by Unknown
After they had taken their seats and buckled up, Evarts asked, “Any conclusions?”
“Only that we can’t prove they’re fake.” She seemed to pout for a moment. “Abe wouldn’t even leave me the single page. Just took off with it as soon as we finished the tests.” She knocked her knuckles against the side window and then suddenly turned toward Evarts. “What’s that bastard got us into?”
“Abe is a friend and of sterling parentage. Please just call him an asshole.”
No laugh. After a moment, she said, “I suspect the manuscript is genuine. If it is, then how much else is true? A conspiracy that threatens the nation? How bizarre … and paranoid. I have my own research. I don’t have time to oblige an old man’s fantasies.”
“Scared?”
“You betcha. The best-case scenario is that I get enmeshed in an elongated wild goose chase. The worst case could be dangerous.”
“I doubt there’s a physical threat.” He smiled and made his tone light. “Besides, I carry a gun.”
Still no laugh. “I was talking about my career.”
“Sorry.” Three “sorries” in less than five minutes. It was going to be a long ride. He decided to mollify her with agreement. “Listen, I’m not happy about this either. I have a demanding job, a class I need to prepare for, and I like to spend my free time at the beach. I don’t—”
“What class are you taking?”
“I’m a college instructor, not a student. Night school at California State University at Channel Islands.” Evarts tried a light tone again. “You can quit calling me Commander. I’m a colleague, of sorts.”
“Police science?”
“Yes.”
“A part-time lecturer in a nonacademic subject at a third-rate college.” She folded her arms across her chest. “My colleagues come with better credentials.”
“That was nasty.”
She unfolded her arms. “I’m sorry.” She sounded genuinely contrite.
Three to one on the “sorries.” At least he wasn’t losing ground. “I just meant I have a full life, and I don’t need this any more than you.” He paused. “Listen, I keep my private life compartmentalized from work. I do what I want, when I want. Maybe I’m selfish, but I feel like this is an invasion of my privacy … and I don’t like being manipulated.”
“Me either. So, what are we going to do about it?”
Evarts thought about her question. Douglass was his only real friend, so the situation presented a problem. He kept a professional distance at work and didn’t socialize with the other cops on the force. He had many acquaintances in his private life, but none he would classify as a friend. People called him a loner—at least those who liked him. Others called him worse. He knew people thought it odd that his only friend was double his age, but Douglass never bored him. He liked his life just the way it was, and he felt content. He needed to set his own agenda, but he didn’t want to lose his sole friend.
“I guess we run this out,” he said. “At least for the week.”
She didn’t answer at first but then said, “Yeah. I’m willing to invest a week. Especially if I can get close to more Lincoln papers. That bastard sure knows how to seduce me.”
“I have an idea. Can I bounce it off you?”
“Go ahead.”
“I told you the code key was probably a book. An elementary encryption but hard to break. I looked into nineteenth-century publications, but I think it might be a law book.”
“Makes sense. But it would need to be a federal law book. Probably one on Supreme Court rulings. Someone in New York would have limited access to an Illinois law book.”
Evarts hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps Douglass was right, and they would make a good team. “How many of those would there be?”
“Not too many, but the trick would be to get the right year. They published updated editions annually.”
“That sounds promising. By the way, you’re right about the paranoia. I googled secret societies, and every loony on the planet has a posting.”
“And I’ll wager that none of the societies were benign.”
“No, they all want to rule the world … or already secretly do rule the world.”
“You’re a trained investigator. What do you make of Douglass’s charges?”
“I’d dismiss them if I didn’t know him. And then we have the manuscript.” He thought a minute. “I think there might be something there but probably not ominous. Maybe someone is using Douglass to ramp up the value of the remaining papers.”
“Exactly. That’s what I think. Someone happened upon some Lincoln documents, and how better to increase their value than to shroud them in mystery? Sucker an old man who has a reputation of paying dearly for Lincoln memorabilia.”
“Except Douglass is no fool.”
“You know only one side of him. He’s fanatical when it comes to Lincoln.”
“You’re right, I don’t know that side. Why the Lincoln fixation?”
“Douglass’s great grandfather admired the man, and Douglass believes Lincoln freed the slaves. Not of small import to a black man.”
“You disagree?”
“It’s a matter of opinion. Lincoln proposed the Thirteenth Amendment that outlawed slavery at the end of the Civil War. But he was a reluctant convert to the abolitionist cause. I mean, hell, he won the nomination because of his moderate position on slavery. He fought to preserve the Union, not to free slaves. Emancipation just came later.”
“So, the Civil War wasn’t about slavery?”
“Of course, it was—nothing else, despite what some historians say. The Republican Party was formed for the sole purpose of stopping slavery in the territories, and the South seceded because a Republican won the presidency. They didn’t care if he was a moderate. He was a Republican, and they knew that if slavery were stopped in the territories, eventually the delicate balance in the Senate would tip away from slaveholders.”
