Larceny at the Library

by Colleen Shogan

  “Does she work in the technology sector?” I asked. Secretly, I hoped the answer was yes. Sebastian’s life revolved around his job and his political protests. While the latter was admirable, I wasn’t sure he needed a significant other to egg him on. I dreaded the late-night phone call to bail him out of jail because he’d chained himself to a tree in front of the World Bank to protest global economic inequality.

  “Nope,” said Sebastian.

  Drat.

  “She’s one of your hippie anti-government, anti-corporate friends?” asked Meg.

  “Nope,” he said.

  The check came, and we each threw down a few bills. I handed the stack to the waiter, and Sebastian got up to leave.

  I motioned for him to sit back down. “Wait a second. If she’s not in tech and you didn’t meet her at a protest, then what does she do?”

  Sebastian grinned. “She’s a police officer. You might have seen her around. Lisa’s on the Capitol Hill force.”

  Meg’s mouth hung open. “You’re dating a cop?”

  “It appears so,” he said. “She’s in the K-9 unit.”

  My phone buzzed. A text message from Doug.

  Ready to go home?

  I typed out a reply.

  C U @ Neptune in 10.

  An American rendition of the Trevi Fountain in Rome, Neptune was located in front of the Jefferson Building on First Street. The bearded Neptune, king of the sea, was the centerpiece of the bronze fountain. He’s flanked by his triton sons, sea nymphs riding horses, frolicking dolphins, and turtles spouting water. It was a convenient meeting spot since no one could miss the grandiose landmark.

  “I have to run,” I said. “Gotta get the car and pick up Doug. He has a big day tomorrow.”

  “Tell him good luck,” said Sebastian.

  “I want to hear more about Lisa,” I said. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily.”

  Sebastian’s eyes sparkled. “I want you to meet her. And her dog. I know Clarence is going to love Murphy.”

  “Terrific.” I purposefully didn’t respond to his comment about Clarence, our beagle mutt who had grown attached to Sebastian since he moved nearby. Clarence was a one-man dog. He didn’t particularly like to share, and I wasn’t sure how he’d respond to Sebastian fussing over another dog.

  After giving Meg a quick hug goodbye, I hustled to the garage, retrieved our Prius, and pulled up nine minutes and thirty seconds later in front of Neptune’s Fountain. Doug was bundled up in his dark winter coat, tuffs of his bushy brown hair peeking through the hood he had pulled over his head. Minutes later, we were cruising along interstate 395 South, headed back to the Virginia suburb of Arlington where we lived.

  “Did you get all your work done?” I asked.

  “I’m caught up,” he said. “You have no idea how much time it’s taken to prepare for tomorrow’s event. Gaffney wanted everything planned to the minute.”

  “It’s understandable. After all, he wants the Librarian to look good. A lot of important members of Congress will be there. Miriam Dunlap hasn’t been in the position for that long.”

  The first woman and African American Librarian of Congress, Miriam Dunlap had brought a breath of fresh air to Capitol Hill. In her early fifties, she had more energy than hours in the day. In a little over a year, she’d taken a time-honored institution and made it relevant to the twenty-first century.

  “We’ll make sure it goes off without a hitch,” said Doug. “In the meantime, did you have a chance to look at the listing Jonathan sent us?”

  Jonathan, a former Senate colleague who’d changed careers and become a successful realtor, had recently shown us several houses in Virginia suburbs near Arlington. Doug was eager to move into a bigger space than our two-bedroom condo. But I was hesitant to leave our Arlington oasis. At our current residence, everything we needed was within walking distance and our commute to Capitol Hill remained tolerable. A house meant living somewhere less cosmopolitan than Arlington, and I wasn’t ready for that degree of domesticity. At least now. Doug had gotten so excited about the prospect of having an office where he could store all of his books and a yard for Clarence. I’d only hinted at my hesitation.

  “Not yet, but I will tomorrow.” I turned into the garage underneath our high-rise condo building.

