Дэвид Балдаччи - The Collectors

“Good, it was supposed to be!” she snapped. “Now get me some tape.”

“Tape, what for?”

“Just go get it.”

He reluctantly retrieved the tape from a storage cabinet inside the main vault area.

“Now turn around,” she said.

“What?”

She spun him around. While his back was turned, Annabelle hiked her skirt up to her waist, positioned the paperback book around the inside of her left thigh and secured it there with the tape. “That’ll hold it, although it’s not going to be fun getting it off.”

“Please tell me you are not doing anything to damage that book,” he said sternly. “It is a vital piece of history.”

“Turn around and see for yourself.”

He whipped around, saw the book, and also her exposed pale thighs and a thin line of her panties, and gasped.

She said in a breathy voice, “I think the book will be very happy there, Caleb, don’t you?”

“Never in all my years as a librarian at this venerable institution,” he began, his voice quavering with shock; however, Caleb didn’t once take his eyes off her legs even as his heart thundered in his chest.

She slowly pulled her skirt back down, smiling impishly. “And you loved every second of it.” She bumped him with her hip as she passed by. “I’ll see you at Oliver’s, stud !”

After Annabelle’s memorable display, Caleb had recovered enough to where he could at least pretend to work. That was interrupted a bit later when Kevin Philips entered the reading room and came over to his desk.

“Caleb, can you step outside?” he said quietly.

Caleb rose. “Sure, Kevin, what’s up?”

Philips looked very concerned and said in a low voice, “The police are outside. They want to talk to you. ”

Caleb instantly felt all of his organs shutting down even as his mind raced madly through the possible doomsday reasons why the cops were here for him. Had the damn woman been caught with the book taped next to her crotch and spilled her guts naming him as an accomplice? Had Jewell English discovered what had happened and reported the theft of her glasses to the authorities, with all arrows pointing to him? Was he, Caleb Shaw, going to fry in the electric chair?

“Uh, Caleb, can you please get up and come with me?” Philips said.

Caleb looked up at him and realized that he had missed his chair and collapsed to the floor instead. He scrambled to his feet, white-faced, and said with as much surprise as he could muster, “I wonder what they could possibly want with me, Kevin?” Dear God, let it be a minimum-security prison.

Outside, Philips handed him off to the police, represented by two detectives in baggy suits and sporting inscrutable features, and then fled even as Caleb stared pitifully after him. The two men escorted Caleb to an empty office. The going was slow as Caleb was having trouble making his legs work in synchronization. And any attempt at speech was rendered impossible by the absence of even the slightest trace of saliva in his mouth. Did they still have libraries in prison? Would he have to be somebody’s bitch?

The bigger of the two men parked his butt on a desk while Caleb stood rigid against the wall awaiting the Miranda warning, the cold feel of the cuffs, the end of his respectable life. From librarian to felon, the fall had been astonishingly swift. The other man fished his hand in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “These are to DeHaven’s home, Mr. Shaw.” Caleb held out a shaky hand and took them. “They were taken from your friend Reuben Rhodes.”

Caleb blurted out, “I wouldn’t call him a friend, more of a casual acquaintance.”

The two detectives exchanged glances. The big man said, “Anyway, we also wanted to let you know that he’s been released on his own recognizance.”

“Does that mean you no longer consider him a suspect?”

“No. But we checked out his story and yours. For now we’ll leave it at that.”

Caleb stared at the keys. “Can I go to the house, or is it off-limits?”

“We’ve completed our evidentiary search at DeHaven’s residence, so you’re free to go in. But, uh, just in case, stay out of the attic.”

“I wanted to check on the book collection. I’m his literary executor.”

“The lawyers told us as much.”

Caleb looked around. “So I’m free to go?”

“Unless you have something more to tell us?” the big man said questioningly.

Caleb stared between them. “Uh, good luck with your investigation?”

“Right.” He eased off the desk, and the two detectives walked past Caleb, closing the door behind them.

Caleb stood there for a bit, light-headed and unable to believe his infinite good fortune. Then he looked puzzled. Why would they just let Reuben go? And why would they just give him the keys to Jonathan’s house? Was this a setup? Were they right now waiting outside the office to jump him, perhaps claiming he’d stolen the keys or was trying to escape? Caleb knew these scandalous things happened; he watched cable TV.

He ever so slowly nudged the door open and peered out. The hallway was clear. The library looked normal. He saw no indication at all of a SWAT team lurking. Caleb waited another couple of minutes, but nothing happened. Unable to figure it out, he realized there was one thing he could no longer put off. He left early and drove as fast as he could to DeHaven’s house. Inside the vault, he made straight for the small safe behind the picture. He needed to see if the library’s mark was in the book. He punched in the code and swung the door open. Then his organs started shutting down again.

The Bay Psalm Book wasn’t there.

When they congregated at Stone’s place that night, they were joined by the newly freed Reuben. After they had all congratulated their friend, Stone wrote on a piece of paper that “I’d rather not discuss things here.” Then he jotted down a series of instructions while the others kept up a chatter of dialogue.

Thirty minutes later Milton and Caleb left the cottage. Twenty minutes after that, Reuben and Annabelle took their leave. An hour after dark the lights in Stone’s cottage went out, and thirty minutes after that, Stone was sliding on his belly through the high grass in the cemetery. He exited through a gap in the wrought-iron fencing where it dipped down into a hollow behind a large tombstone.

After a series of doglegs through some old sections of Georgetown, Stone reconvened with the others in an alley. He unlocked a wooden door that was revealed behind a Dumpster and motioned them all through. He locked the door behind them and turned on a small overhead light. There were no windows in the place, so the light didn’t matter. There were some rickety chairs and wooden crates, and the group collectively sat. Annabelle looked around the dank, dirty interior and joked, “You sure know how to show a lady a good time. Is this place available for parties?”

“Let’s hear your report,” Stone said.

She took a few minutes to fill everyone in on her and Caleb’s discovery. She passed the glasses and book over to Stone while Caleb remained uncharacteristically silent. Stone looked through the glasses and the book. “You’re right. It does look like a code.”

Annabelle said, “Who’d be putting codes in library books?”

Stone put the book and glasses down. Milton picked up the glasses, put them on and started reading through the book.

Reuben stroked his chin. “Does it tie into Behan’s murder? He dealt in the defense and intelligence industry. God knows there are spies all over those sectors.”

Stone nodded. “That would be a good guess, but I think it goes a bit deeper than that.” He explained what he and Milton had found out at the Federalist Club and from their talk with Dennis Warren.