The man turned to look at us, clearly displeased. “Tina asked to borrow my shovel, okay? I didn’t ask her why. I didn’t need to know. I took it down to her and talked for a minute or so. That’s her little plot. I don’t care what she does with it.”
“But you told us you hadn’t talked to her-” I said.
“Maybe I just forgot. It was such an insignificant exchange, I simply forgot.”
Mike took a step closer and put his hand on the railing of the staircase. “Easy to understand, Billy. A lot easier to understand than the fact that you left your droppings in that freaking mask you ran around in the other night.”
“What are you talking about? That’s not my mask,” Schultz said, angered. He raised his voice and his face flushed.
“The lab got your DNA sample last night, and they say it looks pretty good that you were the guy who had his mug in that contraption. You forget to tell us that, too? Why don’t we take this conversation inside, Billy. Your place or mine?”
“Don’t come any closer, Detective. Yeah, did I see the fireman-the guy who ran out of here-throw something on the ground? Sure I did. It was only two, three car lengths up the street. Yeah, I picked it up and looked at it-and maybe I did just hold it up over my face. I couldn’t figure how he could see out of it. Then I just dropped it back down. Figured your buddies would pick it up.”
“I think you’d be doing yourself a favor if you came up to the squad and sat down to go over all this a little more carefully, you know?”
“I’ll do you a bigger favor,” Schultz said, opening the vestibule door and shouting before he disappeared inside. “I’ll have my lawyer call you.”
TWELVE
A doorman admitted us at the entrance of the elegantly restored Gothic building on Central Park West and directed us to the concierge.
“We’re here to see Alger Herrick,” I said, taking in the opulence of the décor in the lobby. The architectural detail of the last century had been carefully preserved, but there were discreet signs pointing to an indoor lap pool and the spa.
“He’s expecting you?”
“Yes. I’m Alexandra Cooper.”
The concierge rang the apartment, and when someone answered, he announced me. “Take that elevator to your left.”
“And what floor do I press?”
“The lift only goes to Mr. Herrick’s home.”
I followed Mike into the small elevator and pressed the button that said Up. Seconds later, it came to a stop and the door opened.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Cooper. I’m Alger Herrick,” he said, extending his right hand to help me step off. His left hand was tucked into the pocket of a charcoal gray cashmere sweater, set off against a yellow ascot that framed his long, narrow face.
Mike introduced himself as I moved onto a small balcony that hung above the main room of the apartment. It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the dim light, and then I looked around at the vaulted ceiling and the large stained-glass windows that ringed the cavernous space of the perfectly appointed room.
“I was in here years ago, but I’d never recognize the place,” Mike said, whistling softly as he moved in behind me. “This used to be the hospital’s chapel, wasn’t it?”
“Precisely, Detective. Did you know it in the old days-after the hospital closed-when these glorious rooms were filled with decay?” Alger Herrick asked. “This was indeed the chapel of St. Elizabeth of Hungary. Patron saint of the suffering.”
I felt a chill run down my spine.
“I had a rather long conversation with your colleague, Mr. McKinney, from my home in London late last week,” Herrick said. “Thursday evening, I believe.”
He led us down the winding staircase of the duplex and seated us in the living room, waiting for the butler to return with our ice water and his tea.
“Things have happened since then,” Mike said. “A woman’s been killed in the apartment Tina Barr was living in, and Barr herself has disappeared.”
“Yes, I got back to town on Sunday. Jill Gibson called yesterday, asking about Tina. Apparently she seemed to have left without a trace.”
“Were you surprised?”
“I was, Mr. Chapman. She’s been working with me for several weeks,” Herrick said, “and I thought we were getting on very well. I owe her quite a large amount of money, so I assume she’ll be in touch with me about that.”
“Do you know anything about her family, her next of kin?” I asked. “Any idea where she might have gone?”
