Death Among The Stacks: The Body In The Law Library

by Louise Hathaway

  “No, nothing out of the ordinary. We did have a few extra homeless people sleeping in the bushes; we can see them out of the basement windows so we’re used to who is normally there and who’s not.”

  “So you came back up to your office after that?”

  “Yes, I came up the stairs and went into the kitchen to get some coffee started and to clear out the dishwasher from the night before. I will say that it was quite a mess; the night staff was not very considerate and I needed to clean up quite a few dishes!”

  “So after that you went to your office?”

  “Yes, I began to check my email and get ready for the day. I had several meetings with the Board of Trustees in the morning and then we had scheduled some time to sit down with the Federal Depository inspector, that poor Mr. Gaylord.”

  “What was the purpose of your meeting with Mr. Gaylord?”

  “He was coming to inspect the library to make sure that it met the requirements for being designated a Federal Depository Library.”

  “What exactly is a Depository Library? The only Depository Library I’ve ever heard of is the Dallas Depository Library where Lee Harvey Oswald shot President Kennedy.”

  “The Depository Library is responsible for keeping government documents and making them available for the public in various areas of the country. The Federal Government only selects the finest libraries to be Depository Libraries. I’m proud to say that we’ve been a Federal Depository for the entire time I’ve been Director here at the Law Library.”

  “Sounds like quite an honor. Do you expect to be renewed this year?”

  “Of course! I have no doubt about it!”

  “Where were you from noon until about 1:30?”

  “I was at a judges’ luncheon at the Old County Courthouse building. We were discussing the various options for future library expansions and some of the problems we were having with the new library wing.”

  “You spent the whole time at lunch?”

  “Yes, I returned at about 1:30 because we had a meeting schedule with Mr. Gaylord to discuss the inspection.”

  “So you went directly from the Old Courthouse to the Law Library?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you regarding the time you left the Courthouse?”

  “Of course.”

  The Director thinks, Who does he think he’s dealing with here? The sides of her face began to feel warm.

  Sledge, detecting her discomfort says, “I’m sorry ma’am; a man has been murdered and we have to ask these questions. Can you think of any reason that Mr. Gaylord would be murdered in your library today?”

  “None—none at all. It comes as a total shock to me and I’m sure I speak for my entire staff.”

  “Do you have security cameras on each floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going to have to check the CCTV tapes for today. Can you get us copies of these?”

  “Yes, I’ll make sure you get copies as soon as possible. Hopefully, the video will have picked up the area where the murder took place. If not, I’m going to have to reevaluate where we are positioning the cameras.”

  Sledge decides he won’t put the Director through much more agony. He thanks her for her time and asks if she would be so kind as to send in the Depository Librarian, Yvonne. The Director is uncomfortable being told what to do in her own office. She reluctantly agrees and goes out to locate Yvonne.

  Chapter Three

  The Depository Librarian, Yvonne enters the room and Sledge shakes her hand and asks her to sit down. Her handshake is a bit wet and clammy—he’s felt this before—she’s obviously very uncomfortable and nervous about being questioned. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears from the pressure and stress she’s under. What if the life she led in Chicago somehow gets unearthed during the interview with Detective Sledge? Will he ask her personal questions about her feelings towards men? Will she have to bring up her divorce and the reasons why she left Chicago, vowing to never return?

  Yvonne has always been very concerned about her image. She grew up in a house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in the famous Oak Park neighborhood near downtown Chicago. Her father was a successful architect and she went to all of the finest schools and knew all the best people. She earned her Masters Degree in Library Science at the University of Chicago. Her biggest dream was to marry a doctor and live on Lake Shore Drive—the neighborhood of celebrities like Oprah. When she met a young psychiatrist who later asked her to marry him, she was thrilled. It seemed like she had a charmed life with a storybook romance. It wasn’t until later that she realized that this man had more “issues” than the patients he counseled. Not only was he questioning his own sanity, but he was also questioning Yvonne’s. He was constantly trying to analyze everything she said until she was a nervous wreck. She felt like she was walking on egg shells every time she opened her mouth and he took every little incident about her relationship with her father and twisted it into a child sexual abuse issue that it never was. She adored her father: he could never have done the things her husband was suggesting.

