Larceny at the Library
Page 20
On the way back to my desk, I asked Patsy for the details about Ford’s Theater. I had some time before I had to leave. Clarence was curled up on his doggie bed. He barely opened an eye when I returned. I imagined what he must be thinking. Working hard? Too bad you can’t take a nap with me.
I’d been forging my way through the hundreds of emails which had built up in my inbox when my phone dinged. Maybe Jonathan had contacted Doug and he couldn’t make our real estate appointment. I grabbed my phone to check the message.
No such luck. The text was from Trevor.
Time for coffee? Breakfast?
There was a tone of desperation that was uncharacteristic for the composed, stoic Trevor I knew. My response was typical for Washington. I answered his question with my own question.
Is something wrong?
The three dots appeared immediately.
Would like to talk.
Somehow, I doubted this was about murder. However, I’d bet my coveted congressional parking spot that it was about another “M” word, namely Meg.
Longworth in 5?
Trevor responded in the affirmative, so I abandoned any hope at making a dent in my email responses and set off for the main House of Representatives cafeteria. Meg wasn’t at her desk, so I couldn’t check in with her before speaking to Trevor. I’d have to wing it.
As I entered the large eatery, the smells of breakfast greeted me and my stomach rumbled in response. If I had to spend my lunch hour touring a house with an over eager realtor and husband, I’d better fortify myself. Pancakes would do the trick. Topped with warm syrup, of course.
After paying for my meal, I spotted Trevor in the far corner of the cafeteria. I plunked my tray on the table and took the seat opposite him. My longtime friend didn’t look so good. Almost to a fault, Trevor was always neatly dressed, well rested, and perfectly attired. This morning, there were dark circles under his eyes and his white dress shirt looked wrinkled. His normally coiffed hair seemed in immediate need of a trim. Something was up.
“Is everything okay, Trevor?” I opened my plastic container and dug into my pancakes.
“I’ve been better,” he said in a flat voice. “But it is heartening to know that you continue to prefer to drown your breakfast food with that gelatinous, sugary liquid masquerading as maple syrup.”
I was relieved. Trevor couldn’t be too down and out if he was making fun of my unhealthy eating habits yet again. Ignoring his snark, I asked, “Well, what is it, then? Unfortunately, I don’t have all day. I’m meeting the Librarian of Congress at Ford’s Theater in less than an hour.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m not sure you’ll be of any help.”
I put down my plastic fork and knife and wiped my sticky mouth. “Let me guess. You want Meg to decide who she wants to date exclusively.”
He leaned across the table. “You know what’s going on.”
Men really could be clueless about female friendships. “Of course, I do, Trevor. I’m Meg’s best friend.”
His eyes glowed through his wire-rimmed glasses. “What do you think? What should I do?”
“Let’s back up for a second,” I said. “I haven’t had much time to speak with Meg about this. Remember, we have a murder investigation going on and Doug is a prime suspect until it gets solved.”
Trevor pursed his lips. “I know.”
“But I think Meg knows she can’t keep dating two men seriously forever.”
Trevor rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “What do I do in the meantime? Just wait around for Meg to make a decision?”
“I know you don’t like it, but you’d better give her time. She needs to figure out what she wants,” I said. “You and Clay may seem similar on the surface, but I think the choice between the two of you is actually quite stark. Meg needs time to realize that.”
“What do you mean?” Trevor’s eyes blinked nervously.
“I don’t think I should say too much more. This is really between you and Meg.” I glanced at my phone. “Besides, I need to grab a ride to Ford’s Theater for my meeting.”
Trevor sank back in his chair. “Do you have any new leads? My boss wants to stay informed and law enforcement isn’t saying much.”
“I don’t know too much more than when I saw you last night,” I said. “O’Halloran is looking into Congressman Chang’s whereabouts after the display ended. Don’t spread that factoid around, though. He doesn’t want anyone to know a member of Congress is a potential suspect.”
“No update on anyone else?”
“Janice Jackson’s alibi stands up. She showed up on a video camera leaving the Library of Congress at the right time, just like she claimed,” I explained.
“Maybe the lawyer and Lea Rutherford did it,” said Trevor. “They certainly each had a reason to dislike the victim. Or the rare books expert, if he needed the money from the theft.”
“There’s plenty of possibilities but nothing definitive. Which leaves us right back to where we started. With Doug as a suspect.” I rubbed my temples. The pancakes had brightened my mood but Trevor’s questions about the case had brought back the anxiety.
Trevor tapped his fingers on the table. “Something isn’t right. I’m not sure what it is. If it comes to me, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Please do, Trevor.” I stood. “I’ll even take hunches at this point.”
Trevor adjusted his glasses. “I would hope I could do better than a mere hunch.” On this other matter we spoke about, I’ll do as you say, as much as I’d like to give Meg a deadline to make a choice.”
“Hang in there, Trevor.” I waved goodbye and dashed out of the cafeteria.
