Authors: Fairstein Linda
“He’s expecting you?”
“Yes. I’m Alexandra Cooper.”
The concierge rang the apartment, and when someone
answered, he announced me. “Take that elevator to your left.”
“And what floor do I press?”
“The lift only goes to Mr. Herrick’s home.”
I followed Mike into the small elevator and
pressed the button that said Up. Seconds later, it came to a stop and the door
opened.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Cooper. I’m Alger Herrick,”
he said, extending his right hand to help me step off. His left hand was tucked
into the pocket of a charcoal gray cashmere sweater, set off against a yellow
ascot that framed his long, narrow face.
Mike introduced himself as I moved onto a small
balcony that hung above the main room of the apartment. It took my eyes a
minute to adjust to the dim light, and then I looked around at the vaulted
ceiling and the large stained-glass windows that ringed the cavernous space of
the perfectly appointed room.
“I was in here years ago, but I’d never recognize
the place,” Mike said, whistling softly as he moved in behind me. “This used to
be the hospital’s chapel, wasn’t it?”
“Precisely, Detective. Did you know it in the old
days—after the hospital closed—when these glorious rooms were filled with decay?”
Alger Herrick asked. “This was indeed the chapel of St. Elizabeth of Hungary.
Patron saint of the suffering.”
I felt a chill run down my spine.
“I had a rather long conversation with your
colleague, Mr. McKinney, from my home in London late last week,” Herrick said.
“Thursday evening, I believe.”
He led us down the winding staircase of the duplex
and seated us in the living room, waiting for the butler to return with our ice
water and his tea.
“Things have happened since then,” Mike said. “A
woman’s been killed in the apartment Tina Barr was living in, and Barr herself
has disappeared.”
“Yes, I got back to town on Sunday. Jill Gibson
called yesterday, asking about Tina. Apparently she seemed to have left without
a trace.”
“Were you surprised?”
“I was, Mr. Chapman. She’s been working with me
for several weeks,” Herrick said, “and I thought we were getting on very well.
I owe her quite a large amount of money, so I assume she’ll be in touch with me
about that.”
“Do you know anything about her family, her next
of kin?” I asked. “Any idea where she might have gone?”
“Her father died when she was very young. I know
that. Tina spoke of her mother. I understand she lives in one of those artists’
colonies on the west coast of Mexico.”
“Would you have the mother’s name, or an address
for her?”
“I’m afraid not. No reason for me to have it.”
Herrick was standing a few yards away from me, but
I could barely see his face because of the lack of light in the room.
“You mind turning up the wattage?” Mike asked,
also frustrated by not being able to gauge the expressions on Herrick’s face.
Herrick walked to a panel near the staircase and
pushed the dimmer. The mountings on the wall, all in gilded frames, were
maps—oceans and continents, familiar territories and foreign names.
“Sorry, Mr. Chapman. I’m so used to living at lamp
level—that’s what we call it when you work with ancient documents—that I forget
others aren’t accustomed to it. The objects in my collection, whether on
parchment or vellum or paper, are better protected by low lighting. That’s why
it’s so dark in here,” Herrick said. The dimness added to the solemnity of the
room. “I’d only got to know Tina a little better about a month ago. We hadn’t
worked out the details for her fees yet.”
“Hope you figure it out before next April,” Mike
said. “She’ll have taxes to pay.”
“Frankly, Detective, Tina wanted to be paid off
the books. Cash. I was quite uncomfortable with that. I gave her some money
up-front, to get her going, but I hadn’t formalized our arrangement.”
The butler returned with our drinks and handed me
water in a heavy crystal double-highball glass. While Mike questioned Herrick,
I checked out the sumptuous fittings of the old chapel and admired the
brilliant colors of the antique hand-drawn maps and charts.
“Where did you meet Tina?” Mike asked.
“At the New York Public Library. I’d seen her
there over the years, exchanged pleasantries and such, and I was aware that
she’d built up a good reputation for herself,” Herrick said, resting his teacup
on the mantel above the fireplace. “It seemed the perfect opportunity for both
of us, with my collection and her skill.”
“Wasn’t she already working for someone else?”
“Jasper Hunt. She’d been hired by someone to do
some projects for the old man himself.”
“Not hired by him?”
“Jasper? Entirely gaga at this point, Detective.
At least, that’s what I heard. It was probably one of his children, trying to
get their greedy hands on his treasures,” Herrick said, taking a sip of his
tea. “You’ve met them, have you?”
“Tell me what you know,” Mike said.
“Talbot’s a bookman. That’s how collectors are
known. The father always favored him because Tally’s got the same nose for
books as Jasper, the same appreciation—had it since he was a child. He’s
probably close to fifty now, a bit younger than me. Been very involved in
running the family property empire, expanding it to pass on to his children.”
“So they get on, father and son?”
Alger Herrick ran his finger along the edge of the
mantel. “There are others closer to Jasper who could tell you more than I.”
“But you’ve heard rumblings. You must have had
something in mind when you hired Tina Barr away.”
“Idle gossip around the library,” Herrick said.
“Tally’s getting impatient, hoping to keep some of his father’s fortune in the
family. Make sure it isn’t all given away. That sort of thing.”
“Even to the library?” Mike asked. “Even though
he’s on the board?”
“I have the impression that Tally would like to
have control of something substantial at this point in his life. Something of
his very own. There’s a certain feeling of entitlement that comes over a man
like that by the time he’s reached middle age. His grandfather was such an
eccentric that no one’s quite sure how much of the fortune is still intact. A
lot of the Hunt money has already been given away, and Jasper himself kept
threatening to change the provisions of his will. Mind you, that’s just the
talk.”
“And Minerva?”
Alger Herrick raised his teacup. “I’ll have to
switch to something stronger than this, Detective, if we’re to talk about that
viper. I have a bad taste in my mouth at just the mention of her name.”