“Why do so many say the war was about something else?”
“Because everybody, North and South, pretended to fight about something else. To this day, many Southerners continue to pretend it was about States’ Rights, except only one state right was threatened—the right to own other human beings.”
“Okay, I understand avoidance in the South, but why in the North?”
“I bet you don’t totally understand why the South confused the issue. At the time of the war, only one in five men of fighting age owned slaves in the Confederate States. If the CSA ever admitted they were fighting over slavery, eighty percent of their army might question dying to protect the property of rich men. All contemporaneous Southern writing and speeches put the war on an elevated rights basis, and some historians have carried the pretext all the way to the present.”
“But the North had moral right on their side. Why would they pretend?”
“Because they were racists. Not a sprinkling of racism, but a consensus that the Negro was a lesser being. The Union couldn’t field an army if the working class suspected they were fighting to free slaves, because only slavery kept the black man shackled to the South. Free blacks would stream north and steal their livelihood. Only after the North won and got to rewrite history did the war take on moral righteousness.”
Evarts waited for her to catch her breath before asking, “Does Douglass believe Lincoln consciously went to war for the purpose of destroying slavery?”
“Yes. And he doesn’t have an iota of proof.”
“You mean he doesn’t have any contemporaneous documentation?”
“Exactly. Historians can’t make stuff up out of whole cloth.”
“Especially when all the contemporaneous political figures are lying.”
She turned in his direction. “What are you implying?”
“Only that Abraham Douglass would say you just made his case. Lincoln pretended to have a moderate position on slavery to win the election. He’d probably add that Lincoln didn’t fool the South, who saw him for what he was—
a closet abolitionist.”
“That’s—”
Evarts’s cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Evarts.”
“You need to return to Santa Barbara immediately.” He recognized the deputy chief’s voice. He had worked for Chuck Damon for two years, and he liked him as a boss and as a police officer.
“I can’t right now. I’m transporting a witness back to Los Angeles.”
“Now. This is an emergency that demands your immediate attention.”
“Can’t Lieutenant Clark handle it?”
“Greg, were you at the Douglass home last night?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see him today?”
“No. What’s this about?”
“Did your passenger see him today?”
“Yes.”
“Then we need you both back here immediately. Turn around and come directly to the Douglass estate.”
Evarts wondered what kind of mischief had gotten his friend involved with the police. “Has there been a crime?”
“Yes.”
“Well, damn it, tell me.”
“Abraham Douglass has been murdered.”
Chapter 8
As soon as Evarts snapped his cell phone shut, he cut over three freeway lanes in a manner sure to infuriate other drivers. Instead of slowing for the next exit, he gunned down the off-ramp and braked hard at the bottom. Without making a complete stop, he screeched through the surface street and barreled up the on-ramp in the opposite direction.
“What are you doing?” Baldwin screamed halfway through the change in direction.
“Gotta get back.”
“I have classes tomorrow.” She grabbed the handle above the door for support. “Let me out. I’ll call a taxi.”
“You have to return too.” He took a deep breath. “Someone murdered Abe.”
“No! I just saw him this morning.”
Evarts drove well above the speed limit with an eye in the rearview mirror. He had no fear of a ticket, but he didn’t want to be delayed by the Highway Patrol. Despite his concentration on driving, he stole a glance at Baldwin. She was ashen. He guessed violence didn’t often intrude into her sheltered life. As a matter of fact, violence of a personal nature had never intruded into his life. He realized the news had shaken him and slowed down to only ten miles an hour over the speed limit.
“What does this mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know. They gave me no specifics. Could be related, possibly not.”
“Come on, Greg. Do you believe in coincidence?”
“No.” Despite the tense moment, he noticed that she had finally used his first name. “It means we have to take his warnings seriously.” He stole another glance to see how she took the news. What he saw made him wish he had kept his mouth shut.
“What’s he gotten us into?” She sounded frightened.
“How secure is the Guest House?”
“A hell of a lot less secure than the Douglass house, for god’s sake. Besides, they’re full.” After a moment, “I won’t get home tonight, will I?”
“Probably not … and depending on the circumstances, it might not be a good idea anyway.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“I can sugarcoat it, but you’re too smart. Listen, we’ll find you a safe place. Police protection, if necessary. I suggest you make a call and get a substitute for your classes. Don’t mention Douglass. We can’t let the evening news get hold of this yet.”
As she made the call, Evarts thought. After she got off the phone, he slowed down even more. “Have you had a relationship with any professors at UCLA?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m afraid it is. If this is associated with last night, then there might be only two copies of the encryption left. One’s in my pocket. The other you hid on campus. After your office, lovers are the first place someone will look.”
“My god.” She looked down at the folded hands in her lap.
“Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Current or former?”
“A little of both.”