  “Don’t forget, darling,” said Doug. “Jonathan said this house is a real keeper.”

  Five minutes later, we braced ourselves outside the door. Clarence had a habit of trying to escape when we entered. He liked the thrill of running down the long hallway, often barking with glee. Unfortunately, our elderly neighbor Mrs. Beauregard (a confirmed cat lover) disliked dogs and frequently threatened to report Clarence to the condo board.

  “Ready?” asked Doug.

  I nodded, putting my key into the lock and slowly opening the door. Sure enough, our chunky beagle mutt tried to wedge himself between the door and the frame. Doug anticipated our puppy’s move, placing his foot in Clarence’s path.

  “Not so fast, buddy,” he said.

  Clarence knew the jig was up. He retreated into our condo, his tail wagging like a souped-up metronome.

  “If we could harness the power of that tail, we might solve the energy crisis,” I said.

  Doug laughed, and we walked into our condo. “I’m beat,” he said. “I’d better hit the sack. I have an early day tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take Clarence for his walk and join you soon,” I said.

  As I strolled with Clarence outside, I considered the evening’s events. Doug certainly worked with a lively and assorted set of colleagues. Despite their eccentricities and foibles, it was refreshing to observe a group of people genuinely unified around a common mission. The most delightful part of it was the lack of politics or bitter partisanship. I’d worked on Capitol Hill as a congressional staffer for so many years, I almost forgot what it was like to work somewhere without persistent conflict. Perhaps that was fodder for careful reflection.

  Clarence pulled toward our building. After all, it was mid-February. Even with his fur coat, he’d had enough of the cold. When we arrived at our condo, Doug was already fast asleep. We soon joined him for a long winter’s nap, blissfully unaware of what awaited us the next day.

  Chapter Three

  W

  By the time I rolled out of bed, Doug had already departed for work. Usually, it was the other way around. Nervous about today’s reenactment, this time with the Librarian of Congress playing the main part, he must have gotten an early start to the day. Sure enough, I checked my phone and there was a text message from him.

  Had to run. Wish me luck.

  I wrote back, reassuring him everything would go smoothly. If not, the Assistant Librarian would certainly let Doug know about it. He obviously wanted to test Doug in his new position. After today’s event, maybe Gaffney would back off Doug. I certainly hoped so. While I was used to pushy, demanding bosses, Doug’s background as an academic had shielded him from such authoritative supervision. He’d either have to get used to it or figure out a way to sidestep Gaffney’s overbearing style.

  My boss, Chairwoman Maeve Dixon, was headed directly to the Library of Congress this morning for the event. That meant I didn’t need to rush into work. As the chair of the oversight committee, she’d linger at the festivities this morning and would certainly give an interview (or two) to the D.C. newspapers covering it. Due to the media interest, our press secretary planned to attend with her. Since I’d gone to the preview last night, I was more than happy to cede my usual duty of accompanying the boss to another staffer in our office.

  Furthermore, Maeve wasn’t happy to be in Washington this week, and I was tired of hearing the complaints. Congress was usually in recess during the week of President’s Day. During recess, Maeve recharged, spending time in North Carolina with family, friends, and constituents. But the Speaker o
f the House decided to cancel the recess in an effort to pass critical legislation. No one really believed the extra time would have the desired effect, but optics are everything in D.C. these days. No one liked having a break unexpectedly removed from the calendar, including staff and politicians.

  After a light morning jog with Clarence, I made myself a double shot cappuccino from our monster espresso machine, which occupied a good portion of our kitchen countertop. We’d have to keep that in mind if we decided to move. There was no way I was giving up our mammoth coffee contraption. I couldn’t get moving most mornings without it.

  I was about to dash into the shower when my phone buzzed. Hopefully nothing had gone awry at the office.

  Thankfully, it was another message from Doug. That was surprising, since the big event was scheduled to start in less than thirty minutes. I punched the code to access my phone and read the text.

  Come to LOC ASAP.

  “LOC” was the acronym for the Library of Congress. I typed back a reply.

