fortune in getting the book and who wanted it badly enough for their own collections--’
‘Now hold on just a minute!’ Dalton was on his feet and colouring around the collar of his striped shirt. ‘I’m not going to sit here and listen to a lot of unsubstantiated charges from this small-town peeper! Sergeant, tell me, did you know that he got us to come here to harangue us with unfounded accusations?’
‘Mr. Dalton, with all respect, please keep your shirt on. I’ve done a little checking up on Mr. Cooperman with the Niagara Regional Police. From what they told me, we should have an instructive time ahead of us.’
‘That may very well be, but there’s no law that says I have to listen to it, however instructive.’
‘Benny?’ The sergeant was looking at me.
‘I’ve got no status here or anywhere else, Sergeant. It’s a free country. If Mr. Dalton wants to go, or any of the others, I’m sure we’ll be able to find them again if they are formally required to assist your investigations. I’ve taken the liberty of asking Alison, who knows her way around Book City--she’s downstairs at the moment--if it would be possible to have coffee up here. I ordered it and she said that she’d see to it. So for those who stay, there will at least be coffee. And don’t forget the megillah.’
Dalton got up noisily. The others watched him but stayed put. I decided to get on with it, whatever Dalton did. ‘There are a number of collectors in town who wanted the book. One of them is Mr. Lowther over there. And of course, Mr. Dalton.’ Dalton was now standing in the waist of the room, where it narrowed in front of the cookbooks. He looked as though he couldn’t make up his mind about whether to take the front or the back stairs. He stood there silently fuming. By now, no one was watching him.
‘Earlier this week, I had lunch with Mr. Dalton. He convinced me that his interest in the Gerson Soncino Megillah was serious. So was Mr. Lowther’s. You even got to see the book, didn’t you, Mr. Lowther? That was more than most of us can claim.’ Lowther smiled a bored, testy smile. He said nothing. ‘Of course, I was forgetting Aaron Kurian. He actually bought the book and for a few days was the possessor of this treasure.
‘Mr. Dalton, you knew Kurian was staying at the Brunswick House. He’d stayed there before, often enough for a regular to recognize him as a recurring figure on the landscape. You also guessed that he had acquired the megillah. That’s why you sent your friends to call on him. He has regained consciousness and can identify the men you sent. Next time, avoid people with tattoos. They’re so easy to describe. I’ve seen them myself on the terrace at Dooney’s. They’re well-known characters. I understand that Sergeant Pepper has already issued warrants for their arrest, based on Kurian’s description. I imagine they’ll do some talking before they’re brought to book. Assault causing bodily harm is a charge that allows some room for negotiation. If they’re smart, they’ll tell the police who hired them. For the information, they might even walk. Especially if Mr. Kurian isn’t in a vindictive mood.’
‘Well,’ said Dalton after a silence, ‘I may have acted unwisely, but you’ll never pin a murder charge against me!’
‘We’ll see, Mr. Dalton. We all know you’re a power in the community.’ After that exchange, Dalton seemed to lose some of his annoyance. He looked smaller, like a bantam rooster smoothing its ruffled feathers.
‘Are you saying that Wells Dalton had Aaron Kurian beaten up?’ Honour Griffin asked, wrinkling her forehead. I nodded. ‘Then he must have taken the megillah! Kurian had it and Dalton’s hit men took it!’
‘You would have been right if Kurian had been as silly as Tony and kept the megillah under the same roof with him. But he left it with a friend for safe-keeping. I have it now.’
‘You?’ said Lowther. ‘You’re supposed to be working for me!’
‘If I’m to play honest broker in this business, Mr. Lowther, I can’t be working for any one of you. Here’s your money back.’ I returned the envelope with Lowther’s cheque in it. I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t see any other way. Lowther frowned at it and then at me, but put it into an inside pocket.
‘I told you, Mr. Lowther, that the fate of the book was going to be settled right here in this room tonight. In a roundabout way, discovering who killed Tony Moore is going to settle the hash of the megillah as well as that of Tony’s murderer.’
At this moment, Alison arrived with the coffee I’d ordered from the Cinnaroll Gourmet just a few doors east along Bloor. There was very little chat as the cups were handed around. The sound of plastic caps being pried off styrofoam containers was the only noise, except for a double piano concerto by some lively composer, which came piped up from the floor below. I took a deep gulp from my cup and started in again. As far as I was concerned, the sooner this meeting was over, the better.
‘So, what do we know?’ I began again. ‘We know that Kurian bought the book from Tony Moore.’
‘Wait a minute!’ said Sergeant Pepper. ‘You only know Kurian had possession. We found no evidence of a deal either at the house on Albany or in his bank account. So without evidence of a money transaction, I reckon you can’t claim there was.’
‘Did you see the videotape in Moore’s garbage can?’
‘Sure. It was half of Casablanca and all of A Song to Remember with Paul Muni and Merle Oberon. Both illegally copied from transmission.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Did you stop there?’
‘Where can you go from A Song to Remember? Cornel Wilde was Chopin. No, Benny, we didn’t see any place to go from there.’
‘The tapes came from Moore’s collection. If you check the ones that are probably marked Casablanca and A Song to Remember, I’ll bet you’ll come across two cassettes that have been emptied of tape and filled with money. About one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in each of them. That’s just a guess. I haven’t been in the living room since the morning I met you and Honour. I could be wrong. Maybe he got sick of Chopin.’
‘I’ll send a man over there right away.’ Pepper made his way through to the top of the stairs to where two men in uniform stood browsing through cookbooks. He spoke to one of them, gave him a set of keys and returned to the front room with its
two small windows looking out over Bloor Street.
‘I’m not sure where to pick up the story now,’ I said. ‘I suppose I might as well get to the fake robbery.’
‘ “Fake robbery’’? What are you talking about?’ asked Dalton, who had been slowly filling his styrofoam cup with fragments torn from the plastic lid. ‘Stop talking in riddles.’
‘Tony Moore hired me to find the Gerson Soncino Megillah last Tuesday. He told me it had been stolen from his home.’
‘We all know that!’ said Dalton. ‘What’s fake about that?’
‘Tony kicked out the glass in the french windows of his study. If he’d read any of dozens of detective novels, he would have known that a burglar kicks glass into the room, not out into the back yard. It was a bad job of fakery. Maybe his heart wasn’t in it. Anyway, the glass pieces I found out there were rain-spotted. You’ll remember that the rain last Wednesday was the first after a dry spell going back to last month. That means the glass was out there after the fake robbery on Tuesday night.’
‘You keep saying "fake"! Why?’ insisted Dalton.
‘The megillah was never stolen. Tony only pretended to have it filched. It was a double-barrelled scheme. First, it gave him a breather from all of the dealers and collectors in town. They weren’t giving him any peace. Second, he wanted to sell it without sharing the profit with Honour. If the book was stolen, then it wouldn’t have to be accounted for, or it would be chalked up as a joint loss.’
‘The son of a bitch!’ said Honour in a voice so low that none of us missed it. ‘The son of a bitch!’
‘Tony found out that your separation had taken a turn for the worse, Honour. He knew you were seeing someone and he didn’t like it. Until then, he was living in hope that the split could be healed. He didn’t know about you, Mr. Lowther.’
‘Now see here, Cooperman! There are laws in this country!’ Lowther was on his feet, his heavy shoulders hunched as though he wanted to plough into me.
