The Collectors

“I would tell Albert which book was ready to go, and he would place little phrases on certain Internet sites that would tell them when to come in and what book to ask for. I’d deliver that book on the morning of their visit. I had an endless supply of volumes in for repair that were freely circulated in the reading room, so that was no problem. They came in, copied down the highlighted letters and went on their way. Some hours after that, the chemical wash evaporated and the evidence with it.”

“And you get paid very well, with the money sent to a foreign account,” A

“Something like that,” he admitted.

“But like you said, Vincent Pearl was a big success. Why not go with that identity full–time?” Stone asked.

“As I said, I loved the work I did at the library. And it was fun fooling everyone. I guess I wanted the best of both worlds.”

Caleb spoke up. “Spying is bad enough, but murder! Bob Bradley, Cornelius Behan, Norman Janklow, probably Jewell English? And Jonathan? You had Jonathan killed!”

“I didn’t have any of them killed!” Chambers protested fiercely. He pointed at Trent. “He did that; he and whoever he’s working with.”

“Mr. Foxworth,” Stone said slowly.

“But why Jonathan?” Caleb asked bitterly. “Why him?”

Chambers nervously rubbed his hands together. “He came into the conservation room unexpectedly after hours one night and saw me doctoring a book. I was just applying the chemicals to the pages. I tried to explain it away, but I’m not sure he believed me. I immediately told Albert what had happened, and the next thing I know, Jonathan was dead. Albert told me later that because the reading room was our base of exchange, they had to make the death seem natural. If we lost the reading room, we’d be out of business.”

“But you knew what had happened, and yet you still didn’t come forward?” Caleb said accusingly.

Chambers exclaimed, “How could I? I’d rot in jail.”

“Which you will now,” Stone said firmly. “And him,” he added, looking at the slumped–over Trent.

A voice said, “Or maybe not.”

They all whirled around and watched as Roger Seagraves stepped toward them, a pistol in each hand.

“Mr. Foxworth?” Caleb said.

“Shut up!” Seagraves said impatiently. His gaze settled on Trent, who was just coming around.

When he saw Seagraves, he said, “Thank God, Roger.”

Seagraves smiled. “Wrong deity, Albert.” He fired, hitting Trent in the chest. The man gasped and slipped off the chair onto the floor. Seagraves aimed his other pistol at Stone and Reuben, who’d made a move toward him. “I don’t think so.” He leveled his other pistol at Chambers. “Your services are no longer needed either.” As Chambers braced for the impact of the bullet, Stone stepped between him and Seagraves.

“I’ve already called the police, they’re on their way. If you’re pla

“That’s really touching; one Triple Six looking out for another?”

Stone stiffened slightly.

Seagraves smiled. “So it’s true. Then you know the first rule of our business: never leave any witnesses. But I am curious, how did you end up working in a cemetery? That’s a long fall for somebody like you.”

“I actually considered it a promotion.”

Seagraves shook his head. “I would have saved myself a lot of trouble by just killing you when I had the chance. You destroyed a great operation. But I’ve got enough cash to live very well.”

A

“Oh, I’ll get away.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Stone said as he started to ease his right hand toward his jacket pocket. “The Secret Service and the FBI are involved now.”

“Whoa, that really scares me. And at the very least I need to collect a few items for my collection,” Seagraves said. “Hold it!” he cried out, and Stone’s hand froze where it was, his fingertips near his jacket pocket. “Hands up, old man!”

“What?” Stone said, appearing bewildered.

“Hands up, Triple Six, where I can see them! Now!”

Stone jerked both hands straight up in the air.

Seagraves gasped and staggered forward. Dropping his pistols, he attempted to pull the knife out of his throat. But the blade Stone had tossed while throwing his hands up had severed the man’s carotid artery. The blood was pouring out so fast, Seagraves was already crumbling to his knees. Then he was on his belly. He slowly rolled over on his back. As the others watched horrified, Stone calmly walked over to Seagraves and pulled the knife free.

The last person he’d killed with the underhanded knife toss had been just like this man. He’d more than deserved it.

Milton looked away while Caleb turned pale and seemed wobbly on his feet. A

Stone looked down at the dying man without a trace of pity. “If you’re going to kill someone, kill him, don’t have a conversation with him.”

As Roger Seagraves quietly expired, they heard sirens in the distance. “I called Alex Ford when I realized that Chambers’ house backed up to the bookshop,” Stone explained.

“That’s why I did this, you know,” Chambers said, finally pulling his gaze away from the now dead Seagraves. “For books. To acquire them, keep them safe for the next generation. With the money I earned I’ve purchased some amazing specimens. I really have.” He looked up to see them all staring at him in disgust.

Chambers slowly rose. “I have something to give you, Caleb.”

A suspicious Stone followed him over to the counter. When he reached in a drawer, Stone grabbed his hand. “I’ll do that.”

“It’s not a weapon,” Chambers protested.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Stone pulled out a small box, opened it, glanced inside and closed it. He handed it over to Caleb. Inside was the first–edition Bay Psalm Book.

“Thank you, God!” Caleb screamed in relief. Then he looked at Chambers in amazement. “How did you get this? You didn’t have the code or key to the vault.”

“You recall that I felt ill as we were about to leave the vault and you offered to fetch me a glass of water from the bathroom down there? As soon as you left, I opened the small safe. I’d watched you unlock it and saw what the code was: the number of the reading room. I took the book and put it in my jacket. When you came back with the water, you closed up the vault and we left.”

Reuben groaned. “You dork; you left him in the vault all by himself?”

Caleb snapped, “Well, I didn’t expect him to steal the damn thing.”

Chambers stared down at his hands. “It was just an impulse on my part. Once I’d taken it, I was both terrified and thrilled. I’d never done anything like that before; I’m scrupulously honest with my clients. But that book. To even hold it!” His eyes gleamed for an instant and then dulled just as fast. “At least I can say I had it, if only for a little while. I kept pushing you to get the book evaluated because I thought that would throw suspicion away from me when the loss was discovered.”

A

Caleb stared at her in disbelief. “What? You know about this?” he demanded.

“Oh, it’s a long story,” she said hastily.

Chapter 68

Alex Ford and an army of agents arrived a minute later. Surprisingly, Albert Trent was still alive, though badly wounded. His bundle of travel documents inside his jacket pocket had partially blocked the bullet. He was taken away in an ambulance. Chambers gave a detailed statement to the police, recounting all that he had already told the others. As Chambers was being led away, he said to Caleb, “Please take care of the Psalm Book.”

Caleb’s reply surprised everyone, maybe himself most of all. “It’s just a damn book, Monty or Vincent or whoever the hell you really are. I’d much prefer to have Jonathan alive and well over this lump of old paper.” He held up the priceless Psalm Book before dropping it unceremoniously in the box.