  Sometimes he just went too far. He was so controlling: if she didn’t do exactly what he wanted her to do, he’d get physically abusive with her. It had gotten so bad one night that he tried to rape her when they were having a bad argument. She had actually pulled a knife out of a drawer in the kitchen and literally “saw red”. Her husband threatened to call 911 and report her. He also told her that he wanted to get a restraining order against her and report it to all of the newspapers. What would all of her high society friends think of her actions? What would Frank Lloyd Wright, her father’s muse, think of the actions from a girl who had grown up in Oak Park? Horrified at the idea of scandal, she was forced to leave her life in Chicago and never come back. The last thing Yvonne wants is to be questioned by another man who obviously isn’t in the same social orbit she was in. He appears to be such a common person; he wouldn’t understand her background or her issues.

  “Thank you for being so patient, Yvonne. I apologize for the inconvenience; I’d like to ask you a few questions about today. Where were you today, between 12 and just before 1:30?”

  Yvonne, chewing gum said, “I spent the morning in my office doing some paperwork. We had a meeting scheduled with Mr. Gaylord, the Federal Depository representative. We were going to discuss our accreditation. He was supposed to be here before 11:30 but by 12:00 he still hadn’t arrived. No phone call, no message. Not very considerate. I finally decided to step out for some lunch and instructed the reference desk staff to be on the lookout for Mr. Gaylord should he arrive. I left my office at about 11:45 and returned at about 1:30. That’s when I saw the police and all the commotion. “

  “Where did you go for lunch?”

  “To the deli, across the street.”

  “Did you eat in or take it out?”

  “I ate in the deli.”

  “Weren’t you concerned about Mr. Gaylord coming and not seeing you?”

  “He was going to have to wait; he had inconvenienced me and I wasn’t going to change my schedule to match his. You know, people can be so inconsiderate.”

  Sledge noticed a ratcheting up in Yvonne’s demeanor. She seemed to enjoy berating Mr. Gaylord even after he had died. He notices her hand gripping the stack of papers on the table to the point of almost tearing them. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  “Can someone vouch for you at the deli during lunch?”

  “Why yes, of course; ask anyone—they all know me over there. They will be glad to vouch for my time there.”

  Yvonne began chewing her gum more forcefully to the point to popping it. It began to give Sledge a headache. To Sledge, her gum chewing didn’t jive with her haughty, upper-class sense of herself. You wouldn’t see the First Lady chewing gum, now would you? he asks himself.

  “Do you know any reason why someone would want to kill him?” he asks her.

  She replies, “No; I can’t think of any reason.
This is the weirdest thing that I’ve ever seen. How could someone do this?”

  Detective Sledge notices that she is on the point of tears again and says, “I’m sorry that this upsets you. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask to see your assistant, Nic. Can you call her and tell her to come here as soon as possible so I can ask her a few questions?”

  Chapter Four

  When Yvonne calls Nic, her assistant is busy gossiping with the rest of the staff about who might have committed this crime. Nic says, “I’ll bet it was an inside job. Someone here at the library probably did it.” Other coworkers speculate who the culprit might be. Nic seems to think that it might have been her boss. “You know how crazy Yvonne’s been acting since her brother and sister died,” Nic tells her coworkers.

  Kelly thinks it might be John, the reference librarian who was on the desk with Hung all morning. “You know how anti-government John is. He’s always listening to that Rush Limbaugh and getting all steamed up. I can’t stand it when he turns the volume up on his boom box and we have to put up with hearing his hate radio. He still can’t get over Waco after all of these years. He says that he’s a Libertarian, but I think he’s just racist. Look at how he has painted a mustache on that picture of The President and put it front and center in his cubicle, so we have to look at it every time we pass by. He’s nuts.” Many of her coworkers listening to her speculation agree.

