Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death

couple of weeks. I’d nearly forgotten about it when, on October 30, I got a phone call from Detective Belardo. He said the investigation into the piece of paper hadn’t turned up anything interesting and the murder case was turning cold, but he wanted to bring me up to date, as he’d promised. We scheduled a meeting for the following day. I asked Belardo if he could bring me a photocopy of the fragment, and he said he could.
    The next morning I met the detectives outside. Belardo and Eckhoff were waiting for me at the edge of the sculpture garden, and Belardo handed me the copied page. I said, "So the paper turned out to be nothing special?"
    "That's right." Belardo took his notepad out of his pocket to refer to it. "We took it to an antique book dealer in town on the recommendation of the art theft unit. The dealer examined it and said it had been aged to look old. It had clearly been done by a talented artist, but whoever that was was probably either trying to pull a scam or was working on an art project of some sort. More likely the latter."
    I nodded. "Okay, that makes sense. But then why would someone kill for it?"
    Belardo shrugged. "Who knows? The thieves obviously thought they had something valuable, even though they didn't? Most criminals are not the brightest bulbs in the pack. We still need to find our killer, but now it turns out we're not looking for anyone with any kind of expertise."
    Eckhoff grinned. "Yeah. Just your run of the mill dumbass murderer."
    "Huh. Well, thank you for letting me know. I appreciate the follow up."
    "Sure, no problem." The detectives left. I carried the copy of the fragment back into my office and tucked it into my computer bag. So the police hadn’t consulted anyone at UCLA after all. Interesting. I knew a couple of antique book dealers; I wondered which one they’d shown the paper to.
    I had an idea.

November
    The next Saturday, it was sunny but cool. We didn’t have anything planned, and slept in. When we woke up, we amused each other in bed for a while. Afterwards, Pete yawned and stretched. "Well, I guess we'd better get up. We could go to the farmers' market."
    "I've got a better idea."
    "What?"
    "Field trip. How do you feel about antique books?"
    There wer e several antique and rare book dealers in town. I knew one of them better than the others. Kendall McEwen was an Australian who had been a Rhodes Scholar a few years before me. I hadn't met him at Oxford, but at a meeting of the Oxford University Society of Los Angeles, a group for Oxford alumni. We'd hit it off, mostly due to our mutual interests in books, surfing, and rugby. He was straight as an arrow and kind of a horn dog, a big, blond guy who looked like he should be holding a can of Foster's. And he had that Aussie accent. The guy made the girls go wild, apparently. I understood the attraction.
    Kendall McEwen Books was in the Palisades. When Pete and I pushed through the front door of the shop, Kendall himself was lounging on a stool behind his counter, talking on his cell phone, and drinking a bottle of water. He saw us, waved, and said to his phone, "I've got customers, mate. Gotta go." He hung up and turned to us. "Jamie! Long time! How the hell are you?"
    "Doing great, K. Pete, Kendall McEwen. Kendall, Pete Ferguson, my partner."
    Pete and Kendall shook hands. "Pleased to meet ya, mate." Kendall grinned at me. "Now what brings you out on a beautiful day like this?"
    We pulled up stools. "I've got a story for you. See what you think." I recounted the tale of finding the dead guy with the piece of manuscript in his hand , leaving out names and details like I’d done with Conrad. Kendall listened with interest. When I finished telling him about the conversation I'd had with the police, I asked, "Was it you that they brought the page to?"
    "Nope, I haven't had a visit from the cops lately. Must have been someone else. They didn't give you a name?"
    "No, just said the dealer was recommended by the art theft unit."
    "Hmm. Not sure who that would be." Kendall frowned. "Why would they take it there? Why not to a museum, or to your medieval scholars at the university?"
    I shrugged. "I guess because the department has a relationship with whoever this dealer was, through the art theft unit. The cops like to work with people they have relationships with already, you know."
    "Yeah." Kendall jumped off his stool. "Where are my manners? Can I get you anything to drink?"
    " Sure, some water would be