Larceny at the Library

by Colleen Shogan

  O’Halloran listened and then inhaled deeply. He reached into his pocket and produced an unwrapped candy bar. He proceeded to peel away the wrapping and caught me eying him.

  “Want a piece?” He extended his hand with a square of chocolate in it. Although it was a little gross that he’d pulled the candy from his pocket, it had been wrapped. Furthermore, breakfast seemed like a long time ago.

  “Sure.” I accepted the chocolate and popped it in my mouth. “Thank you.”

  “You shared with me, so I’m sharing with you. Isn’t that how this partnership is supposed to work?” asked O’Halloran in a teasing tone.

  “Sharing chocolate snacks is not exactly what I had in mind,” I said. “Do you have any leads on the case?”

  “I was over at the Library of Congress this morning, asking about everyone’s whereabouts during the approximate time of the murder.” He whipped out his trusty notebook and flipped it open. “I’ve worked a lot of cases, and everyone always has an alibi. It’s my job to figure out who’s lying.”

  In my limited experience solving homicides, I had to agree with O’Halloran. Determining “means” and “opportunity” to commit a crime were important. We already knew everyone who attended the preview event on Tuesday night had the means to kill Gustav. They had access to the building and knew the bust of Thomas Jefferson could serve as a convenient weapon. But alibis could cast doubt on whether all the attendees truly had the “opportunity” to murder Gustav and steal the safe’s valuable contents.

  “Does everyone have an alibi for the time of Gustav’s death?” I asked.

  “You see, Ms. Marshall, that’s the interesting thing with this case.” O’Halloran took the pencil out of his breast pocket and scratched the thin layer of hair on his head. “So far, I haven’t come across a solid one.”

  “Such as?” I asked.

  “Well, your hubby is a good example.”

  I bit my lip. “He was working. I went out to dinner with Meg, Trevor, and my brother Sebastian. Doug couldn’t join us because he had to catch up on paperwork.”

  “What a convenient excuse,” said O’Halloran. “Everyone loves doing paperwork at eight o’clock in the evening. Especially when the alternative is going out to dinner and throwing back a few cold ones.”

  “It might be hard for you to believe, but Doug’s idea of a good time doesn’t involve drinks with me and my friends.”

  O’Halloran glanced at his watch. “I believe you on that one. Especially blondie. She’s a bit much to take these days, flitting around Capitol Hill with Trevor and that other chief of staff guy.”

  “How did you know that Meg was dating two men at one time?” I asked.

  “Ms. Marshall, I didn’t get promoted for nothing.” He pressed his thumb into the middle of his chest. “I know what’s going on around here.”

  Impressive. Nonetheless, I didn’t want him to forget the larger point. “Doug may not have anyone to corroborate his alibi, but it makes perfect sense that he decided to return to his office to finish his work.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said O’Halloran. “I have to keep him on the suspect list, although to tell you the truth, I can’t see the good professor bashing someone over the head with a statue of Jefferson. It’s too messy for him.”

  “Well, that makes two of us, Sergeant. What’s your next move?”

  “I gotta get back to the office to meet the federal agents who are investigating this case. They’ll have me so tied up in red tape, I won’t be able to unwind myself for a week.”

  So much for empowering local law enforcement. They’ll be focused on running fingerprints through every global criminal syndicate database from here to Europe and back. I had a distinct feeling it was up to me to investigate the home team.

  “Good luck with that,” I said as we parted ways.

  O’Halloran yelled over his shoulder. “Keep me informed, Ms. Marshall. That’s a direct order!”

  “Yes, Sergeant O’Halloran.” Why did I suddenly have the feeling I’d been drafted into service without a release date in sight?

  Chapter Nine

  W

  I continued down the long corridor linking the House of Representatives offices to the Library of Congress’s James Madison Building. Doug worked in the historic Thomas Jefferson Building, so I was less familiar with the floor plan of Madison. But I did know my way to the cafeteria, and Joe Malden said his office was nearby.

  After taking the elevator to the sixth floor of the building, I followed the signs to the General Counsel’s office. The main door was locked, and I had to use a buzzer to speak to the receptionist.

  “My name is Kit Marshall. I’m here to see Joe Malden,” I said loudly.

  “Ma’am, you don’t need to continue to hold the button when you speak,” said the female voice. “It continues to buzz in my ear when you do that.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I took my finger off the button. Why aren’t instructions provided with complex machinery?

  “I’m letting you in now,” said the voice.

  The door made a clicking sound, and I pulled it open. Inside the foyer, the same voice greeted me. “Hello, Ms. Marshall. Joe’s office is in the back of the suite.” She pointed behind her.

  I headed in the designated direction and found the office with Joe’s name on it. The door was open, but I knocked softly before entering.

  Joe was at his desk, reading a document. When he saw me, he smiled and motioned with his hand. “Please come in, Kit.”