  “Yeah,” Nic says, “He’s creepy. If he’s not looking at Internet pornography, he’s busy furiously typing and adding his two-cents’ worth on one of those crazy forums he likes, complaining about how the country needs to restore honor again, like it was when the founding fathers set up our government.” “Blah, blah, blah,” they all say. Nic’s phone rings again, and she is annoyed about the interruption. When she realizes that it’s her boss calling, she immediately jumps to attention and tells Yvonne, “Certainly; I’ll be right up to talk to the detective.”

  “Good luck, Nic,” her coworkers say; glad that they aren’t the ones getting grilled.

  *******

  Sledge is thumbing through some of the staffs’ time cards when Nic comes into the room.

  You asked to see me, Detective?”

  “Yes, please sit down. I’m sorry to have to put you through all this but you realize we need to make sure we get our information correct in our investigation.”

  “Yes, certainly, I’ll be glad to help in any way I can,” Nic responds, acting as snooty as possible.

  “I understand you discovered Mr. Gaylord this afternoon?”

  “Yes. I was the first one to discover him. You see I was doing my usual work-related rounds and making sure everything was in its place when I discovered Mr. Gaylord in the compact shelving.”

  “You mentioned this was something you did every day?”

  “Yes, I’m always going to the basement, well, sort of, I mean, I make sure everything is in its correct place, I mean. I’m the Depository Assistant, so I want to make sure everything is looking good and in presentable condition for the public, you know.”

  Sledge couldn’t help but detect a bit of defensiveness, bordering on self-promotion in her answers.

  “I pretty much take care of all the depository business here at the library; in fact, if it wasn’t for the work I put into the depository we wouldn’t be getting accredited in the first place.”

  “You said ‘getting accredited’; don’t you mean you hope you will get accredited?”

  “Oh, I have no doubt we will; I’m sure Mr. Gaylord was going to guarantee that we would get the accreditation today.”

  “What time did you find Mr. Gaylord in the basement?”

  “Oh, about 12:30 or 1:00, I think.”

  “Can you be a bit more specific about the time? What time did you leave your desk?”

  “Oh yes; now I remember. I left my desk at about 1:00, having just come back from lunch. I then went immediately down to the basement to put some documents in the compact shelving. Yes, that’s what I remember.”

  “Did anyone see you go down to the basement?”

  Nic, feeling a bit uneasy and sensing that her story was beginning to unravel, says, “Yes, I think, John did. Kelly and I came back from lunch and John saw me go down the stairs. Yes, I’m sure if you ask him he’ll confirm that.” Nic starts to feel sick and begins to wonder if she’d be caught in her story. She thought I hope he doesn’t ask him.

  “So when you found Mr. Gaylord in the shelving was he, how can I put it, was he dead? Was he moving? Did he say anything?”

  “Oh, he was very dead. He didn’t say a thing and I knew right away that he was very dead.”

  “You mentioned you came back from lunch at about 1:00 with Kelly, is that correct?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “I’ve got a copy of your time sheet, you know, the one that records when everyone enters and leaves the building, and this one shows you coming into the staff lounge area at about 1:28. Is that correct?”

  Nic is really feeling sick now. Yvonne might find out and she’d really be toast. “Ah, I believe that’s correct, I thought it was about 1:00 but I could be wrong. I’m so busy with all my work around her, I sometimes lose track of things.”

  “I also show that Kelly came in at that time, too. Do you remember Kelly coming in with you from lunch, as you said before?”

  “Yes, I mean, I believe so. I think it was John. It could have been Kelly but I’m really think it was John.”

  “Thank you for your time, Nic; we’ll get back to you if we have any further questions.”

