“Your hand’s going to atrophy hanging out there like that,” Mercer said. “Right now, it’s evidence in a murder case.”
“What is it?” Mike asked.
“The Bay Psalm Book,” Hunt said, looking at all of us with disdain for our obvious ignorance. “This was the first book printed in North America, in 1640. Open it carefully, Detective. It will have my grandfather’s name inside. ‘
Mercer didn’t move.
“There weren’t a dozen copies that have survived over the centuries, gentlemen. Jasper’s wife had one bound this way when their first son was born. My grandfather treasured it,” she said. “Kept it by his bedside every night until shortly before he died. It’s part of the Hunt Collection at the New York Public Library now.”
Mike crossed his arms and whistled. “Guess I ought to renew my library card. Never saw anything close in my bookmobile.”
“It hasn’t been out of that building in almost forty years. Look at it, will you?”
Mercer placed his pinky on the lower corner of the book and gently lifted the cover.
Minerva Hunt stared at the bookplate and sneered.
EX LIBRIS TALBOT HUNT was written on the cream-colored label, decorated with a heraldic coat-of-arms poised above a globe.
“From the library of Talbot Hunt, my ass,” Minerva said, shaking a finger at Mercer.
“Is Talbot related to you?”
“He’s my brother, Mike. He’s the kind of man who would kill for a book like this.”
EIGHT
“You believe Carmine Rizzali’s got a gig like that?” Mike asked. “His own PI firm, doing security details for the rich and famous. Driving Miss Minerva, maybe even stopping in for dessert. Twenty years on the job, the guy couldn’t find a Jamaican on Jamaica Boulevard.”
Mike, Mercer, and I had walked Minerva Hunt out of the squad building and turned her over to the ex-cop who guarded her. We drove down Second Avenue for a midnight supper at Primola, one of our favorite restaurants in the East Sixties, not far from my home.
Giuliano, the owner of the upscale eatery, bought us a round of drinks as we waited for Adolfo, the maitre d’, to take our order before the kitchen closed.
“Carmine looks like he’s enjoying the ride as much as Ms. Hunt,” Mercer said. “What did you get out of Battaglia, Alex?”
“Don’t you remember, Mercer? I give, Battaglia gets. I called to tell him what happened, so he wants me in his office first thing in the morning.”
“Was he surprised?”
“Seemed to be when I told him about the murder. Asked for all the details.”
“Did he react when he heard Minerva Hunt’s name?”
“Didn’t skip a beat.” I swirled the ice cubes around in the golden brown scotch before taking a long sip.
“Just some soup.”
Murder had never been known to have an impact on Mike Chapman’s appetite. “Let me start with pasta. Rigatoni-then throw whatever’s left in the kitchen on top of it. Chicken parmigiana after that. And back up my vodka before Fenton falls asleep,” Mike said, pointing at the bartender. “Mercer?”
“Soup and a salad. That’s it for me.” He tasted his favorite red wine. “You think it’s a coincidence that Karla Vastasi was dressed just like her boss?”
“It’s possible,” Mike said, gnawing on a breadstick.
“Minerva Hunt sucked you in completely,” I said. “The way you were playing with her, I felt like a third wheel.”
“Sometimes you are, Coop. I was just trying to keep her loose till we sort out the facts.”
“Any looser and she’d have been on your lap. I’m with you, Mercer. The bit with the clothes is too much of a fluke to be unplanned.”
“Karla was dressed for success,” Mike said. “Just happened to be Minerva’s hand-me-downs.”
“The same exact shoes-flat grosgrain bow and brass hardware on the front. It’s a classic style, and the ones Karla was wearing weren’t even scuffed,” I said. “That black suit isn’t the least bit outdated. I’ll bet it’s exactly the same one that Minerva had on.”
“So we need to find out whether she bought that monogrammed tote herself,” Mercer said. “If it wasn’t a gift like she claimed, I’m thinking Karla was the canary in the coal mine, sent there to see if it was safe before Minvera went in herself.”
Mercer and I were on the same page. Maybe Hunt was supposed to meet someone in Tina Barr’s apartment earlier in the day. Maybe there was a dangerous purpose to the rendezvous, and she had sent her unwitting servant inside to keep the appointment.
“Very hot plate, Alessandra,” Adolfo said, setting the soup bowl in front of me.
“I suppose we’ll find out if that little bejeweled book is very hot, too,” Mike said. “Maybe it’s stolen and someone was trying to scam Minerva, tempt her to buy it back. I think I see a date with a librarian in my future.”
“Battaglia will be our matchmaker for that,” I said. There would be no overture to a major New York institution before he greased the wheels at the very highest levels. No point any of us going in through the back door when he could command the attention of the top dogs.
“Well, whoever committed the murder didn’t exactly come to the scene armed. Someone can make a good case that it wasn’t premeditated,” Mike said. “Never seen a garden ornament as a murder weapon before.”
“An armillary sphere.”
“It wasn’t a spear, Coop. Didn’t you see it? Her head was cratered by that big brass-and-iron thing, weighs a ton.”
“Sphere. I didn’t say
Mike’s cell phone vibrated on the table. He looked at the caller ID on the display and answered with a mouthful of pasta. “Excuse me, Mom. We’re just having our supper. No, no, no. I can’t talk about it now, ’cause I don’t want you to have any bad dreams. I’ll call you tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll say hello for you. Just tell me the question, okay?”
His widowed mother lived in a small condo in Bay Ridge, next door to one of his three sisters. Mike’s father, Brian, had been a legend in the NYPD-honored for his bravery on countless occasions, and enormously proud that his only son had shown such academic promise. He retired from the department while Mike was at Fordham, but died of a massive coronary two days after handing in his gun and shield. No one who knew Brian and how much his son admired him was surprised when Mike enrolled in the academy the day he got his college diploma.
“’Night, Ma. Talk to you tomorrow,” Mike said, putting down the phone. “The Final Jeopardy category is ‘Steel Wheels,’ got it?”
“Now, when did you have time to set this up?” Mercer said, laughing.
“I called her when we were in front of Barr’s house. I figured we might be outside there for hours. Didn’t want to miss my chance to make a score off Blondie. Pony up the money.”
Mike’s fondness for trivia was the other habit that rarely took a back seat to homicide. He liked to bet on the last
“I’m glad you showed a little respect for Karla Vastasi tonight,” I said, smiling at him. “I was touched by your restraint when we were in the kitchen, even though it was showtime.”
“I like it when I please you, kid, but in all honesty, I didn’t see a TV there, did you?”
“Twenty bucks for the winning question,” Mercer said.
