The condition of the library itself was enough to make a person heartsick. The flood that had come in the wake of Katrina had inflicted more than its share of damage on the building and its contents. The signs were everywhere, including the water level marks on the walls.
But, it wasn’t merely the physical toll that evoked painful emotions. This repository of the written word was now only a part-time library. The rest of the time, it was a temporary federal office housing the FEMA response teams.
Armed officers waited at the entrance, bringing you in single file through metal detectors as if you were entering an airport concourse. The main floor now housed very few books. Instead, harried people with government ID’s occupied the better part of it, each of them systematically interviewing survivors of the disaster, cataloging their losses and shuffling paperwork—but providing little or no relief. The overwhelming sense of despair I could feel from the people I had seen waiting, government forms clutched in their hands, was almost more than I could bear at the moment. Had I not been focused on my own task, I firmly believe I would have sat down in the middle of the floor and wept for them.
Even with an entire floor of the building between them and me, I could still feel it.
I shook off the anxiety then gathered my steno pad and two square boxes containing rolls of microfilm from the top of the metal cabinets. Making my way around the end of the stacks, I headed back toward the center of the dogleg in the L-shaped room. Earlier it had been almost dead up here, but now there was plenty of quiet activity. I wandered up the rows of microfilm readers, checking all the way to the back of the farthest stand, but found them all occupied. Letting out a sigh, I trudged over to a table and pulled out a chair. I hoped my wait wouldn’t be overly long.
“Excuse me…Sir?” a young woman’s voice broke through the calm room. She wasn’t being loud by any means, but given the relative quiet, her words were hard to miss.
I looked in the direction of the voice and saw a very young-looking blonde motioning to me with one hand as she used her other to rewind a roll of film.
“Yeah?” I grunted.
“I’m done here if you need the machine,” she offered.
As I had noticed with Detective Fairbanks, her voice held none of the clipped affectations I had become used to hearing since I had arrived in the city. It made her seem almost as out of place as I felt. But, given the fact that she was young, as well as casually dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, I figured she was probably a college student from out of state.
“Yeah, thanks,” I said in a tired drone, giving her a shallow nod.
I pushed the unused chair back beneath the table then walked over and stood next to the reader and waited patiently. The young woman removed the spool of film then tucked it back into a box. Gathering up her notebook, she hefted her backpack from the floor and slipped it over one shoulder before stepping aside and giving me a smile.
“You kind of have to coax it a bit sometimes,” she told me. “It sticks every now and then.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I had to use this one earlier. Thanks.”
“Soooo…Genealogy?” she asked.
“Huh?” My question came out more as a grunt than a word.
I wasn’t really paying attention. I already had my own spool of aging film in my hand and was pushing it onto the feed spindle when she made her query. Truth is, my mind was wandering, and it had settled on the fact that I hadn’t done research by microfilm since I was in college myself, which was longer ago than I really wanted to think about.
“I was just wondering if you were maybe doing genealogical research,” she pressed on, apparently unfazed by my woolgathering expression. “You know, investigating your roots. That sort of thing.”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing back and giving her a tired nod. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s something like that.”
I turned back to the task at hand and pressed the plastic spool inward until I felt it snap. Then I tugged on the free end of the film and started to thread it beneath the glass.
I couldn’t help but feel the girl was still standing behind me. I wondered for a moment if I should reach back and check on my wallet. But, malicious energy wasn’t what seemed to be coming from her. Actually, it felt more like a bizarre mix of curiosity and arousal. Of course, with everything that was bombarding me, I didn’t even want to hazard a guess as to whether or not those feelings were coming from her or somewhere across the room. Instead I just tried to ignore her and hoped that she would go away.
“Yeah, I figured as much,” she finally said. “I’ve been watching you.”
Obviously, ignoring her wasn’t going to work. I glanced back over my shoulder again. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Well, I mean…” She paused for a moment then shrugged. “You look kinda old to be a student.”
“Thanks,” I replied, my voice flat.
Turning back to the machine, I fished the loop of brittle film through the guide plate and hooked it onto the take-up reel.
“Oh, that wasn’t meant as an insult,” she said, backpedaling.
I replied without turning this time. “No big deal. I wasn’t offended. I realize I’m old as compared to you. That part of my brain still works.”
I felt something touch me, and I looked down to see that she had leaned in close, actually bringing her ample chest against my arm. I had the distinct impression the physical contact wasn’t an accident. She proved that out by dropping her voice even lower and infusing it with a sultry sweetness.
“The truth is, I really like older men…a lot…know what I mean?” she whispered as if sharing a secret.
Now the hairs on the back of my neck were no longer at rest. I stopped what I was doing and hung my head for a moment then sighed.
Finally, I said, “Please tell me you aren’t trying to pick me up.”
