According to Their Deeds (13 page)

“Lots of people know each other, Charles, but not at the same time we’re reading about them in the newspaper.”

“And he is in the newspaper because . . .” Charles stopped, suddenly somber.

“What?”

“He knew Derek, and he is in the newspaper because someone told them something about him. I need to think about this.” He thought. “Now, say you were reading a mystery novel, and something like that happened. Could it be a coincidence?”

“No,” she said. “Not in a well-written mystery, anyway.”

“In real life, I suppose it could be. It must depend on how well written your life is.”

“I don’t think it is.”

Charles frowned. “My life isn’t well written?”

“I don’t think it is a coincidence, as I have now said several times. Did he say he knew who killed Derek?”

“He said that.”

“Who does he mean?”

“We would have to ask him. Oh, what does it all mean? Checks to Karen Liu. That article about the wife killing her husband.”

“What about the other papers?”

“I’ll need to look at them. I hadn’t wanted to.”

“Charles, I think you should talk to the police. I really do. I don’t like this talk about killing.”

“But what will happen if I do? We’d have the front page of the
Washington Post
all to ourselves for a month.”

“They wouldn’t have to find out. And is it really your choice to make?”

“So far. Just think about Congresswoman Liu. I like her. She is a driven person, and she is driven by very good things. I might even be glad she got those checks at that critical time.”

“That sounds rather shaky.”

“This is not a firm and stable world we live in. Anyway, I will look at the other papers. Now that I’ve met Karen Liu, and John Borchard, and Patrick White, and Lucy Bastien, the papers might make more sense to me. Once I’ve looked at them, we can discuss what comes next.”

“And I need to get home,” Dorothy said. “There are still calls to make about Saturday evening. Two hundred people are coming to this banquet.”

“A blue-blooded and blue-haired two hundred. Yes, make your calls. We want them all to feel very comfortable and happy.”

“We will. We have a surprise for them, too.”

“Good. Then let’s get moving and shaking, dear. I will tell you about Lucy and Galen tomorrow.”

“Galen?”

“Jones. The matchmaker.”

“Oh, yes” Dorothy said. “Did you have him look at Angelo?”

“No, I had Angelo look at him.”

“Charles, how much would you say that the Enlightenment was based on laws?”

“Laws written by governments?”

“No, I mean natural laws. You mentioned Isaac Newton once.”

“I think natural laws were very important, Derek. Once the Renaissance and the Reformation had overturned so much that people had once accepted, they were looking for something new to base their understanding of the world on. Newton and Pascal and the rest were describing the physical world with mathematic laws, so why not describe mankind the same way? That’s what the Enlightenment fundamentally was: rebuilding the world rationally.”

“Then it was fundamentally flawed. Nothing is less described by rules than human nature.”

“On that, Derek, we completely agree. But what they built is the modern world we live in. We seem to govern ourselves and keep a semblance of order.”

“Barely. Just barely. It’s touch and go, and we live an inch from catastrophe. Charles, the reason there are no laws that govern human nature is that it is ungovernable.”

“Some people are less governable than others.”

“You’re speaking of your own experience?”

“Yes, my son, as you know.”

“I do. I know it isn’t an easy subject for you.”

“No, Derek, but it’s all right. He would be a good example for a discussion of the ungovernable human spirit, but I don’t think I would be objective.”

“How old was he?”

“Seventeen. That was fifteen years ago.”

“Fifteen years might not heal much.”

“Believe me, Derek. It doesn’t.”

FRIDAY

MORNING

“Let me describe what Derek Bastien looked like.”

The night had passed, the morning had come, and Dorothy, at her desk, looked very nice herself.

“Yes?” she said, peering over her reading glasses.

“I hope you’re not too busy,” Charles said.

“Please, dear,” she said, “tell me what he was like.”

“I’d be glad to.” Charles’s gaze drifted. “Did you ever see him?”

“You introduced me once, but I don’t remember now.”

