Of course, not even the master could have written enough to fill the restaurants shelves; it was an eclectic mix of secondhand novels. The venue had charmingly been planned on the concept that every diner was welcome to take a book, and, naturally, you were welcome to leave a book or books as well.
New editions of Poe books were sold in the gift shop, which was conveniently on the way out, at the back of the restaurant. Of course, one could leave through the front door, but the bookshop was like a minimuseum, and Vickie sincerely doubted that many people ignored it. Their waiterhed introduced himself as Jontold them that though the restaurant was comparatively new, they attracted a lot of local, repeat clientele, for which they were very grateful. But locals didnt tend to shop for souvenirs, unless they were entertaining out-of-town friends. Since they were happily playing tourist, Vickie and Griffin made sure to visit the shop. Lacey Shaw, the woman working the little boutique, was a bit of a Poe aficionado, and she assured them that even the locals loved to come in and chat.
And their waiter was also quite the enthusiast. Seriously, poor Poe was much maligned in life, but most of the time, the people who wrote about him were seriously jealous competitors, so of course they tried to make him out to be nothing but a drunk with delusions of grandeur. In truth? He was brilliant. You do know that we credit him with the creation of the modern detective novel? The Murders in the Rue Morgue! What an imagination the man had! Jon had told them, eyes bright with his admiration. He might be a waiter there, but he truly loved the works of the man and had studied his life.
I promise you, well not argue Poes brilliance, Griffin had assured him.
Jon had gone on, But people love the restaurant because of the library. Its not a new idea but what a great onebring a book, take a book! Or just take a book. Well, okaybuy a shiny new one in the gift shop, too. I love working here! Gary Framptonthe owneris a wonderful man. Im crazy about him. Alicethe lovely girl with the long blond hair who greeted you as a hostess tonightis his daughter.
It wasnt lovely Alice who met them then, though, by light of the next day.
It was an officer in uniform.
Griffin produced his credentials, and the officer gruffly told him to go on downstairs to the wine cellar.
The stairs were brick, as old as the building, but well maintained. As they descended, the air got cooler. The cellar was climate controlled but obviously didnt need much help. It was stone, deep in the ground near the harbor, and naturally protected from the heat of a mid-Atlantic summer.
A tall, slim man who somewhat reminded Vickie of Lurch from The Addams Family was standing quietly in the center of the main room. Crime-scene techseasily identifiable by their jacketswere moving about, collecting what evidence could be found.
The body of Franklin Verne remained, giving Vickie a moments pause.
She had known him in life. She had seen him when he had smiled, gestured, moved and laughed.
And now, of course, the man she had knownif only casuallywas gone. What remained, she felt, was a shell.
She glanced at Griffin. They both felt it.
Yes, Franklin Verne was definitely gone. Nothing of his soul lingered.
At least, not here.
The dead man was seated in a chair near a desk; it was a period piece, Victorian era, she thought. Fitting for the place, but it had a modern computer with a nice monitor, along with a printer/scanner, and baskets most probably from Office Depot that held papers and mail and more.
The desk, however, was next to an old potbellied stove. In winter, it might have warmed up the place a bit, for those condemned to keep the wine company on a cold night.
Franklin Verne had died slumped back in the chair. His eyes were eerily open. A man in scrubs and a mask worked over himthe ME, Vickie assumed.
Detective Morris? Griffin asked, stepping forward to introduce himself. Vickie knew that Griffin would follow every courtesy, thanking the detective first and then speaking with the ME.
The Lurch-like man turned toward him, nodding, studying him and then offering him a hand.
Special Agent Pryce? Morris asked.
Yes, sir. Thank you for the courtesy. Our supervising director is friends with Mrs. Verne, as I suppose youve heard.
Yes, Morris said, looking at Vickie.
Ms. Victoria Preston, Griffin said, introducing her. Vickie is heading down to start at the academy in a few weeks.
Excellent, Morris said, nodding. He lifted his hands. Sad thing. Ive been standing here, looking around, hoping that something brilliant might come to me. I cant say I knew Mr. Vernehe was local, but he and Mrs. Verne were only in residence part of the year these days. Hes a popular personage around here. There are wild tales of him back in the day, but he never stopped giving to the city police, and he was involved in a number of charitable enterprises.
