Twelve Angry Librarians Page 8

  While Gavin waited, smiling, for the noise to recede, he glanced down at the podium. He frowned, then turned to look over at a table nearby. He mimed drinking from a glass, and within seconds Lisa Krause popped up to hurry toward the podium. She held up a bottle, and Gavin leaned down to retrieve it. He didn’t acknowledge her in any way that I could see, and Lisa returned to her seat.

  By now the noise had abated for the most part, and Gavin turned up the bottle and drank from it. He set it down somewhere, then opened his mouth to speak.

  No words came out. He appeared to be struggling to breathe all of a sudden. He clutched at his throat, and the microphone magnified the gagging sounds so that everyone could hear them. I watched in horror as he disappeared behind the podium. Moments later a woman started screaming.

  TWELVE

  I stared at Chief Deputy Kanesha Berry, not sure I had heard her correctly. Then the import of her question sank in.

  “And exactly how did I manage to get the poison into his bottle?” I shook my head. “No, not me. I wasn’t anywhere near him or his bottle this morning.

  “Besides,” I continued, “what motive did I have to kill him? I’ll admit I loathed the man, but I sure didn’t kill him.” I had to pause for breath.

  Kanesha held up a hand. “Personally, I don’t think you did it, but as a matter of routine, I had to ask. Now, I have a witness who claims you attacked Mr. Fong in public yesterday. Is this true?”

  “I hit him, yes, but I didn’t attack him. He swung at me three times—and missed, incidentally—before I hit back.” I had to keep my temper under control, especially in front of Kanesha. “Look, let me give you the background on all this. It will take a few minutes.”

  Kanesha nodded. “Go ahead. Might as well hear it all now.”

  “I first met Gavin Fong in graduate school in Texas, a little over twenty-five years ago.” From there I went on to tell Kanesha why I had disliked him then, and I told her about the incident involving my late wife. “Fast-forward to the present, and this conference. Also, the search for a permanent library director at Athena College. Gavin e-mailed me, basically demanding that I support his application for the job, or else he would tell President Wyatt about that incident back in grad school.”

  Kanesha reached for a pad and pen and began to jot down some notes. Next I told her about the incident between Gavin and me yesterday. I hesitated, however, to tell her about the attack on me last night. It could be construed as a motive for getting back at Gavin by poisoning him.

  Best to tell her everything, I decided after a moment. “There’s one other thing. Last night someone waylaid me in that alley beside the Farrington House. I was walking through the alley to the parking lot after stopping in to see Helen Louise. Someone struck me from behind and knocked me out for a moment.”

  “Did you get a look at your assailant?” Kanesha asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “No, but I had seen Gavin Fong peering in the window at Helen Louise’s place not long before I left. I’m pretty sure he followed me back to the Farrington House and attacked me.”

  “How badly were you hurt?”

  I shrugged. “Not badly, really. Scraped hands, a bump on the head, and a bruised shoulder. No concussion, thankfully. I guess I have a hard head.”

  Kanesha snorted. “I’ll say you do.”

  I decided not to take offense at that. I knew I had tried her patience on numerous occasions with my stubbornness.

  “You went home right afterward?” she asked.

  “Yes. Stewart and Haskell were there when I got home, and Stewart kept a check on me during the night to make sure I was all right. I stayed home until I had to leave this morning for a meeting on campus. From there I went straight to the hotel for the conference. I did not see Gavin until we went into the ballroom for the luncheon. I was at a table near the doors with two librarians I know, and he was all the way across the ballroom. Never went near him before he collapsed and died.” After a pause I added, “And I didn’t go near him after that, either.”

  By now I had a headache, and I desperately needed a bathroom. I wondered how much longer she intended to keep me here. I did have a question for her, though, and I wondered if she would answer it.

  “He died very quickly, from what I could tell, after drinking from that bottle, because he seemed fine up till then,” I said. “What do you think it was? Cyanide?”