  Haven’t left condo yet.

  Three dots appeared immediately, indicating Doug was responding.

  Hurry, pls.

  How strange. Maybe something had gone wrong with the congressional attendance and Doug needed my help. Didn’t congressional relations guru Janice Jackson deal with those types of problems?

  Before I could ask what was so urgent, my other phone, which I used for only work-related business, buzzed. But this wasn’t a text message. It was a phone call from Maeve Dixon.

  I swiped the phone to answer the call.

  “Good morning, Madame Chair.”

  A little humor couldn’t hurt. Maeve liked being called “Madame Chair,” and I already knew she was miffed she had to spend the week in Washington, D.C.

  “I’m afraid it’s not a good morning. I walked over early to attend the Library of Congress event.” She paused for second. “Kit, someone is dead.”

  In an instant, my heart sank. Doug? Then I remembered he had just texted me. It couldn’t be him. I squeaked out a question. “Did you say dead?”

  “Yes,” said Maeve in a clipped voice. “It’s a Library of Congress staffer. Not your husband, of course. He’s here with the police. They seem quite interested in what he has to say.”

  I gulped. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I clicked the phone shut. At least I knew the reason for Doug’s cryptic texts.

  In five minutes flat, I took a lightning fast shower, threw on a black pantsuit and boots, and ran out the door. Clarence had never seen me move so quickly. He barked goodbye as I tossed him a milk bone.

  The traffic gods were with me this morning. Thirty minutes later, I was trotting toward the Thomas Jefferson Building. I approached the entrance from the drive adjacent to the ground floor, called the “carriage entrance,” reminiscent of the horse and buggy era when the building was constructed in the late nineteenth century.

  A Capitol Hill police office stood squarely in front of the door. “Sorry, ma’am. The Jefferson Building is closed,” he said. After taking a look at my attire, which screamed Capitol Hill staffer, he continued. “The congressional event has been postponed.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Politeness was always preferable, but particularly useful when dealing with law enforcement. “But my husband works here at the Library and he contacted me about the. . .” I stammered. “Incident. I think he’s somehow. . .” Stammering again. “Involved.”

  The cop narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have authorization to let anyone inside the building.” He turned away from me, grabbing his crackling radio from his hip holster.

  An attractive female police officer stepped outside, her auburn hair pulled back neatly in a ponytail. She was holding tightly onto a leash attached to a large black dog. Surveying the scene, she fixed her gaze on me. “Are you Kit Marshall?”

  “That’s me.”

  It only took three strides of her long legs to reach me. “I’m Lisa Reddy,” she said, offering her hand.

  “Have we met before?” I racked my brain. “I’ve met a lot of Capitol Hill police officers since my boss became the chair of the oversight committee.”

  Lisa laughed, her green eyes sparkling. “We’ve never met. But I know your brother Sebastian.”

  Duh. This was Sebastian’s new girlfriend.

  I accepted her hand and shook it. “Sorry, Lisa. It’s sort of been a stressful morning.”

  “I understand. By the way, this is Murphy. Sebastian tells me you’re a dog lover.”

  I looked down. Murphy stared up at me with big, brown eyes. His Capitol Hill police vest said, “POLICE DOG: DO NOT PET.”

  “Hello, Murphy,” I said, pulling my hand back. “I’m not supposed to pet you, unfortunately.”

  Lisa chuckled. “That’s for the general public. Murphy is pretty cute. If we didn’t have that sign on him, every tourist would want to stop and cuddle. But you can pet him, if you like.”

  I rubbed Murphy’s head, and he licked my hand. “Lisa, can you help me get inside? I think your colleagues are speaking to my husband, and my boss Chairwoman Maeve Dixon is also there. Quite frankly, I don’t even know what happened, except that a Library of Congress staff member is dead.”

  She nodded. “Let me go inside and check to make sure it’s okay.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Lisa turned around with Murphy to enter the building. Before she did, I called out to her. “Nice to meet you!”

