The officer appeared at the head of the stairs. “Detective Mondello? You might want to come up here and take a look at this.”
Pete stood. Frowned. Stuffed the notebook and pencil back into his pocket. “Books scattered around on the floor? Why didn’t you say so?”
I frowned back. “I told you there were books all over the place.”
“Sure! This is a library!” He hit those stairs at a dead run.
Chapter 5
My aunt and Tyler joined me and the three of us sat in a small, still circle, waiting to see what would happen next. Aunt Ibby broke the silence. “Maralee, do you know why Pete dashed upstairs like that?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “It has to do with those books tossed around on the floor.”
Her green eyes grew wide and Tyler actually gasped. “Books?” Aunt Ibby stood, facing the stairway. “Our books? On the floor? Tossed? Why didn’t you say so?”
“Aunt Ibby, I’d just found a dead body. All I could think of was to call 911. I told you about the books as soon as I came down the stairs. I’m sure I did. I remember. I told you he was lying there among the books. Anyway, a few ripped-up books didn’t seem so important at the moment.”
“Of course he was among books. This is a library! You didn’t say anything about ripped-up books! Actually ripped up? Our books? Good heavens, Maralee. Why didn’t you say so?”
Tyler shook her head and twisted her hands. “Oh my God. Ripped books.”
I was speaking to professional librarians—women who’ll agonize for a full day over a turned down page corner. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more specific.” I knew I sounded snarky. “I thought reporting a death was more important. Will everybody please stop asking me why I didn’t go into detail about a few old books?”
“OLD books? Exactly where were you in the stacks?” My aunt sat down. “What section?”
“The seven-nineties,” I said, redundantly adding “sports.”
Pete appeared at the top of the stairway, hesitated for a moment, then pulled the notebook and pencil from his pocket and started down the stairs. He wore his cop face.
“I have a few questions I need to ask you ladies,” he said, pulling up the fourth chair in our little circle and sitting opposite me. “First, Ms. Russell. I presume there are video cameras placed throughout the library.”
“Yes indeed,” my aunt declared. “They cover most of this old building. Pete, how bad is it up there? I mean the books?”
“You can inventory as soon as we’re finished.” He scribbled in the notebook. “Multiple cameras,” he mumbled, then looked up. “Where’s the monitor?”
“It’s right behind the high part of the main desk,” Tyler said. “A quad split screen. Eight cameras I think.”
“Eight cameras,” Aunt Ibby agreed, counting them off on her fingers. “Front door, side door, main floor, children’s, reference, parking lot, mezzanine, and stacks.”
“Does the stacks camera show every aisle?” Pete wanted to know.
“Oh, no,” Aunt Ibby said. “Just the seating area and the outer rows of shelves. It’s the least used part of the library. The main floor camera shows us who goes up and down the stairs. That’s always seemed good enough for our purposes.”
“Until today.” Tyler spoke softly. “I can show you today’s videos though. I’m pretty sure not many people went up there. Three or four, maybe.”
“Well,” Pete said, “one didn’t come back down. I have to ask you to turn the videos over to us.”
“Of course we will,” Aunt Ibby promised.
The EMTs and the paramedics started down the stairs just as the officer at the door admitted the medical examiner. The folding stretcher the first responders had carried up to the stacks was still folded. I recognized the M.E. “Hello, Doc,” I said.
“Ms. Barrett. Detective.” Doc Egan and I have met several times—unfortunately in similar situations to this one. He acknowledged the others with a polite nod and hurried toward the stairs.
“Maralee, about how many books would you estimate have been damaged up there?” My aunt lifted her chin, eyes flicking upward.
I thought about that scene, trying to remember details. “I think most of them might just be soiled from being thrown around, you know? There are some bent pages though, and a few that are torn. I’m afraid there’s at least one page that was all balled up.” Aunt Ibby cringed slightly and Tyler looked stricken. “I’m sure the badly damaged ones can be replaced.” I tried to sound encouraging. “We can easily fix the others up. I remember how you taught me, Aunt Ibby. Soft-tipped paintbrushes, art gum erasers, Absorene, air canisters.” I had to smile at the memories of after-school book-cleaning sessions at this very library. “It could be fun.”
