Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [37]
“Come in,” Consuela said.
The detective who’d allowed Annabel to leave the night before—his name was Nastasi, she remembered—opened it. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said to Consuela, “but I wonder if you could spare me a half hour or so.”
“Of course.”
“Good morning,” Nastasi said to Annabel.
“Good morning, Detective. How’s the investigation progressing?”
“Progressing. I’d like to speak with you a little later.”
Annabel glanced knowingly at the two women. “That would be fine. Am I free to go to my work area on the balcony level?”
“Afraid not. It’ll be off limits for the rest of the morning.”
“I understand. I’m scheduled to be in the Manuscript reading room. That’s where I’ll be.”
“I’ll find you there. Dr. Martinez?”
Annabel stayed in Consuela’s office for a few minutes digesting what she’d been told about John Bitteman. His name hadn’t surfaced in the little research she’d done on Las Casas, and she made a note to look for what work he might have left behind on the subject.
She eventually left the office, crossed the police line, and walked slowly through the European reading room, which was open and already busy with researchers working at desks. She was almost to the end of the room when her Public Affairs contact, Joanne Graves, came around a corner, saw her, and increased her pace.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “More accurately, Lucianne Huston is looking for you.”
“I thought she was going back to Miami.”
“The murder changed her mind. She wants to interview you.”
“She already did.”
“About having discovered the body.”
“I don’t want to talk about that, especially on camera. I’m trying to forget it, not broadcast it.”
“I know, but I told her I’d ask. She’s with the rest of the press across the street in the Pickford Theater. She’s kind of a celebrity among them.”
“The power of TV. What have you heard this morning?” Annabel asked.
“Nothing. They’re saying he was killed with the kind of lead weight we use in Conservation.”
“I heard that, too, but it’s just a rumor.”
“I suppose all we’ll get are rumors for a while. Going to Manuscripts?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell Lucianne you’re not available.”
“Thanks.”
“Sorry to see your two months here get off to such a horrible start.”
“Not a problem as long as I can hide from Ms. Huston’s hot mike and red-eyed camera. Thanks for the warning.”
Chapter 13
Once homicide detectives Frank Nastasi and Marcus Shorter had settled in at a round conference table in what once was the office of the Librarian of Congress, Shorter commented that he’d never interviewed murder suspects in such a nice place.
The old Librarian’s office, with its large inlaid antique desk, rich Oriental carpet, bookcases, paneled walls, and two flags on stands behind the desk, one the American flag, the other bearing the official seal of the Library of Congress, had been the scene of numerous official events. Presidents and foreign heads of state had been feted in the room, as had business leaders and literary lights. The original Librarian of Congress, John J. Beckley, appointed by President Jefferson, would have been appalled at the use to which the room was being put this day.
“Too nice,” Nastasi countered. “You need a little grunge to keep ’em honest.”
Their differing takes on their surroundings summed up how they would approach their interview subjects—Shorter the good cop, Nastasi the bad. They’d been playing that time-honored game as partners for four years.
Consuela Martinez was the third person to be interviewed there that morning. The first had been chief of the Personnel Directorate Office; the detectives had wanted to gain an initial understanding of how the institution was structured, especially in terms of those working at LC. The second subject was General Counsel Mary Beth Mullin, who was asked about the cocktail party the night of the murder. She provided a written guest list.
“What was Mr. Paul’s relationship with others at the party?” she was asked.
“He was a senior specialist on the Hispanic and Portuguese division staff,” she replied. “The party was