Murder at the 42nd Street Library

by Con Lehane

  “Benny wants to talk to you,” she said.

  Ambler found Benny in the hallway.

  “Harry sent me home.”

  “Suspended you?”

  Benny shrugged. “I guess. Can we walk?”

  They walked down Fifth Avenue. Ambler watched Benny’s shiny Italian leather shoes strike rhythmically against the sidewalk.

  “I grabbed him by the collar, shoved him against the desk, and slapped him.” Wagner had come upon Benny and Kay Donnelly heads bent together in the microform reading room on the first floor. “He embarrassed her. His wife was with him. I told him to leave it alone. He kept at Kay, so I grabbed him and told him to shut up. He laughed, so I slapped him. I wasn’t going to. But he had this mocking expression on his puss, so I slapped it off.”

  Ambler nodded. He’d wanted to knock Wagner’s smug expression off his face any number of times.

  “You’ve been in trouble with the library, Ray, and you got out of it.”

  “I didn’t slug a reader.”

  “Not slug. I slapped him. Do you think the shithead can get me fired?

  “Did he grab you, punch at you?”

  Benny shook his head. “Nope. Just that smug superior expression.”

  “Well, you’ve got the union.”

  “Anything you can do? You know the guy.”

  Ambler was quiet. He thought about Max’s wife, Laura Lee. “I’ll see.”

  Chapter 6

  Kay Donnelly walked back to her room at The Webster Apartments on 34th Street after getting off the crosstown bus at Ninth Avenue. The women’s residence wasn’t a place she liked very much—the room reminded her of being in college. Max found it for her, the only decent place she could afford on what she was getting paid for the Yates project.

  He would have paid her more if he weren’t scared of Laura Lee. He’d have liked her to have her own apartment for their now infrequent assignations. Laura Lee kept the books and controlled the money. The apartment in the nunnery was her way of showing she wasn’t fooled. If Max had half a brain, he’d know his wife had known for some time about his occasional walk on the wild side and couldn’t care less about it.

  On the other hand, Laura Lee was brilliant at letting Kay know she was onto Max’s indiscretions. It was as if she could speak in another language in front of him, getting her thoughts across to Kay while he was oblivious to what she said. Laura Lee was a miserable bitch, more ruthless and selfish than Max—but too good an actress, too charming and coquettish, for most people, especially men, to catch on to her.

  But what could she do? Her career was tied up with Max’s projects. If she was to get tenure at Whitehall, it would have to be through him, and it would have to be pretty soon. The clock was running.

  In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have taken up with Benny. He was too close to home, and Max too jealous and insecure. Now, Benny was in big trouble for fighting with him. Still, he was cute, a rough-around-the-edges guy, innocent at the same time; taking him to bed, she felt like she was corrupting him. The hotel room probably cost him half a week’s pay.

  His chivalry was endearing and he was handsome—in a primitive, manly way you didn’t come across often in the academic world. Strangely, it was the same rough-around-the-edges appeal Max had when she first met him. Max changed and the appeal, if not the brashness, wore off over the years. She didn’t know how she felt about him anymore, only that she was bound to him in so many ways that no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t pull away. It was her fault Benny was in this mess. The poor guy didn’t know Max would have any reason to be jealous. She’d have to hope that when Max calmed down, she might get him to drop the whole thing.

  The thing with Benny was fun. The archaic, relic residence hall she stayed in didn’t allow women to have men in their rooms. Benny lived in Brooklyn with his parents. So, at her age, they were slinking around like teenagers, trying to find a place to have sex. He took her one afternoon to an out-of-the-way office in the bowels of the library, where they necked and petted and she sucked him off. She was afraid to take off her clothes because someone discovering them would be too damn silly and mortifying—Max would have a fit, and Laura Lee would never let her forget it.

