The Paper Mirror (5 page)

I was standing at the window, looking out over the city, when O’Banyon hurried in, briefcase in hand, surrounded by an almost palpable aura of business and efficiency.

“Hi, Dick,” he said, without stopping. “I’ll be right with you.”

He went into his office, followed by Donna with a note pad.

You know that old expression, “How the other half lives”? Well, Glen O’Banyon was pretty much “the other half.” He had more power, prestige, and money than I could ever imagine having, but somehow he still kept one foot firmly on the ground, and I admired him for it.

A moment later, Donna came out of Glen’s office and said, “You can go in now, Mr. Hardesty,” holding the door open for me. She indicated the now-almost-empty coffee cup in my hand. “I can take that for you, if you’d like.”

I smiled my thanks as I handed it to her, and she closed the door behind me. O’Banyon gestured me to a chair, and I sat.

“I’ve got to be in court in forty-five minutes,” he said, settling back into his own chair behind his large but not ostentatious desk, “but I wanted to talk with you in person about this…matter.”

“Taylor Cates’ death,” I said, and he nodded.

He ran a thumb across the space between his nose and upper lip. “Yes,” he said. “And we…several members of the Burrows board and I…would like you to look into it.”

I pondered that one for only a moment.

“Aren’t the police doing that?” I asked.

He nodded. “Oh, yes, but I doubt they have much to go on. It
looks
like an accident, but…”

“…but you don’t think it was,” I said, completing his sentence for him.

He gave a slight shrug. “Well, that’s just it—we don’t know. We’re concerned that with the Burrows being so visible a symbol of the community, it might somehow have become a target for some radical group or another, or just a single homophobic nutcase. The police have talked to each of the board members, but frankly, we aren’t that directly involved with the operational day-to-day details of running the library. Irving McGill called me after they’d spoken to him and was a little conflicted. He had told the police what he knew, which wasn’t much, but nothing more.”

“Meaning?”

He gave a cocked-head shrug. “Just that he had a strong feeling that something was not right.”

I didn’t ask why McGill hadn’t said that to the police, but I understood. Just as the police are a still a little leery of us, there was still a distinct…hesitation…in getting them involved in community affairs unless it was absolutely necessary. But obviously he felt strongly enough to mention his feelings to O’Banyon.

“Nothing more specific?” I asked.

O’Banyon—odd, I thought, how I insisted on always thinking of him as O’Banyon, though I called him Glen when we talked—pursed his lips and glanced out the window beside his desk. “He has been bothered about the same questions you brought up right after the accident about the circumstances of Taylor’s death…a fall down a set of steps he should never have been on in the first place, and why he was even in that part of the library.

“Pretty obvious questions. The police had asked why Taylor might have been on the stairs: might he have been going out, or coming in, or answering a knock at the door, or…. Irving told them that it was unlikely that Taylor would have been leaving the building for some reason or trying to let someone in, but he was understandably pretty distraught at the time, and didn’t go into detail. When the police noticed a pack of cigarettes in Taylor’s shirt pocket, they apparently assumed he’d been stepping outside for a cigarette, but they didn’t say anything, and Irving didn’t think to tell them that Taylor followed the rules too closely to ever leave the catalog area unattended by going outside to smoke. I guess they were satisfied and didn’t follow up any further. Apparently, since they talked with Irving the night of the accident, they didn’t interview him again. But the more he thought about it, the more strongly he felt that something wasn’t right, and he called me. He is convinced that Taylor was on to something prior to his death, though he has no idea what.

“So after talking with Irving I decided to bring his concerns up to the board, and four out of five of us—I don’t think I have to mention the dissenter—agreed we should ask you to look into it, just on the outside chance Irving’s concerns should have some basis in fact. We want to keep the whole thing as quiet as possible, of course, which is another reason not to involve the police. We’ll do everything we can to cooperate with whatever police investigation there may be, but we’re not going to start waving flags and pointing off in all directions.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “What do you know of Taylor’s personal life? Did he have a partner? How did he come to work with the Collection?”

O’Banyon gave a quick sigh. “As I told you the night of the opening, I didn’t really know him all that well. He had just earned his Master’s in Library Science, and Irving was very impressed with him. He came to us, interestingly enough, on Evan Knight’s recommendation. I assume he and Taylor had something going there for a while. But like most of Evan’s affairs, I doubt it lasted all that long.”

“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “I got the impression Knight was sizing Jonathan up like a spider eyes a fly.”

“Well,” O’Banyon said, returning the grin, “I’d keep an eye on him, if I were you. Evan’s as slippery as they come, and a real con man. From what I understand he’s not very keen on the idea of monogamy…his or anyone else’s. As a matter of fact, I hear he looks on guys in relationships as a special challenge. Jonathan strikes me as just the kind of guy Evan would consider fair game—especially with you around.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. I suddenly remembered the program we’d been given at the opening—Jonathan never throws anything away. “I was a little surprised to see that Knight’s name wasn’t on the list of the Foundation’s Board of Directors,” I said. “I’d have thought, considering his closeness to Chester Burrows, he might have been.”

O’Banyon shook his head. “No. The board was limited to five members to make it easier to operate, and Evan is just a bit too much of a loose cannon. We’re having enough trouble with Zach Clanton as our resident naysayer. I don’t think Evan minds not being saddled with the responsibilities of board membership as long as he feels he still has some influence as Chester Burrows’ past confidante.”

He glanced quickly at his watch. “Anyway, the facts are these: we’re sitting on a potential gold mine of material with the Burrows Collection, and we don’t even have an idea yet of what we’ve got. There is the outside possibility that Taylor Cates might have come across something valuable enough to have gotten him killed.”

