it was like a small tornado had torn through Bernard’s elegant academic offices. Abe was standing by one of the bookshelves, pulling open pages and searching for hidden notes. He was slightly disheveled: tie off, top two buttons of his collared shirt open, sleeves rolled up. I had ink running down my fingers and smeared along my arms and had kicked my boots off ages ago.
We’d worked in a quiet, comforting silence, in between moments of finding potential clues and dissecting them. It was invigorating and helpful and far too fucking pleasant. What I needed from this partnership was to use Abe’s connections and skills to find Bernard. What I didn’t need was any kind of proof that needing someone could add anything else to my quality of life or state of happiness.
Happiness in life wasn’t my goal anyway—success was.
I’d been tearing through old planners, taking notes on who Bernard often met with, any patterns that might illuminate where the hell he was. Henry Finch was all over this calendar as was Victoria, who Bernard noted as Lady Love. Meals with Humphrey. Flights to Istanbul, Prague, Tokyo. Train tickets to Paris, Edinburgh. Staff meetings, galas, ceremonies celebrating libraries and academic research. A weekly meeting at an apothecary with “E,” which I marked on a sticky for further questioning.
“Abe?” I said, breaking a long, productive silence.
He hmmm-ed, distracted, before putting down a book and looking at me.
I held up the planner, waved my hand around the office. “Do you think Bernard cared about any of this? The libraries, the conservation, the fundraising. I mean truly cared?”
Abe rubbed the back of his neck, winced a little. “Henry thinks he does. We’ve talked about this a lot at Codex. The complicated tapestry of Bernard’s moral code. Even with all that Henry’s seen, and all that he knows, he firmly believes his former mentor exists easily between the world of well-respected scholarship and shadowy underworld. Exists, as in believes both are necessary.”
I tapped the calendar, stared at the picture of him standing with Victoria. “If that’s true, it goes back to that story Humphrey told us. About Bernard taking their things. Because he could. He adheres to a different set of rules than the rest of the world.”
“The man clearly believes in the power of libraries and clearly believes in the power of money and greed,” he said.
I shifted around the pile of planners, tucking my feet beneath me. “I met with dozens of Sherlock Society members before you arrived. Attended their luncheons, their meetings, took them out for drinks. They were all eager to talk about Bernard when I asked.”
“Anything in particular stand out?”
“I couldn’t pull together a clear picture of Bernard’s motivations at all,” I replied honestly. “And the more I met with people the murkier my understanding of him became. He…” I paused, gathered my thoughts. “He manipulated every single one of them. Maybe not for nefarious purposes, but they all spoke about his charisma. When he spoke to you, you were the only one in the room. He remembered little details, he brought gifts, he noticed things about you that others never did.”
Those meetings had always made me squirm. Because Bernard’s techniques were classic con man tricks. I knew them, my parents knew them. And as a detective, I still used them to gain trust.
“I once led a team of agents that arrested and charged a powerful CEO who was responsible for a pyramid scheme that stole millions of dollars from people in this small town in Connecticut. This was about six years ago. And he was so charismatic I used to send in three agents at a time during interviews. Because he’d charm the first two so easily they’d come to me claiming his innocence. And they weren’t new agents fresh from Quantico. These were stalwart men and women who delighted in locking up men like that. He was just too good.” Abe was looking away, almost dreamy—like he was holding back.
“Good memory?” I asked, chasing the source of that dreaminess.
“Professionally, yes, actually. At the time, I was pretty frustrated with my work at the Bureau, but that case was one I’ll never forget. And one I’ll always be proud of. Because that CEO was a goddamn sociopath who destroyed people’s lives. Putting him behind bars had a real effect on the scales of justice.” He slid his steel eyes toward me. “I had a girlfriend at the time who didn’t see it that way unfortunately. Although I admit