John Grisham - Camino Island

Impulsively, she asked, “What’s in the drawers?”

Without the slightest hesitation, he replied, “Old manuscripts, but they’re not worth a lot, not when compared to these books. John D. MacDonald is a favorite of mine, especially his Travis McGee series, and a few years ago I was able to buy two of his original manuscripts from another collector.” He was closing the door as he said this. Obviously, the drawers were off-limits.

“Seen enough?” he asked.

“Yes. This is fascinating stuff, Bruce. It’s another world I know nothing about.”

“I seldom show off these books. The rare book trade is a quiet business. I’m sure no one knows that I have four copies of Catcher, and I’d like to keep it that way. There is no registry, no one is looking, and many transactions take place in the dark.”

“Your secrets are safe. I can’t think of a soul I would want to tell.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Mercer. This is all legitimate. I report the profits and pay the taxes, and if I dropped dead my estate would include these assets.”

“All of them?” she asked with a smile.

He returned the smile and said, “Well, most of them.”

“Of course.”

“Now, how about a business lunch?”

“I’m starving.”

The team dined on carryout pizza and washed it down with soft drinks. At the moment, food was not important. Rick, Graham, and Elaine sat at the condo’s dining table and reviewed dozens of still photos taken from Mercer’s video. She had produced eighteen minutes of footage from Noelle’s store and twenty-two from Bruce’s; forty minutes of precious evidence they were thrilled to now possess. They had studied it, but more important it was being analyzed by their lab in Bethesda. Facts were being established: the size of his vault, the dimensions of his safe, the presence of surveillance cameras and security sensors; dead bolts on doors; push-button entry panels. The safe weighed eight hundred pounds, was made of eleven-gauge steel, and had been manufactured fifteen years earlier by a factory in Ohio, sold online, and installed by a contractor out of Jacksonville. When locked, it was secured by five dead bolts made of lead and sealed by hydraulics. It could withstand heat of 1,550 degrees for two hours. Opening it would not be a problem, but the obvious challenge was getting to it without ringing bells.

They had spent the afternoon around the table, often in long, intense conversations, often on the speakerphone with their colleagues in Bethesda. Elaine was in charge but welcomed collaboration. There were a lot of opinions offered by smart people, and she listened. The FBI consumed most of their time. Was it time to call in the Feds? To introduce them to their favorite suspect? To tell them everything they had learned so far about Bruce Cable? Elaine didn’t think so, not yet anyway. And her reason was sound: there was not enough evidence to convince a federal magistrate that Cable had the manuscripts buried in his basement. At the moment, they had a tip from a source in Boston, a forty-minute video of the premises, and some still shots lifted from the video. In the opinions of their two attorneys in Washington, it was simply not enough to get a search warrant.

And, as always, when the Feds entered the picture, they took charge and changed the rules. As of now, they knew nothing of Bruce Cable and had no idea Elaine’s little mole had wormed her way inside. Elaine wanted to keep it this way for as long as possible.

One scenario, suggested by Rick but with little enthusiasm, called for the diversion of arson. Start a small fire after midnight on the ground floor of the bookstore, and as alarms wailed and security monitors erupted, enter the basement through Noelle’s side and do a smash and grab. The risks were abundant, not the least of which was the commission of several crimes. And what if Gatsby wasn’t there? What if Gatsby and friends were being hidden elsewhere, on the island or somewhere else in the country? Cable would be so unnerved he would scatter them across the globe, if he hadn’t already done so.

Elaine nixed the plan not long after Rick mentioned it. The clock was ticking but they still had time, and their girl was doing magnificent work. In less than four weeks she had endeared herself to Cable and infiltrated his circle. She had earned his trust and brought them this — forty minutes of valuable footage and hundreds of still shots. They were closing in, or at least they believed so. They would continue to be patient and wait for whatever happened next.

One significant question had been answered. They had debated why a small-town book dealer working in an old building could be such a fanatic about security. And since he was their prime suspect, everything he did was viewed with even more suspicion. The little fortress in his basement was being used to protect the ill-gotten loot of his trade, right? Not necessarily. They now knew that there was a lot of valuable stuff down there. After lunch, Mercer had reported that along with the four copies of The Catcher in the Rye and the one of A Room of One’s Own there were about fifty other books in protective clamshells lined neatly on the shelves of the safe. The vault itself held several hundred books.

Elaine had been in the business for over twenty years and was amazed at Cable’s inventory. She had dealt with the established rare book houses and knew them well. Their business was buying and selling and they used catalogs and websites and all manner of marketing to enhance their trade. Their collections were vast and well advertised. She and her team had often wondered if a small-time player like Cable could round up a million dollars for the Fitzgerald manuscripts. Now, though, that question too had been answered. He had the means.

The invitation was for dinner, a dry one. Dry because Andy Adam was also invited and Bruce was insisting that the night be alcohol-free. Dry also because the touring writer, one Sally Aranca, had kicked the booze a few years back and preferred not to be around the stuff.

Bruce told Mercer on the phone that Andy was about to go away for another detox and was trying desperately to stay sober until he went into lockdown. Mercer was eager to help and happily agreed to the rules.

At the signing, Ms. Aranca charmed her audience of about fifty as she discussed her work and read a brief scene from her latest novel. She was making a name for herself in crime fiction with a series based on a female private investigator in San Francisco, her home. Mercer had skimmed the book during the afternoon, and as she watched and listened to Sally perform she realized that her protagonist was much like Sally herself: early forties, recovering alcoholic, divorced with no kids, quick and witty, savvy and tough, and, of course, quite attractive. She published once a year and toured extensively, always stopping at Bay Books and usually when Noelle was out of town.

After the signing, the four walked down the street to Le Rocher, a small French place with a good reputation. Bruce quickly ordered two bottles of sparkling water and handed the wine list back to the waitress. Andy glanced around a few times at the other tables and seemed eager to snatch a glass of wine, but instead added a slice of lemon to his water and settled down. He was haggling with his publisher over his latest contract, one that included a smaller advance than his last deal. With a fine flair for humor and self-deprecation, he told how he had jumped from publisher to publisher until all of New York was weary of him. He’d burned them all. Over appetizers, Sally recounted her early frustrations at getting published. Her first novel had been rejected by a dozen agents and even more publishers, but she kept writing. And drinking. Her first marriage blew up when she caught her husband cheating, and her life was a mess. Her second and third novels were rejected. Thankfully, some friends intervened and she found the will to stop drinking. With her fourth novel she turned to crime, created her protagonist, and suddenly agents were calling her. The film rights were optioned and she was off and running. Now, eight novels later, the series was established and gaining popularity.