I enjoy being alone in my office, drinking coffee, eating a bagel, and going through files. As I said before, I tend to get a lot of work done when I’m by myself.
The first thing I did when I came in was to check on the turtledoves. The mama is still sitting on her nest taking care of the chicks. I hear a low coo-coo-coo and look up. The male dove is across the street on a phone wire. I raise my unopened coffee cup to the doves in a silent greeting; this is my little family group.
Reading the file on Joshua McElroy, I make a few executive decisions. I’m going to concentrate on the library where he spent his days and then interview some of the people there. That may be tough because in ten years, there can be a lot of changes. The head librarian, Mrs. Brenda Rosehill, may not even be employed there anymore. People retire, some may have moved away; life moves forward. Tragedies stay in the past.
Around nine o’clock I call the library to find out when it opens. I drum my fingers restlessly when an automated voice reading a menu answers and I put it on speakerphone.
“Press one if you want to continue in English, press two for Spanish, press three if you know your party’s extension, press four if you want to reserve a book, press five if you want an extension on a book you have already borrowed. Please note the time limit for extended borrowing is two weeks. Press six for library hours.”
Finally! I jam my finger on number six.
“Summer hours begin after the Memorial Day weekend. The library will be closed for the Memorial Day weekend. Summer hours are Monday to Thursday, ten AM to four-thirty PM. Evening hours are offered from six PM to eight PM only on Wednesday.”
I inhale and exhale deeply. I hate menus unless I am looking at a particularly nice one in a good restaurant. Phone menus drive me crazy.
“The current library hours are Monday to Thursday, ten AM to five PM. Friday’s hours are from ten AM to three PM. To hear a repeat of this menu please press zero. Thank you and have a good day.”
I reach the library a little after ten thirty to give the workers time to get settled and into what they need to do. A sign warns me “No food or drink allowed in the library” so I dump my second coffee into the gutter and throw the cup away in the garbage.
Libraries have always seemed like safe and magical places to me. I love the smells of old books, the dried glue on the bindings, and the varnished old wooden bookcases. If you have a good imagination, the stories in books can bring you anywhere you want to go. No wonder Joshua liked being here. It can almost be called a sanctuary.
The lady at the desk is on the computer as I walk up and she holds up a finger telling me to wait a second. When she looks up from her computer I show her my P.I. plastic-coated license. She looks at me, then down at my license, and back up at me again before speaking.
“Yes, Ms. Harlow? How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for someone who worked here ten years ago.” I consult the pad I have in my pocket. “A Mrs. Brenda Rosehill. Is she still employed here as head librarian?”
“Brenda? Oh, yes, but she works in the upstairs wing now. She’s in charge of the media center for young adults. You know,” she says smiling, “everything’s on the web now so we had to change with the times. A media center is a necessity.”
I half smile back at her. I don’t want her going off on what the library has done in the way of modernization. I’m here on business.
“I’d like to speak with her. Can you show me how to get to the media center?”
“Sure, but Brenda’s not in yet. She had a special PowerPoint presentation for a fundraiser last night. When she stays late for those she comes in around eleven. You’re welcome to wait here if you want. There’re some new magazines over there by the window or feel free to just walk around.”
I check my watch; it’s a quarter to eleven. The magazine rack looks inviting so I saunter over and sit down to wait. A new Architectural Digest catches my eye and I leaf through it half expecting to see Melissa’s brownstone featured inside. When I glance at my watch again, a half hour has passed and someone is standing in front of me.
“You asked to see me?” says a polite voice.
I look up into the face of a woman with softly waved white hair and kind blue eyes.
“Mrs. Rosehill?”
“Yes, I’m Brenda Rosehill and you are?”
“Cate Harlow.” I hand her my card and pull out my license again. “I’m a private investigator and was wondering if I could speak with you about a missing person’s case, actually a cold case. I’m looking for some information on someone who spent a lot of time in this library. A boy named Joshua McElroy. Can we go somewhere a little more private to talk?”
“Joshua McElroy?" She pauses thinking, looking at my card. “The teenager who went missing years ago?"
“Yes, ten years to be exact.”
“Oh that was quite some time ago.” She hands my card back to me. “I really don’t know how I can help you. At the time of the disappearance I did speak with a police detective. Everyone here did. I don’t think anything I said back then was very helpful at all.”
“I’ll only take a few minutes of your time,” I say quickly and give her my serious face, no smile, all business.
“Well, alright, I guess if you really feel it’s necessary. We can go to my office upstairs. It’s quiet there.”
We walk up the stairs located in the back of the library, Brenda Rosehill making small talk about the new improvements being made in the media center and the need for the fundraiser to be successful. I listen politely adding ohs, uh-huhs, and reallys, as needed.
At the top of the stairs, there's a large open area and off to one side is an office with a wall made of glass facing the media center. Brenda Rosehill brings to me that room.
“Please sit down.” I sit. “Now, how is it that you think I can help you?”
I start right in. “Joshua McElroy was a kid who spent a great deal of time in this library, Mrs. Rosehill. I know it’s been ten years since he went missing but his sister, Marie, has retained me to take the case and see if I can uncover anything that might lead to finding her brother.”
