Murder Miscalculated (6 page)

“Sit down, Mister Smith.” Talbot’s voice cut like a knife. “Your guilty conscience is causing you to jump to conclusions. This warrant isn’t for you.”

I sat back down. I was starting to get a very bad feeling about what was coming. “Then who is it for?”

“It’s for a friend of yours, a very close friend.” He drew the rest of the warrant from the envelope, and I saw the name on it. It was Barbara’s.

Cochran and I didn’t talk as he drove us back to The Book Nook. I think he was too embarrassed, and I was too furious. We parked in a lot off Knickerbocker Lane and walked the few blocks to the store. The bell jangled as we pushed through the front door.

Tom was behind the counter. He called hello and then a friendly greeting when he recognized Cochran. Cochran walked over to shake hands. Poor Junior meowed a greeting to me, but I ignored him and went on into the back room, making the beaded curtain swirl and clack wildly in my wake.

Barbara was stirring something that boiled and bubbled in an old stockpot. “Hi, Greg, you’re just in time to taste this.” She walked over with a wooden spoon and held it up.

I watched her face as she caught sight of the look on mine.

“Greg, what’s the matter?” She carried the spoon back to the pot and wiped her hands on her apron. I heard soft footsteps behind me. It was Lynn coming down from the dance studio.

I looked at both of them. “Good, I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk.”

The next minute found the four of us seated at the table in the back room kitchen of The Book Nook. Barbara and Lynn were surprised to see Cochran, but my evident sour mood gave them warning that this was not a social call.

“Here’s the deal,” I said, cutting to the chase. “Talbot’s little operation has hit a snag. The dip has to be performed next week, not in three weeks, and there’s no way Cochran can be ready.”

Cochran lifted his hands. “I’m trying, but Greg’s right.”

“So?” Lynn asked.

I looked straight in her eyes and took her hand in mine. “So Talbot wants me to do it.”

Lynn snatched her hand away. “Greg! You promised.”

I took her hand again, holding it against her attempt to take it away. “That’s right, I promised. Only guess what?” I looked around the table from Lynn to Barbara to Cochran.

“What?” Lynn’s voice was defeated. I was failing her, and we both knew it.

“Only if I don’t go through with it, he’s arresting Barbara on a charge of aiding and abetting the escape of a man wanted for blowing up a bank and killing the night watchman.”

Lynn laughed. “That’s ridiculous, Greg. Barbara? For a moment I thought you were serious.”

The three of us didn’t say anything. Lynn searched my face, then Cochran’s, and then—reluctantly, as though she would see an answer she didn’t want to see—Barbara’s.

Barbara sighed and shook her head. “It’s Jimmie LeCuyer, isn’t it?”

Cochran nodded.

“My goodness,” said Barbara. “There’s a name from the past. I haven’t thought about Jimmie in years, decades.”

“I don’t understand,” asked Lynn. “Who is Jimmie LeCuyer?”

“Go ahead, Agent Cochran,” said Barbara. “Tell her.”

Cochran related the story Talbot had told me only an hour before. It was about James LeCuyer, a leader of the radical black student movement back in the late 1960s. LeCuyer had decided to finance the revolution by blowing the door off a bank vault in the middle of the night. This was in Madison, where he was a student at the University of Wisconsin. He got away with over half a million dollars in cash, but a night watchman’s body was later found in the rubble. LeCuyer sent a letter to the newspapers, saying he was sorry for the guard’s death and explaining he didn’t know the man was in the building. James LeCuyer then went underground and evaded a nationwide manhunt. In 1970 he was spotted in Cuba as an honored guest of Fidel. When last heard of, he was teaching political science at the University of Havana.

“There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” concluded Cochran, “and anyone who helped LeCuyer in his escape could still be prosecuted.”

He stood up. “At this time I think I’d better leave. I don’t want to hear anything I would have to report.”

Barbara reached over and took his hands in hers. “You’ll come back a little later for lunch? I’ve made soup.”

He gave a slight smile. “Thank you. I’ll come back if I can.” Cochran then turned to Lynn. “It’s nice to see you again, Lynn. I only wish it was under better circumstances.”