“Damn,” Evarts thought. “Okay, I think it’s better to be safe than sorry. Call him. Tell him to take the document and go to … no, ask him to come up to Santa Barbara. I can protect him here. Tell him you’ll meet him at the Santa Ynez Inn. I’ll have a couple of cops pick him up and bring him to us.”
“What reason should I give?”
“Use the ‘current’ part.”
“It would be embarrassing for you to listen in.”
“This is too important for a bout of modesty.”
She dug out her cell phone and speed dialed. “Hello, Greg. Trish.”
No wonder she showed reluctance to use his first name.
“I got stuck in Santa Barbara this evening. I was wondering if you could join me.” She listened for a bit. “Play hooky. I did. Someone can cover for you.” Her voice turned sensual. “I’ll make it worth your while, and in the morning, we can walk on the beach. You love Santa Barbara.” Another pause and then she laughed seductively. “Yes, that too. Room service and the whole nine yards.” Another laugh. “Okay, maybe less than nine yards. Will you come? Great. Meet me at the Santa Ynez Inn. Ask for me at the desk … yeah, me too.”
Evarts quickly pulled out his copy of the encryption and snapped it in her face.
“Oh yes, by the way, will you bring that envelope I left with you?” She paused. “No, I won’t be working. I just want to give it to a colleague at UCSB.” After listening a long moment, she said, “No, Greg, this isn’t an errand. Not unless you think what we’ll be doing is only a favor to me. If you do, don’t come.” Another agonizing pause. “Good. I’ll see you in about three hours.” She hung up.
“You worried me with that ‘don’t come’ line.”
“I had him.”
“What’s his last name and department?”
“Why?”
“Because we’ll probably be tied up, and I need to give his name to the patrol officers. Also, I want to monitor campus police for office break-ins.”
“Marston, Art Department.”
Evarts threw her a glance and thought she looked better than when he had first told her about Douglass. “You did well. I’m probably being overly cautious, but it can’t hurt. Now listen, I need to tell you what’s going to happen. Other than the killer, you’re the last person to see Douglass alive. When we arrive, a detective will take you someplace private for questioning. I won’t be with you. Can you lie convincingly?”
“I think you just saw a demonstration.”
“Good. I don’t think you should bring up the Douglass conspiracy stuff. If the murder has nothing to do with it, then it won’t harm the investigation. If it does, I’ll explain the whole thing to the chief later.”
Evarts stole another quick look at her face to make sure she understood. After she responded with a nod, he continued, “Douglass was an important person, and we have to control the news. Cops talk, and I don’t want him tagged as a crazy. Also, if this is connected to some grand conspiracy, I don’t want the perpetrators to learn how much we know. Are you okay with this?”
“Yeah. What do I tell your detective?”
“Everything except the conspiracy allegation. No Shut Mouth Society or encrypted codes. Just that I brought you up as a favor to look over a new Lincoln acquisition. Dinner was a social occasion. My attendance is ordinary. Tell her that you went with him to UCSB this morning to do some testing. Give her your credentials and don’t be modest.”
“Her?”
“Departmental practice. We question female witnesses with a female detective. Makes the witness more forthcoming.”
“No good cop-bad cop routine?”
“That comes later. And only for uncooperative witnesses, and you’re going to be the epitome of cooperation.” Evarts gave her a reassuring smile. “Now our immediate problem is where to stash you and Marston for
the night.”
“What will you tell the patrol officers?”
“That you decided to stay in Santa Barbara for the night. You had set up a date, but you can’t meet him because you’re being interviewed. He’ll be treated respectfully.”
“Seems like you have everything figured out.”
“Except where you’ll stay. There’s a plate collectors convention in town.”
“A what?”
“Some people collect Lincoln memorabilia; other people collect plates. This convention fills every room. Dealers come from Europe and Asia. We like them. They’re a well-behaved bunch.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll get my assistant working on it.”
“Separate rooms,” she said suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
“You may have never heard this, but I’m not in the mood.”
“Great, you just doubled the problem. I hope you like Ventura.” He made the call and got more whining than he expected. His assistant reminded him it was high season and late in the day. He sympathized but told her that he didn’t want to hear from her again until she had secured two rooms.
After he hung up, he thought things through again. If this looked connected to the Douglass conspiracy tale, he would ask the chief to bring in the Feds. The chief would resist, but Evarts would remind him that the murder of a well-known black man in his predominately white city would be a national scandal. His mind had been racing since the news, and its impact suddenly hit him. He wasn’t driving to just another crime scene. He had been so focused on how to handle the situation that he hadn’t realized his own loss. He felt relief when Baldwin interrupted his thoughts.
“Do you want to know about my relationship with Marston?”
“That would be none of my business.”
“Just the same, I want to tell you. We had a serious relationship for about three years. Everyone assumed we’d get married, but it didn’t work out. We parted friends. More than friends, really. We get together occasionally, but now it’s not serious and we keep it quiet.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m attached to someone.”
Evarts threw her a glance. “Why’s that important?”