  I took a seat across his desk and looked around. Joe’s office was roomy, probably three times the size of my work space. He’d decorated it with a smattering of Boston Red Sox paraphernalia. There was a framed jersey, a 2018 poster of the World Series team, a fancy photograph of Fenway Park, and even a baseball bat with signatures on it. On top of all this, there was also a picturesque view of the iconic Jefferson Building dome. Although not quite as grand as the United States Capitol’s world-famous structure, the Jefferson dome was no slouch. Doug had told me its architecture and design had been based on the Paris Opera House.

  “This is an impressive workspace, Joe. I’m trying to hide my jealousy,” I said.

  Joe’s face turned pink. “I try to remind myself how lucky I am. Sometimes I take it for granted. It is a beautiful office with a spectacular background.”

  “And you’ve surrounded yourself with your baseball memorabilia,” I said, pointing to the bat resting against the wall.

  “That’s a Mookie Betts signed bat from 2018,” he said proudly. “He was the league MVP that year.”

  “Quite a treasure,” I said. “Why do you keep it at work?”

  “I don’t usually,” said Joe. “A few people wanted to see it, so I brought it in. Quite frankly, I kind of like having it around. It makes me happy.”

  I understood. Having Clarence at work made me happy, at least when he wasn’t stealing ice cream cones from toddlers visiting Congresswoman Dixon’s office. That actually happened. I never needed to exaggerate when it came to Clarence’s antics.

  “Staff must still be quite unsettled about what happened yesterday,” I said.

  Joe chuckled. “That’s an understatement. This is the Library of Congress, the largest repository of human knowledge in the world. People don’t die here. This is where they come to learn.”

  “Fair point. In fact, I think Miriam Dunlap said something similar to me. Does anyone have an idea of who might be behind this?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Obviously, it’s an outsider. A professional who gained access to the building and waited for his opportunity to strike.”

  Joe hadn’t changed his tune from yesterday. I’d have to alter my approach or this was going to be Groundhog Day all over again.

  “Wouldn’t that person need some help?” I asked. “Even if the staff member providing the help had bee
n manipulated?”

  Joe thought about my question before answering. “I suppose it’s possible. Someone might have provided information without knowing they were doing something wrong.”

  “Certainly,” I said enthusiastically. At least now Joe was talking. “Maybe Lea Rutherford. She certainly knows a great deal about the Library of Congress and its operations.”

  “Due to her status as a top donor?” asked Joe.

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “And also due to the fact that the two of you are involved in a romantic relationship.”

  Joe shifted in his chair. “I’m not going to deny it. Who told you?”

  “I have my sources.” Ironically, a good detective never kisses and tells.

  “Obviously. Not that many people know about it.” Malden sighed. “But I don’t see how my relationship with Lea has any bear on this case.”

  “Gustav Gaffney didn’t approve of it. Now he’s dead,” I said. “From what I understand, Miriam Dunlap is much more understanding when it comes to love. Now, you and Lea are in the clear.”

  Joe crossed his arms across his chest. “Neither of us would kill Gustav simply because he didn’t like the fact that we’re involved romantically.”

  “You don’t think that’s a motive?” I asked. “From my perspective, it looks like a pretty substantial one, especially if it’s getting serious between you and Ms. Rutherford. Maybe you’d like to take the relationship to the next level, but Gaffney stood in the way.”

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t see how my relationship with Lea has any bearing on this case.”

  I had to concede to him there. “Regardless, I’d really like to speak with Ms. Rutherford. Given that she’s one of the wealthiest women in the United States, it’s hard for me to drop in. Is there any way you could help me set up a time to chat with her?”

  Joe pressed his lips together. “If memory serves me correctly, she’s at the D.C. Public Library today. She’s a big contributor there, as well.” He grabbed his phone and furiously texted for several seconds. After a brief pause, he placed it back on his desk. “You’re in luck. She has some time later this afternoon if you’d like to swing by.”

  “She’s at the new main branch building?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Malden, his chin jutted out. “She paid for an entire wing.”

  I should have known. “How nice. I appreciate you doing that for me. I’ll be sure to let the Librarian of Congress know how helpful you’ve been.”

  “Please do,” he said. “Your romantic musings aside, I don’t have plans to quit my day job any time soon.”

  “Understood,” I said. “But you were the one to email me today. Did you have something you wanted to discuss with me?”

  “I thought you might have questions about the murder,” he said. “I guessed that you might try to point the finger at me, especially since your husband is a prime suspect.”

  I clenched my jaw. “That’s an exaggeration. The police are investigating plenty of other angles.”

  “I heard Doug was alone in his office after the event broke up.” Malden tilted his head. “It doesn’t sound good for him.”

  Now the Library’s top lawyer had officially ticked me off. Two could play at this game. “Where were you after the display ended?”

  “I went back to my office to work, but then Lea came to see me.” His face turned pink. “She persuaded me to join her at her penthouse briefly. We were together until midnight or so, when I returned home.” He folded his hands and placed them on the desk. I had the distinct feeling that Joe Malden wanted me to ask about his whereabouts during the time of the murder so he could provide me with his alibi. A bit too convenient, at least for my highly skeptical intuition.

  “Did anyone see you?” I pressed. “A doorman, perhaps?”

