Can we meet for an early lunch?
Three dots appeared.
Who was murdered at the Library?
Meg’s gossip network was impressive. It had only grown stronger now that our boss Maeve was the chair of the House Administration committee. These days, she heard the scuttlebutt from her regular sources and the most senior staff in Congress.
We can talk over tacos @ Rosa’s.
Ok. Will bring T.
“T” was, of course, shorthand for Trevor. Given current circumstances, I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with Meg’s love triangle. Nonetheless, Trevor had been at the event last night and was keenly observant. It would be worth the drama to learn if he had any revelatory insights or clues.
“Doug, are you free to leave the Jefferson Building?” I asked. “You might feel better if you had something to eat.”
“I’d better check with O’Halloran.” Doug scurried over to ask.
Nonchalantly scrolling through his iPhone like he was in line for coffee, Joe Malden looked awfully relaxed for the lead lawyer at an agency where a murder had just occurred. I strained my eyes to spy on what had him so captivated, expecting to find that he was searching Twitter or popular news websites for media reports of the crimes. Instead, I spotted a familiar logo that had nothing to do with the fact that the now former Assistant Librarian was less than fifty feet away, his head bashed in from a fatal blow and a nation’s invaluable treasure in the wind.
“Reading about the Red Sox?” I asked, gesturing toward his phone screen.
“Guilty as charged,” he said. “Given today’s events, perhaps I shouldn’t say that phrase too loudly.” He chuckled before continuing.
“You must be dedicated if you’re following them in February,” I said.
“Pitchers and catchers are reporting this week for spring training,” he explained. “I’ll be headed to Fort Myers next month for games.”
“You really are passionate, then. That’s refreshing.”
Malden smiled. “We do have our share of fair-weather sports fans in Washington. But who can blame them? D.C. residents are used to picking winners and losers. Everyone flocks to the former and no one sticks with the latter, even when it comes to sports.”
Harsh words, yet true. Perhaps he could give me some valuable info. “Do you have any idea who might have killed Assistant Librarian Gaffney and stolen the items from the safe?”
His jaw tightened. “No idea.” Malden had gone from Mr. Chatty to Mr. Clammy in three seconds flat.
“The killer had to know that only Gaffney’s and the Librarian’s prints would open the safe,” I said. “Doug says that wasn’t widely known amongst staff. That might narrow the credible suspect pool to last night’s attendees.”
“You never know,” said Malden. “Any person at the preview might have mentioned the method for opening the safe to a colleague. Or even a person outside the Library of Congress.”
Was it just me, or was Joe Malden grasping at straws? Obviously, this crime had been carefully planned. There was no way someone had casually mentioned these facts after the event to someone who impetuously decided to kill Gustav Gaffney and steal the contents of Abraham Lincoln’s pockets.
Maybe a more pointed approach would yield better results. “You don’t think someone at the event last night had the desire to commit the crime?”
Malden had returned to the baseball scouting report on his phone. He didn’t even look up to answer me. In a flat voice, he said, “Nope.”
Perhaps I needed to spurn a reaction. “It seemed to me that Lea Rutherford had definite interest in the Library’s impressive Lincoln collection.”
Malden snorted. “Lea Rutherford could own the Library of Congress, if that’s what she wanted. She’s a very rich woman.”
“That might be the case, but no dollar figure could buy the contents of Lincoln’s pockets the night he was assassinated. Or other national treasures held within this building.” I waved my arm around.
“Of course,” said Malden, looking me directly in the eye. “What I’m saying is that Lea can buy any priceless item that’s for sale. Why would she bother with something that’s not for sale?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes we want what we can’t have. Right?”
“Perhaps, but you don’t know Lea Rutherford. She’s not that type of person. She supports preserving artifacts, not stealing them.”
Before I could respond, Doug showed up at my side. “Sergeant O’Halloran says I can leave.” Then he added, “Well, I can’t leave the metropolitan area. But I can go to lunch on Capitol Hill.”
“That’s good enough for now,” I said in my most cheerful voice. Doug needed to shed his status as a suspect quickly. O’Halloran had consented to my assistance for the time being. But if Doug’s status elevated, he’d make sure my sleuthing days came to an end. Not to mention that Congresswoman Dixon and the Librarian of Congress wanted the killer caught in record time.
“Nice chatting with you,” I said to Joe.
“Enjoy your lunch, Doug,” he said as he returned to his iPhone. As we walked away, I caught him staring. I had the distinct feeling the baseball-loving general counsel didn’t particularly like me. No surprise there. I was asking hard questions, and I wasn’t going to take easy answers without pushing back.
Doug and I left the Jefferson Building, turned the corner, and walked east down Pennsylvania toward Santa Rosa’s Taqueria. Celebrity chef Spike Mendelsohn, who operated several restaurants in Washington, opened Rosa’s a few years ago and before you could say “margarita,” it had become a favorite lunch spot on Capitol Hill. We walked through the entrance and found Meg and Trevor already waiting for us.
Trevor started to say something, but Meg cut him off. “Who was murdered at the Library of Congress?”
“Please keep your voice down,” I said. “They haven’t released anything to the press yet.”
