Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [89]
Broadhurst turned and said, “We’re attempting to contact David Driscoll as we speak. If the police are correct, he was sending Michele Paul money over time—not big money in his terms but big to Michele Paul—but I want to hear it directly from David. As you know, the press is spreading the story all over hell and creation.”
He said to Annabel, “Based upon having read what’s on those discs, do you think they should be turned over to the police?”
“Of course,” she replied, “although I suggest a copy be made before they’re taken out of our hands. I … I copied some of the material on a disc of my own, but not all of it, just selected sections I felt might be helpful to my article.”
Broadhurst pondered her suggestion. “You’re right, of course. Can you take care of that? I’ll want a printout, too.”
“I’ll have it to you by the evening,” Consuela said.
“Good,” the Librarian said. “Anything else I should know about what’s on those discs?”
“I don’t think so,” Annabel said, “but if something else strikes me, I’ll let you know.”
“Good. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
Consuela and Annabel returned to the Jefferson Building using the underground walkway, its umbilical cord to the Madison.
“What do you think?” Annabel asked as they walked.
“I think he’s in a tough position, Annie. Michele Paul’s murder was troublesome enough for the library, but now it’s mushrooming into a full-fledged scandal—Michele being paid by David Driscoll to turn over his research, a possible tie to another possible murder eight years ago, discs mysteriously showing up in the stacks—when does the next shoe drop?”
“Consuela, was there ever any question of Michele’s sexual orientation?”
The question brought a short, harsh laugh from Consuela. “God, no. His reputation as a womanizer was well known. Of course, he never married, hardly a basis for questioning his sexual preferences. No family that I know of. Why?”
“John Bitteman was an acknowledged homosexual. Obviously, there was bad blood between him and Michele Paul. Bitteman’s comments about Michele on the discs are vitriolic, intensely personal at times. I just wondered if their relationship went beyond the professional.”
“No,” Consuela said. “That’s out of the question.”
“Just thought I’d ask. Want help with copying the discs and printing out hard copies?”
“Thanks, no, Annie. You’ve got your article to do. I’ll get Sue Gomara or Dolores to do it. Shouldn’t take very long.”
“Okay, try Sue. But if you need an extra hand, just yell.”
They parted in the Hispanic-Portuguese reading room, Consuela disappearing into her office, Annabel swiping her magnetic card in the door’s slot and going up the narrow stairs to her space. Sue Gomara was at her desk wading through Cuban newspapers again. She dropped that task and turned to Annabel.
“The stuff on the discs was good?” she asked, beaming.
“Very good, in its way. Thanks again.”
“Good thing I looked through the Aaronsen box. You never know.”
“A very good thing. Nice motto for a research librarian. Why don’t you go down and check in with Consuela. I think she has an assignment for you.”
“Really? Okay, I will.”
Annabel had turned on her laptop while talking with the intern. As Sue started to leave, Annabel stopped her. “Sue, were you here at my desk this morning?”
“At your desk? Me? No. Why?”
“I was sure I’d removed this disc from the computer before I went with Consuela to meet with Dr. Broadhurst.” She held up a disc on which she’d copied sections of the five discs taken from the Aaronsen collection.
“Wasn’t me,” Sue repeated.
“Did you see anyone else here?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Dolores was around for a while, but I didn’t see her at your desk. She was in the stacks. I wasn’t here the whole time.”
Annabel forced a smile. “They call such lapses a senior moment these days,” she said lightly. “I must have