Curiosity Didn't Kill the Cat (19 page)

Duncan mulled this over for a while, then looked up at him speculatively.

“You know, Chief, it may be vague, but it makes sense. And Rose sure as hell was in a panic when he showed up at the bookshop last night. He kept asking if you’d said anything; really hammered at it.”

Conan laughed. “I can understand his concern. My survival was undoubtedly a surprise to him. He was probably coming back to make sure of me after he disposed of the Major’s body and his car.”

“Okay. So you’ve got a working theory. Now, how the hell do we pin him?”

“Pin him? I can’t even prove either of the murders were committed. All I can prove is that someone tried to kill me. But that doesn’t help.”

“Why not? If you could tie Rose in with—”

“Tie him how? For one thing, the incident at the shop has been officially written off as an attempted burglary. For another, I asked Nicky about the bullet she took out of my shoulder. Rose dutifully picked it up when he came to the hospital last night. Official evidence.”

Duncan sighed disconsolately.

“Sure. It’ll never see a ballistics lab.”

“Harvey’s in an excellent position for committing murders. The Major’s car, for instance—‘deserted.’ And if he were foolish enough to leave any fingerprints at the shop last night, who’ll handle that part of the investigation? If not Rose, then one of his men, and he’ll have access to the reports.”

“Checkmate, then.”

“Only check, Charlie; it isn’t mate yet.”

“So, what’s our next move?”

“I don’t know. But Rose isn’t our main concern; Mrs. Leen is. The crucial problem now is to figure out why she’s here; what her mission is. And I don’t think we have much time. She and her friends have been making some rather noticeable waves lately, and in this line of work you don’t go around murdering people if you expect to stay and conduct business as usual.”

Duncan frowned dubiously. “What do you mean about the old gal’s mission? That’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s middle man on an information exchange.”

“No,” he said flatly. “I thought so at first, but I can’t buy it now. They’ve taken fantastic risks lately, but
not
to protect the system. They’ve risked exposure of the system. And why? To get at that book, or rather, whatever it contained; to get hold of that one particular message or piece of information. If it were a run-of-the-mill information exchange, they’d give up that one transmission and beat a strategic retreat before they’d risk exposing the system and the agents involved.” He sighed and turned to look out the window. “And, Charlie, why set up an exchange here; why Holliday Beach? How would she get the information out of the country?”

“Well, by boat, maybe; radio transmissions.”

“One of the largest fishing fleets on the coast works out of Holliday Bay, and there’s also the Coast Guard station to contend with. The risks of discovery would be too high. They could find plenty of more remote spots along the coast that would be far safer. But an information exchange of some sort does exist here, and there must be a good reason. Mrs. Leen isn’t here for the scenery.”

“Then why the hell
is
she here?”

Conan laughed bitterly. “That’s the question. But I’ll give you odds she has one specific mission, and that book contained her instructions for the final phase of it. She isn’t acting as if she intends to stay around Holliday Beach much longer.” He was silent for a moment, focusing on the string of tiny dark spots along the horizon. “And don’t forget the trawlers. Their arrival at this particular time is a little too coincidental.”

“Maybe she’s setting up an escape route for herself.”

“Maybe.”

“Okay. So, where do we go from here?”

“We wait for Steve to get through to the FBI—if he can. We keep an eye on Mrs. Leen. Maybe we set another mouse trap. Did you check that third copy of the Dostoevsky?”

“What—oh. Yes. It’s still there. Nobody had time to go through all those shelves, I guess.”

“No, and they weren’t looking for another copy of the book.” Conan glanced at his watch, then went to the table for his cigarettes, put them in his pocket, then started for the hallway.

“Charlie, you stay here and get a couple of hours’ rest. I doubt anything will break in that time.”

Duncan was on his feet, staring at him blankly. “Where the hell are you going?”

“The bookshop.”

“What for?”

“For whatever turns up.”

CHAPTER 18

Conan drove the XK-E to the shop. The gear shift put a strain on the shoulder that would raise objections from Nicky, but he wanted a car handy today.

When he walked into the shop, Miss Dobie was behind the counter, gazing at him in open-mouthed amazement. “Mr. Flagg, you shouldn’t be here today!”

