if we can’t find some prints or something.”
“What do you think might be so significant on the copyright page, Detective?”
Taylor smiled at Baldwin, they shared a moment of hope. She turned to Bangor.
“Copyright pages have names. Maybe our boy’s is on it.”
Fifteen
Taylor couldn’t help feeling excited. Breaks were always a good thing.
“Mr. Bangor, do you have a phone book?”
“Of course. Let me get it.”
“Calling the bookstores?” Baldwin asked.
“Oh, yeah. They should still be open, it’s only 9:30 p.m. With any luck, one of the downtown stores will have it in stock. Fingers crossed.”
She took out her notepad and transcribed the title of the book. Bangor brought her the yellow pages, and she flipped open to the Bs.
“Bookstores, bookstores…okay. Borders on West End and Davis-Kidd in Green Hills are the closest. Mr. Bangor, would you like to take the first pick?”
“Call Davis-Kidd. They have a great art section. And please, call me Hugh.”
“Okay, Hugh. Davis-Kidd it is.”
She dialed the number, got a recording. She hung up and dialed it again. This time, a gruff voice greeted her.
She told him what she was looking for. He put her on hold for a few minutes, then came back and said yes, they did have one copy. Would she like him to reserve it?
She said yes, gave him her name and hung up.
“Shall we?” she said to Baldwin.
Bangor saw them to the door.
“Detective, may I ask a favor?” he said.
“You can ask anything. Whether I can grant it is another story.”
“Do you have to tell Detective McKenzie about Arnold?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to, yes. Why?”
Bangor’s face fell. “Oh. That’s too bad. I didn’t want to tarnish my image with him. He seems like a very nice young man.”
It was almost 10:00 p.m. before they got to Davis-Kidd. They got stopped at all the red lights; the signals on Hillsboro Road weren’t sequenced properly, an issue Metro Public Works was continually revamping. Taylor was half a second from pulling out her flasher when the light at Woodmont finally turned green. They entered the Green Hills Mall, found parking spots in the first row, right in front of Davis-Kidd. At this time of night, most of the patrons of the mall had gone home. It was pleasantly deserted.
They hustled to the door just as an employee started to throw the bolt. He shook his head, so she badged him, resting her shield against the glass. That got his attention. He opened the door and allowed them in.
“I’m Detective Jackson. I called about a couple of Picasso monographs? The Complete Works of Pablo Picasso and Picasso, the Early Years.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Follow me. I’ve got the Complete Works at the desk. Didn’t think you were going to make it.”
He stepped around the counter. Taylor and Baldwin waited. And waited. The clerk finally popped his head back up and handed over a thick book. Taylor took it greedily, and felt her excitement fade just as quickly.
“Damn. This isn’t the same one. Same title, but not the same book.”
“Oh,” the clerk said. “Sorry. That’s the only one we’ve got. Do you know the publisher of the one you’re looking for? I can try to order it for you.”
“I only know what it looks like. There is a second title, too.” She handed him her notebook. “Can you pull up anything that has these titles and let us look at the covers?”
The boy glanced at his watch. “Yeah. We need to be quick, though. I need to close up and go get my daughter from the sitter. Wife’s out of town on business. You understand.”
He motioned them behind the counter, plugged the title into the store’s database.
Amazing. There were at least twenty catalogue raisonnés with matching titles. But halfway down the page, she saw the right ones.
“There,” Baldwin said just as she pointed to the screen.
The clerk clicked on the cover. “Oh. Bad news. They’re both out of print. Have been for about a year.”
Taylor bit back the surge of frustration. “Any idea where we can get either of them? We need a page from it. Like, yesterday.”
He read for a minute. “Says here the publisher is a specialty art press in New York. Pretty well-known and well-respected outfit. I bet they did the catalogues as a part of an exhibit. You might try contacting them directly, or calling the museums up there.” He glanced at his watch again. They took the hint.
Taylor wrote down the name and address of the publisher. Bangor had bought one of the monographs in