“Exactly. Oddly nondescript for such a personality. Or maybe chameleon-like. He could just disappear in a room of people if he wanted.”

“There must have been something not ordinary.”

“First was his eyes. They were always studying. When you finally noticed it, it was unsettling for a while. Then his voice. It was deeper than you would think. Rumbly.”

“And what did you talk about on your visits?”

“We played chess and discussed human nature. He studied it like a geologist would study rocks. His job was his laboratory.”

“He said that?”

“No. I was studying his nature a little myself.”

“While he studied yours?”

Charles laughed. “Wheels within wheels. I think I agree with John Borchard. He just referred to all of us as Derek Bastien’s collected works. Himself, me, Karen Liu. All of Derek’s friends.”

“Mr. Beale?” said Alice, abruptly appearing. “You have a phone call. Mr. John Borchard.”

Charles looked at Dorothy. “Speak of the devil.”

“John. This is Charles.”

“Good morning, Charles!” None of his rich baritone was lost through the telephone connection. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“I’m at your service.”

“Well! What an opportunity! I shouldn’t waste it.”

“Please don’t,” Charles said. “What can I do for you?”

“I said that I wanted to drop in to your shop, there, but I just haven’t had time.”

“It was only two days ago that you said that.”

“I am still very interested. And I was wondering, also, who else of Derek’s friends you’d met.”

“I have met a few more. His wife, Lucy, for one. I realized how odd it was that I’d never met her.”

“I have only briefly myself! What did you think of her?”

“I might sound judgmental if I said anything.”

“And that says quite a bit itself! I understand. Not precisely the grieving widow, I expect.”

“Not precisely.”

“And, I wonder,” Charles said, “if you’ve ever heard of Patrick White?”

“Patrick White . . .” There was a long pause. “I should have guessed. Of course!” John said, bouncing back to life. “Very sad!”

“So you know him?”

“Oh yes, we’ve met. In fact, it’s a bit of a long story, even before his present troubles. Well, that’s interesting. Quite a path you’re following!”

“I just take one step and the next one presents itself.”

“And all from selling a few books. I doubt you had any idea where it would lead when he first came through your door!”

“I certainly didn’t.”

“I wonder where those books are now.”

“I don’t wonder that at all,” Charles said.

Another pause. “You aren’t curious?”

“I know where they are. I bought them back at the auction.”

“Of course!” Jubilation! “Of course you would! Absolutely! So you have them?”

“I certainly do.”

“That’s very interesting to know!” The celebration died down. “All of them?”

“The thirteen offered at the auction.”

“There weren’t any missing?”

“No, I believe that was all.”

“Well, I should have guessed. Do you plan to sell them?”

“I expect so. I haven’t listed them yet.”

“You haven’t listed them.” There was a feel of gathering for a leap. “When you do, let me know. I might be interested myself.”

“I’ll let you know,” Charles said.

“Then I won’t bother you anymore for now.” Back to happiness and friendship. “Keep in touch, Charles! And remember, if there is anything at all I can do for you, let me know.”

Piercing blue eyes were upon him as he hung up.

“Yes?” he said.

“Yes?” Dorothy said in reply.

“I should really think of something he can do for me.”

“You could ask him about the papers in the book.”

“I don’t think I will,” Charles said. “But I will look at them now myself.”

“Give me a brief description of yesterday,” she said.

“Of course. It keeps getting put off, doesn’t it? I visited Lucy.” The last shreds of his own happiness withered. “Did I say the auction was bad? This was much worse.”

“Seeing the house.”

“Wiped clean. I will never go back. Everything of Derek was purged, burnt with fire, consumed. Except that instead of black, it’s all yellow, the one color he didn’t like.”

“And her?”

“She gave every appearance of cynical enjoyment at her new freedom and money. I wasn’t there long enough to dig very deeply, but I don’t think I would have found different emotions below that surface. This is her second widowhood. She didn’t say what happened to her first husband. Anyway, then I met Galen Jones.”

“Where did you find him?”

