I walked closer to look at the detail. Jasper Hunt’s hand was resting on the brass skeleton of the sphere.
“It’s the one.” There was no question from the markings and detail portrayed that it was the weapon that had killed Karla Vastasi.
“You know the painting?” Jill asked. “We’re so fortunate that Mr. Hunt gave this to us. You don’t see many Eakinses outside of Philadelphia.”
I couldn’t think of anything else except connecting the lethal antique to Jasper Hunt himself. But Jill continued explaining the significance of the art to us.
“Important men often had their portraits done with their armillaries. It was such a complex device that it was used to represent the height of wisdom.”
“Sit tight for a few hours, Jill. We’ll call you later.” Mike hung up the phone. “Saddle up, Coop.”
He broke into a run and I trailed behind him, out of the executive suite, down the great staircase to the lobby. “I’m all turned around,” he said. “Which way is the map division?”
I pointed to the north end of the hall and tried to stay with him as he picked up speed. He threw open the door and startled Bea, who was sitting at her computer.
“How long will it take you to work up a historical footprint?”
“Depends on the location. You picked a good day, Detective,” she said, winking at him. “I seem to have some time on my hands. What’s the address?”
Mike gave her the number of the brownstone on East Ninety-third Street in which Tina Barr had last lived, the building in which Karla Vastasi had been murdered.
“There’s a whole row of houses there that have been in the Hunt family for more than a hundred years. Tell me anything about those properties you can learn from your maps, Bea. Dig me up some footprints as fast as you can.”
TWENTY-FOUR
It was only eleven-thirty in the morning, but I felt as though a week had passed since Mike called me about Tina Barr’s body.
A patrol car had backed in to the receiving bay of the library and the three of us were able to get through, without incident, the crowd of photographers, reporters, and local ghouls feasting on rumors of the dead girl in the park.
Mike examined the key wrapped in his handkerchief. It was old-fashioned-a long, cylindrical shaft with a notched tip, and an ornate bow to grasp and turn.
“You got an evidence bag?” he asked the driver of the patrol car.
“Yeah.”
Mike dropped the key in the manila envelope and made a note of the cop’s name and shield number. “Get this down to the lab right now and voucher it. Ask for Ralph Salvietti. He’s been assigned to the case. Tell him Chapman needs this yesterday, okay?”
It was a short drive up Park past the corner of Fifty-ninth Street, where a new luxury tower had opened a couple of years ago amid the stately old buildings that lined the avenue for the next thirty-five blocks.
We were throwing out ideas as we walked to the building, adding to the ever-growing list of chores.
“Who’s going to check with the shipping companies and post office to see whether Tina mailed some of her belongings off, like to her mother?” I asked. “She must have done something with her possessions when she cleaned out of the apartment.”
“I got Al Vandomir doing postal, UPS, FedEx, and all the storage locations near the apartment and the library,” Mercer said.
Every item one of us thought to add to the list led to three or four more. The squad working on each murder-Karla Vastasi and now Tina Barr-would be expanded to a task force and the media would pump up the fear factor across the city. Any witnesses we couldn’t reach today would be on notice of the scope of the investigation by the time the morning news dropped on their doorsteps.
I asked the concierge for Jonah Krauss’s office, and we were directed to the forty-third floor. The elevator interior was sleek and high-tech, with two small-screen televisions-one that ran the local all-news station and the other, a stock ticker.
When we got off, an attractive young receptionist greeted us with a polished plastic smile. “How may I help you?”
Over her head was a sign with the company name and logo: MONTAUK WHELK MANAGEMENT.
“We’re here to see Mr. Krauss.”
She looked at a schedule on her desk and frowned. “Is he expecting you?”
“It’s a condolence call,” Mike said. “One of those sudden-death things.”
“Oh, my,” she said, startled by the news. “Jonah is in the gym. He should be finished there in a few minutes. Is it somebody close to him? May I tell him about it?”
