Murder in the Aisles (3 page)

Chapter Four

Felicia sat alongside her co-workers in the staff break room, waiting on the arrival of their boss, Dr. Wallington, while the police and the medical team finished up and took the body away. Conversation buzzed around her but she had difficulty making out the words. She couldn't shake the image of finding Dr. Dresden. She felt one of her panic attacks coming on. She ran her hands up and down her arms and slowly began to count the people, the items in the room to calm herself. Finally Dr. Wallington, the Librarian of Congress, arrived, red-faced and flustered, especially, Felicia surmised, after answering what questions he could from the police. He stood in front of the room.

Dr. Wallington could only be described as squat. He was a mere five-foot-five and a minimum of two-hundred pounds, possibly more. With a thick white mustache that completely covered his lower lip, short tufts of hair that protruded from his rather small ears and a rotund belly that was only held in place by a thick leather belt and suspenders, Dr. Henry Wallington resembled a very studious walrus—hence the nickname Wally.

He adjusted his half-frame glasses on his rather large nose and looked out onto the gathered sea of inquiring faces with his small ocean-blue eyes. Felicia knew how hard Dr. Dresden's death hit Wally. They'd attended college together, came up the ranks together and were closer than brothers. Paul Dresden was no longer a part of the librarian community or Dr. Wallington's life and by the look of Wally it had shaken him to his very core.

He cleared his throat. “As you all are probably aware, a great tragedy has befallen us,” he began. “This morning, Dr. Dresden was found,” his voice hitched, “dead in the aisles.”

A gasp vibrated in the tight room, followed by murmurs of disbelief.

“The police believe it was a tragic accident.”

Felicia shifted, using all of her self-control not to blurt out anything to the contrary. She squeezed her hands into tight fists.

“In respect for his loss, the building is closed today for customer service and only available to those who have appointments. Of course, we will serve the needs of Congress should it be necessary. I know that Paul…Dr. Dresden would have wanted it that way.”

“What happened?” Emily Windsor, Felicia's junior research assistant, called out.

“Apparently he'd taken a fall from one of the ladders,” Dr. Wallington said.

Faces twisted at the image.

Dr. Wallington cleared his throat again. “I will advise you all by memo about the arrangements. Please cooperate with the officer, who may have a few more questions.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the officer who stood to his left, then turned to leave.

“If everyone could take a seat,” the officer said, “I will need to get your names and basic information, then you can go.”

The staff shuffled into available seats, talking quietly among themselves. Felicia gazed toward the aisle where she'd found Dr. Dresden. She was more convinced than ever that it was no accident. Unfortunately, she had no way to prove it.

“Felicia.”

Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. “Yes, Dr. Wallington.”

“Can you come to my office in about ten minutes please?”

“Of course.”

He continued down the corridor and got on the elevator.

Felicia drew in a breath. Work must go on, she counseled herself, and hurried off to her office. She still had much to do. But as she got there she quickly realized something. One of her major projects, the analysis of a rare set of Egyptian hieroglyphics, was working with Dr. Dresden. But now that he was gone…

She sat down heavily in her leather chair. The image of him lying on the floor in a heap flashed before her, quickly followed by the image of Detective Mark Rizzo. A warm flush mixed with disdain at her reaction to him washed over her. “Asshole,” she mumbled. She reached into the pocket of her suit jacket and pulled out his card. She fingered the worn letters before opening her desk drawer and tossing the card inside. With a definitive slam of the drawer she got up, adjusted her fitted jacket and headed off to meet with Dr. “Wally.”

Felicia arrived at his office and was met by Lucy, executive secretary to all of the department heads. She'd worked with Dr. Dresden for years. She was more of a mother hen to all of them than a secretary. Her eyes were red and swollen and she held a tissue to her nose. All she could do upon seeing Felicia was wave her inside.

Felicia gently patted Lucy's shoulder as she passed. She tapped lightly on the partially opened heavy wood door before walking in.

Dr. Wallington's back was turned to her when she stepped into his inner sanctum. The head honcho in charge's office was an antique lover's dream, filled with one-of-a-kind pieces dating as far back as George Washington. Plush carpet covered the floor from wall to wall, effectively muffling any noises. The paneled walls gleamed, and the wall of rare books encased in glass made Felicia's mouth water.

Dr. Wallington sniffed loudly and Felicia turned her head away when she noticed that he was wiping his eyes. Finally he turned to face her, lifting his chin.

“Thank you for coming, Felicia. Please have a seat.”

