Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [35]
Whoever killed Michele Paul, Mac thought, presumably was someone from within the Library of Congress, a colleague or at least a person who’d had enough contact with Paul to want him dead. Of course, there was the possibility that the murderer was an outsider, perhaps someone who’d gained access to the library for the express purpose of killing him. But that was less likely.
Annabel had said Paul was disliked by many, with an intensity bordering on hatred by some. If he had to bet, Mac would assume it was a murder fueled by passion, a killer with a personal motivation. Passion of one sort or the other, not reason or greed or ideology, was behind most murders. At least that had been his experience when practicing criminal law, and the statistics bore it out.
But that was simply intellectual speculation. What really bothered him was that if Michele Paul’s killer was someone from within the library, that person could still be there. And Annabel would be there, too.
He dropped her at the Jefferson Building before heading for his meetings at GW.
“Sure I can’t convince you to stay home for a few days?” he asked as she was about to get out of the car.
“I really want to be here, Mac. I have so much to do in researching the article. Please understand.”
“Of course I understand,” he said, not adding that no magazine article, nothing in the world, for that matter, was as important as her well-being.
They kissed, and he watched her enter the elegant Italian Renaissance–style building named for the third and rather elegant president of the United States.
Mac had refreshed his knowledge of the Library of Congress by basic reading materials Annabel brought home with her. Quite a man was Tom Jefferson. After LC’s original collection of books, three thousand volumes purchased from England, was destroyed by British troops when they burned the Capitol building in 1814, Jefferson, by then retired to Monticello, offered his personal library of more than six thousand books, and Congress appropriated $23,950 for the purchase. Unfortunately, subsequent fires destroyed two thirds of the original Jefferson library; fewer than 2,500 remain in the library’s present collection.
Great books and murder.
Somehow they didn’t go together.
As she approached, Annabel was surprised at the lack of police presence in front of the building. Inside, people passed through the metal detectors, and their bags were searched as on any other day. That a murder had taken place wasn’t evident until she reached the Hispanic and Portuguese reading room on the second floor. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung across every entrance to the area. A distraught Consuela Martinez stood behind one strand of tape. When she saw Annabel approaching, she went to a uniformed officer and informed him that Annabel was a researcher working in that section. Annabel lifted her badges for his inspection, and he allowed her to pass.
They went directly to Consuela’s office, where the division chief closed the door behind them. She sat heavily in her chair, directed a stream of air at her bangs, and shook her head. “Can you believe it?” she said.
“I’m afraid so. I was telling Mac it seemed unreal until this morning. The harsh light of day and all that.”
“Incredible. I mean, I detested the man, truly detested him—and respected his work, of course—but to think of him dying like that. Who could do such a thing?”
“I’m sure the police are working hard at coming up with that answer. What happens in a situation like this, Consuela? What law enforcement agency has jurisdiction?”
“The Washington MPD. The Capitol police get involved to make sure there’s no threat to anyone on the Hill. I think they offer some forensic help, too. But MPD’s in charge of the investigation. They’ve set up an interview room in the original Librarian of Congress’s office.”
“Where’s that?”
“In this building, first floor. It’s only used