“Thanks, but we’ve got to do it ourselves,” Mike said. “What block is the gym on? We can pick him up.”
She pointed at a frosted-glass door twenty feet away. “It’s right there. But he’s wheels-up from the Thirty-fourth Street heliport in an hour and I’ve got to get him there. Are you guys the police or something?”
“Something. And I’m wheels-up from the morgue at four o’clock, so we should be fine.”
The girl swallowed hard and told us to take a seat.
“What’s a hedge fund, anyway?” Mike asked me.
I sunk into a leather sofa and took my lip gloss out of my pocket. “They’re private investment funds, usually only open to a limited range of investors. Hedge funds are exempt from direct regulation by the SEC, the way brokerage firms or mutual funds are managed. So they’re considered riskier than a lot of traditional investments.”
“Riskier how?”
“They often invest in distressed securities-like companies going into bankruptcy. Many of them aren’t very transparent, since they don’t have to disclose their activities to regulators. Sort of secretive.”
“Like you, Coop,” Mike said. “Krauss runs one?”
“The thumbnail sketch on the library contact sheet said Krauss manages hedge funds. Forty-six years old, graduate of Dartmouth, with homes in Manhattan, Montauk, and Lyford Cay. Still on his first wife-Anita.”
“That’s refreshing,” Mercer said.
“And still wanting to use his new money to elbow out the good ole boys on the board to be the chair, according to Alger Herrick.”
“Don’t you think it’s supposed to be wealth management?” Mike asked me, looking at the firm’s name on the wall sign.
“I get that all the time,” the girl said, looking up at Mike. I hadn’t realized she could hear us talking. “Don’t you know what a channeled whelk is?”
Mike reached for one of the candies in a silver bowl on her desk. “I’m drawing a blank.”
“They’re these clams that are in the ocean all over the eastern tip of Long Island, and the white part of the whelk is the most valuable. That’s what wampum comes from-you know, Native American money. And Jonah is from Montauk, so it’s his play on words.”
“Must have a great sense of humor, your boss.”
“Excuse me. Jonah, these guys-and her,” she said, waving in my direction. “They’re here to see you.”
Teeth whiteners must have come with the firm’s annual bonus. Jonah Krauss picked up his head and flashed a broad smile at us as he crossed between the reception desk and our seating area. “Whatever you’re selling, come back next week,” he said. “I told you time was tight today, Britney. I’m out of here.”
The girl couldn’t have been anything but a Britney.
“They’re cops, Jonah,” she said, standing up to grab his arm before he disappeared between the sliding glass doors that opened automatically as he neared them.
Krauss turned to look at the three of us. Still smiling-more cheesily than did most people on whom we dropped in-he introduced himself and offered a handshake to each of us. His curly brown hair was still wet from the shower I assumed he had taken after his workout. He was dressed in a warm-up suit and sneakers, ready for his weekend getaway.
“What’s this about, folks?”
“A homicide investigation,” Mercer said.
“Really? Murder?” Krauss said, some o
f the sparkle gone. “Who died?”
“Tina Barr.”
“Tina? From the library? She does conservation work. Let’s take this inside my office, shall we? Brit-hold all my calls and tell the pilots to expect a delay.”
The doors parted again and we followed Krauss a few steps to another set of doors that slid apart on our approach.
I stood at the threshold, surprised by the sight. Most corporate executives who pay forty-third-floor midtown rents want forty-third-floor Manhattan views, river to river.
Instead, Krauss had created a thoroughly modern, high-tech, translucent glass-and-steel library-carefully lighted and hermetically sealed-within the core of this new business tower. The only clue that we were anywhere near a corporate office was the four television screens-one in a bookcase on each wall, so that they could be viewed from every angle in the room-on which the Bloomberg channels ran continuously.
“No windows?” Mike asked as Jonah glanced at the numbers as they glided by.