Meg pursed her lips. “I get it,” she said in her version of a hushed voice, which could probably be heard without trouble during a Capitals’ playoffs power play.
Trevor caught on. “Let’s order our lunch, Meg. Then we can talk.” He gently took her arm and guided her to the line.
Doug elbowed me. “We couldn’t have enjoyed a private lunch?”
He had a point. Doug had just been accused of murder. Then again, my instinct was to solve the crime so his problem would disappear. “Meg and Trevor have been instrumental in solving previous cases. We need their help.” Then I added, “So we can clear your name.” I gave Doug’s hand a squeeze.
He took a deep breath. “You’re right. They will be on our side. And four heads are better than two.”
“Most of the time,” I said. “What are you going to order?”
“Carne asada street tacos,” he said. “With guacamole, of course.”
“I’m going for the chicken casa bowl,” I said.
“Chips for the table?” asked Doug.
“Of course,” I said. “If we’re going to ask Meg and Trevor to help us figure out who killed Gustav Gaffney, we’d better make sure they are well fed.”
After placing our orders at the counter and picking up our food, we found a spot in the corner of the crowded eatery. Meg had selected the spicy fried shrimp tacos. Trevor, whose fastidious behavior included a healthy diet, had ordered the La Fuerte salad with grilled chicken. Since they started dating six months ago, Meg had loosened Trevor up a bit, but he still had a long way to go.
Meg didn’t even wait to take a bite before firing off questions. “Who was murdered? Do the police have any suspects in custody? Are you going to investigate?”
I wiped my mouth before answering. “Settle down. We’ll catch you both up.”
Doug and I explained this morning’s events, including the theft and other relevant details. Meg and Trevor listened intently, no
t even bothering to eat. Meg’s eyes widened as we explained that Doug was likely a suspect.
“But what’s the motive?” asked Trevor.
“No matter who the killer is, the motive has to be the theft,” I said. “Gaffney was only one of two people whose fingerprints could open the safe. The Librarian of Congress wasn’t alone with the safe, either last night or this morning. Therefore, the thief had to kill Gaffney to gain access.”
Trevor rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “If the thief was a professional, then he or she could have knocked Gaffney unconscious and then used his fingerprints to open the safe. When Gaffney woke up, he wouldn’t be able to identify the person, especially if a mask was worn.”
“That’s a good point,” I said. “It corroborates my original theory that the perpetrator was someone who attended last night’s viewing inside the ceremonial office. A mask wouldn’t have disguised someone who was already well known to the victim.”
“Yes,” said Trevor slowly. “The thief had no choice but to murder Gaffney. He or she couldn’t risk that he would be able to provide an identification.”
Meg took a big bite of a shrimp taco. “Scrumptious,” she muttered, her mouth still full. Trevor gave her a sideways glance, but I noticed the twinkle in his eye.
“If that’s the case, then who is a likely suspect amongst those whom we met last night at the Library of Congress?” I asked.
“Besides Doug, you mean,” said Trevor matter-of-factly.
“Of course, Trevor,” I said, no hiding the annoyance in my voice. “We know that Doug didn’t kill Gustav Gaffney.”
Trevor rolled his eyes slightly. He never let friendship or emotional attachment get in the way of rational deduction. Although he’d improved over time, Trevor still scored relatively low on the emotional IQ scale.
Doug ignored Trevor’s comment. “My guess is Gordon Endicott,” said Doug.
“He did want your job,” I said. “But murder and the theft of priceless treasures would be a pretty elaborate plot just to frame you.”
“He might have wanted to steal the items,” said Meg. “And then figured out a way he could frame Doug in the process.”
“Quite ingenious,” said Trevor. “He’d accomplish several goals with the crime.”
“But Endicott is clearly enamored with the collections at the Library of Congress. Why would he want to steal Lincoln’s handkerchief and the Confederate note? It goes against everything in his professional background.”
Doug chuckled. “Unfortunately, many antiquities thefts are inside jobs, Kit. It’s more common than you’d think.”
“Dr. Hollingsworth is correct,” said Trevor. “The biggest library theft in recent years occurred at the Carnegie Library in Pittsburgh. The chief archivist of the rare books collection stole over eight million dollars in materials over the course of several years. He worked with a rare books dealer to sell the items.”
“That’s terrible,” said Meg. “Talk about letting the fox inside the henhouse.”
“That means Gordon Endicott has to be at the top of our list,” I said. “If he did it, he’d have access to the right people when he decided to sell the stolen items.”
“He also seemed as though he was in good shape,” said Meg. “He’s strong enough to kill someone in the way you described.”
“Quite frankly, everyone at the party last night would have been able to carry out the homicide,” I said. “Remember, Gustav Gaffney was thin and frail. He was at least fifteen years older than everyone else in attendance. I don’t think he would have been difficult to overpower.”
“Meg, given your work with the oversight committee and the Library of Congress, you knew some of the guests from last night,” Trevor said. “What do you think?”
Meg selected a tortilla chip and dipped it in green salsa. She nibbled on it before answering. “Well, Representative Henry Chang should definitely be on the list.”
Doug raised his eyebrows. “You think a member of Congress could have done this?”