“I’ll see that the books are returned to you as soon as we finish our investigation, Ms. Russell,” Pete said. “I promise we’ll handle them carefully.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said. “Do you know what happened to the poor man, Pete? Was it a heart attack? I hope he didn’t slip and fall. I hope it wasn’t somehow our fault.”
“We’ll know more when the doctor finishes, but no. I don’t believe the library was at fault here.”
“Pete,” I said, “the books thrown around mean something, don’t they? Something important.”
“They do, Lee. I guess there’s no harm in telling you. We had a B and E a few weeks ago where the same thing happened. Books thrown around in the homeowner’s study.”
“Oh, dear,” my aunt said. “Was anyone hurt there?”
“No. Fortunately no one was at home. There was a mess to clean up though. Just like here.” Pete looked up as the officer once again opened the front door. “Oh-oh. Here’s the crew from the coroner’s office. Excuse me.” He hurried to the entranceway where two jump-suited attendants maneuvered a wheeled gurney into the building. I recognized the coroner, although I hadn’t seen him often enough to know him by name. I guess that’s a good thing.
Pete spoke with the men briefly, then returned to where we sat. “Is there an elevator in the building?” he asked.
Aunt Ibby shook her head. “Regrettably, no. This is a designated historic building, you know. It was the mansion of one of Salem’s early sea captains, so we’re somewhat limited in structural changes we can make. We adhere to city and county codes, of course, and to the Americans with Disabilities Act. We’ve been able to install wheelchair ramps in the main areas, the mezzanine, and at the side door, but no. No elevator to the stacks. Staff delivers whatever the patron wants from up there if they’re unable to manage the stairs.”
“It’s okay. We can bring him down on a stretcher. He’s a small guy. We’ll try to finish up here tonight so we won’t have to close you down for the weekend.”
I knew what that meant. “So this wasn’t a natural death?”
Pete hesitated. “No. It wasn’t. Ms. Russell, you may want to notify your superiors about what’s going on. I expect we’ll be here much of the night.”
Aunt Ibby nodded and walked to the main desk with Tyler close behind her. I stalled until Pete moved back to where the coroner waited, then pulled my phone from my jeans pocket. If some poor guy had died in the stacks from a heart attack, that’s sad, but it’s not news. This was—and I wasn’t about to hand it over to Howard Templeton. Or Scott Palmer either.
Chapter 6
A glance at the clock told me that Bruce Doan had probably left the office and headed home. It was nearly seven. I tapped in his personal number and rehearsed what I’d say about what was happening up in the stacks. If he agreed—and I was pretty sure he would—he’d send someone with a camera down here and I’d get to do a standup field report in front of the library.
He answered, sounding none too pleased about being called at home. “Yes, Ms. Barrett. What do you want?”
I used my library voice, speaking softly and slowly. “I’m at the Salem main library watching the coroner’s crew carry a litter up to the stacks to pick up a body.
There’s a man up there who didn’t die of natural causes. I need a cameraman.”
His tone changed. “Gotcha. Francine will be there pronto.”
I slipped the phone into my back pocket and picked up my NASCAR jacket from the back of a chair. Pete followed the coroner to the stairs and paused as he passed me. “See you later tonight?” he whispered.
“Yep. Whenever you’re through here.”
“Have you got a ride home?”
“I’ll wait for Aunt Ibby. She’ll have to stay here until one of the board members shows up, I guess.” I hesitated, then continued. “Uh, Pete?”
“Yeah?” He looked impatiently toward the stairs.
“I called the station. I’m going outside for a little while. Francine’s on her way.”
He shook his head. “Not surprised. Tell the officer at the door I okayed your exit and return. See you later.”
