Hrivnak eyed me incredulously but headed up the interior stairs, followed by a uniformed cop. I remained where I was.
Marty came down shortly and sat down beside me. “Well.”
“Yes. Well. Should we have known?”
Marty shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope not.” She lapsed into silence.
Finally two officers guided a still-struggling Doris out of her apartment and down the stairs, followed by James and Detective Hrivnak, talking with each other. “I’ll come by in a few minutes, Detective. There are some other things you need to know,” James said.
“Right. Make it sooner rather than later.” She nodded wordlessly to Marty and me, then climbed back into her car and followed the black-and-white to wherever they were taking Doris.
James turned to Marty and me. “I’m going to have to go with them and explain things. Nell, why don’t you go home? You look like you’re about to fall over. I think we can hold her for Alfred’s murder alone, unless you want to press charges.”
I shook my head. “No. Let’s keep this simple.” I shook my head again. “That was really unnerving. Doris has always been so cool and collected, and then she just fell apart. I can’t believe she really killed Alfred. But-what about Charles? What are you going to do about the thefts now?”
“I think we can wait until tomorrow for that. At the moment he doesn’t know we’re on to him, and he has no reason to disappear. If he gave Doris the day off, he won’t expect to see her until tomorrow, most likely. We can deal with him in the morning. Good enough?”
“You’re the expert. If you’re going to arrest Charles, can I be there?”
“I think you deserve that much. Look, I’ve got to get over to the police station, but let’s say we meet at the Society tomorrow morning.”
“All right. I’ll let you in, say eight thirty? Before the rest of the staff shows up.”
“Fine. Go get some rest, Nell.” He headed down the stairs, leaving me standing in the hall with Marty.
“Well,” I said.
“Exactly,” Marty replied. “He’s right-you look done in. You okay to drive home? Or you want to stay with me tonight?”
“Thanks, Marty, but I’m okay. I’d really just rather be in my own place.” I wanted to slink back into my cave and hibernate. I had a lot to process. I shook my head in disbelief. “What an unholy mess. And tomorrow isn’t going to be any better. Marty, what’s going to happen to the Society?”
“I won’t kid you-it may be rocky for a while. But I think Doris was right-the Society will survive. We’ve survived this long, and damned if I’m going to let it go under on my watch.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Walk me back to the car?”
We made our way slowly back to my car, now decorated with a couple of parking tickets. I drove home carefully, where I fell into bed and slept for twelve hours.
CHAPTER 33
The next morning, I lay in bed trying to sort out what had happened the day before and what was going to happen today, and what it might mean to me and to the institution where I worked, a place I happened to care about quite a lot. Funny, wasn’t it, that a crumbling building filled with a lot of old books and papers could lead to such drama. But in a perverse way it made me feel better-the place, or at least its contents, were worth fighting for. If I hadn’t cared about it, maybe I would have brushed off Marty’s accusations of theft as the rantings of a crank, and ignored Alfred’s findings, much as Latoya had, and things would have gone on just as they always had.
And maybe Alfred would still be alive.
But I had taken Marty’s complaint seriously, and I had talked to Alfred, and I had sent the whole thing tumbling down. How would we put it back together?
Well, lying in bed wasn’t going to help. I hauled myself upright, took a shower, and stood in front of my closet. What does one wear to an arrest? I decided a sober black jacket and wool pants would be appropriate, with a silk blouse in a rich but subdued burgundy. I put on my grandmother’s pearls, then took them off again-this was not a social occasion. I put on my good leather shoes and some real gold earrings. The appropriate outfit to help the FBI arrest a criminal.
I decided to drive into the city, since I had no idea how or when this day would end. I made it without mishap, parked in the expensive garage next to the Doubletree Hotel, and walked briskly to the corner. I was early. I spied Marty approaching and nearly laughed: her outfit was a mirror image of mine, as though we had enlisted in the same army. As we stood there, I saw James approaching.
James was accompanied by another agent-a Morrison-in-training, as it were. He was younger, and smaller in all dimensions, but he was doing his darnedest to emulate his associate’s stance and demeanor, all the while hanging back a respectful two feet.
James introduced us to the second agent, Agent Tuttle. Then he turned to Marty and me. “You are here as a courtesy, and I’d prefer it if you don’t speak. I don’t expect Charles to react violently, but Agent Tuttle is here just in case.” The young agent tried to look menacing and failed. “Are you ready?”
Marty and I looked at each other briefly, then nodded. On the stone steps of the Society, I fished out my keys and opened the door. The lobby was still dark, but I didn’t bother with the lights before leading the way to the elevator.
We rode up the elevator in silence. When we reached the third floor, the men got off first and strode toward the executive offices, Marty and I trailing behind. No one was in. Would Charles appear? Why wouldn’t he? When we reached the outer office of the president’s suite, Doris ’s desk was pristine-not a stray paper in sight. Wordlessly, all four of us sat in the stiff visitors’ chairs to wait for Charles.
We didn’t have long to wait. I could hear the whine of the balky elevator, although the carpeting in the hall muffled footsteps. And then Charles appeared in the doorway. There was a moment of absolute silence. At the sight of us, he paused and surveyed the group before speaking.
I watched his face. He was not a stupid man, and he had to know the game was up. But he chose to play the gracious host.
“Gentlemen, ladies, to what do I owe this visit? Please, come in.”
In his office, James took a small step forward. “Charles Worthington, you are under arrest for the theft of historic items from the Society. You have the right to remain silent…” He ran through the familiar litany. Charles did not respond, did not move, but maintained a pose of studied dignity until James had finished. Then his eyes flickered toward me, briefly, as though contemplating his options, weighing the odds. I met his gaze, and he was the first to turn away. He turned back to James and finally spoke.
“I see. Well, I suppose I should contact my lawyer, if I may?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Of course. You can tell him to meet you at FBI headquarters on Arch Street.”
Charles went to the door. Little Agent Tuttle sprang to follow him, but Charles went only as far as the doorway, and I realized he was looking for Doris. Her absence appeared to surprise him. He came back, then extracted his wallet from a pocket and searched for a business card. “May I?”
James nodded. He left Tuttle keeping an eagle eye on Charles as he made his phone call, and drew Marty and me into the outer office. “Right now I want to get him processed, and that should take a few hours. Shall we meet for dinner?”
I nodded on behalf of us both-I wanted answers. He looked at me, and I thought I saw a hint of a smile. “How about that restaurant with the great reception? Say, seven?”
“OK. Oh, what can I tell the staff?”