“Can’t do. The books have to be protected from the sun, from any dampness or dust that seeps in,” Krauss said. “But it suits me fine. I’d rather be surrounded by them all day than staring out at the city. The kids who work for me have their offices on the perimeter. Big views, so they can dream bigger. Keeps them hungry. Want to tell me about Tina?”
“Somebody killed her,” Mike said.
“How did it happen? Why?”
In the fifteen-second intervals when Krauss wasn’t distracted by the ticker, he seemed genuinely surprised by the news.
“We’re still trying to figure that out. Nobody from the library called you?”
“What does her murder have to do with the library?”
“Everything, apparently. How well did you know Tina Barr?”
“Not much better than I know you, Detective. I met her when she worked at the library. I guess you got to me because I’m on the board. She was handling some important restoration projects, the kind of thing it interests me to learn about. I looked over her shoulder a few times, but that’s as close as it got.”
Mercer was making his way around the room, tilting his head to study the titles of the books. “Did she do any work for you directly?”
“No. No, she didn’t. I have someone in England who handles all my books. I just hadn’t any need for Tina’s services, although I admired her talent. Look, guys, what happened to her?”
“Somebody killed her,” Mike said.
“Where? I wasn’t sure Tina was still in town.”
“I expect it happened in the basement of the public library.”
“What?” Krauss seemed truly shocked. He sat at his desk, gesturing to us to take seats as well, giving Mike his complete attention. “That’s impossible. Right under our roof? That’s got to be the safest place in town.”
“Once upon a time, maybe.”
“And who do you think is responsible? A workman? A trespasser? I know our security isn’t foolproof, Detectives, but the idea of a murder inside the building is preposterous.”
“More likely it’s going to be someone who knew Tina,” Mercer said. He was standing behind me, his large body framed by shelves of books with gilt and silver-tooled decorations and lettering on their spines.
“Such a quiet girl. I can’t imagine she made many enemies. How can I help?”
“When’s the last time you spoke with her?” Mercer asked.
“A month ago, maybe two. I hosted a cocktail party for the opening of our Dickens exhibit. We’ve got an extensive collection that hadn’t been seen all together in a dog’s age. I know Tina was there. Everyone in the conservation lab had done some work on that over the last couple of years, and I thanked her for that. I don’t think-wait a minute,” Krauss said. “I did see her again.”
“When?” Mike asked.
“Within the last couple of weeks. I had stopped in at the lab because one of the girls had been working on an illuminated manuscript of Petrarch’s poems. Stunning little book-brilliant pigments and elaborate detail. I was surprised to see Tina there. I didn’t think she worked at the library any longer.”
“And so you went over to talk to her?” Mike said.
“Actually, no. She said hello to me, and then-then she asked me a question, something to do with an investment idea I’d had earlier. Something I’d abandoned a while back. She was at her desk, and I guess we chatted for three or four minutes.”
“Had Tina ever talked with you about investments?” I asked.
His expression suggested my question was ridiculous. “Never.”
“Then why?”
Krauss put his hands in the pockets of his warm-up jacket and swiveled his chair back and forth. “I had a crazy idea a few years ago. Tried to put together a consortium of investors to acquire something for the library. Some bull-excuse me, Ms. Cooper-some cockamamie plan that started with board gossip. I was surprised Tina even knew anything about it.”
“But she did,” Mike said.
“Well, Detective, she wanted to.” Krauss took his left hand out of his pocket and looked at his watch. “I had nothing to tell her.”
“What was your plan?”
“I was approached by a guy who goosed me to do a joint venture. Wanted me to put up most of the money to try to buy a valuable property that would fetch a fortune, if the damn thing even existed. I figured I could find some buddies in the business to ride it with me, but the whole thing turned out to be a hoax.”
“Who told you about it?” Mike asked.
Krauss threw back his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Try me.”
“His name’s Eddy Forbes.”
“The map thief?”
Krauss gave Mike a thumbs-up. “What’s this? Know your library felons? At the time Forbes sniffed me out, he was a scholar and a private dealer, helping some of my fellow trustees elevate their tastes and shape their collections. He fooled a lot of people in the library world.”
