Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [103]
“You didn’t have to do this,” Dolores said. “Damn you!”
“I didn’t do anything, Dolores, certainly nothing to hurt you. Put that knife down before you make another mistake. We can talk about this and—”
The ringing of the phone was deafening, causing both of them to jump.
“Don’t answer it.”
“The security chief knows I tried to reach him. I told Dr. Broadhurst’s secretary it was an emergency. They’ll be here, Dolores, any minute.”
The phone continued to ring. Dolores took a few steps back, away from Annabel, the envelope pressed tightly to her bosom with one hand, the box cutter in the other.
“Dolores, listen to me,” Annabel said, her voice not sounding familiar to her. “There’s nothing to be gained by doing this, hurting me. I know it was you who deleted the material from those discs, those fifteen pages, your initials. But you can’t delete the truth. Don’t do something you’ll regret. We can talk about it. Maybe I can help you.”
The ringing stopped, the silence as jarring as the sound had been.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Dolores said.
“I can try.”
Dolores looked uncertain of what to do next, whether to use the box cutter to attack Annabel and cut away the threat she posed, or to bolt, to run somewhere, anywhere in search of safe haven. Annabel extended a hand; instead of calming Dolores as intended, it caused her to stiffen and to thrust the box cutter at Annabel.
“Please, Dolores, put that down. It’s over. What’s important now is for you to acknowledge the pain you’re in and to help others understand.”
Annabel’s quiet, nonthreatening voice appeared to be having the desired effect. Dolores let out a sustained breath and seemed to sag before Annabel’s eyes. Annabel had so many questions but asked only one: “Why, Dolores? Why did you kill Michele?”
Dolores spoke absently, matter-of-factly. “You didn’t know him. You don’t know how cruel he could be.”
“I’m not surprised to hear that,” Annabel said. “I knew his reputation.”
“I wanted to be everything for him. He told me I was. He told me I was the only woman who deserved to be with him. He said I’d earned his love.”
“ ‘Earned’ his love? How did you ‘earn’ his love, Dolores?”
“When he killed John, I was there to help him.”
“John Bitteman? Michele killed John Bitteman?”
“I hated John because Michele hated him. Michele was right. I wouldn’t have killed John, and I didn’t. I didn’t know what Michele had done until he called me that night from John’s apartment. He needed my help and I … I wanted so much to be there for him.”
Annabel looked away for a moment, then back at her. “You wanted to help him to earn his love?” she asked, trying with only some success to keep the bathos from her tone.
“Yes.”
“What did you do, Dolores, help him get rid of the body?”
They both turned their heads at the sound of people entering the Hispanic reading room below. The fright, the confusion was again etched in Dolores’s face. Annabel slowly stood as someone opened the door at the foot of the narrow stairs. Dolores retreated as Annabel again offered her hand.
“Give me the box cutter, Dolores, and—”
Dolores’s response was to wield the box cutter in a wide arc, missing Annabel’s face by inches. With that, she ran from the area and disappeared into the stacks as Chief Lapin appeared at the top of the stairs. Consuela was behind him.
“Mrs. Smith, are you all right?” Lapin asked, coming to where Annabel stood, trembling.
“Annie, what happened?” Consuela asked.
“Dolores killed Michele Paul,” Annabel said, suddenly feeling faint and having to sit.
“Dolores?” Consuela said.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?” Lapin asked as two uniformed LC police joined them.
“Somewhere back there in the stacks. You’d better seal off the building.”
Lapin spoke into his digital remote radio: “This is Lapin. Secure the building. No one leaves. We’re looking for a library employee, Dolores Marwede. She’s probably in the Hispanic stacks, but I can’t be sure. Once the building’s secured, send every available man to