  Kanesha stared at me for probably ten seconds before she responded. “Possibly, but we won’t know until the appropriate tests have been done.”

  I wondered how easily available cyanide was these days. Did they still use it in rat poison? If so, how much rat poison would you have to put in a bottle of water for a lethal dose? And wouldn’t it taste funny? I would have to ask Stewart these questions later. As a chemist, he ought to know.

  Another question popped into my mind. “Are you going to close down the conference?”

  “No. The ballroom is going to be off-limits for a while, but we will want to be able to question everyone. Best to keep them busy with the rest of the program while we investigate.”

  “Good.” I was about to ask whether she was done with me, at least for now, so I could find a bathroom. She forestalled me with another question.

  “Do you know anyone—besides yourself, that is—who had any personal animosity toward the deceased?”

  I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t think Kanesha would find it appropriate. “I think it might be easier to find someone who didn’t. He rubbed almost everyone the wrong way, as far as I know.”

  Kanesha wrote in her notebook. “Let me rephrase the question. Do you know anyone who had motive to kill the deceased?”

  “No, not really,” I said. “Until this week I hadn’t seen the man, or heard from him, since grad school. I know various friends of mine from those days worked with him over the years, and they might have shared things about him in letters or e-mails. I don’t recall anything serious enough to make a person want to kill Gavin, however.”

  “Are any of these friends who worked with him attending this conference?” Kanesha held her pen ready to write.

  “Actually, there are two. Marisue Pickard and Randi Grant.” I would have to let them know I had to give their names to Kanesha. “There may be other people at the conference who worked with him. There is one woman who actually seemed to like him. Maxine Muller, I think the name is.” She was the one who probably told Kanesha that I attacked Gavin.

  Kanesha nodded. “I’ve talked with Ms. Muller. Anybody else?”

  I thought for a moment. “Yes, a young man, probably late twenties, early thirties, bald, with earrings and tattooed forearms. He’ll be hard to miss. His name is Bob Coben, I believe. He works at the same college that Gavin did currently.” I frowned. That didn’t sound quite right, but I figured Kanesha would understand what I meant.

  “The deceased had received anonymous death threats, according to Ms. Muller,” Kanesha said. “Both in e-mails and through the regular mail. Ms. Muller said the deceased believed the threats came from a man. This Mr. Coben is a possibility.”

  I shrugged. “I guess so. There are other men who probably had reason to hate Gavin. Finding them shouldn’t be that hard.”

  “Another thing Ms. Muller revealed is that the deceased had applied for several jobs recently, but he didn’t get any of them. He seemed to think he’d been blackballed.”

  “That’s entirely possible,” I replied. “Gavin had evidently done it to others, so it was poetic justice if it happened to him.”

  “You said the deceased applied for your job.” Kanesha regarded me intently. “Was he a serious candidate for it? Could someone have wanted him out of the way in order to get the job for himself? Or herself?”

  “He had no chance at the job, I’m pretty sure.” I might as well tell her. “In fact, the job has already been offered to someone. This mo
rning, to me.”

  “I see,” Kanesha replied. “Are congratulations in order?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet,” I said. “I promised I would let them know on Monday morning.”

  Kanesha shot me an amused glance. “I have to say I hope you’ll take it. With a full-time job you’ll be too busy to get involved in any more murder investigations.”

  “That would suit me fine,” I said, trying not to feel nettled by her remark. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “Not for the moment,” Kanesha said. “I know where to find you.”

  I nodded and rose. Once I stepped out of the small meeting room the hotel had assigned to Kanesha, I took a moment to get my bearings. Then I made a beeline for the men’s room. After that, I went to the gift shop to purchase a bottle of water and some aspirin.

