Hoarded to Death (A Jamie Brodie Mystery) (16 page)

“Don’t be offended by my asking this, but is it yours to sell?”

She laughed. “That’s not a problem.”

Like hell
. “That’s good to hear. May I ask what the item is?”

“It’s a page from a ninth century manuscript.”

I tried to sound offended. “Just one page?”

“I don’t want to talk about this any more on the phone. Do you think your donor would be interested, or not?”

“Well, yes, I think it’s possible. But we’re going to have to examine the item here at the university before the donor will consider making an offer.”

“Right. How soon can we set that up?”

“Um – it’s Friday afternoon, our manuscript specialist is gone for the day. I’ll have to talk to him and get back with you. Can I get your name and number?”

“I’d rather not do that. I’ll call you back. When will you know?”

“Monday afternoon. After 3:00, 3:30. I won’t get a chance to meet with him before then.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll call you at 3:30 on Monday.” She hung up.

Whoa
. I set down the phone and scrawled the rest of my notes. Then I picked up my office phone and called Detective Eckhoff.

“Eckhoff.”

“Hey, it’s Jamie Brodie. I just got a call on the phone you gave me.”

“No
shit
.” He sounded excited. Come to think of it, I was kind of excited myself. “Did you get a name?”

“No. She wouldn’t give her name or number.”
“A
woman?
”

“Yep. She was trying to disguise her voice, but not doing a very good job. Definitely a woman. She sounded young.”

“What else did she say?”

I read him the conversation as constructed from the notes I took. He was impressed. “You got a lot there.”

“Well, not really. I don’t have an ID or location or anything.”

“No, but it sounds like this might be the person with the torn page. Or at least that person’s agent.”

“Yeah. So do you want to be here when she calls back?”

“Sure do. You said 3:30 Monday?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll come to your office. See you then.”

Finally
. Maybe we were going to get a break in this case.

UCLA’s rugby team was having a great year. I was teaching Pete the details of the game, and we went to matches when we could. On Saturday afternoon, UCLA was playing UCSB. It was a chilly day, but clear, so we bundled up and went to campus. We were settling into our bleacher seats when I spotted Kendall McEwen a few seats down. He saw me at the same time and waved, then came over to join us. “Hey, mate! Mind if I sit?”

“No, no, sit down. How’s it going?”

Kendall and I talked for a while about my upcoming trip to Oxford. The match began, and my attention was divided between the field and Kendall, who kept up a constant stream of chatter. He kept touching my arm, nudging me, being almost…flirtatious, but I didn’t think much about it. The talk from other Oxonians was that Kendall was an equal opportunity flirt, but was completely straight when push came to shove. I could believe that. Kendall had always seemed like the kind of guy who wanted to be admired by everyone in the room, male or female.

UCLA had scored two quick trys but was having a run of sloppy play. I was trying to pay more attention to the game when Kendall asked, “So, any word on your scrap of illuminated manuscript?”

I was about to answer him when UCSB scored a penalty goal. Pete leaned into me and pointed at the field. “Okay, what just happened there?”

I explained, which took a while – Pete kept asking questions, which I wanted to answer because I wanted him to learn and enjoy the game. It distracted me from Kendall, and I completely forgot that he’d asked me about the manuscript. UCLA finally straightened up and scored again, and Kendall didn’t mention the manuscript again.

UCLA won handily, 49-3. We said goodbye to Kendall and headed home. I was pulling onto Wilshire when Pete said, “I don’t think you should tell Kendall about the intact manuscript page.”

I glanced at him, surprised. “I didn’t tell him.”

“I know, because I jumped in and asked you a question to distract you.”

“Oh, you did that on purpose? You didn’t really want to know about penalty goals?”

“Yeah…I wanted to know about penalty goals, but I also did it on purpose. I didn’t want you to tell him anything.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think I like him.”

“Okay…why not?”

“For one thing, he was all over you from the time he sat down.”

“
What?
He didn’t mean anything by that.”

“How do you know?”

“I…that’s just Kendall. He flirts with anything that moves – men, women, dogs, whatever. It’s just the way he is. He’s completely straight.” We were at a red light, and I looked over at Pete. “Are you
jealous?
”

“No, of course not. I just don’t like that kind of behavior. From anyone.”

