Max_Writer

* * *

Over the 15 minutes that they waited for the police, O’Shea continued to try to question Armitage and Long, pushing his own suspicions on them for being so standoffish about the rare books. However, his continual badgering only seemed to increase their suspicion of him.

A uniformed police officer and a very solid man in a suit entered the library together. The plains clothed officer had a thick face and a thick mustache. He looked to be in his mid-40s. A cigar hung out of his mouth and he didn’t look happy to be there. O’Shea didn’t recognize either of them. He’d hoped that Detective Harrigan might have been called to the scene. O’Shea knew Harrigan. He guessed that the man with the cigar might have been Chief Detective Harden.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Harden said.

“This gentlemen claims that he was working with the Arkham Police Force on an investigation of the robbery in August,” Dr. Armitage said.

“I never said the Arkham Police Force,” O’Shea said.

Armitage looked at him.

“Which police force?” he said. “And why are they investigating a robbery in Arkham?”

“I didn’t say they were,” O’Shea said.

“You said they were investigating the break-in in August.”

“I said that they did investigate it and I’d worked with them. I’m doing a little field work on my own.”

“He claimed to be working with the police,” Mrs. Long said.

Harden grunted three times, pulled on the cigar, and then blew a stinking cloud of blue smoke from his mouth.

“So, what did you mean there Mr. ... what’s your name?” the detective asked.

“He said his name was O’Shea,” Dr. Armitage said.

“O’Shea, huh?” Harden said. “You a detective? P.I.? Something?”

“P.I.” O’Shea said. “Yes sir.”

“License,” Harden said, holding out his hand.

O’Shea handed over his private investigator’s license and the detective looked it over.

“Looks legit,” he said, handing it back. “So, who you working for and why are you up here?”

“I work for myself,” O’Shea said.

“What’s this about the cops then?”

“He said he was working with a police force, investigating the robbery in August,” Dr. Armitage said. “The robbery wherein a rare, priceless book ... the man from Dunwich tried to steal it.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Harden said. “I was here for that. That emaciated man.”

Armitage looked rather bothered by that.

“Yes, the emaciated gentleman,” he said.

“The one killed by the dog?” O’Shea asked.

“Yeah yeah,” Harden replied. “He was killed by the dog.”

“Harden?” O’Shea asked.

“Yeah, Detective Harden,” the man replied. “So, what’s your story there O’Shea?”

“As I said, I like to do some field work on my own,” O’Shea replied. “Business is slow, you know. Keep the skills up.”

“So, you’re not working with the police on any investigation?” Harden asked.

“Not currently,” O’Shea said.

“Why’d you claim to these people that you were working with the police on an investigation?”

“I didn’t say I was working with the police with this investigation.”

“Yes, he did,” Mrs. Long said.

“Her word against mine,” O’Shea said.

“Uh-huh,” Harden said as he chewed on his cigar.

“He also has a gun,” Mrs. Long said.

“Of course I have a gun,” O’Shea said.

“He’s got a gun?” Harden said. “Did he point it at you?”

“No, he did not,” Mrs. Long said.

“It never cleared leather,” O’Shea said.

“Very well, Mr. O’Shea, what are you investigating, exactly?” Harden asked.

“As I said, I do a little research from time to time,” O’Shea said. “Do a little field work. Keep the skills sharp.”

“On?” Harden asked.

“On this book thievery thing,” O’Shea went on. “Man got killed by a dog!”

“Yeah, he did,” Harden said. “He broke in, guard dog here took him out. He was some inbred idiot from Dunwich.”

“Dunwich, yeah,” O’Shea said. “Don’t you think that’s sort of strange?”

“That a man broke into a library, tried to steal a priceless book, probably to sell on the black market, probably to buy booze–”

“How does a man from Dunwich find out about a book like that!?!”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, it’s questions like that that keep me going, Detective.”

Harden turned to the older man.

“Mr. Armitage, is he trespassing?” Harden asked the man. “Is there any law he broke?”

“It’s a public library!” O’Shea said.

Dr. Armitage looked at O’Shea. He looked nervous. Then he stood up very straight and looked down his nose at the man. The feeling that the private investigator got was that the man was thinking “I know who you are and what you’re up to.”

“No, detective, he has not broken any laws,” Dr. Armitage said. “He was merely acting suspiciously. Apparently, a misunderstanding has taken place. As long as Mr. O’Shea is willing to leave ... He hasn’t broken any laws.”

“That’s good,” Harden said. “Mr. O’Shea, you willing to just head out of here? You’re apparently making Dr. Armitage and Mrs. Long a little nervous.”

“Quite nervous,” O’Shea said. “Just saying.”

“Just saying what?” Harden asked.

“I’ll be happy to head along,” O’Shea said to the detective. “Do you happen to have a moment or two? Outside, perhaps?”

“Yeah,” Harden said. “C’mon. C’mon Jack.”

The three men left the library into the spitting rain. There was an overhang near the doors where the two men stopped. O’Shea saw a black police car marked “Arkham Police” on the side parked in front of the library. Harden nodded to the uniformed police officer and the man walked a few feet away and lit a cigarette. Harden turned to O’Shea.

“Yeah?” he said.

“You the detective that worked the case?” O’Shea asked.

“Yeah, I was here.”

“Did you question Dr. Armitage and Mrs. Long quite thoroughly?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Anything they say not add up?”