Her eyes grow wide. “Finding him? You mean finding out what happened to him or actually finding him. Does she think it’s possible that he’s still alive?”
“Yes, she does.”
“But why come to me, Ms. Harlow? I didn’t really know Joshua. I told all that to the police. He was just a boy who came to the library, that’s all. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
“Tell me what you thought of him. Do you remember what he did here? Was he friendly, did he ever talk to you?” I look directly into her eyes.
“Well, he was a nice enough boy, very quiet. He liked to read in one of the window seats downstairs. I was librarian in that section until a few years ago. Yes, I do remember him coming in, choosing books, and sitting down in the window seat to read. The only times we ever spoke was when he asked me if a certain book was available.”
“Did he do anything else besides read?”
She thinks for a few minutes then answers, “He did, actually. He liked to go through the old microfiche we had. You know those old files, well, now of course they’re all on computer, but he did ask if he could go through them pretty often. Most of what he wanted he said was information about history. Oh, and old newspaper files, the ones you viewed on a high beam screen. He also spent time drawing pictures sometimes. I remember I told that to the investigating officer back then.”
“Mrs. Rosehill did he ever give any indication that anything was wrong or that something was bothering him? I know it’s been ten years but think about his demeanor when he was here in the library.”
Brenda Rosehill looks out the glass wall of her office. There are people coming in to use the computers. One woman waves at Brenda and holds up a flash drive.
“Seriously he was just one of many children who came here to read or do research for book reports. We don’t get many book readers today; everything you want is o
n the internet now. Back then children still came to the library for real books.
“As for his demeanor, I never got the impression that anything was bothering him. The only thing I can say about the McElroy boy was that he was always polite and, as I said before, quiet. Always alone. Nothing else, I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay. Mrs. Rosehill. It has been ten years and I guess you’ve seen a lot of kids pass through this building.”
I stand and stretch and put my notebook back in my pocket. Not much here but what did I really expect? I give her my card again and tell her that if she does remember anything else to please call me. She says she will but I don’t hold out much hope that will happen. Then again you never know.
Leaving the library I decide to drive my Edge over to a nearby trattoria for an early lunch. On the way there I call my office answering machine and find that there have been no calls. Then I call Will’s cell, get his voicemail, and leave a message asking if there’re any new developments with the priest case and how his meeting with the archbishop went. Finally, I call Giles just because I need to talk and his assistant informs me that he’s in the middle of an evidence examination and asks me if I can call back in a couple of hours. Within the span of fifteen minutes, I’m zero for three with my phone calls.
****
“Catherine Harlow Private Investigations.” I hear Myrtle’s crisp, professional voice answer the phone. She sounds like a switchboard operator from an old black and white movie. “Yes, she is. May I ask who’s calling? Thank you. Please hold and I’ll put you through.”
“Cate, there’s a call from a Brenda Rosehill. Want to pick up?”
I pick up the phone on my desk. “Hello Mrs. Rosehill. This is Cate Harlow.”
“Oh, Ms. Harlow, how are you? You said to call if I remembered anything about the McElroy boy and I did, well I sort of did, I guess you could say. It’s just something small, I don’t know if it will help you.”
“It might, Mrs. Rosehill. I can’t know what will help but it pays to cover all details. It can add more to what I’ve already got on the case which isn’t a whole lot at the moment. Tell me what you remembered.”
“Well, this morning I was going through some DVDs for the young adult section that came in this week. That section is mostly for teens under the age of seventeen. We really should only have those DVDs which are rated G, you know, but some of them get a PG rating because the content shows some violence or mild sexual content. If a parent borrows it, it’s okay. The kids can’t get it on their own cards.
“Anyway, one of the movies was an R rated one, The Shawshank Redemption. The subject matter is upsetting to say the least and I am thinking about placing it in the adult section. Strangely though, it sparked a small memory about Joshua McElroy.”
“Joshua liked books on prisons?” I’m sitting forward, pen in hand.
“I don’t know about that. But the movie made me remember what he did like to read. Most boys in their early teens back then liked easy read books or books on action heroes, larger than life with super powers and all. Joshua wasn’t like that. He read biographies, books with characters who wanted to escape something. You know, books where the character uses his wits to get away from an unpleasant situation or thwart an antagonist. Those were the types of books favored by Joshua. He was always borrowing them. Some of the storylines were filled with despair but the protagonist always seemed to win his freedom at the end.”
My eyes go to the file on my desk. Josh’s drawings of predators. What was he trying to escape? He didn’t seem to have been bullied by anyone at school. His sister said that his home life was good and the police reports from the neighbors all stated the same thing basically. Nice, average family.
Of course Marie McElroy could be lying about there not being any family problems but I didn’t think she was. Or maybe she didn’t know what had happened. Sometimes one child is targeted by a parent and the siblings don’t really know what’s going on. It happens in cases of parental abuse. One kid is basically the whipping boy for a parent’s rage while another one in the same home is never touched. But I didn’t think that was the case either. You have to go with your gut instinct on certain things and I believed Marie when she said that their childhood had been wonderful.