“Hmm. What’s the other thing?”

“What other thing?”

“You said you didn’t like him because ‘for one thing…’ What’s the other thing?”

“Oh.” Pete was quiet for a couple of seconds. “I don’t know, exactly. He just sort of…sets off my cop radar.”

“
Really?
Why?”

“I can’t explain it. It’s…it’s instinct or something. I don’t know.”

“Huh. I think your radar might be rusty. As far as I know, Kendall’s as upstanding as they come.”

“If you say so.” But I could tell Pete was still bothered. And I wondered if maybe he
was
a little jealous.

On Monday, I tried to keep busy with other things, but it was hard to not think about what was going to happen that afternoon. As a result, my concentration was kind of shot, and I didn't get much accomplished. I invited Conrad to join Eckhoff and me in my office at 3:00, and he accepted. I also called Gillian to see if she wanted to be there, and she said yes. My office would be crowded. I borrowed a couple of extra chairs from Liz and squeezed them into the corners.

At least the reference desk was a bit of a distraction. There weren't many people around, so Clinton stayed to talk after he gave us the word of the day (which was
heliacal
, meaning relating to the sun). I told him and Liz about the call we'd gotten and my appointment with Eckhoff and the caller at 3:30.

Clinton looked surprised. "I would not have expected the thieves to be willing to meet at the university."

"Oh, I don't think they'll agree to that. We'll have to arrange some other meeting place. They won't want to be that exposed."

Liz asked, "The cops still have no idea who's behind this at all?"

"They haven't been able to find any connections. Jennifer swears she didn't tell anyone about having valuable items in boxes, although we're starting to wonder if that's true. The old lady didn't have any family, at least none the police have been able to find. Wally, the dead guy, had no apparent connection to Jennifer or the old lady. The old lady's lawyer is a dead end. So we're kind of stuck. Which was the idea behind this little sting operation."

Clinton said, "Why do you believe that your sister-in-law might have been untruthful?"

I sighed. "I don't know if I believe it yet, but she does have a history of hiding things. Jennifer cares a
lot
about what other people think of her. That's why she never told anyone about the hoarding problem. So if she told someone about the boxes of books, she might not have admitted it to us because she wouldn't want us to think that she was dumb for doing that."

Liz was aghast. "But that means she lied to the police."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not sure she's thought about the consequences there. But I'm going to tell Eckhoff about it when he gets here."

Shortly before 3:00, Eckhoff strolled into the library. He spotted me at the reference desk and came over. "Is this where I come for help?"

I laughed. "Depends on what kind of help you need."

He grinned. "This is the real-life version of the guru on the mountaintop, right? The answers to all the questions are right here."

Clinton said mildly, "Sometimes the answers are within yourself."

Eckhoff looked surprised. I made the introductions. "Uh, Detective Jonathan Eckhoff, Clinton Kenneally and Liz Nguyen."

Eckhoff shook their hands. He held on to Liz's hand a little longer than necessary and gave her a brilliant smile, which she returned. Hmm. Eckhoff said, "Call me Jon."

Liz said, "Hi, Jon." And smiled again. I looked at Clinton; he gave me a tiny nod, a knowing look on his face.

Eckhoff was apparently going to make the most of this opportunity. "So you all are librarians too?"

Liz said, "I am." Clinton said, "I am merely a patron."

Eckhoff nodded. He was still smiling at Liz. I could nearly see the sparks shooting between them. "Are you a history specialist too?"

"No, my specialty is political science."

"Ah. Interesting." Eckhoff gave Liz that brilliant smile again. He really was an attractive guy. "I'd like to hear more about that."

Liz tilted her head and kept smiling. "Well, after your appointment with Jamie, come next door to my office. I can tell you all about it."

"I will definitely do that." Eckhoff grinned at Liz one more time, then turned to me. Reluctantly, I thought. "Are you ready?"

It was five minutes before three. "Yeah. Let's go." I led him upstairs to my office. When we got there, I unlocked the door for him and gestured for him to go in before me. He stepped in and looked around. "This is nice. A lot better than what I have for an office."