  “Lea’s apartment has a private entrance,” said Malden. “I suppose there’s security footage somewhere, if the police needed to see it.”

  “Unless it’s only saved for twenty-four hours,” I said.

  “It doesn’t really matter, because we were together,” said Joe, with a degree of confidence in his voice. “You can ask Lea this afternoon, if you like.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, perhaps about the others who were at the event and had access to the office and safe?”

  Joe shook his head slowly. “My colleagues are above reproach. I can’t imagine anyone who would kill the Assistant Librarian and then steal a national treasure like the contents of Lincoln’s pockets. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  For the first time this morning, I felt like Joe Malden was telling me the truth. He’d offered his alibi in an obvious attempt to cross himself and Lea Rutherford off the suspect list. On the other hand, I didn’t get the sense he thought anyone else associated with the Library of Congress could have committed the crime.

  “I’ll agree with you on that,” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Joe stood up and so did I. He picked up his Red Sox bat and tapped his fingers on it. “I’ll level with you. Gustav wasn’t my favorite person, and he didn’t exactly win popularity contests around here. But I can honestly say the disagreements weren’t motivation for murder.” He paused for a second. “At least anything I knew about.”

  “I’ll keep digging,” I said. “Sometimes, the dirty laundry is buried.”

  Malden laughed. “I hope you have a sturdy shovel.”

  I exited Joe Malden’s office and decided to gather my thoughts over a cup of coffee inside the cafeteria. It was right around the corner, so I hustled down the hallway. Janice Jackson, the head of congressional relations, was headed in the opposite direction.

  “Janice,” I called out, waving my hand. “It’s Kit Marshall from Maeve Dixon’s office.”

  The congressional relations director spotted me and turned on her heels. “So good to see you at the Library of Congress,” she said in a rushed clip. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “No, I was just visiting Joe Malden. I don’t know if you heard, but the Librarian of Congress asked me to assist the police in their investigation of Gustav Gaffney’s murder and the theft. Chairwoman Dixon agreed, so here I am.”

  Janice ran her hand through her short, brown hair. “I did not know that. But I’m not surprised. I’m always the last to know anything.”

  That seemed odd to me. Wouldn’t you want to tell your congressional relations person everything?

  “It’s really not a big deal. I’ve helped out with other Capitol Hill crimes before,” I said.

  Janice adjusted her dark green skirt and matching suit jacket. “Good luck. Every member of Congress is suddenly interested in the Library. I’ve got more congressional inquiries than I can handle. They’re coming in via email, telephone, social media. Pretty soon, a carrier pigeon is going to arrive with a question.”

  “That makes sense to me.” Members of Congress liked to follow fire whistles. A theft of this proportion on Capitol Hill, coupled with a murder, was a three-alarm affair.

  “If that wasn’t enough, we’re hosting a small congressional reception this morning for a congressman who loves comic books.” She sighed, and then her face brightened. “Would you like to see our display? The reception won’t begin for another thirty minutes, but I think our curators have everything already assembled.”

  I glanced at my iPhone. “Sure. I had no idea the Library of Congress owns comic books.” I always thought of the Library as a place for scholars who liked to search through old books and dusty letters. Doug loved it here, and that’s what he did.

  Janice motioned with her hand for me to follow her. “Come on. You’re in for a treat.”

  I didn’t have much time, but this seemed more interesting than getting a cup of stale coffee and reading email. It was the least I could do to help Janice out. Her job was
to introduce the Library of Congress and its resources to elected officials and their staffs. By agreeing to view her display, I was handing her a nice win. It seemed like she needed it.

  After a few turns, we eventually walked into a multipurpose room that had three long tables set up with Library of Congress staff standing behind them.

  “Everyone, this is Kit Marshall, who works for Maeve Dixon,” she announced. “I’m sure you all know that Congresswoman Dixon is the chair of our congressional oversight committee in the House of Representatives.”

  Her pronouncement had the intended effect. Everyone snapped to attention and put smiles on their faces.

  Janice continued. “I met her in the hallway by chance and invited her to take a look at our comic book display this morning before our guest of honor shows up with his constituents.”

  “Thanks, everyone,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just take a speedy look and be on my way.”

  A woman in her early thirties manned the first table. Sporting funky cat’s eye glasses with her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, she wore a black cardigan trimmed in a white ivory scallop, a button-down red blouse, a puffy grey skirt, black tights, and Mary Jane shoes with a chunky heel.

  “Good morning,” I said, feeling instantly frumpy in my plain black pantsuit. Maybe I should pay more attention to fashion? But when would I fit that in? Between murders? There never seemed to be enough hours in the day.

  “Hello,” she said brightly. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

  I didn’t know much about comic books, having never read them as a kid or adult. The first one caught my eye. The title read “Wonder Woman for President.” I pointed to it.

  “What year was this one published?” I asked.

  “That’s 1943 from DC Comics,” said the curator. “It was ahead of its time.”

  “Sort of,” I said, pointing to the cover. “The sign at Wonder Woman’s campaign rally says ‘1000 Years in the Future.’”