I could hear the nonchalance in her voice as she replied, “Well, hey… You’re kind of cute. I was thinking maybe we could go get a cup of coffee or something and see where things go from there?”
I turned to face her and she eased back, flashing me a shy smile that was too brazen to truly qualify as coy.
“I’m betting I’m old enough to be your father,” I said.
“Yeah, probably. So what? That’s the point.”
I opened my mouth to comment on that observation but decided against it. I certainly had no right to judge whatever her proclivities were. Instead I bolstered my objection with, “I’m also happily married.”
“Yeah. Okay. But, she isn’t with you right now is she?” she countered. “You’ve been alone since I’ve been here.”
“Actually, she’s the entire reason I’m here at the moment, but that’s not the point…”
“Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Look, young lady…”
“Erika.” She interrupted me then thrust out her hand. “And you are?”
I ignored her gesture but returned with a sigh, “Rowan.”
“Rowan. That’s an interesting name. I like it.” She continued holding her hand out waiting for me to take it.
“Thanks,” I replied, still ignoring the offered appendage. “So, listen, Erika, you’ve got to know that you’re playing a dangerous game here. You have absolutely no idea who I am.”
After a silent pause, she finally allowed her hand to fall back down to her side. “Yeah. Well, that’s part of the turn-on too.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I could be some kind of sicko for all you know.”
“You look pretty safe to me.”
“Most sociopaths do,” I told her. “And, I’ve actually got some experience in that area.”
“Really? How so?”
“Trust me, you really don’t want to know.”
She paused again and gave me a once over as if she were sizing me up. “Okay. So, tell me. Are you a ‘sicko’?”
“Again, that’s not the point.”
She pursed her lips, thrusting the lower one ou
t in an exaggerated pout while giving me an obviously practiced come-hither gaze. “So what is it then? Are you just not into blondes?”
“Listen, Erika, is this some kind of game show? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Because, honestly, I don’t have time for this.”
She chuckled. “You’re funny too.”
I held up my hands in mock surrender as I huffed out a heavy breath. “All right, look, I’m flattered… At least I think I am… Anyway, this just isn’t going to happen. Understand?”
She blinked and shook her head. To me, her expression looked as if reality had just walked up behind her and given her a swift kick.
“You’re serious,” she said, a wisp of incredulity in her voice.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“You really don’t want to…”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“Well… Okay. It’s your loss.”
“I’ll just have to take your word for that.”
“Well, you know…” she began, as she opened her notebook and started pulling a pen from the spiral binding. “I could give you my number in case you change your mind…”
It was my turn to do the interrupting, “That isn’t necessary. I won’t.”
She looked at me curiously then shoved the pen back down and closed the notebook. “Okay. Well, never know until you try.” With a shrug she added, “Good luck with whatever you’re doing there, I guess.”
“Yeah. Thanks. You too.”
With a shake of her head, she finally walked away.
I took in a deep breath and shook my own head as I let it out. This was the second time I had been propositioned in as many days. Even less if you considered that the first had actually been fewer than twenty-four hours ago. Granted, that one had been a hooker, but I had to wonder just what it was about me that was attracting the overtures.
Turning back to the machine, I decided to put it out of my mind and get to work. If the rest of the day continued along the same lines as my morning, I still had a lot of searching ahead of me. Even then I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find what I was looking for, especially since I didn’t really know exactly what that was.
Cocking my head over against my shoulder, I stared at the image on the marred base of the film reader. Winding the celluloid slowly, I located a reference frame. I glanced over to my steno pad and read a note I had scrawled across it then returned my gaze to the dimly luminous image and started winding the lever. The film stopped moving after a moment, so I gave the side of the machine a hard rap with my knuckles to re-engage the slipping gears then started winding it again. After a few seconds I slowed, advancing the film frame by frame until I found the date I had written in my notes.
Using both hands, I twisted the projection head and turned the image of the better than 150 year old newspaper 90º, which would allow me to hold my head at a less painful cant. Sitting down, I adjusted the magnification and began turning the focus ring. It took me a minute of fiddling to get it to a point that was at least readable, though a long way from what one could call sharp.
Picking my way through the scratches and dropout, I scanned the almost undecipherable blobs, trying to make sense of the vernacular of the day. I was on the verge of giving up when something caught my eye.
Reaching up, I pulled on the positioning bar and centered the frame. Tilting my head up, I focused on the words through the lower half of my bifocals. Tracing beneath them with my finger, I read silently to myself, although I could feel my lips moving slowly as I digested the words.
When I finished, I went back to the top of the paragraph and read them all again. It was at that point my heart skipped a pair of beats and vaulted into my throat.
CHAPTER 10:
It took reading the small, almost hidden public notice for a third time before my heart let itself slide back down into my chest. Even at that, it kept racing, fueled by a fresh dump of adrenalin.