“Not just any member of Congress,” said Meg. “Henry Chang is. . .” She paused while searching for the right word. “Unusual.”
“How so?” I asked. Meg had told me last night that our boss didn’t care for him. But that was no reason to consider him a murderer.
“He’s obsessed with history,” said Meg. She looked at Doug. “Not in the dorky, academic way.”
“No offense taken,” Doug said after swallowing a big bite of his taco.
“Can you be more specific?” I asked. “It’s not uncommon for members of Congress to be interested in American history.”
Meg shook her manicured red nail at me. “I know that, Kit. Remember, I’ve been working in Congress even longer than you have. What I mean is that Chang always asks detailed questions about the artifacts or paintings or whatever is on display. He gets really close to them, too.”
“You’re right about that,” I said. “Last night, Gordon Endicott seemed annoyed that Chang invaded his space. From his body language, he seemed worried that Chang might try to touch the items.”
Meg snapped her fingers. “Exactly! I’ve been to several of these soirees with him. As Chairwoman, Maeve gets a lot of invitations to D.C. cultural events and I usually go with her. After all, I do enjoy a good party and it’s really the only perk for her as Chair of this committee.” Meg repeatedly reminded us she wasn’t enthralled about Maeve’s assignment at House Administration.
“And he does this each and every time?” asked Trevor.
“Absolutely. He always monopolizes the poor curator or librarian’s time, too. It’s like he wants to know every last detail,” she said, taking a sip of her iced tea. “Even before today, I always thought it was strange behavior.”
I trusted Meg’s opinion here. She’d been around a fair number of members of Congress and senators over the years. If Henry Chang’s demeanor was atypical, she’d know it.
“I’ll put him on the suspect list,” I said. “We’ll need to find out if he has an alibi.”
“As soon as we find out when Gustav died,” said Doug.
“That’s right. We don’t know when it happened.” I turned to my husband. “Didn’t you check Gaffney’s pulse when you discovered his body this morning?”
Doug nodded. “Yes, even though I knew he was dead. I wanted to make sure.”
“Was the body cold to your touch? Or still warm?” I asked.
“It wasn’t warm,” said Doug. His face looked a little pale.
“Did he look. . .” I hesitated because I didn’t want to upset Doug more. “Stiff?”
Doug considered my question for a couple seconds. “Once I realized he was dead, I didn’t look closely at him. It was obvious that someone had bashed him over the head with the Jefferson bust. But if I had to guess, I would say he did look stiff.”
“Then perhaps the murder and theft occurred last night rather than this morning,” said Trevor.
“Most likely,” I said. “But I’ll check with the police later today. It shouldn’t take too long to establish the time of death.”
“If it was last night, then it means that someone hung around the Library of Congress after the event and waited for the opportunity to kill Gaffney,” said Meg.
“That’s right,” said Doug. “You wouldn’t have been able to reenter the building if you left.”
“Unfortunately, there’s a lot of places to hide inside that building,” I said. “The corridors are dark, especially without daylight. The perpetrator just needed to wait around until Gaffney was alone.”
“But how did our killer know Gaffney would be alone?” asked Trevor. “After all, it’s the Librarian’s ceremonial office, not his.”
Doug chuckled. “Gustav really liked that office. He had a small desk he sometimes used in the anteroom during the evening when he stayed late. I think h
e was inspired by his surroundings in the Jefferson Building. Miriam Dunlap didn’t mind him using it after hours.”
“Once again, it points to an insider,” I said. “Only someone who was familiar with Gustav’s habits would have known he worked inside that office late at night.”
We munched on the remnants of chips and guacamole, silent while considering the conclusions we’d just drawn. Meg spoke first. “If we’re considering Henry Chang, we should also consider Janice Jackson.”
“The head of congressional affairs?” I asked. “I thought you liked her, Meg.”
“I do. But one thing I’ve learned is that doesn’t disqualify someone for murder,” she said. Meg spoke the truth. Our previous cases had proven that inconvenient fact.
“But why would she want to steal the contents of Lincoln’s pockets?” asked Doug. “I don’t think she’s a collector of rare books or historical items.”
“Not that I know of,” said Meg. “But she did complain about her boss Gustav Gaffney.”
“Off-hand comments?” asked Trevor.
Meg shook her head as she finished off her shrimp tacos. “Nope. She mentioned him a lot.”
“Enough to kill him?” I asked.
Meg shrugged. “Who knows? Gaffney wanted stronger congressional support for Library of Congress initiatives. Janice said she was under the gun from Gaffney to make sure it happened. It was one of the reasons I always insisted Maeve Dixon attend these events. I knew Janice needed our support.”
“But we’re looking for someone who murdered Gustav to steal the contents of Lincoln’s pockets,” said Doug.
“That’s true. It doesn’t exactly fit the scenario,” I said. “But it’s good to know more about everyone who was there last night. Are we missing anyone?”
Trevor cleared his throat. “Lea Rutherford is a person of interest.” He stated his opinion the way that most people spoke about facts. An aura of certainty surrounded Trevor, a master of both emotions and information. This had to be what attracted Meg to him.
Larceny at the Library Page 6