hair. It tumbled back down in silky waves. “The worst case scenario is we catch a crime in the act and the authorities get called in. That’s still a way to cinch the net tighter around Bernard.”
I stared at that sticky note again, Henry’s bold handwriting. The stakes had never felt higher. “Agree.”
“So our potentially involved characters are Eudora,” Sloane started.
“I also think we should look at the director at the Kensley Auction, James Patrick,” I added. “He alerted Eudora to the sale and would be the closest to the actual item on auction night. And Peter Markham should be on that list, the grandson of Nicholas and owner of Adler’s. He’s apparently close with Bernard and enthusiastic.”
“A dangerous combo here,” she said. “What about… Humphrey and Reggie?”
I considered it. “We shouldn’t discount Bernard’s best friends. He could be staying with them for all we know, and Humphrey is a classically trained actor.”
Sadness flashed across her face. “For what it’s worth, my gut says they’re innocent.”
“Mine too,” I promised. “He is, at the very least, a gold mine. He’s given us a lot of good information and insight already.”
“True. All of these people are also potential hiding spots as well, if he’s actually in London.” She stood to pace the narrow burgundy carpet that ran down the hardwood floor. “According to Louisa, Bernard’s emails are being monitored as well as voicemails. His apartment is less than a mile from here and is currently under surveillance. Credit card activity is being monitored.” She stopped, tapped her fingers against the shelf of Sherlock books. “I’ve torn through this office more times than I can count, but I thought you could provide vital information here that I wouldn’t have known was important. Interpol took everything of value, of course…”
“They don’t get everything though,” I said. “And some things only feel pertinent if you have the background to understand its relevance.”
I was already starting to inch toward a pile of papers on Bernard’s desk, needing to see the evidence of his years of misdeeds out in the open, the thefts and the crimes hidden within meeting notes and conservation records.
“Wait,” Sloane said, cocking her head. “Codex. The past eleven months. I need to know the rest of the missing pieces.”
Blowing out a breath, I stood. Wandered to a wall of framed degrees and pictures—Bernard in magazines, at galas, teaching in classrooms, working with Henry and other staff.
Turning, I leaned against the wall and crossed one ankle over the other. “It all began with a code word,” I said, launching into a summary of Codex’s recent cases and the way I came to meet Henry Finch in that tiny room. The evidence he shared, the stolen works and carved-up pages, the books from their collections reportedly sent to other museums, never to arrive. The interns, the tours, the loans never approved—all pieces of Bernard’s system of moving rare books to private sellers through his work at the library. I told her about the code words, their use, and the way they’d unlocked doors for my agents at various levels of Bernard’s pyramid.
“Didn’t we once meet at Reichenbach Falls?” Sloane repeated, brow furrowed. “That was on a sign above the fireplace at Mycroft’s Pub.”
“I know,” I said. “I noticed the same thing. Bernard clearly uses elements of his own life throughout his criminal empire. Also, I tried the code with Eudora when I met with her.”
“And?” She was leaning forward.
“She recognized it immediately.” I lifted a shoulder. “Given she’s one of our suspicious people, it doesn’t surprise me in the least that she’s worked closely with the man since the day she joined the Society and she’s also involved in either buying or selling stolen books. It wouldn’t surprise me if every member of the Society had some small hand in it.”
“It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t think what they were doing was that bad,” Sloane continued. “It seems like the community is tight-knit enough to see this as part of what they do.”
“I believe that to be undeniably true,” I said. “But it does put another check in the Eudora column.” I leaned back against the wall. “Do you know who Victoria Whitney is?”
Sloane shook her head. “Who is she?”
“Philadelphia’s wealthiest heiress with an antiquities collection that rivals Bernard’s.”
I filled her in on Bernard’s lady love, their whirlwind romance in different European cities, her role in the theft of Copernicus’s On the Revolutions of Heavenly Spheres. “And not only that, she was in