Felicia sat down, crossing her legs at the ankle.

“I believe you were engaged in a project with Paul,” he began.

“Yes, sir. He was working on unraveling an ancient Egyptian language.”

Henry nodded. “I think it would be best if you continued with his work. I'm sure it's what he would have wanted.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep me posted on your progress.”

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

“I know you and Dr. Dresden were close. And…I'm very sorry.”

His face flushed and his nostrils flared slightly. “Thank you. I'm sorry you're the one who had to find him.”

Felicia's lips tightened.

Henry exhaled a heavy breath. “Thank you. I'm sure you have plenty to do.”

Felicia stood. “If you want to talk…” She let the statement hang in the air.

Henry nodded numbly and made a show of cleaning his glasses with a pristine white handkerchief he'd taken from his jacket pocket.

Felicia quietly left, shutting the door gently behind her. Lucy was still sobbing when she walked by. She wished she had words of condolence but her mind was already on the task at hand—finish what Dr. Dresden started and make him proud.

She hurried to her office, passed several of her co-workers in the corridors, all of whom looked at her sympathetically as if her finding a dead body was reason to show
her
empathy. She didn't want sympathy. She wanted to find out who did this.

The moment she reached her office her phone rang.

“Library of Congress, Research Department, Dr. Swift speaking.”

“Gee whiz, by the time you get done with your spiel, I'll forget why I called.”

Felicia grinned and sat down, cradling the phone between her shoulder and chin.

“If it's not Elizabeth Taylor in name only,” she said.

“Very funny, old joke,” Liz responded.

Felicia teased about her name for as long as she could remember and Elizabeth wouldn't hesitate to remind her there wasn't a night that she went to sleep and didn't curse her parents for saddling her with the name of the movie icon and wife of too many, which may account for her own lousy track record with men.

“Enough of the pleasantries,” she said to her best friend. “Word on the street is that something untoward happened in the hallowed hall of books. What's up?”

Felicia cringed. News certainly traveled fast. But she should have known that Liz, being in the world of television, would have heard something. She sighed heavily and told her friend what happened.

“That's so awful. Are you okay?”

“Fine. More annoyed than anything else.”

“Annoyed? That's an odd choice of words when one of your co-workers is found dead.”

Felicia knew that Elizabeth thought she was borderline obsessive when it came to her work and that damned library. She often told Felicia that she acted as if she was the guardian of the Holy Grail instead of a bunch of books.

“I didn't mean it that way.”

“Do explain.”

“I can't right now and I'd rather not over the phone,” she said, suddenly lowering her voice.

“What's going on?”

“Let's meet after work.”

“Sure. I get off around six.”

“I'll meet you in Georgetown at the Meridian.” It was their favorite after-work spot. The drinks were inexpensive but strong, and the food was delicious. Plus, if they got really lucky the live band would drown out conversation.

“See you then,” Liz said. “Gotta run.”

Felicia hung up the phone. She swiveled her chair toward her computer and opened the files marked “PD Egypt.” For the rest of the morning she continued to compile data just as if Paul Dresden was still around. She was totally immersed in an article that she'd discovered when Emily poked her head in.

“Hey,” she said.

Felicia looked up from the journals and notes in front of her. She rubbed her eyes with the pads of her fingers. “Hey.”

Emily stepped inside. Emily Windsor was, well for lack of a better term, homely. Her fire-red hair was always frizzy and she was constantly running her hands over it to control it. The splash of freckles across her pug nose looked more like a rash on her unbelievably pale skin than endearing. She had an odd pear shape and the red and green flowered dress she wore did nothing to enhance her figure. However, she had the most incredible green eyes, wide and luminous, and a smile that could melt your heart.

She closed the door with such reticence that one would have thought she believed it was made of imported crystal instead of oak. But that was typical of Emily Windsor, Felicia thought—mousey and unassuming—but a damned good researcher.

Emily cleared her throat and folded her hands demurely in front of her. “I uh, didn't want to bother you but I, uh, wanted to check on you and see how you were doing.”

Felicia nodded. She was clueless as to what else she could possibly say about this horrid situation to the stream of concerned but mostly curious staffers who had intermittently come through her door throughout the morning. And since she certainly couldn't say what was really on her mind, she'd opted for a sad smile.

“I know this may sound insensitive but what did you, uh, see when you, uh, found him?”

The average person would have flinched when being asked to recall the experience of finding the dead body of their colleague first thing in the morning. Most would have been too shaken to go on with their day. But Felicia was anything but average.

