Linda Fairstein - Lethal Legacy

They were face-to-face, ten steps away from Minerva and me, in the darkened foyer.

“Yes, Mr. Wallace, I was.”

“We’re going to need to know when that relationship started and when it ended.”

“I told you that it wasn’t a relationship. I’ll try to give you any specifics I remember.”

“Did she spend time in the bedroom of your apartment?”

“Yes, Mr. Wallace. Are you through humiliating me? Yes, she did.”

“Did she have a key to your apartment?”

“Of course. She was doing work there for me. I trusted her with my entire collection. Why wouldn’t I give her a key?”

Mercer’s voice seemed to get lower with every question he asked. “Did she know where the drawer was, the one in which you locked the book when you left town?”

Talbot Hunt paused for several seconds. “I-I guess she might have. It’s possible she saw me fetch it from the bureau after a weekend away.”

Minerva turned away, reached for a small silver bell on one of the tables, and rang it. “I think I need a drink.”

“My sister, the virgin queen. Hard to take criticism on this subject from you.”

Mercer tried to keep Talbot focused on Tina Barr. “After you realized the book was missing, did you talk about it with Tina?”

No wonder he hadn’t called the police. He’d first have to explain the probable suspect to his wife.

“I’m really not sure. I must have mentioned it to her.”

Minerva was more incredulous than I was. She didn’t let the appearance of the butler interfere with her response. He stood silently and waited for her order. “How could you not have known, Tally? I don’t even spend time at the library, but I know that she’d lost their trust, too.”

At my first meeting in Battaglia’s office with Jill Gibson, Pat McKinney had called Tina Barr a forger-and a thief.

“A vodka gimlet,” Minerva said.

“Now, madam? At this hour?”

“Now, Bailey. Right now,” Minerva said. “If you didn’t know it, Tally, then you’re the last one in town. The girl shared a bed with the master thief, too, before he got caught. Tina Barr used to run with Eddy Forbes.”

“If you don’t feed me,” Mike said, “I’m going to put some mustard on my shoe and eat it. Then I might start on your toes.”

It was midafternoon, and the list of things we had to do and people we had to find and interview continued to grow.

“That’s about as dysfunctional a family unit as I can imagine,” Mercer said, shaking his head. “All the money in the world and the two cats are probably the only living things Hunt can trust.”

“Coop’s starving me. I can’t even think, man.”

“Let’s not waste time on a meal. Pull up in front of P. J. Bernstein’s,” I said, referring to my favorite Upper East Side deli. “I’ll hop out and get sandwiches while you call the feds and get an address on Eddy Forbes.”

“Make it two turkey clubs for me, a bag of chips, a cream soda, and you got a deal. Mercer?”

“Ham and provolone on rye toast.”

We were less than five minutes away from the Third Avenue classic deli. Mike double-parked while I ran in and placed my order with the counterman.

“What do you know?” I asked as I climbed into the back seat.

“The lieutenant just called. They had to let Billy Schultz go. His alibi for last night held up just fine. Three other guys working late with him. That’s the bad news.”

“What’s the good?”

“His office is less than ten blocks away from the library. Think they need to work those alibi witnesses a little harder.”

“I still don’t like his DNA in the mask from the first break-in at Barr’s apartment,” I said. “His explanation strikes me as weird.”

“I told you the lab said it’s a mixture, Coop. Enough saliva there to get another profile-it just doesn’t match anyone in the databank.” Mike had spread a napkin across his lap, holding half a sandwich in his right hand as he navigated uptown again with his left.

“Tell her what Peterson said about the phone call,” Mercer said.

“Traces back to a booth on the corner of Sixth Avenue and the Deuce.”

“So this creep lurked around the library and watched until Tina’s body was found-and about to be bagged-and then dialed up her cell?”

“We’re dealing with a freaky-deaky guy, in case you hadn’t figured that,” Mike said, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “C’mon, girl, you still gotta eat.”

“The whole damn crew is freaky,” Mercer said. “You got a sister-brother act that’s as ugly as anything in Greek mythology, a too-nosy neighbor whose DNA winds up in an important piece of crime scene evidence, a one-armed guy who lives in the chapel of an old cancer hospital, a library executive who lied to Alex the first time they met, the most successful map thief in recent times now on parole, and a young turk with books bound in human skin who was so anxious to be wheels-up that-”

“I’ll be wheels-up his ass if he neglected to tell us about his visit to Jasper Hunt,” Mike said. “And this dead girl-may she rest in peace-gets more complicated by the hour. What was she doing in bed with Talbot Hunt? And Eddy Forbes?”

“What did you learn about Forbes?”

“Sentenced to only three years, over the objection of just about every library director in the galaxy. Got out seven months ago, with some time off for good behavior. Reports to his parole officer in Maine every week.”

“Didn’t he ever live in the city?”

“Yeah, in Chelsea, but he lost his lease when he went to jail. The feds seized all his books, maps, papers. They’re still in the process of trying to match up the stolen things with libraries that haven’t even missed them yet.”

“Any family here?” I asked.

“A younger brother on the West Side. Chow down and I’ll have you there in no time.”

I nibbled at the corner of my sandwich. “Who’s his brother?”

“Name is Travis Forbes. That’s all I know at the moment. Don’t get pushy.”

“Well, where?”

“First floor in a brownstone on West One Hundred and Fourth Street, off the park.”

We had visited Alger Herrick in his opulent apartment only one block away. “That’s close to where Herrick lives.”

“A universe apart, actually. This area’s still a run-down bunch of tenements.” Mike had devoured the first sandwich before we entered the transverse drive. He washed it down with a swig of soda and a handful of chips before starting on the second one.

When we reached 104th Street, Mike turned in to the block. School had let out for the day, and kids, most of them black and Hispanic, had clustered on the sidewalk. The department Crown Vic-an obvious intrusion in the ’hood-caught the attention of most of them, who watched with interest as we got out of the unmarked car.

I climbed the steps and opened the vestibule door. The name T. Forbes was next to a buzzer, and I pressed it. Several seconds later, I heard a voice through the intercom.

Mike nudged me out of the way. “Travis Forbes?”

A man answered. “Yes.”

“Mike Chapman. NYPD. I’d like to talk with you.”

There was no response.

“You there, Forbes?”

A dark-skinned kid who appeared to be about twelve years old had followed Mercer up the steps.

“He don’t let nobody in, dude. He real shy or something.”

“You know him?” Mercer asked.

“I seed him around. Yo, you know his brother real famous. Got locked up. Got took away in handcuffs. His picture was in the paper and they even looks alike,” the kid said, totally animated. “You the man?”

Mike pressed the intercom again. “I am. But I guess Mr. Forbes doesn’t think so.”