  The police detective who questioned her asked so many questions about Max she thought he might be a suspect in James’s murder. He had motive enough to kill him, for reasons the police didn’t know about and were unlikely to find out about. The detective asked about Benny, too. This worried her. What did he have to do with James? If Benny were going to kill anyone, it would be Max. She was half-convinced he would, too, if she asked him to, or even if she didn’t, if he thought Max would harm her. It was fun to have a man smitten with her.

  Max ridiculed Benny; probably he reminded Max of where he himself had come from. How Max could be so smart about literature, yet so dumb about himself—and Laura Lee, too, for that matter—was beyond her.

  She wasn’t surprised the detective asked her if she knew where Max was at the time of the murder. Then, he asked where she was. Why would he ask that? She got so flustered, she couldn’t think of what to say. How could he possibly suspect her?

  * * *

  Not long after leaving Benny, Ambler saw Laura Lee McGlynn walking up the main stairway, so he followed and caught up with her at the top of the stairs on the third floor. She was as glamorous and fashionable as the first time he saw her, her smile as bright. He led her to one of the stone benches in the rotunda outside the catalog room.

  “It was nothing … a little roughing up,” she said lightly. “You know what Max is like. He deserved it.”

  “Why do you think I know what he’s like?”

  Laura Lee smiled, more of an easy, carefree laugh. “You made an impression on him when you were in graduate school.”

  “He told you about that? We didn’t like one another.”

  “With Max, that’s making an impression.”

  Ambler laughed.

  “He’s been telling me about you. He said you were treated unfairly. He knew you didn’t do what they said. You weren’t a plagiarist.” Her expression when her eyes narrowed with concern was as appealing and even more intense than when she smiled. “I’d like to know what happened if you’d like to tell me. You paid a price for your radical activities—”

  Ambler laughed again. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Someday, when you know me better, you’ll want to tell me.” Her tone was soothing, reassuring. “I’m a good listener.” She shifted her position on the bench, moving closer to him, her eyes searching his. “Well, I can’t flatter myself that you stopped me because you couldn’t pass up an opportunity to chat.” She didn’t actually bat her eyelashes, but it seemed so. “I suppose you’d like me to ask Max not to press charges against your friend?”

  “I would.”

  Her expression went sour in front of a fake laugh. “Kay Donnelly is as subtle as a streetwalker. It’s her fault.”

  “I’m sure with her ex-husband’s death—”

  Laura Lee grimaced. “They’d been divorced for some time. She treated him badly before the divorce, during it, and long after. She’s not beside herself with grief.”

  Her cynicism, something in her tone, suggested she might be more forthcoming than he thought. He took a chance. “How well did you know James Donnelly?”

  “Max and I hadn’t been in contact with him for years. Kay, as far as I know, hadn’t had anything to do with him for years either. Why do you ask?”

  He could say, “Because Wagner and James Donnelly had an argument the day before he was murdered.” And he might have if she hadn’t just lied. “No reason. Just wondering. I suppose the police asked you about him.”

  She stiffened. Her manner became chilly. “Yes. They did. James Donnelly was a difficult man. I’m not surprised he made enemies.”

  “Oh? Were he and Max enemies?”

  She hesitated, blinking rapidly, before looking directly at him. “He wasn’t import
ant enough for Max to care one way or another about him”

  Ambler held her gaze.

  A charming smile replaced the frown. “When Max cools off, I’ll speak to him about your friend.”

  * * *

  Max Wagner wasn’t happy. The Nelson Yates biography was treading water, the narrative boring—Yates did this; Yates did that. The spectacular was missing, the shocking twist that would expose Yates as the exact opposite of the man his hero-worshipping fans thought he was. The thing was he knew the shocking revelation, yet he couldn’t use it. He didn’t have proof.

  He needed the letters Nelson had written to Emily. She hated her father, so if he could find her, he might persuade her to sell him the letters. That sort of thing worked with estranged family members before.

  “That’s a stupid plan,” Laura Lee said. “She hates your guts. Why would she give you anything, even for money?”

