Larceny at the Library

by Colleen Shogan

  I gulped. “You’re right, Ms. Rutherford. The sooner this gets solved, the better for everyone involved.”

  Lea stood, indicating that our meeting was over. She thrust her hand in my direction. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance again. I hope the next time we meet, it will be under better circumstances.” I shook her hand and so did Meg.

  We exited the building and stopped to chat on the plaza outside the library. It was an unseasonably warm February afternoon, which was one of the advantages of living in Washington, D.C. Even though we had our share of cold days, we usually caught a few days of spring-like warmth in the midst of winter.

  “I’ll get us a ride back to Capitol Hill.” Meg whipped out her phone. “Three minutes until the car arrives.”

  “Any thoughts about our conversation with Lea?” I asked.

  “She’s really smooth. And self-confident.”

  “Billions of dollars tend to have that effect. But was she trying too hard to convince us she didn’t have a motive to kill Gustav?”

  Our driver pulled up, and we climbed inside the car. “It seemed that way. So maybe she has something to hide,” said Meg.

  “It’s curious she also thinks Henry Chang is too eager for a congressman,” I said. “We’re not imagining it.”

  “Definitely not.” Meg turned back to her phone and scrolled through her emails. “Kit, check your messages. I think the Librarian of Congress might want to see you.”

  Sure enough, there was an email from Dorian Jones in my inbox. He requested that I stop by the Librarian’s office to give her an afternoon update on the case.

  I sighed as I put my phone inside my purse. “Miriam Dunlap wants me to brief her. I’m not sure I have that much to report.”

  We arrived in front of the Cannon House Office Building and climbed out of the car. “I’d better get back to the office to check on everything. You have a meeting with Janice Jackson later on?” asked Meg.

  “She offered to show me the Members Room inside the Jefferson Building. If there’s enough time, we’re going to walk down the street for a drink. Are you able to join us? You have a good working relationship with her. Maybe she’d feel more comfortable opening up if you were there.”

  “If I can bring Trevor and combine it with our date this evening, then I’m in,” said Meg. “Dating two men is exhausting. That’s another reason I need to figure out my love life. I never have a minute to myself!”

  I ignored Meg’s self-pitying comment. Having too many dates was a better problem than having none.

  “Like I said, Trevor always picks up important tidbits when we’re investigating,” I said. “Tell him to meet us inside the Library’s Great Hall at five.”

  Meg wagged her fingers goodbye to me, and we parted ways on Independence Avenue. Five minutes later, I opened the glass doors to the Librarian’s suite on the sixth floor of the Madison Building.

  “Thank you for stopping by, Kit,” said Dorian. “The Librarian is very eager for an update on the case.”

  “I can talk to her about it, but I’m afraid I don’t have that much to report since we met for drinks last night,” I said.

  Dorian frowned. “She’s certainly not going to like that message. You’d better figure out a way to make it sound more substantial.”

  I thought for a moment. “I could run a theory by her and get her reaction. It might be helpful.”

  Dorian’s face brightened. “There you go. As a fellow chief of staff, you know how to play the game.”

  I certainly do. Sometimes, I played it too well for my own good.

  Chapter Twelve

  W

  Dorian escorted me to the Librarian’s private office and excused himself after letting us know he had a budget planning meeting to attend. Miriam Dunlap sat on the other side of her desk, swiveling back and forth nervously in her leather chair.

  “Ms. Marshall, I appreciate your time. Can you please tell me about your progress on the case?” She peered at me from the bottom half of her reading glasses.

  “I don’t have anything definitive to share,” I said. The Librarian’s face fell. “But I would like to discuss a theory with you.”

  Dunlap’s eyes sparkled. “A theory about who murdered Gustav?”

  “Not who, but why,” I said. “The federal investigators believe that Gustav was murdered because of the theft. They are pursuing every lead to recover the stolen items from the Lincoln collection.”

  The Librarian nodded, her expression solemn. “That makes perfect sense.”

  “It does make sense for the feds to chase down that angle. They have the resources and connections to locate stolen antiquities that could surface for sale. But I’m looking at the case differently.”

  Dunlap narrowed her eyes, removed her glasses, and folded her hands. “Go on, Ms. Marshall.”

  “I know you don’t think someone associated with the Library of Congress could have killed Gustav, but what if we’re thinking about this crime in the wrong way?”

  “Please continue,” she said, a touch of impatience in her voice. I’d better cut to the chase.

  “Perhaps someone wanted to kill Gustav Gaffney and then stole the items to make it look like a theft.”

  The Librarian pursed her lips. “You mean the theft wasn’t the reason for Gustav’s death?”

  “Exactly,” I said, a little too enthusiastically.

  “What makes you think this, Ms. Marshall?” she asked. “Especially since our highly trained federal investigators are pursuing the opposite explanation.”

  “The killer only took two items from the safe. The handkerchief and the Confederate note. If the motive was theft, then why not steal the entire collection? It would be much more valuable.”

  “Perhaps the murderer was interrupted,” said Dunlap. “Or was in a rush.”