  With my immediate needs taken care of, I found a spot in a corner of the hotel lobby to sit and think for a few minutes. I checked my watch—a quarter past three p.m. After I downed a couple of aspirin, I sipped at the water and thought about the past several hours. The picture of Gavin Fong’s last moments, before he fell out of sight on the dais, lingered in my mind. I shuddered. I loathed the man, certainly, but I hadn’t wished him dead.

  Someone had, however. I wondered what Gavin had done to make a person angry enough to believe that killing him was the only solution. That Gavin had to be erased, as it were.

  Dimly I became aware of a conversation nearby. When I looked to see who was talking, I recognized the two men. One of them was the young man I had mentioned to Kanesha, Bob Coben. There was no mistaking the bald head, earrings, and tattooed arms. From where I sat I had a clear view of him on a sofa about six feet away. The man with Coben was the one who had introduced Gavin Fong at the luncheon today. What was his name? I thought for a moment. Harlan Crais, that was it.

  “Why are you so certain he was responsible?” Crais asked. “Frankly, I’m finding the whole thing rather hard to believe.”

  “You knew him, Harlan. You worked with him for what, three or four years?” Coben sounded impatient. “You can’t tell me he didn’t really chap your hide the way he did everyone else’s.”

  Crais shrugged. “Yes, I worked with him, but that was several years ago. I hadn’t had anything to do with him since. He didn’t bother me, and I didn’t bother him.”

  Coben snorted. “Yeah, right. Then how come I overheard him telling his little toady Maxine that he kept you from getting that job in Tennessee?”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Crais waved that away. “Gavin didn’t have that kind of power. He couldn’t stop me from getting that job. As a matter of fact, they offered it to me, but I turned them down.”

  “Seriously? You turned them down?” Coben shook his head. “Man, that was a good job. Dean of libraries, wasn’t it? Why would you turn that down?”

  Crais shrugged. “I just did, that’s all. It wasn’t the right job for me.”

  From what I could see, Coben didn’t believe the older man. I frowned as I tried to remember what Crais had said about himself before he introduced Gavin. He was head of collection development at his current library, I thought.

  “In my case,” Coben said, “I wanted the job, but I found out through somebody I know at that library that Gavin had basically told the director I’m too immature for the responsibility the job entailed.” Suddenly he slammed a fist into the sofa cushion beside him. “I could have killed him for that alone.”

  THIRTEEN

  The violence of Bob Coben’s tone startled me, as did his action in striking the sofa cushion.

  Harlan Crais appeared uneasy. “You’d better not talk like that.” He glanced around, and I shifted my gaze to my feet. When Crais spoke again, he lowered his voice so that I could barely hear him. “You don’t know who could be listening.”

  I leaned back in my chair, eyes shut, and rested my head. I wanted the two men to think I wasn’t paying any attention to their conversation.

  “So what?” Coben said, his tone defiant. “I didn’t kill him, Harlan, and you’d better not be going around telling people I did.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” Crais snapped back. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything. If you get into any trouble over this, it will be your own fault.”

  I opened my eyelids a fraction, in time to see Coben jump to his feet. He stared down at Crais, who shrank back against the sofa. “I’ll keep my nose clean,” Coben said. “You’d better be worrying about your own.” He turned and walked swiftly away.

  I closed my eyes a moment, in case Harlan Crais chanced to look my way. Then I opened them, yawned, and sat up. Crais was on his feet. He didn’t appear to notice me. Instead he seemed absorbed by his thoughts as he wandered away, hitching his canvas bag up on his shoulder.

  You do not want to get involved in another murder investigation, I told myself.

  But, my self argued back, you just overheard things that could be useful to Kanesha. You have to tell her what you heard.

  I sighed. At the moment I felt too tired to make the effort, but before long I knew I would either call or e-mail Kanesha to share the fruits of my eavesdropping. I didn’t care for feeling like a tattletale, but needs must when the devil drives, as the old saying went.

