When we got out, she told Mike that the entrance to the stacks was only accessible from the stairwell straight ahead. This time, he started off and I ran with him, leaving a slightly bewildered Bea Dutton alone in the quiet hallway, with an order for her to ask one of the cops in the main lobby to send some men to help us.
The two of us pounding down the steps made as much noise as a small herd of ponies, the sound reverberating through the great empty space. The granite and marble so prominent throughout the rest of the library building ended abruptly at this point. There was a long, sloping steel ramp that started at the bottom tread, and I grabbed on to the red metal handrail along the wall to keep my balance as we rounded corners, racing farther below ground.
The path flattened and the narrow entryway opened onto a cluttered workspace that looked like a scene from a Victorian novel-industrial, impersonal, damp, and cold.
Mike stopped to scope the area-a handful of unoccupied desks, piles of books ready to be restacked and shelved, and ahead of us and on the floor below, several acres of volumes, row after row of shelves, that formed this enormous hidden book vault beneath the formal gardens of Bryant Park.
“It’s like a catacomb of forgotten books,” Mike said, his hands on his waist.
I ventured past the desks to the beginning of the tightly packed shelves that stretched out in the distance farther than either of us could see. The space was musty and airless. It was impossible to think that anyone really knew what was among the pages relegated to this dank reserve.
“What are we looking for exactly?” I asked.
“A way out.”
“We just got here. Bea said it’s the only entrance.”
“What she said is that it’s the only entrance from within the library. I’ll never look at the park the same way again,” Mike said. “I want to see if there’s an exit near the Sixth Avenue side.”
“Why don’t we wait for someone to guide us through it?” I asked.
“You and your damn claustrophobia again. Let’s go over it fast, kid, before we’ve got the whole department tied up here,” Mike said, brushing past me. “You’re looking for blood, a weapon, clothing. Any sign this was part of the killer’s escape route. And another staircase.”
Mike headed off down the first row to our right. I watched him as he loped along, ignoring the books shelved from floor to ceiling on both sides of him, looking instead at the floor, pausing to pick up a scrap of paper, which he eyeballed and then slipped into his pocket.
I took the left half, setting off on a slow jog to look for anything out of place. By the time I reached the end of the third row, I was coughing so badly from the dust that I had to stop and clear my throat.
“You okay?” Mike shouted.
“I’ll be fine. Why do you sound so far away?”
“I got smart, Coop. I’m going down to the other end, closer to Sixth Avenue. I’ll work my way back from there. Meet you in the middle. You just keep going.”
Every now and then I bent over to pick up a blank call slip that had fallen out of book, but none had any writing on it.
I trolled through the Slavic and Baltic sections and was in the middle of an archive of Islamic manuscripts from the Asian and Middle Eastern collection when I saw something shiny on the floor, between two of the tall racks of books. From a distance, it appeared to be shaped like one of the scalpels I had seen at Lucy Tannis’s desk.
I stepped out of the aisle between the already overcrowded mechanically operated shelves to get closer to the object so that I could better tell if it was something for the Crime Scene cops to pick up. But as I knelt down, I could see that it was a silver-colored ballpoint pen, its body matted with enough dust for me to know that it had been on the floor there for some time.
Another two rows farther on and something else caught my eye. Also metallic, but this was shorter in length and much flatter than the pen.
It was a few yards in from the long aisle, and I got right on top of it, kneeling again to inspect it. It was a small key, and it wasn’t covered with dust. I had no idea if it had any significance to our search.
I held on to the edge of a divider to steady myself, making a mental note of what row I was in-between large folios of the designs for the Royal Pavilion at Brighton and watercolor plates illustrating dress during America’s colonial period-when the entire bookshelf behind me began to move, quickly and quietly, pinning me against the one that I had grasped.
Someone was trying to crush me between the heavy compact movable shelves, and I screamed for Mike as my wrist twisted and I fell onto my side.
TWENTY-THREE
Yuri-the engineer who had taken us up to the attic this morning-was the first person to reach me. “Was accident, miss. Was my accident.”
“What are you doing down here, Yuri?” Mike asked. “What hurts, Coop?”
I was sitting up, massaging the fingers of my left hand. “My tailbone, my wrist, and mostly my pride. You think everybody on Forty-second Street heard me scream?”
“Miss Jill send me. Miss Jill make me come.”
“You moved the shelves? Why’d you do that?” Mike shouted at Yuri.
The man was flustered and struggling to express himself. “I don’t see nobody in aisle. Shelves not on line.”
“On line?”
Jill Gibson walked up behind Mike in the company of two uniformed cops. “He means aligned. I’m sure he means aligned.”
“Let him tell me what he means,” Mike said. “Why’d you touch the controls?”
“Is my job, Mr. Mike. In morning, I check things and make even again.”
At the end of each long row was a round handle, like the steering wheel of a car. I had passed scores of them in the last few minutes, and knew when cranked they compacted the shelves to allow more inventory. But I never gave a thought to anyone’s activating them while one of us was between the densely packed bookcases.
“Alex couldn’t have gotten trapped in there,” Jill said. “I’m sure the movement just frightened her. There are motion sensors that won’t let the shelves close completely if something-someone-is in between them.”