  “Gustav was killed soon after the preview event ended,” I explained. “There’s no evidence to suggest anyone was near the ceremonial office when the crime occurred. No one has come forward to report seeing anyone suspicious or hearing the attack. I think the perpetrator was alone on that floor of the Jefferson Building with Gustav. If that’s the case, he or she would have had enough time to clean out the safe.”

  Dunlap sat back in her chair and picked up her glasses. She chewed on the stem as she considered my argument. “I still find it hard to believe one of our own might have killed Gustav,” she said slowly. “But I understand why you are pursuing this line of inquiry. If the federal investigators are going down another path, you might as well follow alternative leads.”

  “Thank you for understanding. You have my word that I won’t jump to any rash conclusions.”

  “I know you won’t. After all, you’d want your husband treated the same way,” said Dunlap with a wry smile.

  “Certainly. Doug remains a suspect until we bring the guilty party to justice. That’s not lost on me.”

  The Librarian leaned forward. “Have you talked to the potential suspects on your list? Can I help you with anyone?”

  “Actually, I’ve talked to most of the attendees at the preview display. But not Gordon Endicott from Rare Books.”

  Miriam Dunlap reached for her phone and asked her executive assistant if he would connect her to the Rare Books Reading Room. “That’s easily remedied,” she said, with her hand over the receiver. After waiting for a minute, Endicott must have come on the line.

  “Gordon, this is Miriam,” she said. He must have interrupted her. “Yes, Miriam Dunlap. The Librarian of Congress.”

  After a pause, she continued. “Absolutely, Gordon. We’re trying to regain some degree of normalcy. I’d like to bring someone by to chat with you in ten minutes. Is that suitable?”

  She listened for a few seconds, and then answered. “Perfect. We’ll see you soon.” She hung up the phone.

  Dunlap mo
ved from around the desk and gently guided me by the arm toward the door. “We can finish our conversation on the walk over to the Rare Books Reading Room.”

  I followed her lead and considered my audience. Would Endicott clam up because I was married to Doug? Maybe it would make sense if I had a buffer.

  “I need a moment to text a friend,” I said. “He might be helpful for this conversation.”

  I fired off a text to Trevor. If he was free, maybe he could join me.

  “Where are we going again?” I asked Dunlap.

  “Second floor of the Jefferson Building. Then follow the signs to the Rare Books Reading Room.”

  “Got it.” I finished my text with the location.

  The Librarian of Congress resumed our chat when we entered the underground tunnel connecting the Madison and Jefferson Buildings. “What are you hoping to achieve by questioning Gordon Endicott?”

  “A fair question,” I said. “I want to know if he might have had a motive to murder Gaffney.”

  Miriam Dunlap kept up our conversation despite greeting every staff member who passed us inside the tunnel. Her people skills were comparable to a senior member of Congress. Political acumen didn’t only reside in elected politicians.

  “I can’t think of one,” she said. “Gustav liked Gordon very much. I’m sure you know he supported Gordon’s candidacy to run the scholarly center.”

  I gulped. “You endorsed Doug, though.”

  “Yes, I did and for good reasons. By the way, Gordon has never showed one ounce of resentment about my decision.”

  “Why do you think he wanted that position?” I asked. “Hasn’t Gordon worked in the rare books world his entire life?”

  “Yes, you’re correct. He might have been interested in the elevated pay. The job your husband occupies has a higher salary.” She furrowed her brow. “Dorian might have mentioned to me that Gordon has some financial difficulties.” She shook her head. “I try not to embroil myself in such gossip.”

  My brain churned. Endicott certainly had the connections to move stolen items on the black market. Even if he couldn’t fetch full price for something as hot as items from the Lincoln collection, the money could certainly help him with any financial shortfall he might have. Best not share this information with the Librarian of Congress at this point in time. After all, I had promised her I wouldn’t accuse a Library staff member without having substantial evidence.

  As we entered the elevator to take us to the second floor, Dunlap turned to face me. “We’re almost at the reading room. Anything else, Ms. Marshall? I have another appointment and can’t stay for your interrogation of Gordon.”

  I snapped my fingers. “One more thing. I spoke with Lea Rutherford this afternoon at the D.C. Public Library. She told me that Janice Jackson and Gustav Gaffney worked there together several years ago. Did you know that?”

  Miriam Dunlap chuckled. “It doesn’t surprise me. There are almost two hundred thousand librarians in the United States and many other support staff working in libraries. Nevertheless, it’s a very tight knit community, particularly amongst those who assume senior positions. We all know each other and many of us have worked as colleagues in previous positions.”

  “I’m going to meet Janice later today, and I’ll ask her about it,” I said.

  The elevator dinged, and we stepped out. “That woman is always in motion,” said Dunlap. “Always running to and fro between the Library and the congressional buildings. I don’t know how she does it.”

  Gustav hadn’t shared Dunlap’s enthusiasm for Janice, but since the Librarian stuck out her hand, I assumed our conversation was over and decided it wasn’t time to press my luck.

  I shook her hand lightly. “Thank you again. You’ve been very helpful.”