“Her father died when she was very young. I know that. Tina spoke of her mother. I understand she lives in one of those artists’ colonies on the west coast of Mexico.”
“Would you have the mother’s name, or an address for her?”
“I’m afraid not. No reason for me to have it.”
Herrick was standing a few yards away from me, but I could barely see his face because of the lack of light in the room.
“You mind turning up the wattage?” Mike asked, also frustrated by not being able to gauge the expressions on Herrick’s face.
Herrick walked to a panel near the staircase and pushed the dimmer. The mountings on the wall, all in gilded frames, were maps-oceans and continents, familiar territories and foreign names.
“Sorry, Mr. Chapman. I’m so used to living at lamp level-that’s what we call it when you work with ancient documents-that I forget others aren’t accustomed to it. The objects in my collection, whether on parchment or vellum or paper, are better protected by low lighting. That’s why it’s so dark in here,” Herrick said. The dimness added to the solemnity of the room. “I’d only got to know Tina a little better about a month ago. We hadn’t worked out the details for her fees yet.”
“Hope you figure it out before next April,” Mike said. “She’ll have taxes to pay.”
“Frankly, Detective, Tina wanted to be paid off the books. Cash. I was quite uncomfortable with that. I gave her some money up-front, to get her going, but I hadn’t formalized our arrangement.”
The butler returned with our drinks and handed me water in a heavy crystal double-highball glass. While Mike questioned Herrick, I checked out the sumptuous fittings of the old chapel and admired the brilliant colors of the antique hand-drawn maps and charts.
“Where did you meet Tina?” Mike asked.
“At the New York Public Library. I’d seen her there over the years, exchanged pleasantries and such, and I was aware that she’d built up a good reputation for herself,” Herrick said, resting his teacup on the mantel above the fireplace. “It seemed the perfect opportunity for both of us, with my collection and her skill.”
“Wasn’t she already working for someone else?”
“Jasper Hunt. She’d been hired by someone to do some projects for the old man himself.”
“Not hired by him?”
“Jasper? Entirely gaga at this point, Detective. At least, that’s what I heard. It was probably one of his children, trying to get their greedy hands on his treasures,” Herrick said, taking a sip of his tea. “You’ve met them, have you?”
“Tell me what you know,” Mike said.
“Talbot’s a bookman. That’s how collectors are known. The father always favored him because Tally’s got the same nose for books as Jasper, the same appreciation-had it since he was a child. He’s probably close to fifty now, a bit younger than me. Been very involved in running the family property empire, expanding it to pass on to his children.”
“So they get on, father and son?”
Alger Herrick ran his finger along the edge of the mantel. “There are others closer to Jasper who could tell you more than I.”
“But you’ve heard rumblings. You must have had something in mind when you hired Tina Barr away.”
“Idle gossip around the library,” Herrick said. “Tally’s getting impatient, hoping to keep some of his father’s fortune in the family. Make sure it isn’t all given away. That sort of thing.”
“Even to the library?” Mike aske
d. “Even though he’s on the board?”
“I have the impression that Tally would like to have control of something substantial at this point in his life. Something of his very own. There’s a certain feeling of entitlement that comes over a man like that by the time he’s reached middle age. His grandfather was such an eccentric that no one’s quite sure how much of the fortune is still intact. A lot of the Hunt money has already been given away, and Jasper himself kept threatening to change the provisions of his will. Mind you, that’s just the talk.”
“And Minerva?”
Alger Herrick raised his teacup. “I’ll have to switch to something stronger than this, Detective, if we’re to talk about that viper. I have a bad taste in my mouth at just the mention of her name.”
“Why so?”
“You seem intrigued by that one, Ms. Cooper,” Herrick said. He caught me staring at a beautifully drawn map of the European coastline, the compass roses highlighted in gold paint. “By all means have a closer look.”
“Minerva Hunt,” Mike said, drawing Herrick back to the conversation. “Why do you dislike her?”