She folded her slender hands atop the file folders on her desk. “I was in the process of my routine morning check of the aisles.” A snapshot image of Dr. Dresden's lifeless body flashed in her mind. “At first I thought it was a pile of clothing left behind by the cleaning crew last night. But obviously it wasn't.” She focused on Emily, took in her outfit.

Emily shifted her body weight. “What are the police saying?”

“They
say
it's an apparent accident. He must have gotten dizzy and fallen from the top of the ladder.”

Emily tilted her mop of red hair to the side. “You don't sound as if you believe that.”

Felicia's lips pinched into a tight line of concentration. She'd spewed her theory to an allegedly experienced detective and he'd shot her down. There was certainly no point in sharing her suspicions and having them spread like influenza through the staff.

“I have no reason not to believe them. Do you?”

Emily's face flushed. Her long red lashes batted over her eyes so rapidly they could cool a room. “Uh, no, of course not. I was just wondering.” Her smile flickered around the edges like a bulb ready to blow.

Felicia studied Emily for a moment.
The red in the dress is too bold for her pale skin
. “Well, I'm sure the police are on top of it.” She pushed out a long breath.

Emily nodded. “I'd better get back to work.” She turned for the door.

“We're still working on Dr. Dresden's project, so please continue documenting the data.”

“Of course.” She slipped out as quietly as she crept in.

For several moments Felicia stared at the closed door. The events of her day marched across her line of vision like dutiful soldiers. She knew she was right about Dr. Dresden. She felt it way down in the pit of her stomach. And if that handsome asshole Mark Rizzo wasn't going to do anything about it, then she would.

Chapter Five

Mark sat behind his cluttered desk writing up his report on the death at the library. Cut and dry, he kept telling himself as he pecked his way through the report on the computer keys. Yet, even as he tried to convince himself of his belief, he couldn't help but wonder how much validity he could place in Felicia Swift's assertion that it was not an accident.

His thick fingers paused over the keys. Visions of Felicia's exquisite legs crisscrossed in front of him. “They sure don't make librarians like they used to,” he muttered.

“Say something?” his desk partner asked.

Mark glanced up. Eddie McKnight had been on the detective squad since—well, since the beginning of time. He was the oldest guy on the force and for some reason he was still collecting a salary instead of a pension. The bottom line was Eddie had a nose for digging out information that escaped everyone else. And losing him to a leisurely life of fishing and Medicare wasn't something that Captain “Hardass” was ready to deal with.

Mark leaned forward. His dark brows drew together as he rocked his jaw back and forth while he decided how silly what he was about to say was going to sound.

“Got a call this morning about a dead guy over at the library.”

Eddie bobbed his gray head. “Yeah, heard something about that.”

“Anyhow, I figure it's pretty open and shut, ya know. Old guy falls off a ladder and cracks his head, ya know.”

Eddie nodded. “But that ain't all, I take it.”

Mark rocked his jaw again. “See there's this broad…a woman, a librarian—”

Eddie chuckled. “Figured there had to be a woman involved.”

Mark scowled. “It's not like that.”

“Not yet, but go 'head.”

“Anyhow, seems she really knew this doctor—the dead guy—and she swears it couldn't have been an accident.” He flipped open his notes. “Said the doc was a linguist and wouldn't be caught dead in the aisles of astronomy and astrophysics.”

Eddie leaned back in his seat. “What do you think?”

“Like I said, old guy gets dizzy and falls. The investigator on the scene said pretty much the same thing. I still need the official report though.”

“The one thing a detective learns to rely on is his gut instinct. Go with it. If you have a feeling something ain't right, nine times out of ten, it ain't.”

Eddie slid his glasses up on his wide nose and snapped open
The Washington Post
, flipping to the sports pages. “Besides, it will give you a chance to get to know this librarian.” He winked and resumed reading.

Mark got up from his seat and snatched his coat from the back of his rickety chair. “If the captain is looking for me tell him I went to the morgue.”

Eddie barely glanced up from the paper. “Sure thing. And, uh, tell Elaine I said hello.”

Mark hustled around the maze of desks and file cabinets, then jogged down the wooden steps and outside. A fierce slap of icy cold wind cracked him in the face.

“Shit!” he spat and drew his coat collar up around his neck, which did little to fend off the blasts of arctic air.

It was days like this that he longed for the hot, sandy beaches of Miami or anyplace above freezing. He got into his unmarked car and turned the heat on blast.