  Nic rises and shakes Sledge’s hand—a very clammy shake—and gives him a squeamish smile as she walks slowly out of the Director’s office. She feels faint and dizzy and can’t get a grip on what her story should be. Just before she closes the office door, Detective Sledge asks her, “Nic, could you do me a huge favor and ask John if he could come in to answer some questions?”

  “Why yes. I’d be happy to.” Sure she would.

  Chapter Five

  John Meadowlark strides into the director’s office with obvious purpose and zeal in his demeanor. John is a Public Service’s Librarian who’s very dissatisfied with his current occupation. He fancies himself as a writer and historian, yet his literary output left much to be desired. He made up for lack of scholasticism with a strong sense of self. There is more confidence in John than any person should have. John loves a challenge and loves to debate anything. In fact, he does debate almost anything, at any time—much to the chagrin of his fellow workers. He doesn’t get much work done, needless to say. This whole murder investigation is right up John’s alley. He relishes the idea of locking horns with a policeman and the thought of outfoxing him gives him goose bumps. He can’t wait to get his time with Detective Sledge.

  John enters the Director’s office, without knocking and walks right up to where Sledge is sitting. “Hi, I’m John, you needed to see me?”

  “You’re Mr. Meadowlark?”

  “Call me John.”

  “Please sit down, John. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Anything; I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “So I understand you were on the reference desk when Mr. Gaylord arrived at the library this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I was. I was explaining the finer parts of tort reform to a patron when Mr. Gaylord came to the reference desk and asked to see Yvonne—you know, the librarian Yvonne. I told him I’d be right with him and to have a seat. Do you carry a service revolver, Mr. Sledge?”

  “Detective Sledge and yes I do. Is that a problem?”

  “No, I mean, I was wondering if you have ever had to use it.”

  “Mr. Meadowlark, can you tell me if you escorted Mr. Gaylord to the basement this afternoon?”

  “Yes, I took him down there. Not that it mattered. I mean, what was he going to do down there? Dressed in his fine government suit and briefcase, he didn’t look ready to really work; I mean like the rest of us. These feder
al inspectors act like they are God and we should all bow down to them.”

  “Did you have any kind of a quarrel with Mr. Gaylord in the basement?”

  “Me? Heck no; I don’t have the time for these bureaucrats—why would I want to waste my time with them? By the way, did you have to go to firearms’ classes to carry your weapon?”

  “Mr. Meadowlark, can you tell me if you saw Nic go down to the basement at any time this afternoon?”

  “Nic, no; not that I remember. I mean she could have snuck down there. I mean, any chance to get some time to make a phone call, leave it to Nic—did you know we nicknamed her “Nic.dot.com” because she spends all of her work time surfing the web? And if we called her out on it, we’d be accused of some racial insensitivity. I mean, who needs it!”

  “So, you didn’t see her go to the basement any time today?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Mr. Meadowlark, can you think any reason anybody should want to kill Mr. Gaylord?”

  “Heck, I don’t know; isn’t that what you’re supposed to be figuring out?” Sledge feels his fist tighten as John continues. “I mean, I suppose lots of people might want him to, well at least be hurt, maybe. Take Yvonne; she just hates all men and would stop at nothing to make sure the depository stays here. And Kelly, she also hates men; I mean I’ve heard rumors that she did some dirty stuff in the Marine Corps to some men. Probably some sort of twisted equal-rights-feminist-male-bashing-thing-gone-wrong. Who knows? Hey, do you think I’d make a good Detective? I mean, I’ve got some pretty good ideas, huh?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Meadowlark. Your answers have been a great help. One more thing, you told my officer this afternoon that you think you know why Mr. Gaylord was killed, and yet didn’t tell me why. Are you holding anything back?”

  John feels a little caught off guard; his comment to the officers was a bit premature and a bit of a boast. He tries to formulate some sort of coherent response to Detective Sledge. “Yes, I think I said I was pretty sure that the murderer was here in the library, don’t you agree?”