“Not at all. Apparently this gentleman came in, wanted to borrow this book, the Necromolicon, I don’t know what the hell it’s called. Armitage turned him down, wouldn’t let it leave the premises. Rare book. Worth a lot of money. So, he broke in a couple nights later and tried to steal it. The dog that they keep on premises to keep watch attacked and killed him. He was a criminal. If I’d have been on the premises keeping watch, I probably would have shot him.”

“Understandably so. But what makes a doctor at a university keep a guard dog in the library and not allow anybody access to the rare book section? Why have a rare book section if they’re not going to let anybody in? They refused a man who came to look at a rare book this morning.”

“I don’t know. But it’s their books. College can do what they want as far as that goes and they have a right to protect themselves and protect their property. Some of those books are hundreds and hundreds of years old, probably worth thousands of dollars. Probably more than I’ll make in my lifetime.”

“Sure, sure,” O’Shea said. “Seems suspicious to me, though. Seems like they have something to hide. Just saying.”

“You’re from Kingsport, aren’t you?”

“Ayuh.”

“Had any funny dreams lately? I heard people dream funny things down in Kingsport. Look, all I’m saying is that nobody’s broken the law. Some damned criminal broke in and got killed, I could care less. Some inbred from Dunwich, little skinny guy.”

“What was his name again?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. If you want to come down to the station, you can look at the reports, they’re all public record.”

“All right, I might do that.”

“But that was almost a month and a half ago. If you want to come look, come look. I honestly can’t remember. I only saw him afterwards. The man was mess. The dog tore him to pieces.”

“What kind of dog was it?”

“Mastiff.”

“Huh. Ever seen a dog attack before?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Where’s the dog?”

“I don’t know. They keep him around here somewhere, I guess. Napoleon or something. I don’t remember what his name is.”

“Well, thank you for your time Detective.”

O’Shea took out one of his cards and handed it to the man.

“If you ever need my help, or just manpower, give me a call,” O’Shea said.

“All right,” Harden replied.

“Appreciate the time,” O’Shea said.

“You’re welcome, O’Shea,” Harden said. “Just ... leave these folks alone.”

“Will do,” O’Shea said. “Will do.”

He headed over to Walgreen’s and met Vanderholdt there. He found the man drinking coffee and reading the library book.

* * *

It took Jones three hours to find the book he thought he was looking for. “De Vermiis Mysteriis” was at least what it looked like it said on the title page. The book itself was much larger than any book he’d ever seen and was bound in black leather with silver hasps. It was at least 700 thick pages long and probably weighed close to 20 pounds.

He slipped the book into his coveralls, zipped them up, and then was barely able to button his jacket closed over that. It looked like he’d gained about 50 pounds. Unfortunately, when he got working on the door, he found that he couldn’t get the lock to turn with his locksmith set. In desperation, he turned to the hinges. Using a handkerchief-covered screwdriver, he managed, over the course of another 15 minutes, to remove the three pins from the hinges. He carefully pulled the door off the hinges and peeked outside.

Sitting on the floor by the door to the stairwell was the lanky youth who had been talking to the girl before. He had his head in his hands and looked completely despondent. Jones squeezed through the opening he’d made and then moved the door back as far as he could. The youth never looked up so Jones walked by him, ignoring him, and hoped the youth would do the same for him. He entered the stairwell and made his way down to the first floor, slipping out of the library without any fuss.

It was about 1 p.m.

He headed for Walgreen’s and found the other two men there, waiting for him. He stuck his head in and whistled at the other two men, then turned around and left.

“Time to go, huh?” O’Shea said.

“Yeah,” Vanderholdt replied. “I haven’t known him for very long but this seems like peculiar behavior.”

Vanderholdt put down two dollars and the men left the store. They saw Jones in his tow truck, which was parked next to Vanderholdt’s Stutz Bearcat. O’Shea opened the passenger side door for Vanderholdt, who slid in.

“Start me up,” Jones said to O’Shea.

He handed the other man the engine crank and O’Shea obligingly went to the front of the automobile and cranked the engine until it caught. Then he climbed into the passenger seat, depositing the crank on the floor.

“I we haven’t seen each other for a while, but you seemed to have gained some poundage,” Vanderholdt said as Jones pulled the car into traffic.

The other man didn’t answer. They went north to River Street where Jones turned west and they were soon on Aylesbury Pike. When they were about a mile out of town, Jones pulled the tow truck off the road and took it out of gear. He unbuttoned his jacket and unzipped his coveralls, pulling forth the huge, black-bound book. He dropped it on Vanderholdt’s lap.

“You’ve got 20 to 25 minutes before we get to the house,” he said.

“To read this!?!” Vanderholdt said.

Jones put the automobile back in gear and they headed up the road. He handed Vanderholdt a pair of white cotton gloves. The man started looking through the book as carefully as he could in the rocking car. Outside, the rain was falling more steadily, the windshield wipers struggling against the falling water.

“How’d you get him to ...” Vanderholdt started to say.

He stopped. He really didn’t want to know.

“Like I said Mr. Vanderholdt, you might want to learn a little about the common, working man,” O’Shea said.

Vanderholdt shushed him as he looked through the book.

It was, indeed, De Vermiis Mysteriis. He guessed it would take weeks to actually digest the book. There were footnotes and side notes, all in Latin, and nothing even approximating an index or table of contents. He started by closing the book and seeing where it fell open. Those were the sections that he focused on, hoping they would have something of interest. Towards the beginning, however, he found a section that he thought was about demon summoning and started to slowly make his way through the thick, nearly unintelligible, Latin.