the uglier furniture. Probably after his mother died. I don’t think that would’ve been allowed until Elizabeth drew her last breath.”
“Where did you and Jonathan meet?” Caleb asked. She ignored this question. “He might’ve mentioned your name, but I don’t know what it is,” he persisted, drawing a warning look from Stone.
“Susan Farmer. We met out West.”
“Did you marry out there as well?” Stone interjected.
He was very impressed because she didn’t even flinch. But she didn’t answer him either.
Stone decided to play his ace. He pulled the photo out of his pocket. “We were told that Jonathan’s marriage had been annulled. Since you don’t like people making assumptions, I’m deducing from your tone about Elizabeth DeHaven that she was the instigator of that action. He kept this photo. The woman bears a remarkable likeness to you. My experience is that men don’t keep photos of women for just any reason. I think your case was special.”
He handed the photo over to her. This time he got a reaction. As Annabelle took the picture, her hand, rock-steady all these years, shook a bit, and her eyes opened a smidgen wider and appeared a little moist. She said wistfully, “Jonathan was a very handsome man. Tall, thick brown hair and eyes that just made you feel good about yourself.”
“And can I say you’re as lovely now as you were then,” Reuben added magnanimously, edging closer to her.
Annabelle didn’t seem to have heard Reuben. She did something she hadn’t done in a long time: She smiled, genuinely. “This was taken on the day of our wedding. It was my first, and only, marriage.”
“Where were you married?” Caleb asked.
“Vegas—where else?” she said, her gaze holding fast on the photo. “Jonathan was in town for a book convention. We hooked up, hit it off and were married. All in a week’s time. Pretty crazy, I know. At least that’s how his mother saw it.” She ran her finger along Jonathan’s frozen smile. “But we were happy. For a time anyway. We even lived here for a while with his parents after we were married, until we found a place to live.”
“Well, it is quite a large house,” Caleb said.
“Funny, it seemed far too small back then,” she remarked dryly.
“Were you out in Vegas for the book convention too?” Stone asked politely.
She handed the photo back, and Stone put it back in his jacket pocket. “Do you really need an answer to that question?”
“All right. Have you been in contact with Jonathan over the years?”
“And why would I need to tell you if I had?”
“And there’s no reason for you to,” Reuben piped in, scowling at Stone. “In fact, that’s getting a little personal.”
Stone was obviously put out by his smitten friend’s traitorous comment but said, “We’re doing our best to figure out what happened to Jonathan, and we need as much help as we can get.”
“His heart stopped beating and he died. Is it that unusual?”
Milton explained, “The medical examiner apparently couldn’t determine the cause of death. And Jonathan had just had a full cardio checkup at Johns Hopkins. He didn’t have a heart attack or anything else, apparently.”
“So you think someone killed him? Who could possibly have a problem with Jonathan? He was a librarian.”
“It’s not like librarians don’t have enemies,” Caleb said defensively. “Indeed, I’ve been around some colleagues who can get pretty mean-spirited after they’ve had a few glasses of merlot.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Yeah, I bet. But no one’s going to pop someone because they got fined for an overdue book.”
“Let me show you something,” Stone said. “It’s up in the attic.”
When they arrived there, Stone said, “That telescope is pointed toward the house next door.”
Reuben added, “Yeah, it was looking into the owner’s bed—”
Stone cut in. “I’ll explain, Reuben, if you don’t mind.” He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Annabelle.
Reuben said, “Oh, right. Yeah, go ahead and explain, Oliv—I mean, it was Frank, right? Or Steve?”
“Thank you, Reuben!” Stone snapped. “As I said, the telescope is pointed at the house next door. It’s owned by the head of Paradigm Technologies, one of the largest defense contractors in the country. The man’s name is Cornelius Behan.”
“He likes to be called CB,” Caleb added.
“Okay,” Annabelle said slowly.
Stone looked through the telescope, sweeping his gaze along the side of Behan’s house, which stood across a sliver of grass from DeHaven’s. “I thought so.” He motioned for Annabelle to take his place. She focused the telescope’s eyepiece on the spot where he’d been looking.
“It’s an office or a study,” she reported.
“That’s right.”
“You think Jonathan was spying on this guy?”
“Perhaps. Or he might have inadvertently seen something that led to his death.”
“So this Cornelius Behan killed Jonathan?”
“We have no proof. But strange things have been happening.”
“Like what?”
Stone hesitated. He had no intention of telling her about his being kidnapped. “Let’s just say that there’re enough questions here to make us look further. I think Jonathan DeHaven deserves that.”
Annabelle studied him for a moment and then took another look through the telescope. “Tell me about this CB guy.”
Stone briefly gave her a sketch of Behan and his company. Next he mentioned the murder of the Speaker of the House, Bob Bradley.
