the abundance of rare book theft to a larger purpose—or a larger person.
Until the night I met Henry, looking shell-shocked and guilt-ridden, and he handed me a file of evidence he swore implicated his famous boss of a crime he couldn’t believe was possible.
Now, I was walking with Sloane toward Bernard’s office. What would it be like to view the elements of Bernard’s life that were banal and pedestrian?
We walked past the reception area—to the left was the small study room where I’d found Henry, holed up and guilt-ridden. And to the right…
To the right was a veritable cathedral of knowledge. Narrow skylights caught the dreary gray daylight and transformed it into something glittering and incandescent. The center of the room was filled with table after long table, where students bowed their heads over books next to softly lit lamps. Curved around them were dozens of mahogany bookshelves filled with books and towering almost as high as the vaulted ceiling.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Sloane whispered next to me.
I nodded, throat tight. I didn’t often get to remember the emotional aspect of founding Codex. We received cases, my agents tracked down the books, we received payment, we celebrated with donuts and tacos. It was a satisfying and fulfilling cycle. This 300-year-old library was a testament to the gravity of Bernard’s many abuses, the callousness with which he viewed this vital part of our cultural history.
“Last time I was here, I didn’t get to see this,” I said.
She walked in front of me, crooking her finger. “Wait till we get to the best part.”
I followed her swaying hips down a long row of books to the bottom of a wrought-iron spiral staircase. We climbed it to a loft area. The floor was carpeted, quiet. A few tables up here were occupied by stressed-looking students. And in the middle stood a medieval-looking door. Next to it, an engraved plaque: Dr. Bernard Allerton, Director.
Beneath it was a typed note from Louisa: Dr. Allerton is currently on sabbatical and not receiving student emails or requests. Thank you for your patience during this time.
There were students all around us, so I held my tongue at the word sabbatical.
With a sly grin, Sloane opened his office door and pulled me inside. When she flipped on the lights, yellow police tape marred the luxurious-looking office like an ugly scar. I could see remnants of my former profession—empty evidence bags, taped-off cabinets, dust stains from items clearly removed. Still, the essence of who Bernard pretended to be was there: overstuffed green chairs perfect for meeting or reading, large shelves filled with books and displaying his many academic accomplishments, framed degrees and pictures with famous thinkers, academics, and philosophers.
On the edge of the floor lamp hung a deerstalker cap, like Holmes. The shelf immediately next to it held slim volumes of every Sherlock story by Arthur Conan Doyle. On his desk was a pair of glasses, opened books, highlighters, a coffee mug. I bent down by the space where I assumed his computer had been before being confiscated. Dull and fading was a sticky note: Bernard, I received a strange request about the Mary Shelley retrospective. Can we discuss when you have a free moment? -Henry
I shook my head. Sloane touched the note, looked at me. “Your Henry, right?”
“My Henry,” I said softly. “It’s more difficult than I thought it would be, seeing the reminders that Bernard’s actions have hurt real people in my life. People I—” I stopped, cutting off the foreign words care about. “People that are currently in my employ.”
Her sharp gaze let me know she didn’t miss my verbal stumble.
I cleared off a small space on Bernard’s massive desk to perch. It was disheveled, unorganized, and I wasn’t sure if that had been the work of the agents or the man’s general state of being. Sloane settled into a massive recliner. “I believe Bernard is hiding within the two-mile radius mapped in that report you received.”
“I agree.”
“And I think our best shot is to assume someone is going to make a grab for those Doyle papers being auctioned off on Friday at Kensley’s.”
I removed my jacket and laid it across a nearby chair. “There’s no way Bernard actually makes a play for it obviously. But if we can gain access to that auction, examine the papers and the exits, we could catch a crime before it happens, use leverage to get the thief to unburden his soul and tell us Bernard’s location.”