Lynn gave him a half-smile. We waited until Cochran left the back room and we heard the front door bell before anyone spoke again.

It was Barbara who went first. “I knew Jimmie, of course. I knew everyone in the protest movements back then. He stayed here a number of times, and if he stayed here while he was on the run, well, it’s possible. I didn’t ask questions of those who stayed here.”

“That’s not much reason to arrest Barbara,” Lynn said to me. “Don’t you think Talbot is just bluffing? There isn’t a juror in the state who would convict her almost fifty years later.”

“Actually, Talbot agrees,” I admitted. “He said as much. He also pointed out how it would take a year or two to fight this in court and an awful lot of money, money none of us have.” There was silence again. I hated having to bring up Talbot’s other threat, but I had to. “Then there’s the store.”

“The Book Nook?” Lynn and Barbara spoke at once.

“What about it?” asked Barbara. “You and Lynn own it now, not me.”

“Yes, but how did you pay for everything when you started it? Can you prove that none of the missing bank money was used to buy this building back then? It’s about the same time you bought it, isn’t it?”

Barbara’s face grew pale.

“Prove it? Of course I can’t prove anything after all these years.” She let out an anguished cry. “Oh, Greg, could they really take The Book Nook from you?”

“Talbot thinks so,” I said. “He says it’s covered under ill-gotten gains. Again, we could fight it in court, but in the meantime the store would be closed. They could even sell our inventory and take that money.”

“I don’t think I like Mr. Talbot very much,” said Barbara.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I’ll do this for him, and then we’ll be free of him forever.”

Barbara shook her head and got up from the table. She looked older and sadder than I had ever seen her. Her eyes were wet.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go lie down for a while.” She left the kitchen and went into her bedroom. The door shut behind her.

I saw Lynn studying my face. “That’s not all, is it, Greg?”

“It’s worse,” I admitted. “Cochran has spent the last four months building up a reputation as a sneak thief, because the only way this gambit is going to work is if Wolfe and his people believe the wallet was stolen by someone who didn’t know what was in it.”

“So Cochran’s been out there stealing stuff? How can the police allow this?”

“The police know nothing about it. Also, Cochran has been delivering what he steals to a tame fence the feds have. Eventually what he steals ends up back with the person he stole it from.” I didn’t mention it, but I knew who the tame fence was.

It didn’t take Lynn long to realize where all this was heading. “Greg, does that mean you have to go back to picking pockets?”

“It’s the only way to do it. I’ll start on Monday.”

Lynn tried to object but I cut her off. “Lynn, too many people know that I gave it up. If this is going to work everyone has to believe I’ve taken it up again.”

“Everyone?”

“You, Barbara, Cochran, Talbot and their tame fence will be the only ones who know the truth.”

“That means you could be picked up by the police, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

In the end there was no other conclusion. We were screwed, and I was going to have to do what Talbot wanted me to do. I pushed my cell phone over to Lynn. “I told Talbot I’d send him a text message if I agreed.”

“When you agreed, you mean.” Lynn’s eyes blazed with a cold anger. “I hate Talbot, and I hate what he’s forcing you to do.”

“You send the message,” I told her.

She picked up the phone and retrieved Talbot’s number. “What should I say?”

“Whatever you like. If you don’t want me to do it, then tell him the deal is off.”

Lynn looked over at the closed door of Barbara’s room.

“We don’t have a choice, do we?”

I shook my head. Lynn pressed a few buttons, then a last one—the send button. She handed the phone back to me, and I read the message she sent. It was short and not very sweet.

“The Kid is back.”

Max Carson strode into The Book Nook like a western gunslinger entering a saloon. He wore a tan leather duster that came down past his knees, but not so far as to keep his hand-tooled, snakeskin boots from view. His cowboy hat showed enough wear to appear authentic, but not so much as to obscure its expert craftsmanship. His face was tanned and his hair was an impressive mane, mostly black, shot through with the right amount of gray to impart gravitas, but not enough to be called grizzled.