“What is it that Forbes wanted you to buy?”
“An old map, Mr. Chapman.”
It was the answer I expected from the lead-in Krauss gave us. What he didn’t expect was Mike’s comeback.
“The 1507 Waldseemüller world map?”
Krauss turned on the dental brights again. “Anytime you get tired of working for the department, I might have a job for you, Detective. Now, how’d you know about that?”
“Some guys are good at missing persons. I got a sixth sense about missing things,” Mike said. “Seems like everybody on your board wants a piece of it.”
“Yeah, but they’re just spinning their wheels. ’Cause if Eddy Forbes couldn’t find it or steal it, then that map is just one more piece of the legend of Jasper Hunt Jr., made up to get the rest of the rich boys buzzing.”
“You gave up on the project?” Mike asked.
“I shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. I’m not into maps,” Krauss said. “There was a well-known bibliophile named Holbrook Jackson, famous for saying, ‘Your library is your portrait.’ Look around this room. There’s not a single map on display.”
“So why did you entertain Forbes’s folly to begin with?”
“The deal, Detective. The deal always grabs me. Could have been searching for a rare map or Captain Kidd’s sunken treasure or King Solomon’s mines. It would have been spectacular if the damn thing even existed,” Krauss said, picking up a model helicopter from his desk and twirling the rotors as he talked. “People would have been throwing money at me left and right if I’d come up a winner. Instead I got hosed. Probably all went to Forbes’s defense attorney anyway.”
“And you haven’t heard from Forbes since?”
“That’s one of the conditions of his probation,” Krauss said. “He can’t be anywhere near a library and he can’t communicate with any staff or trustees.”
“Why’d he pick you in the first place if he knew you didn’t care about maps?” I asked.
“Money.”
“Everybody on your board has money.”
“Hard to get those tough old guys to part with their dough. Most of their money is older than they are.” Krauss smiled again. “I figure there’s always more to be made where the last pot of gold came from.”
I was certain that Alger Herrick had told us that Minerva Hunt was involved in a deal with Eddy Forbes.
“Didn’t you try to discuss this consortium idea with Jasper Hunt the Third? Doesn’t he still sit on the board with you?” I asked.
“What was that saying about Boston Brahmins? The Lowells talk only to Cabots, and the Cabots talk only to God?” Krauss asked of no one in particular, reciting the singsong doggerel. “The Hunts talk only to Astors…and maybe to God, as long as he isn’t a Jew or a black man. Or even worse, a woman. Jasper hasn’t been on the scene much the last four or five years. And he’s not exactly a fan of mine.”
“Why’s that?”
Krauss wound the screw on the side of the helicopter and launched it, watching it crash to the carpet beside him. “I guess he doesn’t like my style.”
“How about Talbot Hunt?” I asked. “How well do you know him?”
“Only in the boardroom.”
“Get along?”
“I wouldn’t turn my back on Tally for very long,” Krauss said. “We have different ideas about the direction the library should be going. Nothing deadly, I wouldn’t think.”
“Didn’t he have any interest in Forbes’s idea? After all, the map was supposed to have been his grandfather’s purchase.”
“I don’t think Eddy Forbes and Talbot Hunt are on the same page either. Would have surprised me if they were even before all of Forbes’s legal troubles. Besides, Talbot’s sister, Minerva, wanted a piece of the action. I’m sure once she was in, her brother wouldn’t have been a likely partner. There’s bad blood between those two.”
“But you know Minerva?”
“We’ve met a handful of times. Eddy introduced us. She was willing to put up some of the seed money. She’d done that for Forbes before. I guess she was the one who told him the story of the missing map. He had access to most of the inner circle then. Minerva got all psyched up when the Library of Congress bought the only original that was thought to exist, because she remembered hearing stories about the second one-her grandfather’s-when she was a kid.”
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