“Is there a way to override that?” Mike asked.
“Well, I guess any system can be meddled with,” Jill said. “There’s probably an override. Yuri, you didn’t happen to do anything-?”
“Everybody’s got a dose of Columbo in him,” Mike said. “Just jump in with your questions, Jill. Then you can lift the fingerprints and pick up the evidence and find the little double helixes. You’ve seen it all on television and it looks so easy, doesn’t it? Well, you know what? My buddies in blue here will take Yuri upstairs and he’ll have a chance to explain exactly what happened. How’s that for law and order?”
Mike stooped beside me and lifted my chin to look me in the eye. “You ready to dance yet, kid?” he said. Then he reached out to take my right hand to pull me up.
“Just about. I need your handkerchief for a minute.”
I didn’t want Jill or Yuri to see the key I had stopped to pick up, but I didn’t want to touch it either. I dabbed at my nose and then reached under my calf to adjust my shoe, palming the key inside the white cotton square Mike had given me.
“Alley-oop, Blondie.”
I stood up and brushed myself off.
“I came down here because I thought I could save you some trouble,” Jill said. “I didn’t know quite what you were looking for, but I can certainly tell you about the emergency exit.”
“Maybe Bea should have thought of that,” Mike said, annoyed with Jill Gibson.
“She doesn’t know about it. Most people who work here have no reason to know. The space was designed and built with a single entrance-the way you came in-to better protect the books against both theft and the elements,” Jill said. “But we failed all the fire department codes on the first inspection.”
“So what did you do?”
“Yuri can show you, if you’ll allow him. Down at the far end-”
“Near Sixth Avenue?” Mike asked.
“Yes. There are two emergency hatches, small steel plates, just about two foot square, that were dug into the ceiling.”
“Are they kept locked?”
“Just latched on the inside. That’s the whole point. No one can get them open from above, but theoretically, whoever was down here could be evacuated. If someone was working and, say, a fire broke out-worst-case scenario-he’d have to be able to push the hatch up. There’s a short folding ladder that drops down.”
“And bingo-you’re in Bryant Park. Watching the Yankees give up a five-run lead,” Mike said. “And from up top?”
“The plates are camouflaged with dirt and shrubbery this time of year. No one can get close enough to walk on them because of the little railing around the plants, and yet the bushes are light enough to let you lift the lid beneath them.”
I remembered arriving at the park last night and noting the disarray of the greenery in the area where all the heavy equipment was standing.
Mike took me aside while he talked to the two young officers who were waiting for an assignment. “We’re killing the Crime Scene Unit with this case. They’re working another part of the library now, so one of you needs to stay put till they arrive. Keep this guy Yuri with you. Let him show you these hatches Ms. Gibson is talking about, so they can check them over, inside and out, okay?”
They both nodded.
Mike handed one of them a card with his phone number on it and told them to call with any questions or developments.
Jill asked me what we wanted her to do.
“Let’s go up to your office,” I said. “I’d like to get a list of your trustees-names and addresses.”
“The president of the library and the board chair are in China, on a major acquisition trip,” she said, looking glum. “I’m hesitant to do anything involving our trustees until I can reach them.”
“Look, Jill, these are names I can get off your website or in your annual report. We need to talk with some of these people today. Now. Before facts and misinformation start to appear in the news. All I’m asking for is to speed this up by giving us a way to get to the folks we need. We’ll get it done with or without you.”
She pursed her lips. “Which ones do you want?”
“I’m not playing that game, Jill. We want them all.”
She started walking briskly up the long ramp that led to the elevator. Mike and I were several paces behind her.
“Stay on her ass, Coop. I’ll be back to get you. Let me slip outside and see if I can spot the hatch while the crime scene’s still taped off. See if it was disturbed recently.”
Mike separated from us in the lobby of the building, and Jill and I continued on to her office, past another uniformed cop who’d been posted at the door. She encouraged me to take a seat in the anteroom, but I insisted on following her to her desk.
Reluctantly, she opened a file drawer and removed a list of the current board members and handed it to me.
I scanned it and could see that the addresses of the names that interested me most-Jasper Hunt and Jonah Krauss-were nearby, on the East Side of Manhattan.
I asked Jill about other members whose names had not come up so far in the case, in part to educate myself and in part to let her think we’d be moving too fast, with too many trustees, for her to try to run interference.
When we finished talking, I used her phone to call Laura and let her know I’d been sidetracked by the discovery of Barr’s body.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s Friday and very quiet down here.”
“Any calls?”
“ McKinney ’s secretary. Says he wants you to check in with him by the hour if you’re not coming in today. Battaglia’s orders. I’m only the messenger.”
“Not to worry. I’m behaving like Pat’s new best friend.”
“And Moffett’s law secretary called about that familial search issue in the Griggs case,” Laura said. “Is Mr. Fine the defendant’s lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Moffett let him go back to California ’cause he hadn’t finished writing his decision, so he won’t announce it until Wednesday, when Fine can be back in town. I’ve got you calendared to be up in court at ten a.m.”
“Thanks, Laura. We’ve waited eight years for a good lead in Kayesha’s case. One more week won’t be a deal breaker.”