Mark cruised down Massachusetts Avenue until he reached 1910. From the outside, the building looked innocent enough. But even after years of serving on the force and having visited the morgue more times than should be allowed by law, this joint still gave him the willies. He was convinced that there must be a special kind of gene that was needed to work on dead bodies every day. At least that was his opinion and the bone of contention between him and Elaine Burke.

He'd met Elaine on one of his earliest cases. He was new to his job and she was new to hers. Elaine was nothing like what he'd conjured up in his head. He'd imagined some big beefy type with an accent and thick ankles. He was dead wrong—no pun intended.

She was a stunning blonde bombshell for lack of a better term. Sea blue eyes that you wanted to swim in all night long and even beneath her pristine white smock a blind man could see she had the body of Venus and a smile that got him rock hard every time she flashed it. The sex was so indescribable he'd been tempted to give up his philandering ways and make an honest man of himself.

But their respective jobs got in the way. He couldn't shake the visions of her cutting people open and examining them under a microscope with an eerie detachment. And Elaine felt that he became too involved with his cases to the detriment of their relationship. “When I leave work at the end of the day, I leave work. You don't. You carry your cases around with you like a limp.”

Their sizzling fling lasted all of ten months.

As Rizzo badged his way past the security guard and headed down the long cool corridor he wondered for the zillionth time if things could have worked out between them.

“Hey, Sylvia, she in?”

Sylvia turned from her computer screen and peered at him over the top of her glasses. Her brandy-colored eyes widened.

“Mark. How are you?”

“I'm good. You?”

She shrugged her wide shoulders covered by a multicolored shawl. “Why complain?” She leaned closer, her heavy black right brow rose. “Business or pleasure?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Business.”

She puckered her red lips and shook her head. “Young people. You never know what's good for you. Why don't you tell her how you feel?”

Mark's eyes crinkled at the corners as he chuckled. “'Cause I'm tired of getting kicked in the shins.”

Sylvia made a clucking sound with her tongue. “What's a little pain when love is involved?” She waved her hand. “Go on in.”

He leaned down and pecked her plump cheek. “Thanks for trying, Sylvie.” He strode past her, tapped lightly on the partially opened door.

“Come in.”

Elaine took off her glasses as Mark crossed the threshold. A delicious smile lifted her mouth. “Mark.”

“Elaine.” He unbuttoned his wool coat but didn't take it off. He crossed the room and sat down.

“What can I do for you?”

Elaine was never one for small talk. Always straight to the point, he thought. He spread his thighs, leaned forward and rested his arms on them.

“A case, a body came in this morning. Older guy. Dr. Dresden.”

“Yes, I haven't had a chance to do the autopsy. He's on schedule for tomorrow. I had to verify there was no next of kin.” She frowned as she folded her petite hands atop the files on her desk. “Something I should know?”

For a moment Mark was distracted by that cute little wrinkle between her sleek brows. He adjusted his tie.

“More like something I need to know.” He told her what he knew so far.

“I see. Well, I'll be running all the standard tests. If anything comes up of course, I'll tell you.”

“I was hoping that you could put a rush on it.”

“Really?” The frown deepened. “Any particular reason?”

“If it wasn't an accident, then it was murder. The longer it takes me to find that out, the more time the perp has to cover his tracks.” He went on to explain Felicia Swift's suspicions.

“Hmm.” She reached for the phone and depressed one of the buttons. Her gaze stayed focused on Mark. “Lenny, the case that you brought in this morning from the library. Head trauma. I need you to pull him out and get him prepped. Thanks.” She let go of the button. “As soon as I know something I'll give you a call.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated, started to get up then stopped. “So, how have you been?”

“Good. Busy—unfortunately—but good. And you?”

He shrugged. “Can't complain. So, uh, you seeing anyone?”

Elaine laughed lightly. “No one special.” She leaned forward and zeroed in on him with those eyes. “Not many men can deal with what I do for a living.”

The dig didn't escape him. He rocked his jaw and gave her a half-baked grin. “We had a good thing, me and you.”

“Yes, and
had
is the operative word. It would have never worked. You know it and so do I.”

There was that kick in the shin. He pushed up from his seat. “Good to see you again, Elaine. Give me a call when you have something.”

As Mark drove back to the station, his thoughts shifted between maneuvering the icy, snowbound streets, seeing Elaine again and the growing feeling in his gut that Elaine was going to find something more than a simple fall from a ladder.