“Why so?”
“You seem intrigued by that one, Ms. Cooper,”
Herrick said. He caught me staring at a beautifully drawn map of the European
coastline, the compass roses highlighted in gold paint. “By all means have a
closer look.”
“Minerva Hunt,” Mike said, drawing Herrick back to
the conversation. “Why do you dislike her?”
“She’s a lightweight, Mr. Chapman. A complete
cipher. Minerva’s a girl who was handed every advantage in life on a silver
plate, and she still hasn’t worked out what to do with it all. Other than the
income she derived from it, the family business never interested her. Books
were Tally’s thing, so that put her off becoming a bibliophile. But even on a
personal level, I know she’s been a great disappointment to Jasper,” Herrick
said. “He confided that to me years ago.”
“How long have you known Jasper Hunt?”
“My goodness. Half my life, I suppose. It’s a
small world we collectors live in. Very few of us with the means to indulge
ourselves in this market. Jasper used to keep a flat in London, where I have a
house. He was always there for the big sales and auctions. I learned a lot from
him, from the time when I was just an eager young man. Jasper Hunt had a
brilliant eye.”
“When did you first meet Tally and Minerva?” Mike
asked.
“I think they were both still at university. Tally
at Oxford, where his father had done a year as well. The old man had his eye on
me for Minerva,” Herrick said, shaking his head at the thought. “He introduced
me to her one weekend. She was in her first year at Bryn Mawr then.”
“So you dated?” Mike asked.
“Heavens, no. I was already engaged at the time.
You’ve met her, haven’t you?”
“Yes, briefly.”
“Tough as nails, is that what you Americans say? I
don’t know about you, Detective,” Herrick said, smiling at Mike, “but I like my
women a bit softer.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Mike said, winking at me.
“Fragile. Almost vulnerable.”
“Indeed.”
“Did you see Tina this week, after your return?”
“She was here on Monday,” Herrick said. “She was
working upstairs in my study.”
“On what?” Mike asked.
“She finished her first big project for me—I let
her audition on a piece of moderate value. And then she’s been sorting through
some of my recent acquisitions, trying to help me determine which items are
candidates for restoration.”
“When did you talk with her next?”
Herrick put his right hand in the deep pocket of
his sweater, lowered his head, and started to pace around the perimeter of the
room.
“Not again,” he said. “I haven’t spoken to her
since.”
“Were you concerned when she didn’t show up
yesterday?” Mike asked.
“Not at all. No. She wasn’t supposed to come in.
She was planning to spend the day at the library. Tina was only working for me
part-time. Due back today, actually.”
Herrick paused in front of one of the chapel’s
stained-glass windows. The tapered conical ceiling rose almost thirty feet over
his head, and although he was a tall man, he seemed almost overwhelmed by the
space of the once-hallowed room.
“Have you done anything to try to find her?”
“I should think, Mr. Chapman, that responsibility
falls on you. I barely know the woman, and if she chooses to take a holiday as
a result of the break-in that Jill Gibson described to me, there’ll be plenty
of work for her when she returns.”
“Mr. Herrick,” I said, standing to approach him,
“what does Tina Barr have to do with Minerva Hunt?”
“I haven’t any idea, to be honest with you. Tina
told me she’d met Minerva at Jasper’s home. The woman frightened her, quite
frankly. I told Tina that she frightens lots of people.”
“You’ve done business with Minerva?”
“I’d hardly describe it as business. Every now and
then she goes after something I’m keen on. She’s got in my way from time to
time. Nothing serious, mind you.”
“But I thought you said she doesn’t collect?” I
said.
“Not books, Ms. Cooper,” Herrick said, doubling
back to the fireplace, crossing in front of it, pausing beside an enormous
wooden stand, almost as tall as he, in which an antique globe was mounted.
“Maps. Minerva Hunt likes to dabble in rare maps.”
“Like you.”
“I’m not a dabbler, Detective. With me, it’s a
passion,” Herrick said. “I’m trying too hard to point out the differences
between us, that’s true. There’s nothing scholarly about my interests. They’re
purely visual. Very different from book collecting, I can assure you. I just go
after the best-looking things.”
His self-deprecating comment was meant to belittle
Minerva Hunt.
“You’ve got hundreds of books here, too,” Mike
said, pointing up to the balcony from which we’d descended on our way in.
“Atlases mostly,” Herrick said. “You can
circumnavigate the globe with those books, Mr. Chapman.”
“Did Jill Gibson tell you about the murder in
Tina’s apartment last night?” I asked.
“She did. She called me a little while ago.
Minerva’s maid, was it? Carrying one of Tally’s books. Something like that. I’m
just glad Tina wasn’t at home when the bastard got there. Looking for something
valuable, no doubt. How did the woman die?”
“Fractured skull, Mr. Herrick,” Mike said. “Split
her head in half and crushed her brain. No use for the patron saint of the
suffering, ’cause she didn’t suffer very long.”
Herrick didn’t react. “You think the killer knows
Tina Barr?”
“I don’t know anything about him at this point,
who he knew or what he wanted. Only that he was at least your height, ’cause
the woman was tall, and the blow that took her down struck the crown of her
head.”
“Heavens, Detective. The world is full of people
as tall as I am. Even Minerva Hunt fits the bill.”
“I’d say you’d need a pair of strong arms to heave
that thing,” Mike said. “I think Minerva would be afraid she’d ruin her
manicure.”
Mike was baiting his subject, trying to get a rise
out of him.
Alger Herrick took his hands out of his sweater
pockets. There was a glint of metal against the dark wooden globe as he reached
to spin it. The oceans and continents began to whirl around on the solid wooden
stand, and I could see that where his left hand should have been there was only
a single hook.