Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

Now it was Charles who had frozen. “John Borchard was the blackmailer?”

“Yes. Yes! Why don’t you understand?”

“I… I’m sorry… I just got mixed up who you were talking about.”

“Why do you think Derek Bastien was a blackmailer?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was just confused. Please. Keep going. John Borchard had papers about you from your law school, and he threatened that he would expose you. And then he did. How was Derek involved?”

“I went to Derek for help. First, I went to get his help to stop Borchard. Then after Borchard told the newspaper, I went to Derek for help to get revenge. But Borchard found out and he killed Derek for talking to me.”

“Why was he blackmailing you?”

But Charles had to wait. Mr. White’s mental trips away from the physical world were becoming more frequent.

“Do you believe me?” was the answer when it came.

“I don’t know. How sure are you of all of this?”

“Oh, I’m sure. I’m absolutely sure.”

“John Borchard told you himself that he had this information and that he was going to use it?”

“He didn’t tell me himself. But he made it obvious it was him. We both knew.”

“All right, then. Did Derek know anything about it?”

“Not until I told him.”

“And how do you know John Borchard killed him?”

“Who else would have? That’s obvious, too.”

Charles tried another direction. “Have you told all this to the police?”

“Of course I have.”

“And they haven’t done anything about it?”

“No. Nothing! Borchard’s got them in his pocket.”

“I see. So why are you telling me?”

This required another short trip away.

“Karen Liu said you knew Derek, and you were talking to people he knew. I thought maybe you knew something.”

“I didn’t know any of this that you’ve told me.”

“Watch out for Borchard. That’s the first thing,” Mr. White said, oblivious to Charles’s answer. “He’s dangerous. But he might trust you. So see what you can find out. Maybe he’ll let something slip.”

“Really, Mr. White. I don’t-”

“Derek Bastien was murdered. Somebody has to do something.” And then, suddenly the conversation ended. Patrick White stood and dropped two twenty-dollar bills on the table. “Be careful,” he said.

He left. Charles was left behind.

“Mr. Beale,” Alice said. “You’ll never guess what we sold while you were gone.”

Charles closed the front door behind him, a cloud of bewilderment still swirling around his head. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“ Moby-Dick.”

He stopped in his tracks and the cloud vanished. “The first edition? From downstairs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who bought it?”

“One of our regular customers. Morgan has the order upstairs.”

Charles climbed up to the office. “Did Alice tell you?” Dorothy said.

“Yes! Who bought it?”

“The same man who bought The Scarlet Letter two years ago.”

“Oh-Abercrombie. In Arlington.”

“That’s it.”

“Does he want it delivered?”

“Yes. He paid by credit card.”

“Did we give him the regular discount?”

“Ten percent off twenty-seven thousand.”

“Moby-Dick.” Charles sank into his chair. “Oh my. He’s been here so long. Are you sure?”

“Yes, dear.” Dorothy smiled. “You look thoroughly befuddled.”

“I’ll go down to the basement and say goodbye.” The jubilant mood sank slowly beneath the waves. “Dorothy, I’ve just had lunch with Captain Ahab.”

“Patrick White?”

“I think he must be unbalanced. I hope he is.”

“You hope he is unbalanced?”

“Otherwise what he said would be true.”

“What did he say?” Dorothy caught his mood and began sinking with him.

“John Borchard is Moby-Dick.”

“John Borchard is what?”

“There is a superficial resemblance,” Charles said. “Dorothy, Patrick White is on a quest for revenge and Mr. Borchard is his target.”

“Revenge? For what?”

“In this case, Captain Ahab has lost his judicial career rather than his leg.”

“But…” Dorothy frowned. “But didn’t…” She frowned more. “Charles, you have to tell me what you’re talking about.”

“All right. I can do it. I’m just still regaining my own balance. Mr. White believes that it was John Borchard who exposed his law school scandal to the newspaper.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Mr. White did not elaborate. But beyond that, he says he went to Derek Bastien for help against John Borchard.”

“Did Derek ever tell you anything about him?”

“No. I’m sure he never mentioned Patrick Henry White to me. But, Dorothy, this is the culmination. Patrick White says that John Borchard killed Derek Bastien.”

She was momentarily speechless. “He said that?”

“Word for word. You look just like I must have.”

“Killed him!”

“Yes.”

She got her mouth closed, then opened it again. “Did he?”

“At this point, dear, I’m inclined to doubt it.”

“I should hope so!”

“I would desperately hope he did not.”

She had recovered. “And who are you that Mr. White would tell you all of this?”

“Me? Call me Ishmael.”

“Hey, boss.”

Charles rubbed his forehead. “Someday, Angelo, I will have a heart attack.”

“You not feeling good, boss?”

“I’m fine. How did it go?”

“It was okay, that lady I didn’t see her in those places. You want I should look at the next place tomorrow?”

“You have a delivery in the morning,” Charles said. “A very important one. I’d do it myself, but I have another appointment. We can see if any of the places on the list are in the same area as your delivery.”

“Mr. Beale?” Alice’s voice from the stairs was panicked.

“Yes? I’m coming,” he said, and Angelo followed.

“There’s a man down here.”

“Now who?” Charles stood and moved quickly. He reached the showroom.

“Beale.”

“Mr. Jones,” he said, as that was who it was.

“Talk.”

The look in Galen Jones’s eye was of an altogether different ferocity than Patrick White’s.

Charles slid past the tall and centrally located Mr. Jones, and opened the front door. “We could step outside.”

He pushed through the door and stopped on the front sidewalk. “You said you talked to the FBI?”

“I’ve talked to Mr. Kelly,” Charles said. “I think I told you.”

“What did you tell them about me?”

“About you? Nothing. I hadn’t even met you.”

“Nothing?”

“I never said your name or anything about you.”

Mr. Jones searched the sidewalk for listeners. “So have you talked to anybody about me?”

“No. Well-Norman Highberg, and that was also before I’d met you. And my wife. What’s wrong?”

“Kelly, the FBI, he came by my house this morning. He asked me about the desk. Just like you. Except he also wanted to know if anyone else was asking.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Then how-? Never mind.” Galen Jones was very frustrated. “Look, don’t ever say my name to anyone. Ever.”

“That’s a hard thing to promise. I will try not to say your name to anyone.”

“Then if you do, tell me.”

“I will. I think I can promise that. Did you tell Mr. Kelly I’d been asking about the desk?”

“No way. I don’t answer questions like that.”

“I think it would have been all right. He and I have discussed the desk.”

“My name, and that desk, those don’t go together for anybody, okay? And I want to know how he ever got them together.”