* * * * *

The pall that had fallen over the staff at the library was visceral. The usual buzz and hum of everyone floating through the administrative offices had been reduced to whispers and hushed conversations. It was driving Felicia crazy.

She decided to take a short walk around the building.

The massive reading room with its horseshoe seating and yawning cathedral ceiling that seemed to reach for heaven, held in place by the grandiose pillars reminiscent of ancient Rome, was virtually empty. Generally by the lunch hour the research tables and the counters were lined with people. Today she could count them.

One of the library's regulars, an older woman, who was researching the number of Africans who'd been enslaved and ultimately helped to develop the nation's capital, came up to her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitaker. Pretty rough day for you to be out.”

“I figured the weather would keep a lot of people away and I'd get more work done.” Her dull brown eyes crinkled at the corners. She looked left, right, then at Felicia and lowered her voice. “Is it true that Dr. Dresden died?”

Felicia swallowed. “Yes, it is.” The staff had been advised by the police not to discuss it with anyone until the autopsy was completed.

Mrs. Whitaker's birdlike hand flew to her chest. “Oh, my! How awful. I thought I was mistaken when I heard something about it on the radio.”

It was on the radio? “Yes, uh, it's very sad and a big loss for all of us.”

“Heart attack?”

“I really don't have all the details myself.” Which was true, she reasoned. Suspicions didn't equal facts.

“Well, do let me know about arrangements. I'd like to pay my respects. He was always so very kind to me.”

Felicia patted her shoulder. “I certainly will. Now you be careful out there.” She hurried off, her mind on the fact that Dr. Dresden's murder—death—was being broadcast on the news. But maybe he would get the attention that he deserved, she thought. Unless the news did what it was known for, which was spinning the facts. Especially if Detective Rizzo had anything to do with it.

Felicia turned toward the bank of elevators that led back to the administrative floors. Since Dr. Dresden's murder hadn't yet been deemed a murder, she had full access to his office. She got off on the third floor and went directly to his office.

She took out the ring of office keys that she kept in her waist pouch, located the key for his door and opened it.

When she stepped inside and flipped on the light she was overcome by the unsettling sensation that Dr. Dresden was right there watching her. A row of goose bumps ran up both of her arms.

She glanced around. Every nook and cranny in the twelve-by-fifteen-foot space was crammed with files, folders and notebooks. His desk was buried beneath papers and artifacts, the walls lined with books.

In one corner was an antique coat rack. His tweed jacket, the one he always wore on the floors, was hanging there forlornly as if waiting for the return of its owner.

The air carried the scent of the cherry tobacco that he used in his pipe, much to the chagrin of Dr. Wallington.

“By gawd, you're going to set this entire building ablaze with that infernal pipe,” she'd heard Dr. Wallington chastise on many an occasion. To which Dr. Dresden would respond, “Oh, Wally, relax.”

She smiled at the memory.

Felicia reverently stepped inside and closed the door, locking it from the inside. As she walked around the stacks of files piled on the floor she wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she had to start somewhere.

She took off her jacket and draped it on the back of Dr. Dresden's well-worn leather chair. She started on the desk, believing that whatever he was working on would be close at hand. She did much of his research on his Egyptian project, but he was always involved in some other curiosity that he handled on his own.

But after more than an hour she had no more information than she did when she'd started. Dr. Dresden's notes could have just as well been written in the hieroglyphics that he studied. He was known for having both feet planted firmly in the land of pre-technology, relying solely on good old-fashioned handwritten notes. When it came to computers and loading his information, he depended heavily on her.

Felicia sighed in frustration. She propped her fist beneath her chin. Her dark eyes hopped from one spot in the room to the next. She knew she was missing something. She could feel it. She simply didn't know what it was.

Talk to me, Dr. Dresden. Tell me where to look
.

She continued to riffle through papers, hoping to discover something. No luck.

Disappointment settled around her shoulders, weighing her down. She knew deep in her soul that there was nothing accidental about Dr. Dresden's demise. Unfortunately she had no way to prove it.

She pushed back from the desk, stepped over the pile of folders and walked out, locking the door behind her.

Maybe tossing around her theory with Liz would help to bring her ideas into sharper focus. She checked her watch as she walked back to her office. After doing a final check of the aisles and the staffing for the evening, she would leave and head over to the Meridian to meet with Liz.

As she did her walk-through, checking shelves and stock, a chill rolled along her spine when she walked down the aisle where less than eight hours earlier she'd found Dr. Dresden's body. She stood for a moment in the spot where she'd discovered him and looked upward.