“Different how?” Mercer asked.
“It’s…it’s an anthropodermic binding, Mr. Wallace. Extremely rare. Most unusual to find.”
“Anthropodermic?” Mike asked. “Help me out, Coop. Means what?”
“Don’t know.”
“The binding is made from human skin,” Jonah Krauss said, folding his arms and speaking quietly. “That inquest record is bound in the skin of the murderer, Detective.”
Mike lowered his head. “It doesn’t get much creepier than that.”
“Aaron Keyes raped and killed a young girl in the English countryside. He was sentenced to be hung, and after that his skin was tanned and used to make this binding.”
“Human skin?” Mike asked. “You’re not joking?”
“Not at all, Detective. Most libraries don’t want books like these, of course-although Harvard has a few-but many private collectors do. It’s a very specialized market, human skin. Not for everyone’s taste.”
Krauss turned away from the book and went back to his desk. His lips parted and the whitener on his teeth reappeared. “Lighten up, guys. It’s from the murderer, not the dead girl.”
Mike Chapman wasn’t amused. “Like you said, Mr. Krauss. Your library is your portrait.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“That’s frigging sick,” Mike said, when Krauss stepped out of the room to give Britney a new ETA for his pilots.
“Doesn’t make him a killer,” Mercer said.
“Sorry,” Krauss said when he returned. “What else can I do to be useful?”
“Let’s go back to your last conversation with Tina Barr, when she asked you about the consortium looking for the map,” Mike said.
“I didn’t have anything more to say,” Krauss said, packing some folders into a soft leather briefcase. “I told her it was a bust, okay? I thought maybe she was getting mixed up with the wrong people. I cautioned her to be careful.”
“Careful of the wrong people? Alger Herrick? Minerva Hunt, or her father? That’s who Tina was working for most recently.”
“When she asked me the question, I was actually worried that Eddy Forbes had gotten to her. He’s a very seductive guy.”
“You think he went after Tina as a romantic interest?” I asked.
Jonah dismissed me with the back of his hand. “Not that kind of seductive. He was a genius at scamming the best collectors. Had his own gallery and a handful of rich clients who trusted his judgment implicitly. Forbes had the cunning to steer some of these serious collectors to donate important works to the library, and once the transaction was complete, he stole from those very treasures.”
“Don’t people bother to ask what the source of a rare sixteenth-century map is when they go to buy it?”
“A guy like me might
“Secrecy?” I asked.
“In the antiquarian business, knowing where the books are-the atlases, the maps-whose hands they’re in, that knowledge is power. It’s money. And a great many of these things that have been in families for generations aren’t even insured. They couldn’t possibly be, at today’s prices. There are things inventoried in the great private collections of the world that haven’t been seen for decades, so it’s impossible to know what’s become of them,” Krauss said, holding his forefinger to his lips. “That’s why I told Tina Barr to be careful.”
I didn’t like Jonah Krauss, and he could smell that.
“You want to tell us about yesterday afternoon? About where you were last night?” Mike asked.
“You guys are serious, right? I don’t believe this. I ran a meeting in our conference room till six-thirty. Britney can give you the names of all the attendees. Then my driver picked me up and took me to the Bronx. Is that a crime?” Krauss reached into his warm-up jacket and pulled out the thinnest phone I’d ever seen. He pressed an icon and then hit zoom. “Have a look, Detective. Yankee Stadium with my boys. Right up until the bitter end.”
“Great seats,” Mike said, passing me the phone. Krauss had taken snapshots of his two young sons from his box, right over the dugout.
I handed him back the phone and he put both hands up in the air. “Who sent you here, really? Some of those trustees just hate my guts, don’t they? Try to mix me up in a murder case.”
“Who hates you?” Mercer asked. “And why?”
“Now, that’s something I really don’t have time to answer today.”
“Put your bag down, Jonah, and take a seat,” Mike said. “Give it a try.”
“If you had any idea of the turmoil inside the public library-inside most libraries-you’d be able to understand the depth of the animosity, Detective. It all looks so scholarly and benign from the outside, but there are real battles being fought,” Krauss said, refusing to sit.
“Over what?”
“Start with the future of the library. What do you think the biggest problem is?”
“Funding,” I guessed. “Money to keep a facility like this-”
“We’re pouring money into it, Ms. Cooper. The problem is that ten years from now, who’s going to need a library?” Krauss was snarling at me. “Our attendance has been plunging for years, not just in New York but all over the world. Research libraries like ours in particular. The computer and the Internet are killing us, making us obsolete. We’ve been given a conservative estimate that at least ninety-five percent of all scholarly inquiries begin on Google.”
“But these rare books in research libraries are so unique,” I said.
“And sooner or later, every one of these beauties will be digitized. We’ve got fifty-three million items in this library, and already, the images from hundreds of thousands of them are available on the Web. How do we stay relevant? What if we just become a damned book museum? Those are some of the things we fight about.”
“Where are you in these battles?”
“I’m trying to move the dinosaurs forward. That’s part of their animosity. Within the next decade, Google will have digitized fifteen million of our works. I’m all for scanning the great libraries of the world. Sit at home in Dubuque with your laptop and look at everything we’ve got. Why not?”
“Because there’s something so different to holding the physical book,” I said, remembering my own research in the great reading room. “Coleridge and Keats-each of them annotated the margins of their books with their thoughts, their ideas. You can see what mattered to them when you read their own work, and how that affected their creative process.”
“Paper disintegrates, Ms. Cooper. Books crumble, unless you can provide the environment in which to protect them, as I can.”
“There are things a computer will never be able to tell us. I remember doing my thesis research at my regular seat in the reading room, next to the same quiet guy every day. He was a medical historian, trying to track down the history of disease outbreaks in eighteenth-century England,” I said, talking more to Mercer and Mike than to Jonah Krauss, who finished packing up his briefcase. “I couldn’t understand why he kept sniffing the papers he was studying. It seemed so odd.”
“You cross-examine him?” Mike asked.
“Gently. He told me he was reading letters from an archive that came from the Cotswolds. At the time, people took to sprinkling vinegar on the correspondence, in hopes that it would disinfect them and stop the spread of cholera. He could still trace the scent on some of the old paper.”
“A very romantic notion, Ms. Cooper, but it’s not the future. Any chance I can be released for the
