to life.
“Well,” Charles said. “I knew what his job was and I knew what his home was like and I knew what he liked to talk about.”
“What do you know about blackmail?”
“Blackmail? Not very much, Mr. White! And I don’t want to know more.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want.” The tone did not match the words. Mr. White was apparently talking to himself. “It happens whether you want it to or not.”
“What does that have to do with Derek?” Charles asked.
“You met John Borchard?”
“Well, yes, I did,” Charles said, re-orienting. “Mr. White, I feel like this conversation is rather one-sided.”
“I want to know where you are in this.”
“I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know what this is. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”
Mr. White was again not with him. Several minutes came and went; the food came and Charles’s went. The ham sandwich was not touched. Charles waited patiently.
Several tables cleared as the lunch crowd thinned. Charles watched passersby through the window. He shook off the waitress when she offered dessert. A group of motorcycles roared by on the street.
“Borchard killed Derek Bastien,” Patrick White said.
“John Borchard?” It was fortunate that Charles was finished eating.
“It was blackmail.”
“I don’t understand at all.”
“Borchard killed Derek over his blackmail.”
“Blackmailing whom?”
“Me. Why don’t you understand? He threatened me. And when I didn’t do what he wanted, he told the Post, just like he said he would.”
“He told them about you-about the law school?”
“He told them where to find the transcript of the honor court that found me guilty.”
Charles had to take a breath. “Were you guilty?”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, wouldn’t it?”
“It didn’t. Okay, yes, I cheated. So I failed the class and I was on probation and I started over. And it was over. But what does a newspaper care? They came after me like I was a war criminal. There was no way to fight back.”
“I see.”
“But I did fight back. Even if I was ruined, I could still get my revenge. But then John Borchard killed Derek.”
“Because he was blackmailing you?” Charles said.
“So now you understand.”
Charles nodded, relieved. “I think I do. But why would John Borchard kill Derek for blackmailing you?”
Patrick White had frozen again, but this time his focus was straight on Charles and the thaw was quick.
“What do you mean?”
Charles said it again. “If Derek was blackmailing you, why would John Borchard kill him?”
A fierce light flashed in Mr. White’s eyes. They were deep-set and dark-rimmed in his haggard face.
“It was John Borchard who blackmailed me! John Borchard sent the papers to the Washington Post.”
Now it was Charles who had frozen. “John Borchard was the blackmailer?”
“Yes. Yes! Why don’t you understand?”
“I… I’m sorry… I just got mixed up who you were talking about.”
“Why do you think Derek Bastien was a blackmailer?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I was just confused. Please. Keep going. John Borchard had papers about you from your law school, and he threatened that he would expose you. And then he did. How was Derek involved?”
“I went to Derek for help. First, I went to get his help to stop Borchard. Then after Borchard told the newspaper, I went to Derek for help to get revenge. But Borchard found out and he killed Derek for talking to me.”
“Why was he blackmailing you?”
But Charles had to wait. Mr. White’s mental trips away from the physical world were becoming more frequent.
“Do you believe me?” was the answer when it came.
“I don’t know. How sure are you of all of this?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I’m absolutely sure.”
“John Borchard told you himself that he had this information and that he was going to use it?”
“He didn’t tell me himself. But he made it obvious it was him. We both knew.”
“All right, then. Did Derek know anything about it?”
“Not until I told him.”
“And how do you know John Borchard killed him?”
“Who else would have? That’s obvious, too.”
Charles tried another direction. “Have you told all this to the police?”
“Of course I have.”
“And they haven’t done anything about it?”
“No. Nothing! Borchard’s got them in his pocket.”
“I see. So why are you telling me?”
This required another short trip away.
“Karen Liu said you knew Derek, and you were talking to people he knew. I thought maybe you knew something.”
“I didn’t know any of this that you’ve told me.”
“Watch out for Borchard. That’s the first thing,” Mr. White said, oblivious to Charles’s answer. “He’s dangerous. But he might trust you. So see what you can find out. Maybe he’ll let something slip.”
“Really, Mr. White. I don’t-”
“Derek Bastien was murdered. Somebody has to do something.” And then, suddenly the conversation ended. Patrick White stood and dropped two twenty-dollar bills on the table. “Be careful,” he said.
He left. Charles was left behind.
“Mr. Beale,” Alice said. “You’ll never guess what we sold while you were gone.”
Charles closed the front door behind him, a cloud of bewilderment still swirling around his head. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“ Moby-Dick.”
He stopped in his tracks and the cloud vanished. “The first edition? From downstairs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who bought it?”
“One of our regular customers. Morgan has the order upstairs.”
Charles climbed up to the office. “Did Alice tell you?” Dorothy said.
“Yes! Who bought it?”
“The same man who bought The Scarlet Letter two years ago.”
“Oh-Abercrombie. In Arlington.”
“That’s it.”
“Does he want it delivered?”
“Yes. He paid by credit card.”
“Did we give him the regular discount?”
“Ten percent off twenty-seven thousand.”
“Moby-Dick.” Charles sank into his chair. “Oh my. He’s been here so long. Are you sure?”
“Yes, dear.” Dorothy smiled. “You look thoroughly befuddled.”