In a warehouse full of old books and manuscripts?
I thought.
In a detective novel, maybe, but in real life?
I couldn’t imagine how, but a job’s a job, and if O’Banyon wanted me to check it out, I’d be more than happy to oblige.

“So will you look into it?”

“Of course.”

“Good! Any questions?”

“Not at the moment. I assume I’ll have full access to the library and its staff, as well as the board members.”

O’Banyon nodded. “Of course. I’ve asked Donna to make you a list of the board members’ addresses and phone numbers, as well as those of Irving McGill and Evan Knight; I’m sure you’ll want to talk to some of them.” He looked at his watch again and sighed, then pressed a button on the intercom on his desk.

“Donna, could you bring in those papers on the Feinberg case…and that information for Mr. Hardesty?” Without waiting for a response he turned the intercom off, and his attention back to me. “Sorry to have to cut this short, Dick, but…”

“I understand,” I said, getting up from my chair as he rose from his to shake hands.

As I turned toward the door, there was a gentle knock, and Donna entered, a
large legal binder and a plain envelope in one hand. She paused to give me the smaller envelope with a smile. “The addresses you wanted,” she said, then continued on to O’Banyon’s desk as I left the office.

As I listened to the soft whoosh of the elevator’s descent, I had some niggling second thoughts about having taken the job just because it was offered to me. I’d feel pretty bad about taking money just to spin my wheels and get nowhere. Did I really think Taylor Cates could have been murdered? He had died in a fall. Accidents happen all the time. So does murder, unfortunately. But usually, in a murder, it’s in a setting with a little bit of mystery or intrigue. A corporate headquarters, maybe, or a military base. But what could go on in a library that might lead to murder?

CHAPTER 3

Well, no sense in wasting time. As soon as I got to my office I sat down and opened the envelope—I hadn’t even stopped to pick up the morning paper. There were six names on the list, complete with addresses and phone numbers: Irving McGill, Zachary Clanton, Marvin Westeen, Thomas McNabb, William Pearson, and Evan Knight.

Of the six, I’d only officially met Westeen, and, of course, the ever-popular Evan Knight. I knew Thomas McNabb only by reputation—he was a prominent realtor, and had been instrumental in acquiring the old T. R. Roosevelt Elementary property for the library. William Pearson, the only black member of the board, had a variety of high-profile business interests, and some not so well publicized, such as ownership or part ownership of a number of the larger and more popular gay bars and restaurants. He was well respected for his philanthropies in both the black and gay communities. That there were no women on the board had been a source of minor controversy, but the selection of the board was generally understood to be more a matter of financial and political clout than of gender.

Since McGill, as the library’s new director, had been, however briefly, Taylor Cates’ de facto boss in the cataloging of the Burrows Collection, I thought I’d start with him. Of all the principals in the library, with the possible exception of Evan Knight, McGill was in the best position to know what, if anything, Taylor might have come across that may have resulted in his death—if it had indeed not been an accident.

The Burrows’ phone number wasn’t in the directory yet, but I assumed the number on the list Donna had given me was for the library and not McGill’s home, and I called it right after making a pot of coffee.

“Good morning, the Burrows Library and Archives,” a pleasant female voice answered.

“Good morning. Is Mr. McGill in?”

After the usual game of “May I tell him who’s calling” and polite answer, she told me she would get Mr. McGill for me. A minute or so later there was a click and a definitely male, “Yes, Mr. Hardesty, what can I do for you?”

I was a little surprised by the deepness of his voice, but then I remembered we hadn’t officially met at the opening, so I guess I’d never heard him speak.

“As I’m sure you know, I’ve been hired by the Burrows Foundation board to look over the circumstances surrounding Taylor Cates’ death. I was wondering if we might get together to talk about it,” I said, “since I gather you knew him as well as if not better than anyone at the library.”

“That’s probably true, I suppose,” McGill said, “though our relationship was strictly work related.”

That’s interesting,
I thought.
I don’t recall implying it was anything else. Why would he mention it?

“Understood,” I said, “but I would like to hear whatever you
do
know about him
.
The more I can find out about him and whether there might be any reason to suspect his fall was not an accident, the better.
Perhaps there was something in the work he was doing….”

“We’ve just begun the work of cataloging, really,” McGill said, “and it is a monumental task. Evan Knight had done some preliminary work, but he is only one man, and not really trained in library science and current standard cataloging procedures, so we are in many aspects starting the process from scratch.”

I didn’t want to get into a long discussion of library science and current standard cataloging procedures just then—or ever, now that I think of it—so I just said, “So when would it be convenient for us to meet?”

“When would you like?”

“Well, the sooner the better, I think.”

He was silent a moment, then said, “I’m interviewing potential catalogers this afternoon.” There was a slight pause as though he thought he might have said something he shouldn’t have, then continued. “I know it’s only been a few days since Taylor’s death, but we’re now short two catalogers, and we have a tremendous lot of work to do.”

Two catalogers?
I wondered what became of the other one, but decided to wait until I met with McGill to ask.

“I won’t take up much of your time, I promise,” I said.

“I should be through by three. Would that be all right?”

“Three will be fine. I appreciate your cooperation.”

“I’m happy to help. Until three, then.” And he hung up.

*

After we hung up, I thought of calling Evan Knight. He’d apparently known Taylor Cates in a slightly different way, but he might very well have some pertinent insights into Taylor as a person. I knew full well part of my aversion to seeing him again was my Scorpio jealous/possessive nature, which I’ve tried with only relative degrees of success to keep under control most of my life. I consoled myself with the thought that he would have pissed me off even if he’d been making so obvious a pass at anyone else’s lover.