Ive heard he was a very good man, Griffin said. Vickie knew him.
I didnt exactly know him, she corrected. We met several times at conferences. I write nonfiction books, she explained.
It was certainly not something that was at all impressive to Detective Morris. Perhaps this is uncomfortable for you, he said, being in here. Since you know the victim. And you are a civilian.
Accepted into the academy, Griffin said.
Im fine, she assured Morris, glad that Griffin had so quicklyand indignantlycome to her defense.
Morris turned to the man working with the corpse. Dr. Myron Hatfield, Special Agent Pryce, Ms. Preston. Dr. Hatfield is, in my opinion, one of the finest medical examiners to ever grace the Eastern coast, he said.
Hatfield straightened. He was tall, too, probably about fifty, with steel-gray hair and a good-sized frame; he was built like a linebacker or a fighter. But he had a quickif slightly grimsmile. Nice to meet you. Sorry about the circumstances. Id met Mr. Verne, too, at a fund-raiser for a local childrens hospital. He seemed a good man. And...well, the night I met him, he looked great. He looked as if he was about to say more. He shrugged. I really wont know much of anything until I get him into the morgue.
Doctor, Griffin said. My field supervisor suggested that he died of a mix of alcohol and drugs.
Hatfield hesitated. His mouth... Well, a layman could smell the alcohol. The condition of the body suggests a catastrophic shutdown of organs. But we need tests. I need to complete an autopsy. I hope that my words havent gone any further.
No, sir, Griffin assured him. He turned back to Morris. No one saw him come down heretheyve spoken to all the employees? he asked.
It was a late night. The manager didnt close up until almost three in the morning, Morris said. The place was, according to him, completely empty. Were still trying to contact all the night staff, but the last thing the manager does is check the basementthe wine cellar hereand see that the shelves are locked for the night. He pointed. Master switch there. You can see that most of the shelves have cages. Some of these wines are worth thousands of dollars.
And theres no other way in than by the stairs? What about cameras? Griffin asked.
None down here, but there are cameras at the front door and the back door, which is really more of a side door, by the gift shop.
We were here last night, Vickie said.
Oh? Morris asked, a brow politely raised a half notch.
Yes, but we were early birds, comparatively. We were gone by eleven, Griffin said. Ironicour waiter was wishing that Franklin Verne would pay a visit and endorse the restaurant.
Hes endorsed it now, all right, Hatfield said.
So tragically! Vickie said.
Morris grunted. Yes, but people are ghouls. The place will be booked for years to come nowits where Franklin Verne mysteriously died!
None of them could argue that. Detective, may I walk around? Griffin asked.
Detective Morris nodded. Ive been here almost two hours. Cant figure it myself, but I dont believe he vaporized or said, Beam me up, Scotty! Theres something here. Im mulling. You knock yourself out.
Were about to take the body, Hatfield said quietly.
Thank you, Griffin said. Vickie kept her distance. She was startled when she heard Griffin ask Hatfield, I heard he was holding a raven?
The kind they sell in the gift shop, right upstairs, Hatfield said.
Bagged it as evidence, Morris said. He pointed to the desk, where the raven lay in a clear plastic evidence bag.
Thanks, Griffin said. He lifted the bag. He and Vickie both studied it.
Vickie had noted other ravens just like it at the gift shop the night before; they were cheap plastic, cost no more than a cup of coffeeperfect little souvenirs that brought back a memory and made you smile.
There were three dead blackbirds by the body? Griffin asked.
Morris lowered his head in acknowledgment. Theyre in the evidence bags at the end of the desk. Take a lookknock yourself out. I guess whats going to matter is how they died, and that falls in Dr. Hatfields territory.
Actually, its a necropsybut we have a fellow on staff who deals with all animals that arent of the human variety, Hatfield said. And well keep you apprised every step of the way.
Thanks, Griffin said. They are blackbirds, right? Not young crows or ravens?
Blackbirds, Hatfield agreed. The size alone gives us that.
Vickie held where she was, watching Griffins broad back as he headed down the rows of carefully shelved wine.
After all, he was an agent; she wasnt sure what procedure would be. It was best in this situation to let Griffin move forward without her.
