The Lost Key

It didn’t look remarkable, but when Nicholas read the spine, a chill washed through him. “William Blake’s The Book of Urizen? That must be worth millions.”

Sophie smiled. “Only eight copies in existence. One went at auction for two and a half million in 1999.”

Nicholas said, “I wouldn’t give it up, either. I love Blake.”

Nicholas looked like he might begin to quote Blake’s poetry, so Mike quickly said, “We’re looking at some incredibly valuable books here. Is there anything in this store, a book, some papers, some secret archives he’s been getting offers on and refused to sell, like this Blake?”

Not an instant’s hesitation. “Not that I know of.”

“Is there anything someone might want badly enough to kill your father?”

She shook her head. “I’m telling you, the antiquities world has its fair share of cutthroats, but none that would be capable of killing my father. He was a great man, and had the respect of a lot of people.”

That wasn’t the point. Money was always a great motivator for murder, but it wasn’t right. Mike said, “Think of the man who sent him the specs on a classified satellite system. Who was he?”

They watched a tear streak down her face. She made no sound, simply wiped it away with her fingers. “I told you before, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My dad was into books, that’s it. That satellite specs on his computer? Perhaps someone who admired my father thought he’d enjoy seeing it.”

Nicholas showed her a photograph of Mr. Olympic that he had saved on his mobile. “Have you ever met this man before?”

She looked at it closely. It was obvious the man was dead. His eyes were slitted open, his face a dusky blue. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Drummond said. “Do you know him?”

She slowly shook her head, swallowed bile. “No. I’ve never seen him before.” She watched him change the photo and quickly stepped back, her hands up. “Please don’t tell me you have a photo of my father on your phone. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see him like that.” Her voice ended in a yell, and Nicholas put a hand on her arm to steady her.

She gathered herself, took a deep breath. “That dead man, he killed my father?”

“Yes.”

“And now he’s dead, too. Good. Thank you.”

Mike lightly touched Sophie’s arm, her voice low and calm. “Sophie, let me ask you again. Can you tell us why your father, as he was dying, said to his murderer, ‘The key is the lock’? What does it mean, Sophie?”

She was back in control. She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

Mike said, “Sophie, don’t you think it’s time for you to level with us? You know your father’s murder wasn’t a random mugging. You need to tell us everything you know.”

“I have told you all I know. I don’t feel well. Can we continue this conversation later? I want to go home.”

There was a bump above, and they all froze.

16

Nicholas put a finger across his lips. “Sophie, did you lock the door when we came in?”

Sophie nodded. She was staring upward, her eyes fixed.

Heavy steps now, clumping on the hardwood, moving toward the back of the store.

Both Nicholas and Mike moved in front of Sophie, their Glocks at the ready. Mike whispered, “They were supposed to call me if they saw anything. Something’s wrong.”

Sophie now looked frightened, even paler in the odd reddish light. “There’s no cell service down here.”

Nicholas jerked his head at Mike, then started slowly up the stairs.

Mike whispered to Sophie, “Stay here,” she followed Nicholas.

When they reached the top, Nicholas used the reflection of his mobile’s screen to see if anyone had come into the back office. It was empty, the door still closed. They eased their way out of the staircase.

Nicholas held his Glock against his leg. There would be no more surprises, like this morning’s debacle.

When they reached the door, he mouthed a one, two, three to Mike, and they went into the bookstore, Nicholas high, Mike low, perfectly coordinated, as if they’d been doing this together for years.

No one was there.

They went silent, walked slowly through the stacks toward the front of the store, guns up, clearing each stack as they went. Nicholas saw the front door. It was closed, but the hand-lettered OPEN/CLOSED sign was twisted halfway between the two.

Three stacks to go now, two, one, and Nicholas stepped around the last bookshelf to see a young man, a kid, maybe, no more than early twenties, blond and brown, sitting at the front reception desk, his hand literally in the till.

Nicholas said, “FBI. Stop what you’re doing and show me your hands.”

The kid saw the guns aimed at him and froze. He raised his hands slowly, his face a blank mask, his eyes on Nicholas, a twenty-dollar bill still clutched in his right fist.

“Don’t you move an inch. Who are you?”

The kid merely shook his head. When Mike moved to get behind him, he exploded from the chair, leapt over the counter, and headed toward the door.

A bad move, that. Nicholas was ready for him. He slammed into him, then landed a solid punch to the kid’s stomach, stopping him in his tracks. The kid’s eyes went wide and terrified because he couldn’t breathe. Mike pulled him to the ground, her knees against the middle of his back, her hand in his back pocket for his wallet, but it wasn’t there.

The kid took a deep breath. He was clearly panicked, terrified, his legs churning to get away. Mike cuffed him and hauled him to his feet.

She shook him. “Who are you? Tell me or I’ll sic Superman on you, and believe me, you don’t want that to happen.”

Sophie pushed her way past Mike. “What are you doing here?”

Nicholas was looking at the young man. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t nail it. “Tell us who this is, Sophie.”

Sophie said, “Yes, of course. This is—um—Kevin Brown. He’s a family friend. He used to work here at the store. But he left a few months ago.”

Mike eased back a bit. “Well, your family friend was trying to rob you.”

Kevin Brown shook his head. “No, no, I wasn’t. I was leaving Mr. Pearce a note. He called me last week, told me I could come back to work part-time, weekends only.”

Sophie stared at him. “Really? I thought you were in school.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Well, it didn’t work out. I contacted your dad and he told me to come back. Look, can I go now? Like I said, I stopped to leave Mr. Pearce that note. I gotta go have lunch with a friend. Really, I need to be getting on.”

“I don’t think so,” Mike said, and pushed him into the chair behind the register. “First things first, Mr. Brown. Where is your wallet?”

“I left it in my backpack, in a locker at Grand Central.”

“Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. How did you get in? The door was locked.”

“I still have a key.”

“Then why did you have the register open?” Mike asked him. “And why did you try to run?”

His chin came up. He gave her a cocky grin, despite the uncomfortable cuffs around his wrists. “Hey, I was making change for a twenty. I knew Mr. Pearce wouldn’t mind. Suddenly you two Feds are sticking your guns in my face. What was I supposed to do?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Maybe, Kevin, you could have simply done what they asked you to do.”

Kevin shrugged. “I don’t bow to the man, Sophie.”

“You’re an idiot. Get out of my store.”

“Hey, I only wanted to let Mr. Pearce know I could come back to work. I, well, things aren’t going the way I thought in school, so I came back, and I could use the coin.”

Nicholas watched Sophie draw a deep breath. “Listen, Kevin, my father is dead. He was murdered this morning.”

Kevin Brown’s face seemed to leach of color. He leaned toward Sophie, almost as if he was going to hug her, but she stepped back a foot and Nicholas could have sworn she shook her head slightly. Brown stopped and eyed her, as if she were a bomb that might explode at any moment.