An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [80]
I step inside. “Any place where it’s warm or to a garage. Whatever is nearest.”
The truck may be old but the heat works fine. Ambrose introduces himself. “Where ya from?” he says.
“From town,” I tell him.
“Yeah? Which part?”
“The university library.”
“I know someone from the library. What’s her name again? Peddigrew?”
Ambrose drops me off at the nearest garage with tow-truck service. He drives kilometres out of his way, offers me his gloves, then asks if there’s anything else he can do for me. If Edith had been there, she would have said, “God luv ’im.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
i torque,
you torque, we torque
HENRY SHOWS UP FIVE MINUTES early but not in the office. He’s on the other side of the window, sitting in Norah’s carrel, waving to me. I stand near the glass and shake my head. He turns his back to me, bows his head then swivels round and holds up a piece of paper. I can’t read what he’s written. I shake my head. He lays the paper on the carrel, forms circles with his thumbs and forefingers in front of his eyes to mimic the binoculars. I take them from on top of the filing cabinet, and focus on his sign: Coffee ready?
I drop the binoculars in the trash bin, sit at my desk then return to writing my report: Advanced Analysis Of User Searching: Systems Design Implications. There’s a knock at the door. “Go away!” The knocking persists. I open but only two-words’ worth: “I’m busy.”
“Since when did you become busy?” Henry asks.
“Since I stopped listening to your advice.”
“If you’re too busy, then I won’t tell you about the filing cabinets.”
“Tell me what?”
“Are you busy or not busy?”
I move my arm out of the way. He saunters in and over to the coffee stand.
“What about the cabinets?”
He raises a hand minus the thumb. “There were four. Police property for now. As far as the Crimson Hexagon goes, there was nada in there, nothing belonging to the library or to Special Collections. Between the time you were inside and the police were in there, Francis must have gutted it. Her own collection of books looks legitimate. Wish I could say the same about the materials they found in the basement of her house. They were specialized cabinets designed to preserve and protect old, rare, expensive documents. Fireproof, waterproof, everything except police proof.”
“What do the cabinets matter if they weren’t supposed to find them in the first place? You promised me the plan wouldn’t involve her.”
He shakes his head at me and laughs. “I never uttered any such promise. I don’t control Francis’ behaviour.”
“Just tell me what’s going on.”
He looks down into the Room while he talks. “Your lass, Norah Myrick, your Cliffhead queen, had everything catalogued: description of each page, how the pages were related, approximate dates, authors, location–”
“It belonged to her father, to William Myrick.”
“According to what I’ve handled so far, it belongs to the archives or Special Collections.”
“You said yourself that most of the library’s materials deserved to be cared for by someone who’d appreciate them. You were sympathetic to Blumberg. What about Norah?”
“Sympathy is not the issue. She’ll spend enough time behind bars to read every book in the prison library twice. You shouldn’t have been shagging her in the first place if she’s Francis’ lover. I warned you not to become involved with her.”
“Stop calling them lovers.”
He walks away from me towards the coffee stand. “What would you prefer?” he asks. “Partners in fornication or Romeo and Juliet? You wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d listened to me.”
“What will it take for you to admit you’re wrong – to say, ‘Sorry, Carl, I made a mistake, I misled you,’ to say, ‘I shouldn’t have asked you to watch her with the binoculars, I shouldn’t have suggested spying on her with the cook?’ And let’s not forget the ‘Go inside that Crimson Hexagon, Carl.’”
He returns to the window. “You’re a free man. You had a choice to do what you wanted. I was only highlighting the range of