Private Moscow

Chapter 20

It was mid-afternoon by the time we arrived at the Leonard branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. The drive from Long Island had been treacherous; for a city that was regularly hit by snow, New York was home to far too many people who didn’t know how to handle the conditions. Drivers without snow chains or winter tires, driving too fast, making no allowances for the poor visibility caused by the falling snow. It wasn’t quite a whiteout, but it was close, and we saw at least a dozen minor collisions and one major accident on our way to Brooklyn.

Mo-bot had spent the journey going through the library book I’d been sent, looking for markings or codes, but the well-thumbed copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland yielded nothing.

The library was a single-story redbrick building located on the corner of Leonard and Devoe in Williamsburg. It looked like an oversized water-pumping station, but there was beauty in its functional symmetry, and a sign by the door informed us of its historic landmark status. Inside, the large open-plan space was warm and peaceful. I could see half a dozen people browsing the shelves which lined the exterior walls. Others were sitting by desks or low tables, reading. The librarian was a young African American woman who was sorting books at a crescent-shaped service counter.

“Can I help?” she asked as Mo-bot and I approached.

“My name is Jack Morgan,” I replied. “I’m a private investigator.” I showed her my credentials. “We’re looking for information on the man who borrowed this book.”

Mo-bot reached into her bag and handed over the copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The librarian examined it and opened the front cover. “It was borrowed two days ago,” she said. “I think I remember the guy. Yeah.” She moved to her computer and scanned the book. “Karl Parker.”

I nodded.

“Jeez, he’s the one who was shot yesterday, right?” the librarian said. “I served him on Thursday. I recognized him from the television.”

“He was a friend,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” the librarian replied sympathetically. “I’m not sure what I can tell you. He borrowed the book at three oh six p.m. I don’t have any other details.”

“What about the shelf it came from?” I asked.

“Classic children’s literature,” she replied as she emerged from behind the counter.

She led Mo-bot and me to the children’s section and took us to a shelf that was packed with well-known books.

“It normally lives right here,” the librarian said, pointing at a spot on the second shelf down on the five-foot-high unit.

“Thanks,” I said. “Do you mind if we take a look around?”

“Sure. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with,” the librarian said before she returned to her station.

I searched the books around the space, leafing through the pages, looking for notes or messages, but there was nothing. Mo-bot did likewise, searching the books on the shelves above and below, but she too drew a blank.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the librarian asked when we went back to the counter.

I shook my head.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I looked around, puzzling over why Karl had sent me the book. My eyes settled on something attached to the library ceiling.

“Does that work?” I asked, pointing at a surveillance camera mounted to the wall.

“It does,” the librarian replied. “We don’t get much trouble, but the cops recommended we had them installed a few years back.”

She turned her screen so Mo-bot and I could see it, and she switched from the lending system to a camera archive.

“Could you show us footage of the time Karl Parker borrowed the book?” Mo-bot asked.

“Sure,” the librarian replied. She clicked on Thursday and cycled through the footage, searching for 3:06 p.m.

“The book is meaningless on its own,” Mo-bot observed. “But the borrowing record ties Karl Parker to a location and a time.”

The librarian found the right moment and I watched my friend on screen. He looked perfectly normal, all smiles and friendly chatter.

“You know, now I think about it, he also asked me about the cameras. He wanted to know whether they really worked and how long they kept the footage for. Said he was in the tech industry and was interested in that kind of thing,” the librarian told us.

I felt a pang of grief as I watched Karl. He seemed so real, but he was nothing more than a ghost of binary stored on a hard drive. On screen, he pushed the copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland across the counter, and when the librarian leaned toward her computer, Karl looked directly at the camera and brought his hands up to his face.

“What was that?” Mo-bot asked. “Play it again.”

The librarian complied with her request, but I didn’t need to see the gesture a second time.

“That was the Marine Corps hand signal for file formation,” I explained. “It also means follow me.”