  Bob Coben had come up to me after the incident with Gavin yesterday, I remembered, and offered to serve as a witness if Gavin tried to make a fuss or sue me. Evidently he had personal reasons for loathing Gavin—no surprise there—but I didn’t want to see him in trouble if he hadn’t killed Gavin. He had said he didn’t, but naturally the killer would lie about it.

  I decided I would e-mail Kanesha when I got home. My dinner with Marisue and Randi was scheduled for tonight, and I planned to take them to Helen Louise’s place. I wanted to get out of my suit and into more comfortable clothes before I came back to the hotel to escort them to the bistro.

  After a quick glance at the conference program, I decided I might as well go home now. None of the last group of panels that started at three forty-five interested me. I had no great need to go back to the office on a Friday afternoon. Melba would have called or texted me if anything important had cropped up.

  On the brief drive home I tried to force my mind away from the subject of murder. I had no doubt Marisue and Randi would want to talk about nothing else tonight. Instead, I tried to concentrate on the job offer I’d received this morning.

  Being considered competent for the job was a boost to the ego. Part of me felt elated simply to be asked. Another part—and perhaps the larger part—dreaded the thought of going back into the nine-to-five world. I hadn’t worked full-time for nearly five years before I stepped in as interim director. I had come to relish the time I had as a semi-retiree, time to piddle around, reading, napping, volunteering, and so on. That would go away if I agreed to take the job.

  When I pulled my car into the garage, I had yet to come to any firm conclusion. I knew I had to let my subconscious stew over it for a while longer before I was ready to make up my mind.

  Diesel met me right inside the kitchen door. His loud chorus of trills and warbles made for a happy welcome home. Unlike some felines, Diesel rarely sat with his back to me to let me feel the cold of his displeasure over being abandoned. He was usually too happy to see me after even a brief absence to indulge in such a ploy.

  “You home early, Mr. Charlie.” Azalea sniffed. “Wasn’t expecting you for another hour or more. You feeling all right?”

  “Other than being tired after a long week, I feel fine.” I decided not to tell Azalea about the murder right now. “Since we’re eating out tonight, why don’t you go on home early?”

  “I think I will.” Azalea untied her apron, folded it, and retrieved her purse from the kitchen cabinet that was its second home. She tucked the apron in her purse, then turned to me to give me a brief list of dishes in the freezer and the fridge that
she prepared for the weekend.

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “We certainly won’t go hungry.”

  She nodded, the barest hint of a smile hovering around her lips, then she departed through the kitchen door.

  “Come on, boy,” I said. “Let’s go upstairs so I can change out of these clothes.”

  Diesel kept up a running commentary throughout our progress from kitchen to bedroom. I felt sure he was telling me all about his day with Azalea. When we reached the bedroom, the meowing and trilling stopped, and he hopped on the bed to stretch out. He watched while I stripped out of the suit and slipped into a pair of comfortable shorts and an old tee shirt. I decided to stretch out on the bed for a few minutes, and before long I drifted into sleep beside the napping cat.

  After a nap troubled by odd dreams, I woke in time to freshen up and dress for dinner. The dreams faded quickly from my memory, though I still had a vague feeling of disquiet from them. Dinner with friends at Helen Louise’s place would help me shake off that feeling. I put Diesel into his harness, loaded him in the car, and set off once more for the Farrington House.

  Marisue and Randi awaited us in the lobby, I was pleased to see. Marisue had always been a stickler for punctuality, a quality I appreciated. Randi tended to be a dawdler when Marisue wasn’t around to chivvy her along. I doubted she had changed much since our grad school days.

  Diesel went right up to them, and they both made a fuss over him. I explained that he was welcome at the place where we would dine. “In fact, the owner is my girlfriend.” I used the term a bit self-consciously. “She’s a Paris-trained chef, and I promise you the food and wine will be, as she would say, magnifique.”

  “Sounds marvelous,” Randi said. “I’m delighted that we’ll have two handsome gentlemen with us at dinner.” She stroked Diesel’s head.