  “She hated Jim Donnelly, too, and she talked to him.”

  “Says your little groupie?”

  Here it was again, another hint that Laura Lee knew about him and Kay. Yet she’d never said anything, or even asked, only the snide remark.

  “Perhaps you should talk to Emily. It might not be so good for me to see her.”

  “A lot of good that would do. The little slut was fucking my husband. You think she’d talk to me?”

  “She knew you were going to leave him.”

  “How’d she know that, pillow talk with you?” Laura Lee’s laugh was contemptuous. “Both of you fucking a fourteen-year-old—”

  Max expression was aggrieved. “That was before you … before—”

  Laura Lee rolled her eyes. “Stop whining. It drives me crazy.”

  They were eating dinner, delivered from a local Italian restaurant, sitting across from each other at the small dining table in the short-term apartment on West 85th Street Wagner had rented for the three months he planned to spend with Yates’s papers.

  “By the way, your librarian friend wants me to persuade you to forget that incident with Kay’s new boyfriend.”

  He fought back a rush of anger before he said something stupid. Laura Lee was trying to goad him into saying something about Kay. What did he care what Kay did? He shouldn’t have let it get to him, yet she was hanging all over that punk right in front of him. Thinking about them, he got angry all over again. “Why should I?”

  “So you don’t look like jealous idiot,” she said, not looking at him. “He also asked about you and Donnelly.”

  He stopped eating. “Why? What did he want?”

  “I’ll find out when I talk to him again.” When she looked at Max now, her smile was mocking.

  He put down his knife and fork. “He’s no fool, you know.”

  “Neither am I.”

  Wagner cleaned up the dishes after dinner, throwing out the leftovers. He finished the wine by himself, while Laura Lee went to bed to read, staring out the window at the wall of the building next door. He didn’t like Ambler questioning her. She thought she’d outwit him as she did everyone, underestimating him. It would do no good telling her that or not to talk to Ambler. She’d do the exact opposite.

  * * *

  “‘Chickens coming home to roost’ … what the hell does that mean?” Mike Cosgrove thundered. Ambler heard street noises, the sounds of the city, horns, the diesel whine of buses starting up from the curb, the thump and clang of trucks on the potholed street, behind his voice on the phone. The detective was irritated by the traffic.

  “Well, it actually doesn’t have much to do with chickens—”

  “I know what it means! What am I supposed to make of it?”

  “You asked me to call if I came across anything. Nelson Yates characterized James Donnelly’s murder as ‘chickens coming home to roost.’ He said Donnelly and Max were rivals and didn’t like one another. You’ve got that and the argument between Donnelly and Max Wagner. Seems like it might add up to something. You take it from there.”

  Cosgrove absorbed the new information without comment, so Ambler couldn’t tell if he’d questioned Max about the argument yet.

  “One more thing.” He told the detective about Yates’s missing daughter. “I’m wondering if you’d run a check on her. Someone in the library was supposed to but he got sidetracked.”

  “What’s the girl got to do with this?”

  “Nelson asked me to try to find her.”

  “It’s not my territory.” Cosgrove didn’t let himself get sidetracked during a murder investigation. Usually, he disappeared from everyday life, barely ate or slept, fixated on the case like a bloodhound, keeping his nose to the trail while it was still warm.

  “No. It’s a favor.”

  “We’ll see.…” Cosgrove paused but didn’t hang up. After a minute, he said, “Let me ask you something. The room where the murder took place, who can get into it?”

  “Not the general public, not tourists. It has a key card entry. Readers need to be approved to get the access card.”

  “Staff?”

  “Some staff. Not everyone. Why?”

  “I want to narrow the pool of suspects.”

  “To those with access to the second-floor archives reading room?”

  “It’s not a hundred percent. Someone could have gotten a card. It’s still worth checking.”

  “That’s your job, right?”

  “You could give me a rundown on those who have access.”

  “Everyone using the Yates collection.”

