Fire Engine Dead (14 page)

“Don’t you have an inventory? Or some sort of super database for stolen art?”

“Of course we have an inventory, but since it was written by some field agents, it reads kind of like,
old document, dated 1783
. And we’ve got a couple of stolen-artifact databases, in fact. But the records are incomplete or inconclusive. If they are stolen, a lot of places may not know they’ve lost anything, or they chose not to report it. You should know all about that, Nell.”

I did, only too well, based on our own experience, and I’d talked to several of my colleagues at similar institutions. Sometimes admitting your security wasn’t up to par was worse PR than losing the items themselves.

He went on. “And as you have pointed out before, written descriptions of historic documents aren’t worth a whole lot. Scanned images or photographs, now, we could work with—”

“Yet that’s precisely what most places like the Society don’t have, for the bulk of their collections,” I cut in, finishing his statement for him. “I know that, you know that. So, what—all these boxes are orphaned documents?” I leaned back in my chair.

“For the moment. Look, I’m out of my depth here, and that’s why I turned to you and your team of experts. If you
can identify any of these documents—and there’s other stuff mixed in, in case you haven’t looked yet—then we will return them to their legal owners.”

“Did this guy come by
any
of it legally?”

“He could produce purchase records for some of it, but we’re still checking to see if they’re legitimate. We just impounded all of it.”

I swallowed, feeling overwhelmed. “Please tell me, in words of one syllable, what the ownership status of all those documents is?”

“Murky. Sorry, that’s two syllables. But it’s true. The Society kept decent records, particularly for the important stuff, which describes mostly what went missing, and you and Marty can identify those pieces that came from the Society. As for the rest…” He trailed off. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

Immediately I felt contrite: he thought he was doing something nice for me, and here I was yelling at him. “With all the other boxes of who-knows-what?” I sighed. “Maybe I will be, once we figure out what’s what here. What do you want me to do now?”

“As I said, catalog it.”

“James! I don’t have the kind of staffing or time to do that. Certainly not pro bono.” But a thought was creeping into my head. “Unless, of course, you plan to pay us for this?”

He was quick to answer—and I thought he sounded relieved. “Of course. The Society would receive an appropriate consulting fee for its services.” He named a figure that stunned me into momentary silence. We could do a lot with that kind of money…if we ever actually saw it. I didn’t
quite trust government agencies. And we’d have to staff up, just a bit. Maybe. We did have two new hires…

“What about items that you can’t identify as either legitimate or stolen? What happens to them?” I suspected there could be quite a few.

“I’d have to look into that. But you’d rather you had custody, don’t you?”

I sighed again. “Yes. At least we know how to take care of the items, so they won’t deteriorate. The problem is, at least one of my so-called experts is untested, at least by me. If he’s good at what he does, we’re in pretty good shape, but I really don’t know yet what he’s capable of. What can you tell me about the guy who collected the stuff? When you said
house
, I was picturing something like a two-story modern colonial with a cozy den lined with shelves, but to house all of this stuff—not to mention keep it hidden from people—he must have had quite a large space.”

James chuckled. “Actually, you’re not far off about the house, but he stored everything in an old bomb shelter. It was under the house, and he did modify the heating and cooling to protect his precious collections.”

“Was it damp?” Which could mean all sorts of bad things for the documents.

“He kept a permanent dehumidifier going.”

That sounded promising. “What on earth did his wife think?”

“She hated the shelter and never went down there. She did, however, wonder where all their money was going. I gather collecting is not a cheap hobby, even if you get a lot of your pieces under the table, so to speak.”

James believed he had done me a favor, and reluctantly I
had to admit that he was probably right. The Society was reasonably well equipped to assess the mass of purloined papers, or whatever they were; certainly far better than FBI field agents, and I doubted they had a lot of specialists on staff. And since he was willing to pay for our expertise, it was a win-win situation. Kind of. I just wished he had warned me. Now I’d have to figure out who to assign to what, when I didn’t even know the capabilities of my new staffers. Plus I’d have to figure out what of our own work could wait while we sorted through the FBI materials.

“You’d better work out how you want to handle ownership before I ask my staff to take this on.”

“Would the Society be interested in keeping the orphaned materials?” Now he sounded mildly amused, and I suspected he was manipulating me.

“Not until I see what’s in the boxes. Let me get back to you on that.” After all, maybe it was all dreck and we wouldn’t want any of it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, at nine.”

My head was spinning. In the space of a day, we had added two new employees—and a mass of material for them to work on, that would occupy far more than the time they had. But there could be a financial reward, and some good PR (if the FBI would let us talk about helping them out), and maybe even some new acquisitions (if we could work out the sticky ownership questions). It was a lot to take in.

Before I ascended to the giddy heights of the presidency, I would have been in the cataloging room digging into the boxes with both hands. Now I couldn’t even consider that: this was a collections problem, which meant Latoya was responsible for it, with the help of her fledgling employees.
I decided to compromise: I’d restrain myself and go back to my desk and do presidential things, but I’d visit the cataloging room periodically, just to keep an eye on things. That way I’d get to know our new hires and see how they worked with each other and with Rich, and I’d get to snoop through all those boxes and see what was really in them. It could be dreck—but it could be wonderful, and I was itching to find out.

And then James and I would have a serious talk. “I think you owe me a dinner. Or the FBI does,” I said.

He surprised me by saying, “Tonight?”

“Uh, okay.” At least by then I’d have a better idea of what he had dumped in our laps. “You want to meet me here?”

