Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [40]
“Mrs. Reed-Smith?” he said, extending a large, rough, red hand.
“Yes.”
“I’m John Vogler.”
“Hello.”
“May I join you?”
“Of course.”
Vogler was as big and rough-hewn as the hand he’d offered. Again, so much for stereotypes, Annabel thought. Although he looked like a lumberjack, or dock worker, he was, she knew, a Ph.D. Dr. Vogler.
“I spoke with Consuela Martinez earlier this morning. She told me you were the unfortunate soul who came upon Michele Paul’s body last night.”
“That’s right.”
“A most unpleasant experience.”
“To say the least.”
“Dr. Broadhurst tells me he considers the article you’re doing for Civilization to be important.”
“That’s good to hear. It’ll be useful, I hope, if I get it done.”
“Have you heard anything about the murder from the police?”
“No, but I’m supposed to be interviewed by them later today. And they’ve asked Consuela to help them sort through Michele’s work papers at his apartment. She feels a little overwhelmed by the task, so she’s asked me to come along and lend a hand. Also, maybe I can find something useful for my article.”
“Do they think his research papers have to do with his murder?”
“I don’t know, but I suppose you don’t say no to the police. Besides, we’ll want to know what’s there. I assume they’ll let us bring everything back here to the library.”
“After they’ve eliminated it as evidence. I understand Michele kept a great deal of his research at home.” Vogler sighed and rolled his eyes. “He was so paranoid.” Annabel started to respond but Vogler added, “Which is probably the kindest thing I can say about him.”
Another Michele Paul detractor weighing in?
“Could we go somewhere a little more private, Mrs. Reed-Smith? My office?”
“All right.”
He asked one of his reference librarians to remove the materials Annabel had been using until she returned, and led her to his office, a monument to clutter, a small room made more so by the amount of space his large frame consumed. He held out a green vinyl chair with wooden arms for her and sat in a matching chair close to her side. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, closed his eyes, opened them, looked at her and said, “I hope you don’t mind my imposing upon you, Mrs. Reed-Smith. It’s just that I—well, I prefer not to share too much with my professional colleagues. The staff, I mean.”
“All right.”
“I suppose you know how unpopular Michele was with our colleagues.”
“I’ve heard bits and pieces.”
“The police will probably make a big deal out of my confrontations with him.”
Annabel said nothing.
“We actually came to blows a few months ago. Library police had to break it up.”
“I didn’t know.