Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death

a couple of things in the boxes that were really valuable. But she didn't say anything specific about any loose pages, or illuminated manuscripts, or anything that was really old." Jennifer paused. "Actually, the only kinds of books she talked about were mysteries. She really liked them. I think she's got some first edition Raymond Chandler somewhere in the boxes."
    Pete was surprised. He was a mystery buff, although he complained vociferously about the investigative procedures in most of the mysteries he read. "Wow. Those would be worth something."
    Jennifer sighed. "Yeah. I don't have any idea how to go about selling them, though."
    I had an idea. "Actually, I do."
    When I first moved to LA, I spent several of my weekends exploring the independent bookstores in the area. There had been a mystery bookstore in Westwood; I'd met one of my boyfriends there. It was closed now, but there was another one, called Cloak and Dagger Books, up in Pasadena. I'd been there several times and thought the owner might be interested in signed, first edition Raymond Chandlers. I explained it to Jennifer, and she agreed it sounded like a plan.
    But first, we had to get throug h the boxes and find the books.

December
    Monday morning, I was working on a presentation for a graduate history class when an instant message popped up from Nancy at circulation. "There’s a police detective here to see you. Asked you to meet him outside."
    I sent back "ok" and went downstairs and outside. Jon Eckhoff was waiting for me on the bench in the sculpture garden. “Hey. Hope I’m not interrupting your day.”
    “Nah, it’s okay. Where’s Belardo?”
    Eckhoff looked a little uncomfortable. “He’s sort of turned the case over to me.”
    “Hmm.” I figured I might know why – Belardo’s homophobia – but I didn’t ask. “So what’s up?”
    "We've stalled out in the investigation. We can't find anyone with connections to Wally that doesn't check out. We tried to track down the old lady's attorney, and found out that he died three years ago at the age of 93, and the practice closed. And it was a solo practice; he didn't even have a receptionist. And the old lady had no family at all that we can turn up. So we're down to one lead: the torn page."
    I took a wild guess. "And that's where I come in."
    "Yeah. We want to question the book dealers, but we figure that if we do it as the police, whoever has the other piece of the page will just get more spooked than he already is. So we thought we might create a little stirring of the pot, so to speak."
    “How so?”
    "You have university credentials; you'd be the perfect guy to ask a few questions without being obvious. We figured you could be representing the university, looking for something for a donor to buy and present to the library. We'll visit all the antique book dealers in town, but of course we want to focus on Quentin Brashier. We think Brashier might know who has the other section of the torn page, or have been approached by that person. We might be able to shake something loose, make the killer nervous enough to do something, make a mistake."
    "I can't do that without permission from the university. And the university librarian."
    "We've already got that." I must have looked skeptical; Eckhoff said, "You'll have an email from the head librarian when you get back to your office."
    "Okay." I thought for a minute. "Can we do this on a Saturday? This is a really busy time at work right now."
    "Sure, no problem. I'll be coming along for the ride, going into the shops with you, but keeping my mouth shut. You can introduce me as a representative of the anonymous buyer. We’ll come up with a fake name."
    “Won’t Brashier recognize you? From when you took the page in after the murder?”
    “I wasn’t there. Belardo was on his own that day.”
    "Okay." I sighed. "So when are we gonna perpetrate this little charade?"
    "How's this Saturday?"
    "We’re finishing the clean of Jennifer’s apartment this Saturday. How about next Saturday?"
    "Perfect . We’ll go over your script that morning." Eckhoff stood up and slapped my shoulder. "I'll pick you up at 9:30. Most of these places don't open until 10:00." We said goodbye, and I watched him walk off. I still wasn't sure this was a good idea, but I figured if cops were asking the questions, they'd get nothing.
    At home that evening, I told Pete about the plan. “I wondered if I should say anything to Elliott’s boyfriend, Matt, since he