Sometimes our two jobs complement each other and sometimes they get all tangled up. We’re learning to accept our professional differences with a lot less stress than we used to. He wasn’t going to like my reporting on the dead man in the stacks, but he knows how important being first with breaking news is to me.
I stopped at the main desk to tell Aunt Ibby what I was doing. I knew she wasn’t going to like the fact that this involved the library, but she knows that news is news wherever it happens. If I didn’t break this story, someone else would. I gave the officer Pete’s message. He looked back to where Pete still stood at the foot of the stairs. I saw Pete give him a “thumbs-up” signal, and the door swung open.
The county coroner’s long black van waited at the curb, engine purring, a driver still at the wheel. As I walked down the library steps I saw the WICH-TV mobile pulling into the nearly empty parking lot, a smiling Francine waving to me.
I hurried around to the side of the building, following the mobile unit. Francine parked beside Aunt Ibby’s Buick and was already unloading camera and mics from the side door by the time I caught up. “So what’s going on?” She handed me a stick mic. “This okay? Would you rather have the lavalier? Doan just told me to get my fanny over here. What happened?”
I accepted the handheld mic. I like the way it looks on screen. “There’s a dead man up in the stacks,” I explained, as I helped unload the portable video lighting kit. “They’re working on bringing him down right now. No ID yet, but Pete says he didn’t die of natural causes. The CSI team has arrived. That kind of proves it.”
“Pete’s here?” She closed and locked the van doors.
“Yeah. He came because I was the one who made the 911 call.”
“You did?” We’d reached the front steps. “Want to do it here? On the steps?”
“I don’t think so. What if they bring the body out and we’re in the way?”
She smiled. “Doan would love that shot, but I guess you’re right. How about you stand next to the big tree so the building is at an angle behind you. Everybody knows it’s the library but we won’t be zooming in on some poor dead guy. And you might want to take that off.” She pointed to the “volunteer” sticker on my shirt.
“Oh, right. Thanks.” I peeled it off, folding it into little squares, sticking it in my jeans pocket as I headed for the oak tree. “Let’s hurry up before the other stations figure out what’s going on. We’ll get an eight o’clock teaser, then it’ll probably be the lead on the eleven o’clock news.”
“Maybe by then we’ll know some more,” Francine said.
“Maybe.” I was doubtful. “The cops plan to be working in there until really late tonight. By tomorrow morning we might have something though.”
We had lights and camera set up in minutes. Francine and I were a good team. I touched up my makeup and took my position in front of the tree. The library outdoor lights were on and the tall windows glowed from inside. The old building looked beautiful.
I did a quick mic test, then began. “Ladies and gentlemen, Lee Barrett here at Salem’s main library on Essex Street. Earlier this evening a man was discovered, unresponsive, in the library’s upstairs stacks. He’s been declared dead by the medical examiner. A member of the local police department has indicated that the unidentified man did not die of natural causes. The county coroner is in attendance. A library staff member reported that there was some damage to library property in the area where the man was discovered. The exact cause of death has not been determined. Stay tuned to WICH-TV for further updates on this breaking story as they become available. If you were in the vicinity of the Salem main library this afternoon and observed anything unusual, or if you have any information relating to this matter, please call the number at the bottom of your screen. I’m Lee Barrett reporting from the Salem main library for WICH-TV.”
Francine signaled a wrap. “Sixty seconds on the button, Lee. Good job. I’ll send this back to Marty at the station and remind her to scroll in the police department number.”
“I hope we can get some more information by tomorrow,” I said. “No name, no cause of death, and no suspects doesn’t make for much of a story.” We gathered up our equipment.
“Talked to your hot cop about it yet?”
“Not very much. We just talked about what I saw.”
“Like what? What did you see?”
“I found the guy.” We walked back in the direction of the mobile unit. “His foot was sticking out from under a bookcase.”
“Sheesh. You have all the fun. I was covering the Manchester Dog Show with Templeton while you’re over here hanging out with cops and the ME, the coroner and the corpse. Not fair.”