Fifteen minutes later, I’d caught a ride share to the Penn Quarter neighborhood of the city, home of cultural institutions such as the Shakespeare Theatre, the National Building Museum, the Navy Memorial, and Ford’s Theatre. Even though I knew the famous theater had been renovated several times, I got chills when visiting. This was the spot of our nation’s most infamous murder. No matter how many times I walked inside, I mentally transported myself to that fateful night in 1865 when American history was forever altered by the assassination of our sixteenth president.
The lobby outside the theater, which also included the gift shop, was eerily empty when I walked inside. But then I heard voices from the direction of the theater, so I followed them inside the hallowed hall. I was instantly transported in time. The box where Lincoln was shot was on the right-hand side, decorated in exactly the same way it had been in 1865, with a framed picture of George Washington on the balcony.
Before I could appreciate my surroundings more fully, I heard a familiar voice. “Kit, so glad you could meet us here.”
I swiveled my head and saw Dorian Jones approaching, the Librarian’s chief of staff. I extended my hand. “Not a problem. We’re lucky it could fit into my schedule.”
He gestured toward the stage. “The program is almost over. This was a private event for archivists, historians, and other V-I-Ps.” He lowered his voice and wiggled his eyebrows. “Donors.”
I nodded. Anyone who was someone in Washington, D.C. knew the name of the game. It started with the letter “f” and ended in “g.” And it wasn’t a curse word, at least in the traditional sense. Yes, that’s right. FUNDRAISING. It made the world go round. Whether it was political donors to a campaign or cultural philanthropists, nothing happened in our fair city without it.
Miriam Dunlap was on stage with a uniformed park ranger and a man in a suit, who was probably the executive director of Ford’s. I whispered back to Dorian. “What’s the program about?”
“A celebration of Lincoln’s birthday event,” he said. “Talking about the visitor experience at Ford’s plus the Library’s stellar Lincoln collection.” His eyes narrowed. “Of course, there’s been a lot of questions about the theft and murder.”
At that moment, the audience clapped politely as the participants removed their lavaliere microphones and exited the stage. Miriam Dunlap and the other panelists made their way to the back of the theater.
Dunlap made a beeline in my direction and immediately introduced me to the park ranger and the head honcho of Ford’s. I exchanged pleasantries with everyone, mindful of the time.
“We have several members of Congress who are big supporters of this site,” said the Ford’s director enthusiastically.
“Such as Congressman Chang?” I kept my voice as innocent as possible. I had no dog in this flight, except to catch a murderer and thief.
“Of course,” said the director, a smile plastered across his face. “He was here today.”
Librarian Dunlap chimed in. “Congressman Chang is our biggest congressional supporter at the Library of Congress. He’s practically joined at the hip with our congressional relations liaison.” She looked pointedly at her chief of staff. “Isn’t that right?”
Dorian nodded. “He’s our number one fan.”
I am your number one fan. Wasn’t that the famous line from Stephen King’s Misery? I’d read the book from the master suspense writer decades ago. The quote, spoken by Kathy Bates in the movie, had resonated with me. So-called number one fans had a way of becoming downright deadly. I suppressed a shudder while others buoyed their heads in sycophant approval.
Sure enough, Chang was walking up the center aisle of Ford’s Theatre. Didn’t this man engage in any routine legislative activity? I made a mental note to make sure he’d seen “Schoolhouse Rock.” Maybe Chang needed to learn how a lonely bill could become a law? After spotting us, he joined our group of conversationalists.
“As a member of our House oversight committee, I’m sure you know Kit Marshall from Chairwoman Dixon’s staff,” said the Librarian.
“Of course,” said Chang. “We’ve met previously.”
He’d consciously avoided that I’d questioned him about the theft and Gaffney’s murder. I’d have done the same if I was in his situation.
“I thoroughly enjoyed your presentation today,” said Dorian to the Ford’s Theatre director. “The museum downstairs is a great addition, as well.”
“We will need to pay careful attention to our artifacts,” said the director solemnly. “In case there’s someone who is hell bent on stealing more Lincoln paraphernalia.”
I stole a glance at Congressman Chang. His face remained stoic. If he was our thief, he knew how to play it cool.
“What would be your most valuable item related to Lincoln?” I asked.
“Probably John Wilkes Booth’s Deringer that he used to kill Lincoln,” he said. “Quite a macabre item, but our visitors make a point of seeing it.”
Dorian whispered to me. “I learned from the program today that it was a single shot pistol. If Booth had misfired, there would have been no opportunity to reload. He had one chance to murder Lincoln that evening.”
“Sounds familiar,” I murmured. I remained convinced that whomever killed the Assistant Librarian and stole the items knew it was an unusual opportunity for the crimes and acted that night because of it.
“I hope you are able to join us for the reception,” said the Ford’s director. “It’s right this way.” He ushered us out of the theater and back inside the lobby.
Miriam Dunlap spoke up. “I’ll be there in a moment.” She motioned for me to follow her inside the adjacent gift shop.
“Thank you for meeting me here, Kit,” said the Librarian. “Between this morning event and now the rescheduled congressional show-and-tell this afternoon, I won’t have another free moment today.” She picked up a beer pint glass with Lincoln’s likeness and the Ford’s Theatre logo on it. “Seems like an odd gift, doesn’t it?”