  I texted Doug to let him know I was trying to find a way inside. I also sent a message to Meg, asking her to hold down the fort at the office. She wrote back immediately.

  Why are you at LOC again?

  Meg knew that I wasn’t supposed to staff the Congresswoman at this event.

  Dead body at the Library.

  Meg responded with the “surprise” emoticon.

  :-0

  After promising to keep her posted, the door opened, and Lisa and Murphy emerged. “Good news,” she said. “O’Halloran says you can go inside.”

  “Thank goodness for Detective O’Halloran.” I’d worked with him on other Capitol Hill murder investigations. Unfortunately, if he was on the scene, foul play was likely.

  “Sergeant O’Halloran,” Lisa said. “He was promoted.”

  “Wow!” I exclaimed. “That’s great news. I’ll have to congratulate him, although today might not be the best time.”

  “It might not be,” said Lisa gravely. We went through the metal detectors to enter the building and climbed the stairs. I shuddered. Lisa’s foreshadowing hadn’t escaped me.

  Despite the swarm of police officers, the Great Hall shone with ornate regality. I scanned the marble expanse, which was now filled with law enforcement and officials in dark suits. Finally, I spotted Doug, deep in conversation with O’Halloran.

  Maeve Dixon was here, too, but my first priority was Doug. From across the way, I could see the worry lines on Doug’s forehead. In his case, graceful aging wasn’t the culprit. My husband was distressed. Calm and collected, Doug rarely became flustered. His apparent anxiety upped my own blood pressure several points.

  I hustled over to the two men. Placing a hand on Doug’s shoulder, I leaned in. “Good morning,” I said evenly, extending my hand. “I understand it’s Sergeant O’Halloran these days.”

  The edges of the beefy cop’s mouth inched upward ever so slightly. “Correct, Ms. Marshall. Unfortunately, we meet under difficult circumstances.” He added, “Once again.”

  This could only mean murder. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  O’Halloran tried to speak, but Doug cut him off. “I came into work early today, as you know. After dropping off my coat at my office, I walked over here to the Great Hall to make sure everything was in order.” Doug pointed to the Librarian’s ceremonial office, the same place we’d been last night. I noticed a piece of yellow police
tape cordoned off the entrance.

  I nodded my head and massaged Doug’s shoulder. “Go on. What happened next?”

  Doug’s face was now flush. “That’s when I discovered him.”

  “Who, Doug?” I asked. Clearly, the shock had affected his thinking. Maybe he didn’t realize I had no idea what happened.

  “My boss,” said Doug, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, no doubt in a futile attempt to forestall an impending headache. “Gustav Gaffney has been murdered, and the killer stole the contents of Lincoln’s pockets.”

  Chapter Four

  W

  “That’s not entirely true,” said O’Halloran. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped trickles of perspiration from his face. Even though it was February, the robust former detective must have been feeling the heat.

  “What’s not true?” I asked. “Are you sure the Assistant Librarian was murdered?”

  “Oh yeah,” said O’Halloran with the nonchalance that comes with having worked homicide investigations previously. “Gaffney was definitely murdered. But not everything was stolen from the safe.”

  “That’s right,” said Doug. “I’m too upset to think clearly. The confederate note was stolen and the handkerchief.”

  “Perhaps the thief had to hurry,” I said. “And grabbed what he could.”

  “We’re not sure,” said O’Halloran. “But your husband here is front and center of this investigation, as you might imagine, Ms. Marshall.”

  I swallowed hard. Doug had discovered the body, which almost always cast suspicions. To add insult to injury, his relationship with Gaffney had been strained. It wouldn’t take an experienced investigator like O’Halloran too long to figure that out.

  “I’m sure Doug called the police immediately after finding Mr. Gaffney.” I touched my husband’s arm lightly. “Right, Doug?”

  “Of course,” he said, his voice quavering. “I mean, right after I checked his vitals.”

  “You touched the body?” I asked. As the spouse of an amateur sleuth, he should have known better, right?