“She’s a lightweight, Mr. Chapman. A complete cipher. Minerva’s a girl who was handed every advantage in life on a silver plate, and she still hasn’t worked out what to do with it all. Other than the income she derived from it, the family business never interested her. Books were Tally’s thing, so that put her off becoming a bibliophile. But even on a personal level, I know she’s been a great disappointment to Jasper,” Herrick said. “He confided that to me years ago.”
“How long have you known Jasper Hunt?”
“My goodness. Half my life, I suppose. It’s a small world we collectors live in. Very few of us with the means to indulge ourselves in this market. Jasper used to keep a flat in London, where I have a house. He was always there for the big sales and auctions. I learned a lot from him, from the time when I was just an eager young man. Jasper Hunt had a brilliant eye.”
“When did you first meet Tally and Minerva?” Mike asked.
“I think they were both still at university. Tally at Oxford, where his father had done a year as well. The old man had his eye on me for Minerva,” Herrick said, shaking his head at the thought. “He introduced me to her one weekend. She was in her first year at Bryn Mawr then.”
“So you dated?” Mike asked.
“Heavens, no. I was already engaged at the time. You’ve met her, haven’t you?”
“Yes, briefly.”
“Tough as nails, is that what you Americans say? I don’t know about you, Detective,” Herrick said, smiling at Mike, “but I like my women a bit softer.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Mike said, winking at me. “Fragile. Almost vulnerable.”
“Indeed.”
“Did you see Tina this week, after your return?”
“She was here on Monday,” Herrick said. “She was working upstairs in my study.”
“On what?” Mike asked.
“She finished her first big project for me-I let her audition on a piece of moderate value. And then she’s been sorting through some of my recent acquisitions, trying to help me determine which items are candidates for restoration.”
“When did you talk with her next?”
Herrick put his right hand in the deep pocket of his sweater, lowered his head, and started to pace around the perimeter of the room.
“Not again,” he said. “I haven’t spoken to her since.”
“Were you concerned when she didn’t show up yesterday?” Mike asked.
“Not at all. No. She wasn’t supposed to come in. She was planning to spend the day at the library. Tina was only working for me part-time. Due back today, actually.”
Herrick paused in front of one of the chapel’s stained-glass windows. The tapered conical ceiling rose almost thirty feet over his head, and although he was a tall man, he seemed almost overwhelmed by the space of the once-hallowed room.
“Have you done anything to try to find her?”
“I should think, Mr. Chapman, that responsibility falls on you. I barely know the woman, and if she chooses to take a holiday as a result of the break-in that Jill Gibson described to me, there’ll be plenty of work for her when she returns.”
“Mr. Herrick,” I said, standing to approach him, “what does Tina Barr have to do with Minerva Hunt?”
“I haven’t any idea, to be honest with you. Tina told me she’d met Minerva at Jasper’s home. The woman frightened her, quite frankly. I told Tina that she frightens lots of people.”
“You’ve done business with Minerva?”
“I’d hardly describe it as business. Every now and then she goes after something I’m keen on. She’s got in my way from time to time. Nothing serious, mind you.”
“But I thought you said she doesn’t collect?” I said.
“Not books, Ms. Cooper,” Herrick said, doubling back to the fireplace, crossing in front of it, pausing beside an enormous wooden stand, almost as tall as he, in which an antique globe was mounted. “Maps. Minerva Hunt likes to dabble in rare maps.”
“Like you.”
“I’m not a dabbler, Detective. With me, it’s a passion,” Herrick said. “I’m trying too hard to point out the differences between us, that’s true. There’s nothing scholarly about my interests. They’re purely visual. Very different from book collecting, I can assure you. I just go after the best-looking things.”
His self-deprecating comment was meant to belittle Minerva Hunt.
“You’ve got hundreds of books here, too,” Mike said, pointing up to the balcony from which we’d descended on our way in.
“Atlases mostly,” Herrick said. “You can circumnavigate the globe with those books, Mr. Chapman.”