“Mrs. Rosehill, if you remember a few titles of those books, can you email them to me? I’d appreciate that.”
“I can do better than that. About twelve years ago we started using computer cataloguing for books. Just simple data entry but the book titles and the names of everyone who borrowed them, whether to take home or to read while in the library, were put in the data bank. You might not believe this but there were people who stole books back then. Anyway, I can check back to when Joshua McElroy came here to read in the library. I’ll send the titles to you later today.”
With a small twinge of guilt I think about my own small collection of stolen library books, thank her and say goodbye, feeling that I may possibly have a lead on why Josh disappeared.
****
I’ve decided to work late tonight against Myrtle’s strenuous objections. She feels that I leave myself open and vulnerable to all the dangers there are in a city when I work alone at night in my office.
“There could be people watching this building, someone who might be out for revenge because you worked on a case that sent them to prison.”
“I’ll be fine Myrtle.”
“Anyone can find out if you’re the only one in the building after dark. There are all kinds of crazy people roaming the streets. You are simply a woman alone here.”
“Actually I’m a woman alone who has a Smith & Wesson semi-automatic. Don’t worry about me.”
“Worry? Why should I worry! Oh, maybe because the fact is that you can be overpowered by a big man or a group of men out for who knows what?”
“The gun pretty much levels the playing field for me, Myrtle.”
“What about walking to your car? You could get mugged. You’ll be alone.”
“Yup, just me and my gun all alone together. Don’t worry. Please.”
“I can stay here a little longer. We can order in or maybe go out for a late dinner. Harry won’t mind. I’ll buy. Better yet, I’ll wait here until you’re done and you can come home with me. Harry will enjoy seeing you.” She looks expectantly at me. I don’t budge. “Or I could call Detective Benigni to come baby-sit you.”
I close my eyes.
“Myrtle, go home to Harry, let your dog out, make something to eat. Stop worrying needlessly because I will be fine. Okay?”
Big sigh and a lot of head shaking.
“Alright, Catherine. But I’m going to call you around nine o’clock.”
“Why nine o’clock?”
“Three reasons. One, to see if you’re still alive, two, to tell you to be careful walking to your car, and three, to order you to get the hell home.”
Chapter 8
The list of book titles emailed to me by Brenda Rosehill is interesting, to say the least. Joshua was reading some very heavy stuff for a teen. All of the stories have to do with some form of abuse and the main character’s plans for escape. True stories of people fleeing the Holocaust, a biography of Henri Charriere’s escape from Devil’s Island in Papillon, convict Frank Morris who disappeared from Alcatraz; all of them detailing people in terrifying situations and how they managed to escape their captors.
Technically I could simply be looking at a book-nerd’s reading list. I personally devoured all the vampire and witch novels by Anne Rice. I liked the power exhibited by characters like Lestat and Rowan. What does that say about me? All it really says is that I like stories about vampires and witches.
But I have a very strong feeling that Joshua McElroy wasn’t reading this genre for pleasure. The topics and the drawings of predators signal that something was happening to Josh, that he was being harmed in some way by someone who seemed to be invincible. A powerful force that he felt he had to escape. Who had such power over Joshua?
Did this person murder Joshua and hide the body? All I seem to know right now is that there was someone Josh feared.
While pondering this question my cell phone rings. Without checking the caller ID, I answer. “Myrtle my darling, it’s not nine o’clock yet. I’m fine; stop worrying about me. And for God’s sake, don’t call Benigni to baby-sit me.”
“Why do you need a babysitter?” Will’s unmistakable voice comes into my ear.
“Will? Sorry. I thought…”
“Why is Myrtle checking up on you? Where are you?”
“I’m still at my office. She worries about me being here alone. Says there are crazy people roaming the streets.”
“You’re a big girl packing a gun. She doesn’t have to worry about you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m guessing she doesn't think my gun and I are tough enough. She and Harry are like overly protective surrogate parents.”
“Right.” He breathes out heavily. I know that sound.
“Listen I know I’m returning your call late but I didn’t get a chance to call earlier. It’s been a nuthouse here. Is there a full moon out or what? All the lunatics seem to be out today.”
“It’ll be full tomorrow. The loonies must have started a day early. What’s new with your case?” I make sure that I say your case to let him feel he’s in charge. “How goes it with the archbishop?”
“I think he'd like to have me excommunicated which doesn’t mean a whole lot to me since I haven’t stepped foot in church since I was twelve. That’s another story, but on the whole I didn’t take, or give, any bullshit. I was professional, polite, and made it clear that we’re doing everything to solve the murder. He was pissed but I can’t help that.
“By the way, there are no reports of missing priests, or ministers, or rabbis, or any clergy of any religion for that matter, in the Tri-State area. We’re hitting the nursing homes tomorrow, but so far, nothing blips on the radar. No ID, no elderly missing persons, absolutely nothing.”
“Someone has to know who this guy is, Will. The last body did turn out to have been a real priest so there’s a good chance this one is too.”
For I Have Sinned Page 6