Paul Robertson - According to Their Deeds

“Yes. It has to be.”

“The one that you say, um, what? That he booby-trapped White’s bomb?”

“I guess that would be it,” Charles said.

“Okay, that would be tricky. And then Borchard?”

“They would have been there in the shop together. He made sure John Borchard didn’t get out after the fire was started. Maybe he was already dead.”

“What… what, what fire?” Norman was beside himself. “Somebody tell me what you’re telling me? What fire? And who’s dead? Where?”

Frank was shaking his head. “Do you have any clue that he wasn’t there by himself? The police report says he was.”

“I don’t think he was. He picked locks and turned off my alarm system and sprinklers. I don’t think John Borchard could have, but I think the man who broke into Derek’s house, and the other houses, could have.”

“Okay.” Frank was very pleased. “I got you. That’s real good.” Then his smile deflated. “Except I’ve got bad news for you.”

“What is that?”

“I’ve got about two-thirds of a case against your guy Acevedo on that.”

“Angelo?” Charles was too tired to react.

“DNA for one thing, and that stuff we recovered, too. I’ve got a link between a guy he knew and the attic we found the stuff in.”

“I was afraid you would say that.”

Mr. Kelly was still figuring. “And he’d be in your shop, and he knows the alarm and everything else.”

“Wait,” Norman erupted again. “Where was the fire? Did you have a fire, Charles? What, at your place?”

“But Acevedo isn’t anybody Bastien would be blackmailing,” Mr. Kelly said. “So Acevedo’s working with someone else? I’m getting mixed up.”

“I’m getting mixed up,” Norman said.

“It comes back to the desk,” Charles said. “The man from New York, Edmund Cane. He was the agent for that other victim, the one I want to find. And Mr. Cane called the desk a Honaker.”

“Honaker?” Norman said. “It was a Honaker?”

“Does that make a difference?”

“No. No way that desk was worth a hundred five grand, even if it was a Honaker. But I don’t do furniture, so what do I know.”

“What do you know, Norman?” Charles asked. “John Borchard didn’t know. The only two people who knew that the desk was a Honaker were Edmund Cane and the FBI. I think Mr. Cane must have heard it from his client, and I think Mr. Kelly must have heard it from the same person as well. Norman, I think that was you.”

Norman Highberg tried to make sounds but nothing came, and his face contorted in an indecipherable expression. But finally, he choked out words.

“Are you crazy?”

“I’m not,” Charles said.

“You’re crazy, you both are. What is this? What are you doing here?” Now that the words had broken loose, they came in a torrent. “You’re both wacko! You think I even know what you’re talking about?”

But Frank was already moving on. “Okay, I can handle this. I’ll get Harry Watts in here. I should have called him before. I just figured Highberg’s DNA on the stuff we recovered was old, but it must have been recent.”

“I don’t have DNA!” Norman said.

“But look,” Frank Kelly said, “we need to get hold of Acevedo. Where is he?”

“Back in Alexandria,” Charles said.

“Does he know what you’re doing right now? I mean, does he know we’ll be after him?” He took a slow breath. “Where’s your wife?”

“I’m getting out of here,” Norman said. “This is too crazy.”

Charles rubbed his eyes again, and they were much redder and wearier. “Yes, Norman, go ahead. Leave.”

“What?” Frank Kelly’s head jerked up from his notebook.

“Leave, Norman,” Charles said. “I’m sorry. Just go away.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Frank Kelly set his jaw. “Yeah. Get lost.”

Norman didn’t move, but then he did quickly, and left them.

“Okay,” Frank said. “Start over.”

Starting over took a great deal of energy. Charles had to wait to gather it.

“You killed Derek, and Patrick White, and John Borchard,” he said.

“Just keep talking.”

“I’m very tired,” Charles said.

“I’ve got a gun right here, and you’re only alive as long as you keep talking.”

“Norman knows you’re here and he heard everything I said.”

“I’ll deal with that when I have to. First, just talk. Start with the desk.”

“All right.” Charles kept his eyes on Mr. Kelly’s face, and not on his hands. “I always knew there were two people who wanted the desk. As I worked out what Derek was doing, I knew who they must be. John Borchard was obvious after I talked with Patrick White. The other person was elusive. I knew who he was; I just didn’t know his name.

“There was always the big question that I never saw an answer to. How did Derek get all these papers? When did he have time to find court records in Kansas and class records in Virginia, and how did he ever get bank records? And all those dozens of other papers? And then I knew who the other person must be. It was his spy, his agent, his burrower. There was one paper I had, a list of dates and amounts and people’s initials. It was his list of his payments to you. A lot of money, but not enough to outbid John Borchard for the desk. When did you know there were papers in the book as well?”

“Just keep talking.”

“It must have been when you talked with John Borchard, the evening that Patrick White was killed; or earlier, because you had Mr. Cane trying to buy the books on Monday.

“One thing I knew about the spy was that he was always showing up somewhere. Once Patrick White was exposed in the newspaper, a mysterious fellow victim approached him. Did you hear the recording that John Borchard had?”

“Just keep talking. Don’t ask questions.”

“I thought about it. If I had supplied Derek with that information about Patrick White, and then I saw the huge drama playing out in public, I would have been worried for myself. What would you do? I think you would have felt at risk. So you became Mr. White’s confidante, so that you could know everything he knew. Probably that was when you knew that there was only one way out of your business with Derek. How did you get into it in the first place?”

“I said no questions.”

“Well, it will come out. I can think of several ways you might cross paths. The Justice Department and the FBI, his collection of antiques and your job hunting them. It looks like he paid you a lot of money. And then, after the auction, you showed up at my shop. You were just following leads. One of them was that I asked Edmund Cane some pointed questions about who he was representing. It was just the next morning that you arrived. Just like with Patrick White, you wanted to be close to know what was happening. Looking back, I remember you following me in that one morning, and standing there as I turned off the alarm.

“I don’t know what you said to John, to get him to come with you to my shop, to recover the papers. Maybe you even told him you were with the FBI and you needed his help? I know that you gained my confidence, Mr. Kelly. I’m sure you could gain everyone else’s.

“I’m rambling, I’m sorry. As I said, I’m very tired. I guess that once you saw that the Patrick White scandal was getting out of hand, you saw the danger of Derek being exposed as the source. And, if Derek would do that to Mr. White, could you trust him yourself? So you ran a quick series of burglaries to camouflage your attack on Derek. Was it a rotten feeling for him, Mr. Kelly, when he saw you? Or did he not see you?”

“Just. Keep. Talking.”

“I’m almost finished. You went through such efforts to hide yourself. All those burglaries, that was really lots of effort, and risky, although you must have a lot of useful skills and you surely know how burglaries are done. But also keeping Patrick White so close that you could kill him if you needed to, and getting John Borchard to the bookstore.