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” he assured her.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, because it looks awful. And if you don’t mind my asking, what in the world happened last night?”

He turned up the palm of his free hand.

“I really don’t know. Nicky calls it traumatic amnesia.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Oh. Then you don’t even know what hit you—or rather, who hit you?”

“No, and I’d like to find out so I could return the favor. But apparently, I walked in on a robbery.”

“Apparently.” She rested her chin on her hand, her eyes narrowed. “You know…it sure was a funny robbery. Nothing’s missing. Except there was a book you put in the safe. I was looking for that 1929 edition of
The XIT Ranch
yesterday. Saw an ad in The
Antiquarian
for it; dealer was offering seventy-five dollars. Anyway, I happened to notice that book, and I figured you must’ve put it in there, but it was gone this morning.” She paused, watching him closely. “It was
Crime and Punishment
, wasn’t it?”

Miss Dobie was sometimes too observant when it came to books. Conan glanced around the shop, relieved to see no one within earshot at the moment.

“Have you mentioned that book to anyone?”

“No, I thought maybe you took it out of the safe yourself later.”

“Don’t mention it, please, in case anyone asks.”

“All right,” she replied doubtfully. “If you say so.”

“Did anyone from the police department show up this morning?”

“Oh, yes.” She turned her eyes heavenward with a sigh of disgust. “That young cop—the new one. He fooled around for about half an hour, then he said I could clean up the place. The office was a real mess. I couldn’t do much, but it’s a little better.”

“Thanks. How long have you been open?”

“Just since ten, but I got here at eight, like your friend Mr. Duncan told me. He’s a nice guy; really pitched in last night.”

“Yes, he is. We were in the Army together.”

“That’s what he told me.” She paused again. “If you don’t mind my asking something else—how come you’re keeping the shop open today?”

“I just wanted someone around. Have there been many people in?”

“No, just a couple of locals and a few tourists.”

“What locals?”

“Oh…let’s see. Mrs. Hollis, and that Hanford boy.”

“Has Rose been in yet?”

“No.”

“He will be.” Conan shifted his right arm in the sling, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Miss Dobie, has anyone asked for any particular books?”

“You mean like
Crime and Punishment
?”

“Yes,” he replied tightly.

“No. Mr. Flagg, what’s so—”

“Excuse me,” he said, turning away abruptly. “I have to check something upstairs.”

She loosed a sigh as he walked away. He hurried up the stairs, noting the dark stains on the floor at the bottom of the staircase, then went back to the Reference room and found the third copy of the Dostoevsky.

Downstairs, he passed Miss Dobie with only a casual nod on his way into the office. The book was tucked under his arm, and she took due note of it, but he closed the door before she could ask any more questions.

Miss Dobie had done a good job cleaning the office, but the Kerman carpet would have to be taken into Portland. He stared at the bloodstains, in his mind’s eye seeing the Major’s body there, and finding that image still incomprehensible. And equally incomprehensible that some of those stains were his own blood.

He looked around, assessing the damage, and realized he’d have to check for monitoring devices. One of Harvey Rose’s men had spent a half hour here this morning.

He set to work, leaving the door slightly ajar. He begrudged the time and effort, but finally he was reasonably sure the room wasn’t bugged. He still had reservations about the phone; it could be tapped somewhere else along the line.

At length, he took a final look around, then poured a cup of coffee and sank into his chair, taking a long, shaky breath. Nicky had warned him he’d be a little weak in the knees. He frowned irritably; she was, as usual, quite correct.

He swallowed one of the pills she’d given him, grimacing at the scalding temperature of the coffee, then glanced out at the counter—as he had every few minutes during his search—and watched as Miss Dobie rang up a sale for a young couple. Then he reached for the third copy of the Dostoevsky and studied it absently.

Finally, he took a new date card from his desk and wrote across it: “First edition of this book available. Reasonable offers will be considered. CJF.”

He pasted an envelope in the back cover, inserted the date card and closed the book, then leaned back, taking time to light a cigarette.

A better mousetrap. But he wasn’t waiting for the world to beat a path to his door. All he wanted to catch with this trap was an answer.

