Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [30]
Silly, she thought as she swiped the card, opened the door, and started up the narrow stairs. I have every right to be here. That’s why they issued the two passes, one for the Hispanic stacks, the other authorizing her to be there after closing hours.
She paused at Sue Gomara’s small desk in the hallway dominated by tall piles of Cuban newspapers. She couldn’t help smiling. A nice kid, she thought, continuing the short distance to her own desk. But she stopped short of reaching it and came to a halt before crossing Michele Paul’s space. It was dark on the upper gallery; the only light came from a gooseneck halogen lamp on Paul’s desk. But that was all the light necessary to see him seated, sleeping, at his desk. Paul was hunched over, his arms on the desk, his head resting on them.
Well, Annabel thought, it happens to the most diligent of scholars.
“Michele?” Annabel said quietly.
He didn’t move.
Louder this time: “Michele?”
She took a few tentative steps toward him, coming close enough to be able to reach out and touch his shoulder with her fingertips.
She recoiled, brought those same fingertips to her mouth.
“Are you—?”
But she knew the answer. He wasn’t sleeping.
She returned to the reading room and picked up the first phone she came to. But she didn’t know what extension to call. She hung up and went to the European reading room, where two uniformed officers stood talking.
“Excuse me,” Annabel said. “There’s been an accident.”
“Accident?”
“Someone is—Mr. Paul is dead.”
“Paul?”
“In Hispanic. Please, I’ll show you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Annabel took her cell phone from her purse and dialed Mac’s cell number.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m at the restaurant. Running late?”
“Mac, there’s been a tragedy here at LC.”
“Tragedy? Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. But Michele Paul is dead.”
“Good Lord. How? What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I discovered his body at his desk and—”
“You discovered the body?”
“Yes. The Hispanic division is overrun with police—library cops, Capitol police, MPD. I can’t leave.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“They won’t let you in. Why don’t you head home. I’ll call you there and you can pick me up once I’m free.”
“Nonsense. I’m coming now. Right now. Does it look like the police will want to take you downtown?”
“I can’t imagine why they would.”
“I’ll be parked outside the main entrance, cell phone on. Keep in touch.”
“Mrs. Smith?” a Washington MPD detective said.
“What? Yes, I’m Mrs. Reed-Smith.”
“Would you give me a few minutes, please? Just a few questions.”
“Mac, I have to go. I’ll call you in the car.”
“Right.”
Chapter 10
The two uniformed members of the library’s police force had taken immediate charge once Annabel had led them to the body. While one stood guard over the scene, the other placed three calls.
The first was to the library’s twenty-four-hour security communications room. The second was taken by the officer on duty at the Capitol police’s communications room beneath the Russell Senate Office Building. He immediately passed it on to the CERT commander—Contingency Emergency Response Team—who dispatched officers wearing bulletproof vests and carrying M-249 automatic weapons. The third call went to MPD headquarters on Indiana Avenue.
Within minutes, the elegant Hispanic reading room, with its specially commissioned painted steel mural of the Columbus coat of arms looking down, was swarming with police from the three agencies. An explosives expert from the Capitol police was called in to determine whether such a threat existed—just in case. The Capitol itself was sealed off, including the underground tunnel leading to the Cannon House Office Building from LC’s Madison Building.
After assuring that the crime scene was properly secured, the first uniformed MPD officers to arrive sought out anyone who’d been in the immediate area, including Annabel. After giving her name and her reason for being there, she was asked to wait at one