“Sevenish?”

“Sounds good. See you then.” I ended the call and sat back in my chair. This day was not turning out the way I had expected.

I divided the rest of the day between trying to get my
regular work done and visiting the processing room to see what progress the crew was making with the FBI documents. All right, I’ll admit I sneaked a few peeks into some of the boxes while I was there, because I was curious to see what we’d reaped. I liked what I saw, but as a whole the project seemed daunting.

Since most people had cleared out of the building by seven, I went downstairs to wait for James—after taking one last look at the boxes stacked all over the processing room. Rich, Nicholas, and Alice were still hard at work but looked a bit frazzled now.

“Rich, if you’re going to stay much longer, can you see that Alice and Nicholas get out of the building safely and make sure the alarm is activated? Oh, and I’ve got an appointment out of the office in the morning, so please check in with Latoya first thing about getting your employment paperwork started. So, what do you think?”

“We’ve got everything up here now, so by tomorrow we should be able to start sorting out what’s what,” Rich volunteered.

“I’ll bring my laptop in the morning,” Nicholas said. “My software’s already installed on it, and I can set up an entry protocol.”

“Sounds good. Remind me tomorrow to set you up with the former registrar’s system—you’ll need a password. Alice, how do you think it went?”

“Wow,” she said. “There’s some great stuff here. I can’t believe I get to lay hands on it all. With gloves, of course,” she added quickly.

“Of course,” I said. “Then I’ll see you three tomorrow. Good work, all of you!”

Downstairs I let myself out the front door and stood in the lee of the massive bluestone columns in front of the building, watching for James. I knew he’d probably be on foot, since his office was only a few blocks away. Maybe that was how he stayed in such good shape. Did the local FBI offices have a gym on the premises? If so, were agents required to use it?

He still managed to sneak up on me. “You seem to have survived the day,” he said, arriving at the bottom of the steps.

“No thanks to you,” I said, joining him on the sidewalk. “As I’ve already said, a little warning might have been helpful.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t my call. The materials were cleared, and the powers that be wanted them out of our storage facilities ASAP. I figured you could handle it. You still mad?”

“Not really. You were just darned lucky that we’re adequately staffed to handle your little gift. And I’ll hold you to that offer of a consulting fee.”

“I expect nothing less,” he said. I suspected he was quashing a smile. “Where do you want to eat?”

“I haven’t got the energy to enjoy anything fancy. Why don’t we stroll over to Spruce Street and see what looks good?”

“Fine. You said you’ve added staff?”

I filled him in on the circumstances surrounding Nicholas’s and Alice’s precipitous arrival this morning, which took us the short distance to Spruce Street, tree lined and pleasant in the spring dusk. I couldn’t remember if I’d eaten lunch, or if I had, what it was. We picked a small bistro that looked quiet but smelled wonderful, and were escorted by a waiter to a fairly private corner table.

“So, tell me more about your daring rescue of the purloined documents,” I began after we ordered drinks.

James stopped me quickly. “Nell, can we save the business talk for some other time? Tomorrow morning, maybe?”

It took me a moment to realize that he was referring to our appointment with the arson profiler. “Well, all right, if you want. Was there something else you wanted to talk about?”

He smiled. “You said something about a
date
?”

“What, this is a date?”

He looked at me then. “It is if we manage to talk about something other than business.”

“Oh.” He’d caught me by surprise. Sure, we had been
seeing each other, sort of, for a few months now, but our time together usually involved FBI or Society activities rather than anything personal. I realized I wasn’t sure I knew where to start. “You know, I probably know more about you than you know about me.”

“From cousin Marty, I assume?” he asked.

“Yes. She still thinks of you as one of the gang, not as an FBI agent. You know, serious and scary.”

“Am I scary?”

“Well, you do carry a gun.”

“There is that. Look, Nell, if this is making you uncomfortable, we can go back to talking about art theft or whatever.”

Was it? I wasn’t sure—and I wasn’t sure if I’d respect myself if it was. “Okay, cards on the table? I’ve got a new job at a place that’s struggling to survive, and it keeps me very busy and eats up most of my energy. I’ll be the first to admit that I have next to no life outside of the job. The only reason I met you was because of Alfred’s death and the thefts he uncovered. I have no idea what would have happened between us if we’d connected through a computer dating service or at a party somewhere. I probably would have written you off as a stuffy bureaucrat.”

“You’re saying it’s strictly business between us?”

I could swear he looked disappointed. Interesting. “No. Or, I mean, maybe that’s what it’s been so far, but that doesn’t mean that’s what I want going forward.”

Of course the waiter chose that moment to appear with our drinks and ask for our orders, and I hadn’t even managed to read the menu. At least that gave me a little breathing room, although I picked a dish at random. Regardless, it
was not enough time to decide what I really did want from James.

“And what is that?” he said gravely.

“What?” It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “You mean, what do I want? I…don’t know. Look, I like you. A lot. You’re a good guy, all around. And because we keep getting thrown together for reasons that have nothing to do with us, I guess I haven’t had to make any decisions about how to move onward.”

“Would this be easier if I was an accountant?”

“Maybe. Then it would be my choice. Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No. Came close a time or two, but the job—and that gun—kind of scares a lot of women off.”

Some women, maybe. “I was, once—but of course, you know that. It was nice, but it ended—we just weren’t a good match. I have no regrets. I like my life—at least, most of the time. I like not having to answer to anyone. Can you understand that?”

“I think so. But is it enough for you?”