And...
For a moment, she felt dizzy, remembering her dream.
PoeEdgar Allan! She had met him at a tavern that wouldnt have been far from here...the tavern hed been found near, delirious and wearing clothing that wasnt his.
Hed been missing three days. Some said hed been kidnapped for his voteand thus the different clothing that he wore. Some said that it had been the drink, that hed met up with friends and the alcohol had quickly cost him his life.
Some said it had been a murder plot, perpetuated by relatives of the widow hed planned to marry when his business was accomplished...
But the author and poet had not died in a wine cellar. Rather, one of his immortal characters had done so!
Miss?
Oh! Im sorry!
Men from the medical examiners office were there to take the body. She quickly moved out of the way.
Griffin came back from walking up and down the racks of wine.
Ill know soon enough what I suspect, even if it takes a bit longer to be official, said Dr. Hatfield. Special Agent Pryce, youre welcome to come by this afternoon with Carl. Im afraid that this gentleman will be bringing me in to work all day on a Saturday.
Griffin shook hands all around and gave Detective Morris a card; Morris returned the courtesy. Then Griffin set an arm on Vickies shoulder and they started back up the steps to the restaurant.
They walked outside.
Vickie stopped dead.
There were birds everywhere.
Ravens! she gasped.
Blackbirds, he said. I had an uncle who loved birds. Crows, ravens, rooks and blackbirdsall confused for each other, but all different birds. Ravens belong to the crowor corvidsfamily, but not all crows are ravens. Blackbirds belong to the thrush family. A raven, however, is about the size of a hawk and a crow is about the size of a pigeon. Those guys...
He was looking up; he suddenly stopped speaking.
How bizarre! he said.
What? she asked.
He pointed high where a bird glided over the street, far above the little blackbirds that gathered on buildings and wires.
That onethat one is a raven, he said.
Vickie wasnt at all sure whythe sun was brilliantly shiningbut she shivered. She stared at the bird.
It flew over the area, again and again, before lighting on the roof of a nearby building.
Griffin looked at her. Come on. Lets go see Mrs. Verne. Ill report to Jackson. Maybe we can still get in a trip out to Fort McHenry.
Actually...
What?
I think we should visit Poes grave, Vickie said.
Havent you been before?
I have.
Its just... Its a grave, he reminded her.
Yes, but fitting today, dont you think? She shrugged. It is one of those things you do in Baltimore, you know.
* * *
The hardest part of the job wasnt dealing with the dead.
The dead didnt weep like the living.
Griffin hadnt met Monica Verne before, but thanks to his conversation with Jackson, he knew that Adam Harrison was friends with her.
Adam was careful about the friends he chose.
Griffin and Vickie reached Monica Vernes palatial home on the outskirts of the city right before noon.
An attractive young woman wearing a black dress, functional pumps and a bleak expression opened the door.
Police? she demanded. She had an accent. She was most probably from somewhere in Eastern Europe.
No, maam, Griffin began.
You are despicable! You are horrible. Poor Mrs. Verne. Shes just learned about this unspeakable tragedyfrom you people! And you are hounding her!
Maam! Griffin said. Were not the police. Were FBIand Mrs. Verne requested that we be here. Please, were here on behalf of Adam Harrison.
Oh, oh, oh! Do come in! This way!
She led them to the widow. Monica Verne was seated in the enclosed back porch of the home, which sat on a little hillock. Picture windows looked out on beautiful gardens, a pond and a small forest.
Monica was slender, almost ethereal. She was no trophy wife; while very lovely, shed done nothing to correct the changes of time. She was obviously in her late sixties, and still beautiful. Great bone structure, huge powder blue eyes and a quick smile for themeven through her tears.
Im so grateful that youre here and that youve come so quickly! I knew that Adam would help... I knew. The police are going to get this all wrong. Its such bull! Franklin was, of course, a player when he was youngsome drugs, a hell of a lot of drinking, partying. Thats how we metback when I was modeling he was just becoming known as an author. Struggling! Wasnt making much of anything at the time. I was actually the far more prestigious person! We met at a party where I was a guestand he was working for the catering company! She wasnt boasting when she spoke; she was laughing. She choked slightly, more tears spilling from her eyes.