“Did Jill Gibson tell you about the murder in Tina’s apartment last night?” I asked.
“She did. She called me a little while ago. Minerva’s maid, was it? Carrying one of Tally’s books. Something like that. I’m just glad Tina wasn’t at home when the bastard got there. Looking for something valuable, no doubt. How did the woman die?”
“Fractured skull, Mr. Herrick,” Mike said. “Split her head in half and crushed her brain. No use for the patron saint of the suffering, ’cause she didn’t suffer very long.”
Herrick didn’t react. “You think the killer knows Tina Barr?”
“I don’t know anything about him at this point, who he knew or what he wanted. Only that he was at least your height, ’cause the woman was tall, and the blow that took her down struck the crown of her head.”
“Heavens, Detective. The world is full of people as tall as I am. Even Minerva Hunt fits the bill.”
“I’d say you’d need a pair of strong arms to heave that thing,” Mike said. “I think Minerva would be afraid she’d ruin her manicure.”
Mike was baiting his subject, trying to get a rise out of him.
Alger Herrick took his hands out of his sweater pockets. There was a glint of metal against the dark wooden globe as he reached to spin it. The oceans and continents began to whirl around on the solid wooden stand, and I could see that where his left hand should have been there was only a single hook.
THIRTEEN
“Did I startle you, Mr. Chapman?” Herrick asked. “I don’t want you putting me at the scene of the crime without getting to know me a little better.”
“You called me on that one, sir. I’m sorry if I was rude.”
“Just obvious, Detective. I was born without a hand-a defect the doctors assume was caused by the medication my mother was taking during pregnancy. I’m used to people’s stares and gasps. I’ve got a modern prosthesis I wear when I’m out, in case you’re wondering. But this is what I had when I was growing up, and it suits me fine. Now what were we discussing?”
“Mike and I are trying to get to know the world that Tina Barr moved in,” I said. “It’s hard to imagine that books and maps, and the quiet reading rooms of the public library, would expose her to danger, but the two at
tacks this week took place in her apartment. Perhaps you could tell us about some of the people she worked with. You, Mr. Herrick, tell us about yourself.”
Herrick crossed the center of the long room and seated himself at a desk near my chair. I wanted to understand Tina Barr, and if my appeal to his vanity guided me to learn about things in which she had immersed herself, it would be time well spent.
“I don’t like talking about myself, Ms. Cooper, but I can tell you all you want to know about these beautiful things,” he said, sweeping his good arm around in a circle.
“When did you start collecting?”
“My life has been a matter of great good luck, after a very bumpy start,” Herrick said. “I was deposited on the steps of an orphanage in Oxfordshire, or so I’m told, by a single mother-a teenager herself-who must have been overwhelmed at the prospect of taking care of a child as handicapped as she thought I would be. I don’t remember anything about that part of my life, so you needn’t imagine all sorts of stories about eating gruel and being forced to pick pockets as a child. Shortly before my fourth birthday, I was adopted by the Herricks, a local family who had lost their only son to polio about five years earlier.
“My adoptive father, Charles, was a wonderfully kind man, a barrister who made a respectable living. They gave me a loving home, and an introduction to material comforts.”
“I wouldn’t think many barristers could afford these digs,” Mike said.
“About the time I was a teenager, my father came into a large inheritance, Mr. Chapman. You know about primogeniture, of course. He was the third son of a third son and so on. But when his uncle died without any heirs-his uncle Algernon, in fact, for whom I was named when they adopted me-the old fellow left most of his estate, including his home and his library, to my father. Hence to me.”
“I like stories with happy endings.”
“So do I, Detective, so do I. And yes, I’ve tried to make a contribution of my own. If Jill hasn’t told you, I’ve been a member of the Council of the Stock Exchange. Investments and such. Very lucky indeed,” Herrick said. “Have either of you ever heard of Lord Wardington?”
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