He looked impatiently at his watch. He must wait now for the opportunity to set this particular trap. This would be another day of waiting. And hoping. The prospect did nothing for his temper.

He reached for the phone; at least there was one thing he could check himself. He dialed the Coast Guard station at Holliday Bay.

*

The opportunity to set his trap came sooner than he expected. It came within an hour of his arrival at the shop.

Conan had turned his chair to face the door, and he watched without moving as Harvey Rose’s car came to a stop across the highway, and the Chief busied himself for a few seconds with his car radio.

Only when Rose left his car and crossed the highway to the shop, did Conan rise. He went to the door, but didn’t open it, contenting himself with watching and listening, as Rose sauntered into the shop, his pale eyes shifting, scanning everything, particularly the office door. But Conan had left a scant quarter-inch opening that wouldn’t be obvious except on close examination.

Rose finally focused on Beatrice Dobie.

“Good morning, Miss Dobie. I’m glad you’re open today. Thought I’d better check again, see if anything’s turned up here.”

“You mean about the robbery?” She shrugged. “I don’t know what would turn up that your man wouldn’t find.”

Rose walked over to the end of the counter and leaned on it, putting himself in profile to Conan.

“Well, I mean maybe you or Mr. Flagg might’ve thought of something. I…uh, understand he’s out of the hospital.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “Yes, he is.”

“I hate to bother him. I mean, he probably isn’t feeling too good. I thought maybe you could fill me in.” He put a slight questioning inflection on the statement, but Miss Dobie ignored it.

“Well, I certainly hope you catch whoever’s responsible. They nearly killed Mr. Flagg.” She paused, frowning. “But, you know, you’d think he could hold his own better than that. Unless there were two men, maybe.”

“He say there was more than one?” Rose turned to look out the front entrance as if the answer were of no interest to him.

“Well, he didn’t say. And something else I don’t understand—those bloodstains at the foot of the stairs. There’s even a few on the stairs themselves.”

“Oh? Was Mr. Flagg upstairs last night?”

“I suppose he might’ve been.”

“He see anybody up there?”

Miss Dobie frowned. “Now, how could I answer that?”

“Oh…I just thought maybe he’d said something. Maybe last night when you were here.” He gave her an oblique glance, then looked out toward the highway again.

“Well, he certainly wasn’t saying anything last night.”

Rose shrugged. “Sometimes people’ll talk even when they’re half out, you know.”

“He wasn’t just
half
out.”

“Well, uh, I just thought—” He seemed to become aware of the suspicion in her eyes and shifted the subject hurriedly. “You find anything missing?”

“No,” she said flatly.

“You’re sure of that?”

“I checked very carefully.”

“Well, maybe there was something Mr. Flagg might know about.”

She glanced back at the office door and smiled faintly. Conan had opened the door, and was leaning against the jamb, the Dostoevsky in his left hand, the spine—and title—clearly visible.

She said casually, “Maybe you’d better ask Mr. Flagg yourself.”

Rose turned, his face going red, then fading to a blotchy white as his gaze slid to the Dostoevsky.

“Good morning, Mr. Rose. I’ve been expecting you.”

Rose focused on his face, swallowing hard.

“Uh…good morning.”

“Any luck on the business here at the shop last night?”

“The…robbery. Well, no. We uh, don’t have much to go on, you know.” He cleared his throat, beginning to recover himself now. “I figure you must’ve scared the guy off. He’s probably in Mexico by now.”

“No doubt.”

“Uh…by the way, how’s that shoulder?”

Conan almost laughed at that show of concern.

“It’ll be as good as new in a few weeks. Excuse me, I want to put this away while I’m thinking about it.” He indicated the book in his hand. “It’s a full-time job just keeping these books in order.” He started toward the stairway, then paused. “Oh—if you have any more questions about the robbery, Miss Dobie will help you. Actually, she knows more about it than I do.”

“Still don’t remember anything?”

Conan shook his head. “It’s still a complete blank. But if I ever get any faint stirrings, I’ll let you know.”

Rose’s pale eyes strayed briefly to the book. “Yeah. You do that.” Then as Conan walked away, he turned to Miss Dobie. “You sure there’s nothing missing?”