“I’ll call you if anything else comes up. Tell Mike not to work you too hard.”
Ten minutes later, Mike came through the door of Jill’s office. He had been running, I guessed, from the way he was panting.
“You mind stepping out, Jill? I need a minute with Alex.”
She was almost bristling now, put out in every way possible and cut off from her staff. She left the room without answering.
“First of all, it’s like a mob scene on the street. We’ll have to try to duck out with some cover on the Fortieth Street side, unless you want your puss all over the news. The staff comes and goes by the old carriage entrance-shipping and receiving now-so maybe an RMP can pull in and take us to my car.”
“Employees?”
“Nah. Lieutenant Peterson’s playing hardball out there. He’s let a few of the curators in, in case CSU needs them as they work their way around. Everybody else has been told to take the day off and come back on Monday.”
“What then?”
“I haven’t seen so many guys in uniform since the Paddy’s Day parade. Only this time they’re sober,” Mike said. “And if you think that good-looking army of cops-and the shitload of yellow tape that’s wrapped around the entire circumference of Bryant Park-hasn’t attracted every crime reporter in town, you’d be mistaken.”
“And the hatch?”
“Couldn’t have made it easier unless somebody shot the body out of a rocket launcher.”
“How?”
“Look, Coop. Yesterday afternoon, that end of the park was teeming with workmen. Say our boy was anywhere in the ’hood and saw the staging area setting up for the ball game. Here’s his golden opportunity.”
“Well, you’re assuming he’s familiar with the library.”
“Damn right I am. This scheme wasn’t launched by some junkie looking to get high. Five o’clock last night, the whole place goes dark. Everybody scatters for home.”
“Tina’s dead?”
“Killed in the lab. What did Dr. Assif say? Maybe the evening before. No struggle. She knew the guy, I’m thinking. Trusted him. Maybe they were hanging out together for a reason. Hoist on her own petard.”
“What?”
“The weapon. I’ll bet the weapon came right off the top of her desk,” Mike said. “Now back to last night.”
“Yeah, but if the killer doesn’t work in the lab, how did he get back in to get her body?”
“He had her ID tag. Swiped it and came back. Covered her little body with a tarp, took it out of the freezer, and dollied it down the hall, down the ramp, down to the stacks.”
“It must be so sinister there at night.”
“Nobody around to get in his way. Push up the hatch and roll one more tarp among all the others,” Mike said. “Count on the fact that he’s a Red Sox fan to even think of screwing up a Yankee game like that.”
“It’s incredibly risky,” I said. “Smarter just to leave the body in the freezer. Who knows when it would have been found?”
“You’re not thinking, Blondie. My guy didn’t go there for the body. That was just pure carpe diem. Carpe corpse. My killer went back for the books.”
“What books?” I asked.
“The ones I found under the water tank. The one that had the map inside,” Mike said, doodling on a paper on Jill’s blotter. “I’m figuring he might have had them stashed in the freezer with Barr’s body, then moved them upstairs last night after he disposed of her.”
“So when did he leave the library?”
“Who says he left?”
“That’s a chilling thought.”
&
nbsp; “You know how enormous this place is-above and below ground? That’s why nobody’s getting in until it’s swept by Scully’s finest.”
“What if he just walked out the door this morning?”
“Who?”
“Your killer. I mean, security wasn’t letting people in, but nobody said anything about letting anyone out. Especially with all the commotion outside, and the staff gathering at the entrance. What if he passed for a detective and just walked into the crowd?”
Mike’s eyebrows raised. “You think too much. That’s one of your problems.”
“So why am I wasting time with this list of trustees, Mike? Your scenario doesn’t quite fit what I’d assume would be the modus operandi of all the deep-pocketed Seconds and Thirds, the Juniors and Seniors who sit on this board. Or Minerva Hunt.”
“Partners in crime. Some grunt getting paid to do the dirty work. What did Jill Gibson tell you the other day? That map thieves steal to order. We ought to talk to that master thief, Eddy Forbes. See if his parole officer can lean on him to squeal. If he’s got anything to give, maybe you can cut him a deal. Forbes can’t be the only library rat ever running around loose in the stacks. He might know some of the other players.”
“I’m yours for the day,” I said.
“Start making your wish list. Your afternoon itinerary,” Mike said, opening Jill’s office door. “I just need to call the morgue and see when they’re going to autopsy Barr, grab Mercer, and then we’re off.”
Jill was sitting in the alcove of the executive suite. She stood up as we came toward her, and Mike asked if he could use the phone on the desk.
I was staring at a portrait that hung on the end wall of the narrow room as Mike dialed.
“Jasper Hunt,” Jill said to me. “The First. Done by the great Thomas Eakins, while he was teaching in New York at the Art Students League in the 1880s.”
It wasn’t the striking figure of Hunt that had caught my attention.
“Look at that, Mike,” I said. “Look at his hand.”
“I’ll be damned. It’s Hunt and his armadillo.”
“Armillary, not armadillo,” Jill said, in a humorless effort to correct Mike. “The brass rings represent the principal circles of the heavens.”
Lethal Legacy Page 19