Linda Fairstein - Lethal Legacy

“And this?”

“Look closely at it, Mercer.” Bea pushed the tip of the antique panel closer to us and started to explain it to us. “This is exquisitely elaborate, do you see?”

There was a masterfully drawn portrait of Vespucci, holding his navigational instruments, at the top of the large panel. Below him was the upper portion of the map, representing an area that was bordered by the Arctic Ocean, and below it a landmass with tiny writing that described interior regions and portrayed the topography of the area. Behind Vespucci was a chubby-cheeked figure-the northeast wind-blowing across the frigid waters.

“The detail is astonishing,” I said.

“See the inset?” Bea asked. On the upper-left quadrant of the panel was a small world map. “It’s actually different than the larger image, if you were to see them all assembled. As Vespucci completed more voyages, the latest descriptions were added to these smaller insets.”

“Too detailed to forge?” I asked.

“Not only that, Alex. The Vinland Map is just ink on parchment. This one is a woodcut. It’s truly a work of art, and I’d say impossible to re-create today. After all, we do have one original in Washington against which any discoveries like the one you made this morning can be compared.”

Mike was poring over the reproduction that Bea had unfolded. “Every section of this map tells its own story, doesn’t it?”

“That’s one of the things that’s so magical about it,” she said.

The margins of the twelve panels were festooned with figures of the wind and sea, and cartouches that chronicled the most important features of these newly charted territories.

“Could be the reason that this piece of the map was stored in that particular book might point us to whatever Tina Barr-or her killer-was looking for,” Mike said, nodding to Mercer. “Maybe something in one of these images, or a link to the part of the world that’s portrayed in the fragment we found, you know?”

“The section of the map featuring Amerigo himself is stuck inside a book about American birds. Not a bad idea,” Mercer said. “Bea, is there any way to get a copy of the full map that’s reproduced here in your book?”

“You want the four-by-eight-foot version, I guess.”

Mike was right. If the stack of books deposited under the water tanks in the last twenty-four hours was connected to Tina Barr’s death, then this high-priced piece of a jigsaw puzzle might prove to be a clue.

“We’ve got a photocopy machine behind the reference desk that duplicates folio-size pages,” Bea said. “Just give me a minute and you’ll each have one to go.”

She disappeared around the corner just as there was a loud banging on the door.

“Ignore it,” Jill said. “We don’t open to the public until ten.”

“There’ll be no public today,” Mike said, checking his watch. “Crime scene techs will be swarming all over the library within the hour. Nobody’s getting in till the whole place is worked over.”

The banging didn’t stop. “May I check?” Jill asked.

Mike stood up as she walked to the door.

“Goddammit!” a voice thundered at her. “Get your foot out of the way and let me in.”

“I’ve got some police officers with me,” I heard her whisper to the man in the hallway. “Why don’t you wait in my office and I’ll meet you there shortly.”

“The hell with the police,” he said, pushing open the door so that Jill tripped over herself getting out of his way. “I’m here to get what belongs to me.”

There was no mistaking Talbot Hunt. The physical resemblance to his sister, Minerva, was striking, and the air of Hunt arrogance as he approached Mike Chapman was equally identifiable. He was tall and whippet thin, with straight dark hair and dark eyes.

“Talbot, I’d like you to meet Detectives Chapman and Wallace,” Jill said, trying to catch up with Hunt. “And Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cooper.”

“I’ve already wasted two hours of my time yesterday with your colleagues,” Hunt said. “That business about my sister’s housekeeper-”

“‘Business’? Oh, you mean the fact that she was murdered in an apartment your sister owns, dressed exactly like her,” Mike said. “And the idea that she might have been killed because she was carrying a book that belongs to you, or that you say belongs to you.”

“Who says differently? Is it Minerva?” Hunt asked, talking to Mike but repeatedly glancing over at the map on the table.

“I don’t remember anyone inviting you here this morning,” Mike said.

“Some members of Ms. Gibson’s staff seem to place more value than she does on the library’s relationship with my family. Now I’d like to see the Audubon volume that you found,” Hunt said. “And my map.”

“ Your book of psalms, your birds, your map,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I just can’t imagine the commissioner is looking to turn these things back over to you until he’s damn sure nothing that has gone on involves your indictment, Mr. Hunt.”

Hunt took a few steps toward the trestle table and Mercer stood to block his approach. Bea came back into the room with her arms full of copies of the map, and stopped short when she saw Talbot Hunt.

“It’s a panel from the world map, isn’t it?” Hunt asked. “Am I right, Ms. Dutton?”

“You are, Mr. Hunt.”

“That is mine, Detective,” he said, each word separated by a dramatic pause, as though a nail had been driven between them as he spoke. “My father’s lawyers will want to speak to you as soon as I reach them.”

“You’re telling me you knew about the existence of this particular map?” Mike asked. “That you knew it was here, at the library?”

Hunt didn’t seem to want to answer that question.

“Bea, I thought you said you’ve never seen one of these panels,” Mike said. “That the library never owned one.”

“That’s true,” the petite woman said, holding her ground. “I haven’t, and we don’t.”

“The world map of 1507,” Hunt said. “Martin Waldseemüller. The only known original is in the Library of Congress.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know, Mr. Hunt.” Mike peeled back the wrapper on a pack of Life Savers and popped one into his mouth.

“I can do that, Detective. I can tell you something almost nobody in the world knows,” Hunt said. “There’s another original of that 1507 map that survived. My grandfather bought it from the Grimaldis-the royal family of Monaco -more than a century ago.”

Bea Dutton’s head practically snapped as she turned it to look at Talbot Hunt. “You have the other pieces to complete this map?”

“We can race against each other to find the missing panels, Mr. Chapman, if you won’t agree to return this one to me,” Hunt said, choosing to ignore the earnest librarian. “I can leave you to your own devices.”

“That’s how come they gave me a gold shield,” Mike said, crunching the mint between his teeth.

“I can assure you that if you fail, someone else is bound to die.”

Talbot Hunt was seated at the head of the table, one leg crossed over the other and his hands touching at the fingertips. “For the moment, Detective, wouldn’t you say that I’m in the driver’s seat?”

Mike was pacing, his back to Hunt as he walked away from us. “Coop?”

“I’m not bargaining with possessions-no matter how valuable-in exchange for information connected to two murders, Mr. Hunt. Either you talk to us, or you tell it to the grand jury,” I said. “The decision about who owns these things will be made in a courtroom, not because you’re here to bully us. I assume the library can establish what belongs in this building and what doesn’t. Things that have been donated to the Hunt Collection-”