"Yeah, if yours is anything like the detective's room at West LA, I sympathize."

He laughed. "Yeah, it's a lot like that." He turned to me. "So, your friend Liz, is she single?"

I grinned at him. "Yes, she is."

Eckhoff grinned back. "Well, maybe she won't stay single for long."

I laughed. "Go for it, dude."

"Oh, I'm gonna do that." He rubbed his hands together and got serious. “Okay. I’ve been getting to know your brother Kevin a lot better. Belardo and I talked to Jennifer again, and she denied knowing Brashier. Kevin and I also talked to Brashier again, and he denied knowing Jennifer. But the ballistics from the bullets that killed Michael Lindsey, the guy on Brashier’s property, matched the bullets that killed Wallace. We got a warrant to search Brashier’s property, but nothing turned up. We still think he’s our guy, but he might have hired someone to do the dirty work.”

“Holy shit. So the cases are definitely connected.”

“Yep. But we’re still not sure how. Okay, let's gather everyone, and we can talk about what's gonna happen with this phone call."

I called Conrad. Gillian was waiting in his office, and the two of them came right up. I ushered them into the office and closed the door. I asked Eckhoff, "If the caller wants names, do I give them?"

"You can give Dr. Huffstetler's name; they can look online to confirm that. Don't give mine...use the last name of Williams, like we did before."

Then the phone rang.

I clicked the speaker feature first, then answered. "Brodie."

"We need to meet." It was the same voice, the young-sounding woman.

"Yes, with our authentication expert."

"Who's that?"

"Our special collections librarian. His name is Conrad Huffstetler."

"How do I know that's the truth?"

"You can look on UCLA library's website. His name, picture and job title are there."

"They'd better be."

"They are." I crossed my fingers and said, "The donor's representative is insisting on coming to the meeting as well."

"No. Only the two of you."

"That won't work. Sorry. It's the donor's money. She won't agree to anything unless her rep sees the item."

There was a pause. It sounded like the caller had clamped her hand over the phone and was talking to someone; I could hear a vague murmur in the background. Then she was back. "Okay. Three of you. But that's it."

"Right. That's it."

"What's this representative's name?"

"Jonathan Williams. He was with me the day I visited the antique book shops. If you have a contact in one of them, your contact can describe him. Then you'll know it's the same person."

Another pause. Then, "Okay. We meet tomorrow night, 11 pm, behind the West Hollywood Park tennis courts. You know where that is?"

"On San Vicente." I'd played tennis there with a previous boyfriend a few times.

"Right. Don't be late. And no cops."

"Of course. No cops." I rolled my eyes at Eckhoff and he grinned.

"Fine." The woman hung up.

I clicked off. Gillian was wide-eyed. "Just like the movies."

"Probably not." Eckhoff stood up and opened the door. It was getting warm in the office. "These people sound like amateurs. That 'no cops' line is something they've heard on TV." He sat back down, thoughtful. "That woman sounds young. I wonder if this is a group of young people? The dead guy, Wally, was pretty young."

"Yeah." I remembered my self-description of him as resembling Shaggy. "Kind of a hipster wannabe."

Conrad said, "Well, that's a refreshing change, from the usual criminal sort, right?"

Eckhoff laughed. "Right." He sobered up a little. "Okay. We'll meet here, at the library, and go from here. Dr. Huffstetler, I don’t want you to come to this first meeting. There’s a detective at Pacific Division that’s built like you; he’ll pass from a distance. If they do have something with them, and Jamie thinks it looks good, we’ll arrange another meet. Jamie, Todd, and I will meet here at 10:00, we can go over how we're going to handle the contingencies, then get there in plenty of time. Wear comfortable clothes. I'll alert the West Hollywood sheriff's station, have them discreetly patrol the area. They probably do anyway." He stood up again. "Any questions?"

Gillian asked, "Do you think they'll have the page with them?"

Eckhoff considered. "I don't know. If they were professionals in any sense of the word, they wouldn't. They'd want us to show ourselves first. But if this is a bunch of kids trying to make a quick buck, they may have it with them." He shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and see."