I had to smile at Francine’s idea of fun. We secured the mics, camera, and sound equipment in the back of the mobile. Francine looked around the parking lot. “Your car still in the shop? Want to ride back to the station with me? You can tell me all about finding the dead guy.”
“Thanks, but no. Aunt Ibby is still here. She can’t leave until one of the directors shows up. I didn’t get a close look at the dead guy but I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. And sorry to say, my car’s not ready yet.”
“Bummer. Well, let us know if anything interesting goes down here. I don’t mind coming back.” She climbed into the front seat, waved, and turned onto Essex Street. Seconds after she’d left, the library front door swung open. With a uniformed officer standing at each side, the wheeled gurney emerged, followed by the coroner and pushed by the jump-suited technicians onto the wide granite portico. The dark blue body bag looked oddly small on the long, white padded surface. Quickly, efficiently, the sad burden was transferred into the black van, the coroner took his place in the passenger seat, and the vehicle headed east on Essex Street into the darkness. I watched until the taillights were out of sight, then climbed the library steps once more.
I tapped on the glass panel and waited for an officer to let me in. One appeared, shaded his eyes, moved close to the glass, and peered at me. It wasn’t the same cop who’d let me out, so returning took some back-and-forth. He asked me to show ID, which I couldn’t do because my handbag was still inside. Finally, a not-too-happy-about-it Pete was called down from the stacks to identify me, and the door swung open.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s all right. I have a few questions I need to ask you.” Cop voice. Cop face too. I halfway expected him to call me “ma’am.” Pete took my arm and steered me toward the chairs where we’d talked earlier. Tyler and Aunt Ibby looked up as we passed. They got a curt nod from Pete and I managed a wave and a smile. Big-time cop face. I sat in the chair he indicated. He pulled another one close to mine. “Listen, Lee. It looks like the guy was recently killed. Like very recently. He was still warm when the EMTs checked for vitals. It seems possible that whoever caused his death either left minutes before you found him—or was still up there with you.”
Chapter 7
It took a few seconds for what he’d just said to register. A killer might have been there in the stacks. With me. Watching me.
“I need you to th
ink back to when you were up there. When you noticed the foot sticking out, when you went around the corner, when you first saw the man—the books. Try to remember. A sound? A smell?” He reached for my hands, cop face gone. “It’s important, babe. I know you—sometimes—well, you see things, sense things other people might not.” He rubbed my hands. “Your hands are freezing. I scared you, didn’t I? I’m sorry. But can you think of anything you haven’t told me? Any little thing?”
I closed my eyes and tried to focus on those moments. Some of it was kind of blurred. Concentrate. You can do this. You’re a reporter, for God’s sake. You’re trained to remember details. The foot. The man. The books. The foot came first—not the one in the car mirror. Pete didn’t even know about that one. Nobody did. I thought about the foot in the dark blue sneaker. Grimy socks. “There was an S on it,” I said with my eyes still shut. “Skechers, maybe?”
“Good,” Pete said. “What else?”
I thought about smells. The nice library smell was there, just a little different from the main floors. “Musty books,” I said without opening my eyes. “Old book smell.”
Pete didn’t answer but I pictured him nodding his head.
Sounds. Was there a sound? I thought back to the moment I’d seen the man. Awkwardly sprawled. One leg partially hidden under the bookcase. Books all around him. But a sound? The normal library noises must have been there. A low hum of muted conversations. Outdoor noises when the front door was opened. A click. Was there a click? A light switch being turned on? The turn of a doorknob?
My eyes flew open. “A door, Pete. I heard a door open and close.”
“A door nearby? Or downstairs?”
“Not really nearby. But not downstairs. It could have been the old exit door I guess.”
“There’s a door at the very back of the stacks,” he said. “It’s marked Emergency Exit. Is that what you mean?”
“I guess so. That’s the only door up there. It’s part of the old mansion. I think it leads down to where the original kitchen used to be. I’m not sure. Never used it.”
Late Checkout Page 3