Annabelle again looked skeptical. “You don’t think that’s connected to Jonathan? I thought terrorists had claimed responsibility.”
Stone told her about the military contracts that Behan had won under the old regime. “Bradley’s predecessor as Speaker had been convicted of unethical practices, so it’s not a stretch to speculate that he might have been in Behan’s pocket. And then Bradley comes along as Mr. Clean, and Behan might not have wanted certain things to be investigated. So Bradley had to die.”
“And you’re thinking that Jonathan stumbled on this conspiracy, and they had to kill him before he could tell anyone?” She still sounded unconvinced, but not as much.
“What we have are two unsolved deaths of government people with Cornelius Behan as a common denominator and a neighbor of one of the dead men.”
Caleb added, “Behan was at the funeral today.”
Annabelle said sharply, “Which one was he?”
“Little redheaded guy—”
Annabelle finished for him, “Who thinks way too much of himself and had the tall bottle-blond wife who despises him.”
Stone looked impressed. “You sum people up quickly.”
“I’ve always seen an advantage in it. Okay, what’s our next move?”
Stone looked startled. “Our next move?”
“Yeah, once you give me a crash course on the info you’re obviously holding back, maybe we can make some real headway.”
“Miss Farmer,” Stone began.
“Just call me Susan.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to be in town long.”
“Change of plan.”
“Can I ask why?”
“You can ask. Can we meet tomorrow morning?”
“Absolutely,” Reuben said. “And if you need a place to bunk—”
“I don’t,” she said.
“We can meet at my house,” Stone suggested.
“Where’s that?” she asked.
“At a cemetery,” Milton said helpfully.
Annabelle didn’t even raise an eyebrow.
Stone wrote down the address and directions. When she went to take it from him, she stumbled and fell against him, grabbing on to his jacket to keep from falling.
“Sorry,” she said as her hand closed around the photo in his pocket. A second later she was pulling it out. And then something happened that had
never happened before. Stone’s hand closed around her wrist.
He said in a low voice so only she could hear, “All you had to do was ask for it.” He released his grip, and she smoothly slid the photo into her pocket, her startled gaze on Stone’s grim features. She regained her composure and faced the others. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Reuben took her hand, gently kissing it in the style of the centuries-ago French gentleman. “I want you to know what a true pleasure it’s been making your acquaintance, Susan.”
She smirked. “Thanks, Reuben. Oh, there’s a nice view of what I’m assuming is Behan’s bedroom from up here. He’s getting it on with some hot chick right now. You might want to check it out.”
Reuben whipped around. “Oliver, you didn’t tell me that.”
Annabelle looked back at an exasperated Stone. “That’s okay, Oliver, Susan’s not my real name either. What a shock, huh?”
A minute later they heard the front door open and close. Reuben quickly took up post at the telescope, but just as quickly moaned, “Damn, they must have already finished.” He turned to Stone and said reverently, “God, what a woman.”
Yes, thought Stone, what a woman indeed.
Annabelle climbed into her car, started it and then pulled out the photo, rubbing her wrist where Stone had grabbed it. The guy named Oliver had actually caught her picking his pocket. Even as a kid assigned by her father to fleece tourists in L.A., she’d never been caught in the act. Tomorrow might prove to be very interesting.
Her attention turned to the photo. It was amazing how one picture could bring back so many memories. That year of her life was the only truly normal one she ever had. Some might have thought it boring, or at least uneventful. She had considered it wonderful. She’d stumbled across a man who’d fallen in love with her. No ulterior motive, no hidden agenda, no leveraging for a bigger con down the road. He’d fallen in love with just her. A bookman and a con girl. All odds were against them making it, and as she well knew, only a fool bet against the odds.
And yet a gentle man who collected books had somehow captured her heart, toughened and scarred as it was. Early on in their relationship Jonathan had asked her if she collected anything. Annabelle had told him no, yet maybe that wasn’t true, she thought now. Perhaps she did collect something. Perhaps she collected lost chances.
She stared up at the big old house. In another life she and Jonathan might have lived there, with a passel of children, who knew? It was probably a good thing it hadn’t turned out that way. She would’ve likely made a terrible mother.
Her thoughts turned to the obvious issue. Jerry Bagger would be erupting in two days. The smart move would be to leave the country now, despite what she’d told the men about meeting tomorrow. It didn’t take her long to decide. She was staying and seeing it through. Maybe she owed it to Jonathan. Perhaps she owed it to herself. Because right now seemed a good time to end her collection of lost chances.
CHAPTER 31
ANNABELLE AND THE CAMEL Club gathered at Stone’s cottage at seven o’clock the next morning.
“Nice digs,” she said, gazing around the small interior. “And you have such quiet neighbors,” she added, motioning out the window to the tombstones.
“There are some dead people whose company I would prefer over that of certain of my living acquaintances,” Stone replied tersely.
