Stone Cold

Gray put the files back and locked the vault. There were many important folks who would not want the matter of Ray Solomon ever to resurface. They would use all their resources to hunt down whoever tried to kill Gray before the person struck again. And now Gray was fully on their side. His friend had been dead for decades. No good could come from rekindling those fires.

And he had played fair by warning John Carr. The man would get no more help from him. And if he died, he died.

CHAPTER 27

AS JERRY BAGGER was being driven through Washington he passed by the Justice Department building. On noticing this, he immediately gave the finger to the entire federal agency.

“Talk about a great place for a nuclear strike. And maybe they could take out the FBI at the same time. I mean lawyers and cops, who needs ’em? Not me.” He looked at one of his men. “Mike, you need ’em?”

“No, sir, Mr. Bagger.”

“Good thinking.”

Bagger had received a more detailed report from his PI after arriving in D.C.; that’s why he was now climbing out of the car and walking into a library. It wasn’t any library; it was, for many erudite folks, the library: the Library of Congress.

His men made some inquiries, and two minutes later Bagger and his entourage walked into the rare book reading room where the late Jonathan DeHaven, who was also A

To his credit Caleb did not start vomiting on recognizing Bagger from the picture Milton had shown him, although his gurgling stomach made that a clear possibility. Instead, he simply stood there as a smile spread across his face. He had no idea why he was smiling. With a sudden pang of horror he thought it might actually be a first step in his becoming hysterical. He had to do something and fast.

“Can I help you?” he said, walking over to the group of big young men in dark suits surrounding the very fit, sixty-six-year-old, broad-shouldered, white-haired and deeply ta

He looked like a pirate, Caleb thought.

“I hope so,” Bagger began politely. “This is the rare book thing here?” He looked around.

“The rare book reading room, yes.”

“So how rare are the books in this place?”

“Very, and it’s not just books, we have codex manuscripts, incunabula, broadsheets, a Gutenberg Bible, a copy of the Declaration of Independence, Jefferson’s personal library and many other fine works. Some of them the only one of their kind in the world. Literally one of one.”

“Yeah?” Bagger said, clearly not impressed. “Well, I got something even rarer than that.”

“Really, what is it?” Caleb inquired.

“The book that I read,” Bagger said. “Because that’s zero of zero.” He laughed and so did his men. Caleb chuckled politely even as he clutched the back of a chair to steady himself.

Bagger put an arm around Caleb’s shoulders. “You look like a guy who can help me. What’s your name?”

Caleb desperately tried to think of an alias, but all that came out was, “Caleb Shaw.”

“Caleb? Whoa, you don’t hear that one every day. You Amish or something?”

“No, I’m a Republican,” Caleb said in a small voice as Bagger’s muscular arm cinched tighter around him. Is this the same arm that killed all those people?

“Okay, Mr. Republican, is there someplace we can talk in private? I mean, this is a big building. Must be someplace we can do a little mano a mano.”

Caleb had feared something like this. At least in the reading room there were potential witnesses around, if only to see him being hacked to death by the mobster.

“I, uh, I’m quite busy right now.” Bagger’s arm instantly tightened even more around him. “But I can certainly spare you a few minutes.”

Caleb led them to a small office down the hall from the reading room.

“Sit,” Bagger ordered Caleb, and he quickly sat in the only chair in the room. “Okay, now, I understand that the guy who used to run this place got whacked.”

“The director of the Rare Book and Special Collections Division was killed, that’s correct.”

“Jonathan DeHaven?”

“That’s right.” Caleb added in a low voice, “He was murdered. Right in this very building.”

“Wow,” Bagger said as he eyed his men. “In a freaking library. I mean, is this world we live in violent or what?” He turned back to Caleb. “Thing is, I got a friend who knew this DeHaven character. She was actually married to him at some point.”

“Really? I never knew Jonathan was married.” Caleb managed to tell this lie quite capably.

“Well he was. Kind of short-lived, though. I mean he was a book geek. No offense. And the woman, well, the woman wasn’t. She was sort of like a, how do you say-”

“A tornado and a hurricane all wrapped into one?” Caleb offered.

Bagger shot him a suspicious glance. “Yeah, what makes you say that?”

Realizing he had come dangerously close to giving Bagger adequate reason to torture him for further information, Caleb said smoothly, “I was married once too, and my wife left me after only four months. She was a hurricane and a tornado and, like you said, I’m a book geek.” It was stu

“Right, right, you get the picture. Anyway, I haven’t seen the woman in a long time and wanted to catch up with her. So it occurred to me that she might have heard about her ex’s death and come for the funeral.” He looked expectantly at Caleb.

“Well, I went to the service but I didn’t notice anyone I didn’t know. What does this woman look like and what’s her name?”

“Tall, nice curves, a real looker. Little scar under her right eye. Hair color and style depends on the day of the week, you know what I mean? Her name is A

“Doesn’t ring a bell at all.” The name clearly didn’t, since Caleb only knew A

“Yeah, I bet,” Bagger grumbled. He snapped his fingers and one of his men produced a card that Bagger handed to Caleb. “You remember something useful, call me. I pay well. I mean really well. Five figures.”

Caleb’s eyes widened as he clutched the card. “You must really want to find her.”

“Oh, you got no idea how bad, Mr. Republican.”

CHAPTER 28

HARRY FINN QUIETLY ENTERED the room, sat down in the chair and stared at her. The woman looked back at him, or through him, Fi

She muttered in his direction and he answered her blunt greeting in a few words. This seemed to please her, because she nodded appreciatively, a smile edging across her fallen cheeks. Actually she had known that he was here before Fi

As a child he remembered his mother’s tall, strong body with the hands of a pianist. Now she was shrunken, withered. He studied her face. It had once held a rare, fragile beauty, a loveliness that growing up he had always associated with the most beautiful of daylilies. This was because when he was a child, at night, the beauty receded and she became moody and sometimes violent; never against him, but against herself. And then Fi