John Grisham: Camino Island

When Denny and Rooker returned to the Sea Breeze, they were arrested and driven, in total silence and in separate cars, to the FBI office in Jacksonville. They were processed and fingerprinted. Both sets of prints were pushed through the data bank, and by 10:00 p.m. the truth was known. Denny’s military prints revealed his name: Dennis Allen Durban, age thirty-three, born in Sacramento. Rooker’s criminal record nailed him: Bryan Bayer, age thirty-nine, born in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Both refused to cooperate and were put away. Lamar Bradshaw decided to bury them for a few days and sit on the news of their arrests.

Mercer was with Elaine, Rick, and Graham in the safe house, playing gin rummy and killing time. They had been told of the arrests but did not know the details. Bradshaw called at eleven, spoke with Elaine, and filled in most of the missing pieces. Things were obviously happening fast. There were a lot of unanswered questions. Tomorrow was the big day. As for Mercer, Bradshaw said, “Get her off the island.”

They watched the store even more closely throughout Tuesday, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. No more thieves lurking around, no suspicious packages shipped. A UPS truck delivered six boxes of books at 10:50, but left with nothing. Cable was upstairs and down, helping customers, reading as always in his favorite spot, and of course he left for lunch at 12:15, returning an hour later.

At five, Lamar Bradshaw and Derry Vanno entered the store and asked Cable if they could have a word. Quietly, Bradshaw said, “FBI.” They followed him to the First Editions Room, where he closed the door. He asked for identification and they whipped out their badges. Vanno handed over a search warrant and said, “We’re here to search the basement.”

Still standing, Bruce asked, “Okay, and what might you be looking for?”

“Stolen manuscripts, from the collection of F. Scott Fitzgerald, property of the Princeton library,” Bradshaw said.

Bruce laughed and without missing a beat said, “Are you serious?”

“Do we look serious?”

“I guess you do. Mind if I read this?” He waved the search warrant.

“Go right ahead. And as of now, we have five agents in the store, including us.”

“Well, make yourself at home. There’s coffee upstairs.”

“We know.”

Bruce sat at his desk and read the search warrant. He took his time, flipped pages, and gave a good impression of being unconcerned. When he finished, he said, “Okay, it’s fairly straightforward.” He stood and stretched and thought about what to do next. “It’s limited to the vault in the basement, right?”

“That’s correct,” Bradshaw said.

“There’s a lot of valuable stuff down there, and, well, you guys are famous for trashing a place when you go in with warrants.”

“You watch too much television,” Vanno said. “We know what we’re doing, and if you cooperate no one else in the store will even know we’re here.”

“I doubt that.”

“Let’s go.”

Clutching the search warrant, Bruce led them to the back of the store, where they were met by three more agents, all dressed casually. Bruce ignored them and unlocked the door to the basement. He flipped a light switch and said, “Watch your step.” In the basement he turned on more lights and stopped at the door to the vault, where he punched in the code. He opened the vault, turned on its light, and when all five agents were crowded inside he waved at the walls and said, “Those are all rare first editions. Nothing of interest, I suppose.” One agent removed a small video camera and began filming the interior of the vault.

“Open the safe,” Bradshaw said and Bruce complied. When he opened its door, he pointed to the top shelves and said, “These are all very rare. Do you want to see them?”

“Maybe later,” Bradshaw said. “Let’s start with those four drawers.” He knew precisely what he wanted.

Bruce pulled out the first one. It contained two cedar boxes, just as Mercer had reported. He lifted one, placed it on the table, and opened the top. “This is the original manuscript of Darker Than Amber, published by John D. MacDonald in 1966. I bought this about ten years ago and I have the invoice to prove it.”

Bradshaw and Vanno hovered over the manuscript. “Mind if we touch it?” Vanno asked. Both were experienced and knew what they were doing.

“Be my guest.”

The manuscript was typed and the pages were in good condition with almost no fading. They flipped through it and soon lost interest. “And the other?” Bradshaw asked.

Bruce removed the second cedar box, placed it beside the first, and lifted the top. “This is another MacDonald manuscript, The Lonely Silver Rain, published in 1985. Got an invoice for this one too.”

It, too, was neat and typewritten, with notes in the margins. To help matters, Bruce added, “MacDonald lived on a boat with little electricity. He used an old manual Underwood typewriter and was meticulous about his work. His manuscripts are incredibly neat.”

They really didn’t care but turned a few pages anyway.

For a bit of fun, Bruce said, “I’m not sure, but didn’t Fitzgerald handwrite his original manuscripts?” There was no reply.

Bradshaw turned back to the safe and said, “The second drawer.”

Bruce pulled it out as the two inched closer, straining for a look. It was empty. Same for the third and fourth. Bradshaw was stunned and shot a wild look at Vanno, who was gawking at the empty drawers in utter disbelief.

Reeling, Bradshaw said, “Empty the contents of the safe.”

Bruce said, “No problem, but it’s obvious, at least to me, that someone has fed you guys some bad information. I don’t trade in stolen stuff and I wouldn’t go near the Fitzgerald manuscripts.”

“Empty the safe,” Bradshaw said again, ignoring him.

Bruce returned the two MacDonald manuscripts to the top drawer, then reached to the top shelf and removed a clamshell holding The Catcher in the Rye . “You want to see it?”

“Yes,” Bradshaw replied.

Bruce carefully opened the clamshell and removed the book. He held it up for them to see, and video, then put it back. “And you want to see all of them?”

“That’s right.”

“It’s a waste of time. These are published novels, not manuscripts.”

“We know that.”

“These clamshells are custom made for each book and much too small to hold a manuscript.”

That much was obvious, but time was not a factor and a thorough search was required. “Next,” Bradshaw said, nodding at the shelves in the safe.

Methodically, Bruce removed the books one at a time, opened the clamshells, displayed the books, then set them aside. As he happily went about his business, Bradshaw and Vanno shook their heads, glared at each other, rolled their eyes, and in general looked as baffled as a couple of hoodwinked agents could possibly look.

When all forty-eight were stacked on the table, the safe was empty, but for the two MacDonald manuscripts in the top drawer. Bradshaw stepped closer to the safe, as if looking for secret compartments, but it was obvious there was no room for one. He scratched his jaw and ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

Vanno asked, “What about these?” and waved at the bookshelves against the walls.

Bruce said, “They’re rare first editions, books published a long time ago. It’s a collection I’ve spent twenty years putting together. Again, they’re novels, not manuscripts. I suppose you want to see them too.”

“Oh why not?” Vanno said.

Bruce pulled out keys and unlocked the bookshelves. The agents spread out and began lifting the glass doors to the shelves, inspecting the rows of books, finding nothing even remotely resembling a bulky manuscript. Bruce watched them carefully, eager to step in if a book were removed. But they were careful, and very professional, and after an hour in the vault the search was over and had yielded nothing. Every inch of it had been examined. As they filed out, Bruce pulled the door shut but didn’t lock it.