Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [17]
“No, but you’ll get a letter of commendation in your file, and have the satisfaction of having contributed to mankind’s understanding of his origins.”
“Cute. Forget it. Give me a nice little war. When do I leave for Africa?”
“You’re not going to Africa.”
“Why? I was supposed to cover the unrest in Mozambique.”
“It’s cooled off there, Lucianne. I want you to follow up on this art theft, the murder, and Las Casas. See if they’re joined at the hip. Everybody loves missing treasure. Like who’ll win the lottery.”
“But we don’t even know whether a map and diaries exist.”
“Right, but I’d like us to be in the hunt along with the eggheads. Speaking of them, there’s a guy at the Library of Congress who’s supposed to be the most knowledgeable scholar in this area. Name’s Michele Paul. I pulled up some material from the Web on Las Casas. Dr. Paul predicted in a piece he wrote a year ago that he’d prove within two years that the diaries and the map are real. Go to Washington and get an interview with him. In the meantime, I’ll keep tabs on the art theft and murder. The police say, off the record, that it looks like the museum’s maintenance man might have set things up from inside, left a skylight unsecured for the thieves to get in. He’s disappeared, never showed up for work after the theft. The cops say he had a record of drug use. If they find him, they’ll probably know who pulled the heist. A couple of days off the stuff and every hophead spills.”
“Washington? I’d rather go to Africa. Or some other war zone like L.A.” Lucianne stood.
“Maybe when this is over. Might I add that our fearless leader has a special interest in this?”
“He does?”
“Yeah. Among his many charitable activities is raising money for the Library of Congress. He and Cale Broadhurst break bread together.”
“Who’s Cale Broadhurst?”
“The Librarian of Congress. By the way, it was he who killed your Africa assignment.”
“The Librarian of Congress?”
“No, our fearless leader. Look, even if you don’t come up with anything startling, we’ll use what you get for the documentary on the Columbus celebration.”
They locked eyes.
Baumann said, “Our crack research desk has info on Michele Paul and the stuff from the Web. Any of your sources happen to be in the Library of Congress?”
“Oh, sure, lots. But I’ll have to go back through my files, search under ‘egghead.’ ”
“I knew I could depend on you, Lucianne. Look at it this way. Instead of being where you might get your pretty head shot off by some rebel gunman, you can operate for a little while in the genteel safety of the Library of Congress.”
“I’m thrilled. Yawn.”
“Every library is more exciting than it looks. Ask any real reader. You’re a hard-digging reporter. That’s what people do in libraries—they dig for information. Or entertainment or distraction, whatever. By the way, you look tired. Why don’t you get more sleep?”
“Because of your phone message. I’ll get plenty of sleep sitting in a library. Thanks for nothing.”
Chapter 6
Munsch waved off the flight attendant who came down the aisle passing out magazines.
Warren Munsch didn’t read much. The last book he’d gotten through was during his second stint inside, two and a half years for possession of stolen property. The book was Know Your Rights: A Layman’s Guide to Criminal Law.
Armed with knowledge from the book, Munsch decided he knew more than any lawyer on earth, and believed he had become expert at analyzing his future activities. He’d given it plenty of thought before agreeing to lift the painting from Casa de Seville and had written down his expert analysis:
Nobody cares about paintings unless they’re worth millions, so stealing a piece of junk isn’t a big deal.
Morrie and Garraga do the break-in. If we get caught, they do the hard time. I don’t know when I drive them why they want to go there. They hand me this lousy painting and tell me to take it to L.A. and turn it over to some guy.
I know nothing. Any clown in Legal Aid gets me off on that rap, like they did with the last two busts.