“I can relate,” Annabelle said cheerfully, sitting down in front of the empty fireplace. “Let’s get to it, guys.”
Reuben sat next to her looking for the world like a large puppy hoping for a little scratch around the ears. Caleb, Milton and Stone sat across from them.
“Here’s my plan,” Stone said. “Milton will find out as much as possible about Bob Bradley. There may be something about that we can use. I’ll visit Bradley’s house, or rather what’s left of his house, and see what I can discover. Reuben used to be stationed at the Pentagon. He’ll work his contacts there to find out what he can about Behan’s military contracts that Bradley’s dethroned predecessor might have helped push through.”
Annabelle gazed at Reuben. “Pentagon, huh?”
He tried to appear modest. “Three tours of Nam too. Enough medals to decorate a damn Christmas tree. Hey, it’s all about serving your country.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Annabelle said, turning back to Stone. “But what about Jonathan’s death? How do we find out if someone killed him?”
“I have a theory about that, but it’ll require going to the Library of Congress and checking out the fire suppressant system there. The one problem with that is we don’t know where it’s located in the building. Caleb can’t find out because it’s classified for some reason. I guess so unauthorized persons couldn’t sabotage it, although I think that’s precisely what happened. The building is so massive that even if we could search room by room, it would take forever. We also need to see the configuration for the ventilation system for the room where Jonathan was found dead.”
She asked, “What’s this fire suppressant system got to do with anything?”
“I have a theory,” is all Stone would say.
“Wouldn’t the architect who did the building have the plans that would show both the fire system and the HVAC?” Annabelle pointed out.
“They would,” Stone said. “Although the Jefferson Building was built in the late 1800s, it underwent extensive renovation about fifteen years ago. The Architect of the Capitol has the plans, but we have no access to them.”
“Did they use a private architectural firm to help with the renovation?” she asked.
Caleb snapped his fingers. “You know, they did, one right here in D.C. I remember now, because the government was trying to stimulate the local economy and was getting more into public-private partnerships.”
“There’s your answer,” Annabelle said.
“I’m not following you,” Stone replied. “We still have no access to those plans.”
She looked at Caleb. “Can you get me the name of the firm?”
“I believe so.”
“The only issue will be whether they’ll let us take pictures of the plans. I doubt they will, and copying them is probably out too.” As she was thinking out loud, the Camel Club stared at her mystified. She finally noted this and said, “I’ll get us into the architectural firm, but we need copies of the designs if we’re going to locate the fire room and HVAC in the building.”
Milton said, “I have a photographic memory. If I look at the plans once, I can memorize them.”
She looked at him skeptically. “I’ve heard people make that claim before, and it never quite works out.”
“I can assure you that it ‘works out’ with me,” Milton said indignantly.
She grabbed a book off the shelf, opened it to a page in the middle and held it up in front of Milton. “Okay, read the page to yourself.” He did so and nodded. Annabelle turned the book around and looked at the page. “All right, Mr. Photo, start regurgitating.”
Milton read the page from memory, including punctuation marks, without one misstep.
For the first time in their company Annabelle looked impressed. “You ever been to Vegas?” she asked. He shook his head. “You might want to try it sometime.”
“Isn’t card counting illegal?” Stone asked, quickly deducing what she was alluding to.
She answered, “No, so long as you don’t use a mechanical or computer device to do it.”
“Wow,” Milton exclaimed. “I could make a fortune.”
Annabelle said, “But before you get your hopes up, even though it’s not illegal if you’re just using your brain, if they catch you, they’ll beat the crap out of you.”
“Oh!” Milton said, horrified. “Never mind.”
She turned to Stone. “So how do you think Jonathan was killed? And no more doublespeak or I walk.”
Stone studied her and then made up his mind. “Caleb found Jonathan’s body. Right after that he fainted. At the hospital the nurse said that he was
getting better and that his temperature was coming up, not down.”
“And your point is?” Annabelle said.
“The fire suppressant system at the library uses a substance called halon 1301,” Caleb said, taking up the explanation. “It starts as a liquid in the pipes but turns into a gas when it comes out of the nozzle. It puts out fires in part by eliminating oxygen in the atmosphere.”
“Meaning Jonathan might have suffocated to death! Good God, you mean the police didn’t stumble across that possibility and check to see whether the gas cylinder was empty?” Annabelle said angrily.
“There was no evidence that the system was even engaged,” Stone said. “The warning horn didn’t sound, and Caleb learned that it was operational, although it could have been disconnected and then reattached later. And the gas leaves no residue.”
“And on top of that, halon 1301 could not have killed Jonathan, not at the levels that are used to suppress fires at the library,” Caleb added. “I checked it. That’s why it’s used in spaces occupied by people.”
The Collectors Page 18