“Between Norman Highberg and Jacob Leatherman, I have pieced together that he is a maker of replica antiques, that he did some work for Derek, and that he tried to buy Derek’s desk at the auction. I asked him if Derek’s desk was actually a fake, and he declined to answer.”

Dorothy was confused. “Where did you get that idea?”

“It was just a guess, and I won’t even begin to work out what it might imply.”

“As I have said,” Dorothy said, “I think the police should be involved. However, as you have declined, I will admit that I am curious what it all means.”

“Then I will find out and tell you. And, I have a project for Angelo, which I also need to tell you about. Will you be busy again this afternoon with the banquet?”

“I am afraid so. I will be putting out centerpieces and dealing with a catering crisis.”

“What crisis?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m just assuming there will be one.”

“Then, until we meet again,” he said. “Will you be finished by this evening?”

“I should be.”

“Good. Perhaps we could spend it together.”

“Alice? Have we sold anything this morning?

“A Jules Verne.
Journey to the Center of the Earth.
”

Charles paused at the basement steps. “It is,” he said. And down he went.

He stopped at the basement door to adjust to a proper attitude.

He crossed the threshold and locked the door behind him.

Without hesitation he went to the specific shelf, the specific, worn, unremarkable spine.

He set it on the desk and pulled on the white gloves. They weren’t necessary—but it wasn’t the book’s fault what had been done to it.

Then he did hesitate.

And finally, when he did open the book, the crimes had not been erased. The book was still murdered and the box was still thrust deep into its ribs.

He pulled the box out.

He opened it again for this the second time. The papers hadn’t dissolved or escaped. They were still there, and he removed them, and smoothed them open on the desk.

Six pages.

The first. The list of codes and dates.
GJ, 9/12/05, 2250; EF, 2/5/2003 1800; RM, 4/11/06, 750
. There was no order. The page was full, and half the back, with more than fifty entries.

The second. The four checks payable to Karen Liu, dated to her first campaign for Congress. The total was five hundred thousand dollars. They were cashier’s checks with no indication of where the money had come from.

The third. The newspaper article.
Man Killed, Police Search County for Wife
. It was terrible, but at least brief, written in a small-town style.

A grisly scene met police yesterday morning when they were called to a house on Washington Street. A man had been stabbed repeatedly by a large kitchen knife. Police are not yet releasing the name of the victim, but neighbors say it was the owner of the house.

Neighbors described a history of arguments and violence at the house, and said there had been many visits from the police during the year and a half the couple had lived in the neighborhood.

A neighbor across the street from the house described the couple to this reporter: “They were so in love when they came,” she said. “They were such nice newlyweds. Then over a few months it changed. There was screaming and fighting at all hours.”

The wife has not been seen since last night. Police have said the investigation is only getting started. They said they will make a statement after they finish their search of the house.

The fourth paper. This was another article, very short.
Drug Bust in Fairfax
—
Fairfax County police arrested more than a dozen members of an alleged drug importing ring. The early morning raids on five residences were the result of a three-month investigation. Drug-sniffing dogs uncovered over seventy pounds of cocaine hidden in furniture in one apartment.

The fifth. The page was titled at the top,
Court Order, Fifth Circuit Court of Kansas,
then a typewritten list of names and numbers,
Howard Elias Finney, 2445993,
plus seven others, and below them,
To be released immediately
, then signed by
Quentin Osley, Judge
, and dated. The date was nearly twenty years old. There were several other case numbers and designations on the page.

The sixth paper, and last. It was a cover page of a report.
University of Virginia Honor Court Proceedings, 1974
. Beneath was a handwritten
Page 65
.

This last page, the emptiest, he stared at the longest.

Then he wrote a few notes in a small notebook and replaced the papers in the box, and the box in the book, and the book on the shelf.

AFTERNOON

“Morgan.”

“Yes, Mr. Beale?”

“I have a couple little jobs for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The pale face beneath the sandy red hair looked up at him through dense glasses.