Миранда Джеймс - Twelve Angry Librarians

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please.” He paused for a moment, then repeated himself. The chatter died away, and he smiled. “My name is Harlan Crais.” He went on to mention his affiliation with a midsize university in Tennessee and his current position there. “It is my pleasure today to introduce our keynote speaker, Dr. Gavin Fong.” He rattled off some of Gavin’s achievements, then welcomed Gavin to the podium.

Gavin stood at the podium for at least ten or fifteen seconds without speaking as he surveyed the audience. I couldn’t see his expression clearly, but somehow I knew it was supercilious. Then he began his speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am here today to tell you that our profession is dying. In five years, maybe less, we will all be out of work. The academic library is dying, strangled by shrinking budgets, greedy publishers, and staff who are poorly trained to cope with today’s ever-changing technologies. Library schools have become diploma mills, turning out graduates who might just as well be working at fast-food restaurants for all the intellectual stimulation they are receiving in so-called graduate school. Master’s and doctoral degrees are nothing more than a waste of time and resources. We would all be better served by taking different career paths.”

A wave of sound moved around the room as the audience reacted to these incendiary words. The sheer hypocrisy of the man . I was incensed with him myself. He had the nerve, the colossal gall, to stand up in front of all these people and spout tripe like that after he had applied for the director’s job here at Athena. If I’d been close enough to throw something at him, I just might have at that moment.

While Gavin waited, smiling, for the noise to recede, he glanced down at the podium. He frowned, then turned to look over at a table nearby. He mimed drinking from a glass, and within seconds Lisa Krause popped up to hurry toward the podium. She held up a bottle, and Gavin leaned down to retrieve it. He didn’t acknowledge her in any way that I could see, and Lisa returned to her seat.

By now the noise had abated for the most part, and Gavin turned up the bottle and drank from it. He set it down somewhere, then opened his mouth to speak.

No words came out. He appeared to be struggling to breathe all of a sudden. He clutched at his throat, and the microphone magnified the gagging sounds so that everyone could hear them. I watched in horror as he disappeared behind the podium. Moments later a woman started screaming.

TWELVE

I stared at Chief Deputy Kanesha Berry, not sure I had heard her correctly. Then the import of her question sank in.

“And exactly how did I manage to get the poison into his bottle?” I shook my head. “No, not me. I wasn’t anywhere near him or his bottle this morning.

“Besides,” I continued, “what motive did I have to kill him? I’ll admit I loathed the man, but I sure didn’t kill him.” I had to pause for breath.

Kanesha held up a hand. “Personally, I don’t think you did it, but as a matter of routine, I had to ask. Now, I have a witness who claims you attacked Mr. Fong in public yesterday. Is this true?”

“I hit him, yes, but I didn’t attack him. He swung at me three times—and missed, incidentally—before I hit back.” I had to keep my temper under control, especially in front of Kanesha. “Look, let me give you the background on all this. It will take a few minutes.”

Kanesha nodded. “Go ahead. Might as well hear it all now.”

“I first met Gavin Fong in graduate school in Texas, a little over twenty-five years ago.” From there I went on to tell Kanesha why I had disliked him then, and I told her about the incident involving my late wife. “Fast-forward to the present, and this conference. Also, the search for a permanent library director at Athena College. Gavin e-mailed me, basically demanding that I support his application for the job, or else he would tell President Wyatt about that incident back in grad school.”

Kanesha reached for a pad and pen and began to jot down some notes. Next I told her about the incident between Gavin and me yesterday. I hesitated, however, to tell her about the attack on me last night. It could be construed as a motive for getting back at Gavin by poisoning him.

Best to tell her everything , I decided after a moment. “There’s one other thing. Last night someone waylaid me in that alley beside the Farrington House. I was walking through the alley to the parking lot after stopping in to see Helen Louise. Someone struck me from behind and knocked me out for a moment.”

“Did you get a look at your assailant?” Kanesha asked, her eyes narrowed.

“No, but I had seen Gavin Fong peering in the window at Helen Louise’s place not long before I left. I’m pretty sure he followed me back to the Farrington House and attacked me.”

“How badly were you hurt?”

I shrugged. “Not badly, really. Scraped hands, a bump on the head, and a bruised shoulder. No concussion, thankfully. I guess I have a hard head.”

Kanesha snorted. “I’ll say you do.”

I decided not to take offense at that. I knew I had tried her patience on numerous occasions with my stubbornness.

“You went home right afterward?” she asked.

“Yes. Stewart and Haskell were there when I got home, and Stewart kept a check on me during the night to make sure I was all right. I stayed home until I had to leave this morning for a meeting on campus. From there I went straight to the hotel for the conference. I did not see Gavin until we went into the ballroom for the luncheon. I was at a table near the doors with two librarians I know, and he was all the way across the ballroom. Never went near him before he collapsed and died.” After a pause I added, “And I didn’t go near him after that, either.”

By now I had a headache, and I desperately needed a bathroom. I wondered how much longer she intended to keep me here. I did have a question for her, though, and I wondered if she would answer it.

“He died very quickly, from what I could tell, after drinking from that bottle, because he seemed fine up till then,” I said. “What do you think it was? Cyanide?”

Kanesha stared at me for probably ten seconds before she responded. “Possibly, but we won’t know until the appropriate tests have been done.”

I wondered how easily available cyanide was these days. Did they still use it in rat poison? If so, how much rat poison would you have to put in a bottle of water for a lethal dose? And wouldn’t it taste funny? I would have to ask Stewart these questions later. As a chemist, he ought to know.

Another question popped into my mind. “Are you going to close down the conference?”

“No. The ballroom is going to be off-limits for a while, but we will want to be able to question everyone. Best to keep them busy with the rest of the program while we investigate.”

“Good.” I was about to ask whether she was done with me, at least for now, so I could find a bathroom. She forestalled me with another question.

“Do you know anyone—besides yourself, that is—who had any personal animosity toward the deceased?”

I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t think Kanesha would find it appropriate. “I think it might be easier to find someone who didn’t . He rubbed almost everyone the wrong way, as far as I know.”

Kanesha wrote in her notebook. “Let me rephrase the question. Do you know anyone who had motive to kill the deceased?”

“No, not really,” I said. “Until this week I hadn’t seen the man, or heard from him, since grad school. I know various friends of mine from those days worked with him over the years, and they might have shared things about him in letters or e-mails. I don’t recall anything serious enough to make a person want to kill Gavin, however.”