Lenny Bartulin - Death by the Book

“I knew Edward Kass,” said Jack. “But only by name. This would have been our first meeting.”

“About what?”

“His books. I’m a book dealer.” Jack elevated the prestige of his business, but it had no visible effect on Detective Sergeant Glendenning. He looked just as bored as ever.

“What about his books?” he asked.

Jack cleared his throat. He knew Celia had already spoken to the detective. “I was interested in buying them.”

“Why?”

“So I could sell them. It’s what I do.”

“Are they worth a lot of money?”

“Not really.” Jack checked himself. “Well, a little, if they’re signed.”

“And that’s why you were coming to see him?”

“That’s right.”

“How much?”

“How much what?”

“How much are they worth? Signed.”

“Not enough to get excited about.”

Detective Sergeant Keith Glendenning gave a sly smile. Probably his first for the month. Jack caught a glimpse of his crooked, not very white teeth. The cruel shape of his pale, fleshy lips emphasised a mouth that had spoken an obscenity or two in its time. A mouth that could snarl when it wanted to.

“How much gets you excited?” asked the detective.

“Anything above a dollar eighty-five.”

Jack had the distinct feeling that maybe he had underestimated the detective. Glendenning was piling on the questions like a chess player who only moved his pawns. But before you knew it, most of them were standing around your queen, grinning like a pack of murderous dwarves.

“So they were worth enough to come and see him?” The detective’s smile had vanished. He checked his mobile phone, squinting down at its illuminated screen.

Jack shrugged his shoulders, tried to give an air of calm. “A buck’s a buck. Unless you’re on a copper’s wage, I suppose.”

The detective looked up. “It’s only a buck over here, too, last time I checked.” The tone was nothing nasty but the hard grey-blue eyes were unimpressed. Glendenning glanced down at his mobile phone again. “And what about the other guy, on the floor?” he asked, like it was an afterthought. Like he did not care whether Jack knew him or not.

They were standing in a small connecting hall that led to the two bedrooms in the apartment. It was dim — the bare, single globe above them did a cheap job. Jack looked at the floor: it was covered in an orange-and-brown carpet, patterned with circles and some kind of curved pyramid shape set at different angles between the circles. He doubted there was ever a time it was fashionable. As his eyes followed the pattern around for a moment, he noticed somebody else walk into the hallway.

“Just need the toilet.” Durst squeezed past Detective Sergeant Glendenning. He looked at Jack. Jack looked back. The detective noticed.

As Durst shut the door to the bathroom, Glendenning scratched the stubble on his broad chin. “So have you ever seen him before? The guy on the floor?”

Jack casually swept the hair across his forehead, though he felt far from casual doing it. “No.” He shook his head to emphasise the fact. The detective looked at him, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly over his left eye. Or maybe Jack was imagining things. A primary school teacher once told the young Jack Susko that his imagination was too ripe and would ultimately get him into trouble. Maybe. He smiled at the detective and shook his head a little more and gave the detective the old Sorry I can’t help you look. But even as he shook his head and smiled his dumb smile, Jack knew that he should have come clean. He was lying to the law. The moment the word “no” had left his mouth he knew it was a stupid move. So what the hell was he doing?

From the kitchen, somebody said: “Jesus, what a mess.”

A toilet flushed. Ian Durst stepped out into the claustrophobic hallway again. “Excuse me,” he said, turning sideways as he passed between Jack and the detective. They both watched him leave.

“You know him?” asked the detective, nodding in Durst’s direction.

Jack’s face was firm, serious. “No,” he said. His second stupid “no” of the day.

“Looks like you don’t know too many people, Mr Susko.”

“I’m a bit of a recluse.”

“Busy book-dealing.”

“Pretty much.”

“You do a lot of reading?”

“Just before bed.”

“No girlfriend then?”

“Not any I ever wanted to wake up to.”

Detective Sergeant Glendenning gave his second smile for the financial year. One more and he would be eligible for a rebate. “Sounds like you’re too picky.”

“I live in hope. But we can’t all be happily married men.”

The detective looked down at his mobile again. The smile on his face went back to wherever it had come from. Almost in a whisper, he said: “No, we can’t.” He slipped the phone into his pocket and adjusted his round shoulders. “We’ll be in touch.”

“And don’t leave the country?”

No smile this time. “We know where you live, Mr Susko. Don’t worry about a thing.”

He walked out of the hall and back into the living room. Jack watched him a moment and then followed. Celia was still sitting in the lounge chair, her face pale and puffy from crying. A half-glass of water on the coffee table told Jack that she had probably been given a sedative.

Durst stood by a glass credenza full of Japanese dolls and smoked. Uniformed police officers moved back and forth across the room, all attention focused on the bodies in the kitchen.

Detective Sergeant Glendenning and a female officer approached Celia. “That’s all for the moment, Ms Mitten. Officer Ivanovic here will help you through the rest of the investigation and assist you in any way she can. She’ll also organise a social worker and some trauma counselling for you. Don’t hesitate to ask her for anything else.” He glanced at the officer and then back down at Celia. “We’ll need to see you at the station in the morning. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Celia looked up at the detective and nodded, pressing her bloodless lips together into a sad half-smile. Glendenning reached out and touched her on the shoulder. Behind him, another uniformed officer came in from the kitchen and moved the coffee table aside. Then a couple of ambulance officers wheeled out one of the bodies. It was Kass: an arm showed from beneath the sheet that was pulled over him. There were ink-stains on his fingertips. Celia Mitten stared at the hand.

Durst walked over from the credenza. “Can I take her away now?”

“Yes,” replied Glendenning. “Does she have somewhere else to stay?”

“She can stay with me.”

The detective followed the stretcher out with his eyes. “She’s stayed with you before then?” He turned to face Durst again.

A slight pause. “No.”

“So you two aren’t together?”

Durst looked down at Celia and put the cigarette to his lips and smoked. “Yes. We’re together.”

“Good,” replied the detective and walked off. As he got to the front door, he turned around again and spoke to Jack: “You can go as well.”

“Thanks.”

The second body was wheeled out of the kitchen: the short shoplifter guy who had knifed Jack at Susko Books only three days ago. As he watched the body being manoeuvred through the lounge room, Jack’s brain started to tumble out some ideas; they tried to line themselves up into some kind of order. They were not having much luck. Jack rubbed his face. Better not to think about it too much right now. Thinking always had a tendency to get out of hand.

He smiled at Celia, who did not notice, and followed the body out. He felt sorry for her. The ambulance officers paused in the hallway to tighten the belt over the dead man before descending the stairs. Jack waited and then followed. He went carefully down behind the trolley, step by step, until they reached the dim, damp lobby below. Jack was still not thinking too much. That was good.