He stood for a moment just inside the doorway, looking the place over as though half-expecting someone to make the mistake of challenging him. Behind him I could see the slight form of April Quist, flitting like a butterfly from side to side, trying to squeeze past the great author. Finally she ducked under his arm and slipped inside the store. She tottered in her high-heeled boots over to the counter and stuck out her hand. Just as I reached out my own hand, the strap of her heavy purse slipped from her shoulder to her elbow, pulling her arm down.

“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled her purse strap back onto her shoulder, took a moment to push her glasses back up on her nose and put out her hand again. This time I was able to reach it. No sooner had she shaken my hand than she dropped it, turned and swept her arm toward the door. “Greg Smith, I’d like to introduce Max Carson.” Her purse slid down her arm again, spoiling the effect.

An awkward moment followed. It was clear that Max Carson expected me to come over to him, but I was behind the counter and didn’t see any reason to act deferential.

Miss Quist was at a loss as to what to do. Her eyes lit on the display of Max’s new novel. “Max, come and see this wonderful display,” she said.

He ambled over, stopping a few feet short of the counter. Miss Quist’s eyes caught mine, and I could read her silent plea. Oh, what the heck, I figured. If Max could go halfway, I could, too, and walked out from behind the counter and offered my hand to our visitor.

Max shook it with gusto. “Nice to meet you, young fellow. Nice to meet you.” His eyes lifted as he looked over my shoulder.

I turned and saw Barbara and Lynn slipping through the beaded curtain from the back room. Barbara was dressed, as she was on most days, in a simple sundress that either copied the style of the sixties or actually dated to those years. Her long hair was braided around her head as usual. Lynn had probably just finished teaching a class, as she was wearing her dancer’s leotard and soft shoes. Her long black hair was tied back in a severe ponytail.

Max’s face broke into a smile worthy of a matinee idol. “And who are these lovely ladies?” He swept off his hat in an exaggerated bow.

I’ve no doubt there are women who enjoy such theatrics, but neither Barbara nor Lynn is among them. Barbara took her glasses from where they hung on a slender chain around her neck and put them on. She studied Max’s face and compared it to the photograph of Max on the back of the many books on the display table.

“Mr. Carson? Welcome to our store.”

I made the introductions.

I saw April Quist eyeing the clutter in the store. Folding chairs were stacked against the bookcases, and there was little floor space visible.

“We weren’t expecting you until around six,” I explained. “The event doesn’t begin until seven, you know.” I walked over to one of floor displays. “We’re going to wheel these into the back room in a few minutes and then set up the chairs.”

“Well, maybe I can lend a hand,” said Max, and before I could say a word in protest, he shucked his coat and draped it over the counter. A second later his hat joined it.

Between the two of us we cleared the floor space in minutes and began setting up the chairs. Max took great delight in making as much noise as possible, clattering the metal chairs against each other as he positioned them, then repositioned them again and again. He noticed that I was watching him.

“When you’ve given as many of these little talks as I have, son, you understand how important it is to have the chairs in just the right spots.”

He walked over to the front door, then turned and pointed at the first row of chairs. “You see? A person walking in is going to want to sit at the back. That’s why we put only a couple of chairs near the door. We want them to have to come up close to where I’ll be. That’s how you get them to buy books.”

Lynn and Miss Quist wheeled a small cart out from the back room. It held paper cups and would hold the coffee pot later. “No, no, not there,” commanded Max. They had put the cart near the counter. He came over and wheeled the cart across the room. “Here,” he announced. “You want people to have to walk past me to get to the coffee. They’re much more likely to buy a copy of the book that way.”

I began to realize that Max Carson, his cowboy persona aside, was keenly interested in selling as many copies of his book as possible.

The Book Nook was ready for the big event well before six o’clock. I tactfully suggested to Miss Quist that she could take Max down the street to a small Greek bistro and get him something to eat before we started. I was weary of Max Carson and welcomed the thought of an hour without him, but Max would have nothing of it.

“Nonsense, son.” He took a deep breath. “The whole time I’ve been here I’ve been smelling soup, and in my not so humble opinion, home-made soup is the finest soup there is.”

Barbara had come out from the back room just then. I watched the emotions cross her face. Max was a loud and boorish man, but he was a guest, and guests are sacred to Barbara. She smiled as her innate good nature won over.