I sat back in my chair and let a hot breath escape slowly through pursed lips, then rubbed my hand across the lower half of my face, ignoring the sharp stubble that by now must have had me looking like a bum. Pushing my glasses up, I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, simply sitting there and allowing the information to soak fully into my grey matter. Whether I was suffering from a bout of subdued elation or exhaustion-induced insanity, I didn’t know, but I heard myself let out a small chuckle.
When I finally opened my eyes, I looked to make sure the words were still displayed on the base of the reader and hadn’t merely been a figment of my exhausted imagination. Finding that it was quite real, I muttered to myself, “Miranda, you bitch.”
I leaned forward then snatched up my pencil and scribbled a couple of quick notes. Scooting the chair back, I stood, and with a rapid spin turned the crank until the film had rewound completely onto the spool. Popping it off the feed shaft, I made my way quickly across the room to the microfilm imaging station. My timing was fortunate, and there wasn’t a wait for this more sophisticated piece of equipment.
Loading up the roll, I quickly advanced it to the noted page. When it was centered to my satisfaction, I punched print, and a moment later the large format laser printer nearby hummed to life. I zoomed in and bracketed off the text then printed enlarged versions of it as well, just to make sure I had myself covered where readability was concerned.
Less than five minutes later, I was returning the spools of film to the tops of the storage bins where they belonged and then collecting the rest of my belongings.
“I made these three copies,” I said to the archive librarian behind the desk as I splayed them out on the counter for him to see. “What’s the damage?”
“A dollar-fifty,” he replied. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” I answered absently, digging through my wallet and extracting a pair of dollar bills. “An interesting part of it, anyway.”
“Let me get your change,” he said as he took the money.
I didn’t wait. I had already folded the papers, stuffed them into my backpack, and was three steps toward the elevator by the time he finished the sentence.
“Keep it,” I called over my shoulder, not bothering to look back or even slow down.
I now had a brand new piece of the puzzle. I just had to figure out where it fit and what to do about it.
* * * * *
“Why the hell haven’t you been answerin’ your goddamn phone?!” Ben demanded.
He wasn’t going out of his way to contain his anger, but right now I didn’t care. As long as I held the phone far enough from my ear, I was good.
“I was in a library,” I told him calmly. “So I had it turned off.”
I was telling the truth, for the most part anyway. My cell phone had really been off the entire time I was in the library. However, the real truth was that I had switched it off much earlier. The minute I pulled off the lot at the Southern Hospitality motel, in fact. Primarily, because I expected he would constantly be trying to get hold of me, and I wasn’t yet ready to be bothered.
My expectations were dead on because as soon as I was outside and punched the power button, the device began chirping with voice mail alerts. Five minutes later, when I reached where I had parked my car, it was warbling with an incoming call.
This time, however, I was still riding on the adrenalin high of my new discovery, so I gave in and answered it.
“Yeah?” he barked. “So why the fuck didn’t ya’ just set it ta’ vibrate?!”
“Because I was busy and wouldn’t have answered it anyway,” I replied. “And, with you calling every ten or fifteen minutes you would have worn out my battery.”
He grumbled something unintelligible but refrained from direct comment on my candor. Instead he launched directly into admonishing me. “Sonofabitch, Row. What were ya’ thinkin’? Do ya’ realize how much shit you coulda been in with that stunt?”
“Not answering my phone?”
“Goddammit, stop bein’ an asshole. You know what I’m talkin’ about. The shit you pulled impersonatin’ a copper!”
“Oh, that. Well, yeah, I think Detective Fairbanks made that pretty clear.”
“Yeah, well imagine my friggin’ surprise when I got the phone call this mornin’.”
“Are you sure ‘surprise’ is the right word?”
“Pissed off works too.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought you really meant. But, we both know you expected me to do something about getting into the crime scene.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t actually think you’d be able ta’ find it. Dammit, White Man, I never woulda dreamed you’d go that far.”
“Neither would I,” I admitted. “Trust me, I didn’t know I had it in me.”
“This ain’t a joke, Row.”
“I know that, Ben. But, remember, we’re talking about Felicity here. You should know by now, I’m going to do whatever it takes where she’s concerned.”
“Obviously,” he replied. “So, I guess you realize I owe this copper a big one now, don’tcha?”
“I figured as much.”
“We ain’t just talkin’ a box of cigars or somethin’ either,” he added.
“I kind of figured that too. And, by the same token, I owe you as well. But, I think I’ve pretty much been running a tab for a while now anyway.”
“Yeah, you can say that again.”
“Well, do me a favor and don’t call in your markers just yet. I might need an extension on my credit line first.”
“How’s that? Fairbanks told me you were s’posed ta’ be gettin’ outta town, ASAP.”
“I’m not done here yet.”
“As far as he’s concerned, ya’ are, and I gotta agree with ‘im.”
“I’ll be home Saturday, just like I originally planned.”
The End Of Desire: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 9