  She gave me directions to find the Rare Books Reading Room before pressing the button to go back down the elevator. “Keep me updated, Ms. Marshall. I like surprises when I’m doing research. I do not like surprises when it involves murder.”

  “Words to live by,” I muttered, walking down the hallway. Unless it involved chocolate, wine, or presents, I didn’t like surprises, either.

  I came upon a door with the sign “Rare Book and Special Collections Reading Room” posted outside. I walked inside the room and immediately felt I’d been transported to a secret enclave from a different era. The lighting was kept at a low level despite the impressive chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Wooden tables with comb-back chairs were arranged in neat rows on each side of the room. Was I inside a contemporary Diogenes Club? I half-expected Mycroft Holmes to turn the corner and ask if I fancied a glass of sherry.

  A younger woman with fashionable glasses and a dark brown ponytail stood behind the desk. “Can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”

  “The answer to both questions is yes, but not to view materials,” I explained. “I’m here to speak with Gordon Endicott. The Librarian of Congress called him a few minutes earlier to let him know about it.”

  “Of course,” she said. “I believe your friend has already arrived for the meeting.”

  “Friend?” I asked, puzzled.

  Then I heard a familiar voice as a man with brown hair turned around in one of the fancy chairs. “Did you forget that you invited me to join you?” asked Trevor.

  “No, of course not,” I said. “I’m surprised you beat me here. That’s all.”

  “An invitation to our nation’s preeminent rare books reading room is quite infrequent.” He walked toward us. “I did not hesitate.”

  Trevor had the uncanny ability of appearing and disappearing in a flash. I’d hoped that Meg could figure out how he did it since she started dating him. So far, she was none the wiser. Or, if she knew, she wasn’t sharing the secret with me.

  “Well, thank you for joining me,” I said. “Would you like us to wait here for Gordon?” I asked the librarian.

  “I’ll phone to let him know you’ve arrived.” After she did so, she asked whether we’d visited the Rare Books Reading Room before.

  “I haven’t,” I said.

  “Once before,” said Trevor. “Not too long ago, I briefly considered writing a book on detective stories published in the 1800s. The Library of Congress has quite a collection of these so-called dime store novels.”

  “Yes,” said the librarian, her face flush with excitement. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Certainly,” said Trevor. “But I decided against writing the book so I could focus on. . .” He paused briefly. “Other pursuits.”

  I had no doubt he meant Meg. If that was the case, he’d made the right choice.

  “This reading room is modeled after Independence Hall in Philadelphia,” she said proudly. “Do you recognize the similarities?”

  “Now that you mention it, I can see the resemblance,” I said.

  “We’re the division who is responsible for Thomas Jefferson’s collection of books, which formed the basis of the Library of Congress’s collection over two hundred years ago,” she said.

  “You must have a lot of books from the founding era,” I said.

  “We do, but we also have collections you might not know about,” she said. “Do you know we have Houdini’s magic library?”

  “Just make sure you have it under lock and key,” I said. “You wouldn’t want it to disappear.” I laughed at my one-liner as Trevor rolled his eyes.

  “It might not be an appropriate time to joke about items disappearing from our collection,” said a deep voice.

  Gordon Endicott approached us. “Please come join me in my office where we’ll have more privacy.” He gave a curt nod to the librarian at the front desk.

  Not exactly a barrel of laughs. I suppose my witticism had been in poor taste, but I hadn’t meant it that way.

  We sat down in Endicott’s office, which was sparsely decor
ated. Almost nothing was visible on his desk, and every paper had been filed neatly in alphabetized folders sitting upright on a shelf. Of course, he was a rare books librarian, so I suppose it wasn’t too surprising he seemed more organized and meticulous than Adrian Monk.

  “Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Mr. Endicott,” I said. “You may have met my colleague Trevor at the viewing on Tuesday night.”

  “We are acquainted,” he said.

  “We also have a friend in common,” said Trevor. “Professor James Mansfield from Yale University, a historian of the highest caliber. I understand you know him quite well.”

  Trevor had been doing his homework. We met Professor Mansfield last spring when Doug and I attended a history conference at the legendary Continental Club while solving a double murder. He’d been quite helpful as we identified the likely suspects and exposed the killer.

  “James and I have known each other for many years. In the early part of my career, I worked at the Beinecke.” Endicott must have seen the blank look on my face. “That’s the rare book and manuscript library at Yale. It’s one of the largest libraries of its kind in the world.”

  I slid down in my chair. Trying to keep up with this conversation was like trying to out-tweet a certain President. There was no way to keep up.

  Trevor continued. “Professor Mansfield swears you are one of the most connected curators in the rare book world.”

  Endicott tilted his chin upward. “That’s a very generous statement from James.”

  Now I knew where Trevor was going with this line of conversation. “If that’s the case, then you must know how someone could move valuable items quickly,” I said. “Even if they were stolen.”

  Endicott inhaled deeply. “I can assure you, Ms. Marshall, that I have no information about the missing contents of Lincoln’s pockets or their whereabouts.”

  I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. “But you know that world inside and out. You can’t deny it.”

  “And I shall not deny it,” said Endicott. “That doesn’t mean I had anything to do with the theft.”