I giggled. “I’m not sure Abraham Lincoln would approve.”
“I don’t know about his shopping preferences, but I am certain he would not be pleased if he knew the items in his pockets at the time of his death had been stolen,” said Dunlap. “Are we any closer to knowing what happened?”
“I’m tracking down everyone’s whereabouts after the preview event concluded inside the ceremonial office. Sergeant O’Halloran is providing assistance.” I lowered my voice and scanned the gift shop to make sure no one was listening to our conversation. “He’s checking out Congressman Chang’s alibi, but don’t tell anyone. He could get serious blowback if his superiors found out he was investigating a sitting member of Congress. Even informal inquiries might get him in trouble with the higher-ups.”
Dunlap’s eyes widened. “I won’t say a thing. Janice Jackson would be devastated if Congressman Chang is behind this.” Her eyes twinkled. “Those two get along really well.”
“More than a professional relationship?” I asked. “Is that why he spends so much time at the Library of Congress?”
“I have no idea,” the Librarian said quickly. “I shouldn’t engage in gossip like that.”
Despite Dunlap’s abrupt disavowal, my mind was already racing. Did Chang leverage a romantic relationship to uncover relevant details about the Lincoln collection and how to steal it? It was starting to make sense. The question was how to prove it. Hopefully the police could determine if Chang was telling the truth about retiring to his office after the event ended.
“It might be impolite to gossip, but you never know when pieces of information could be relevant to solving the crime,” I said.
Dunlap seemed to consider my comment. “I appreciate that, Ms. Marshall. But as I’ve said before, Library staff are dedicated professionals. I can’t see how one of them could be involved.”
“And you haven’t thought of another motive, besides theft, to kill Gustav?”
“I’m afraid I only worked with Gustav for less than a year,” she said. “He had a long career beforehand. But he was relatively new to the Library of Congress. Quite frankly, I’m not sure he was around long enough to have created enemies.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” I said. “It seems like Gustav had already ruffled a few feathers.”
“Enough to kill him?” The Librarian’s forehead wrinkled in despair.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out,” I said.
“Are you attending the event this afternoon with Chairwoman Dixon?” asked Dunlap.
“We’ll be there,” I said.
“I’d hoped that the missing items would have been returned by now,” said Dunlap. “I suppose we’ll have to simply proceed with what we have.” She sighed as the worry lines on her forehead deepened.
“My boss is looking forward to it,” I said, mostly wanting to mollify the Librarian’s legitimate concerns.
“If you need anything regarding the event, be sure to contact Janice Jackson,” said Dunlap. “That woman is always running between the Library and the congressional buildings. I told her she was allowed to wear tennis shoes to work.”
I laughed. “Not a bad idea. Better for walking than these.” I pointed to my high-heeled black boots.
“Take care, Ms. Marshall,” said the Librarian. “Contact Dorian if there’s a break in the case so he can keep me informed.”
I rushed out of the gift shop and was about to exit the theater onto Tenth Street when a woman’s voice called out my name. I spun around and found myself face to face with an old friend.
“Vivian Langsford,” I said in a low voice, almost to myself.
The fifty-something bombshell grabbed my hands and gave me a hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” she said. “Since after Lyndon’s murder.”
Her late husband, Senator
Lyndon Langsford, had been my first political boss in Congress. His murder was the first mystery I’d solved, and I’ll never forget it since I was the primary suspect until I exposed the guilty party.
“What brings you to Ford’s Theatre?” I asked. Vivian looked gorgeous, as always. She’d always liked me, but her affection toward me grew after I kept a personal secret of hers I’d uncovered while hunting her husband’s killer.
“I’m a donor, of course,” said Vivian. That made sense. She’d brought the money to the marriage and bankrolled her husband’s numerous campaigns for political office.
She placed her hand on her shapely hip. “And why are you here, dear? You’re still working on Capitol Hill, aren’t you? For that southern woman?” Her eyes sparkled. Vivian Langsford was a lot of things, but feminist wasn’t one of them.
“That’s right.” I took a deep breath. “I’m here to speak with the Librarian of Congress. About the murder and theft that happened earlier this week.”
Vivian took a step back in her high heels. teetering a bit. “Oh my. I’m afraid you caught me off guard on that one.” She blinked several times. “I suppose that makes sense. You’ve continued to solve murders after Lyndon’s death.” She gave me a tight smile. “I do read the newspapers, you know.”
“Of course.” An idea popped into my brain. It was a long shot, but worth a try. “Do you happen to know Lea Rutherford?” I had a hunch that Vivian might run in the same circles as her. In my experience, rich people tended to hang together, for better or worse.
Vivian tilted her heavily made up face to the side. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Is she involved in this matter?”
I didn’t want Vivian running to Lea after our conversation ended. “Indirectly,” I said, careful to keep my voice casual. “She’s a generous Library of Congress supporter and was inside the historic Jefferson Building for an event on the night of the murder.”
Vivian tapped her long, red manicured nail against her cheek. “I see.” Then she leaned closer. “Let me tell you about Lea. She’s a tough customer. I would not underestimate her.”