  “I’m more interested in library employees.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s not something I can tell you.”

  Ambler told Cosgrove he’d see what he could find out. He held onto the phone deep in thought for a moment after Cosgrove disconnected. “More interested in library employees?” That meant something. Mike didn’t speak carelessly; everything he said during an investigation was calculated, had a specific purpose. He had his sights on someone in the library. He didn’t need Ambler to find out who had an access card to the reading room that housed Harry’s office; he could get a list from the library administration. He wanted Ambler to know he had a suspect.

  * * *

  Late Wednesday morning, before lunch, Ambler decided to confront Harry. “I need to talk to you.” Ambler closed Harry Larkin’s office door behind him. The collections director was on the phone. He waved Ambler to a seat, shushing him at the same time.

  “I see,” Harry said, his head bobbling. “I understand.” When he hung up, he turned to Ambler. “Nelson Yates is on a bender and missing. That was his wife.”

  “Missing?”

  “They had an argument yesterday, so she left. When she returned late this morning, he was gone.” He lowered his eyebrows and squinted at Ambler. “Two people from the library brought him home drunk Monday night—a man and woman. She thinks he might come here to the library to see you—something about his daughter.”

  “If she knows where he’s going, he’s not missing.”

  “He has dementia. She doesn’t know what he’ll do. What’s this about his daughter?”

  Ambler told Harry about the missing daughter. “Yesterday, before his run-in with Max Wagner, I asked Benny to search some databases and see if she comes up.”

  Harry frowned. “I’m not going to talk about Benny. It’s a union matter now; I’d get my head handed to me. You should stay out of it, too, as you should stay out of this business between Max Wagner and Nelson Yates. I told Mrs. Yates about our conversation with Nelson. She said Nelson isn’t competent. She has his power of attorney and can make the decisions about the collection.”

  “We both talked to Nelson. He was perfectly lucid. And she’s—” He started to say Nelson’s wife had been conspiring with Max, but realized he wasn’t supposed to know and would betray Adele’s confidence if he said anything.

  Harry waited for him to finish. When he didn’t, he said, “Let them work it out. I swear the Yates collection is cursed.”

  �
��Why didn’t you want Benny to tell the police Max Wagner had an argument with James Donnelly before he was murdered?”

  Harry frowned. “I’m sure Max told the police about the argument … if there was one. The murder is a police matter, not an intellectual exercise for you. You have more important things to concern yourself with.”

  Something ominous in Harry’s tone stopped Ambler cold. “You mean the reading room closing?”

  Harry’s tone softened. “It’s out of my hands. You need to persuade the president and the trustees that the crime fiction collection benefits the library, show that it’s well-used, and used by important people, that it inspires donations and benefactors—”

  “Important people, Harry?”

  Harry’s cheeks turned bright red; he averted his gaze. “That’s not what I mean. You know what—” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting. Please, if Nelson Yates contacts you, call his wife.” He wrote down a phone number and handed it to Ambler. “I’m late.” He brushed past Ambler but paused at the office doorway. “I’ll do what I can on the reading room. I know what it means to you.”

  When he was gone, Ambler stood in front of his desk thinking about what his supervisor had said. Was it a promise or a threat?

  * * *

  Still mad at Harry, Ambler had lunch at O’Casey’s on 41st Street, so he could have a pint of Guinness with his hamburger, think, and cool off. He felt better after the stout and was walking back to the library, in the middle of the block between the library at Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue on 41st Street, when Benny stepped out of a doorway. He looked stricken.

  “The cops came to my house.”

  “About the assault?”

  “What assault?”

  “Max—”

  “That wasn’t an assault.” He glared at Ambler. “I knew they were coming because Kay told me they would. When they called up from the front door, I left by the back stairs. They’re going to arrest her, too.”

  “Did she take off also?”

  “No. She got a lawyer after they questioned her about the murder. She knew something was wrong. The police told the lawyer they might arrest her and me.”