The Unkindness of Ravens M. Hilliard (popular novels txt) 📖

window. I explained as much to the annoyed operator as I climbed.

I was on the second floor when the operator told me help was on the way. I let my phone drop to my side when I spotted the body—the unmoving, unnaturally still body—beneath the window.

“Damn it!” I said through clenched teeth. I looked up and down the hall before venturing out of the stairwell. No one else in sight, just the crumpled form on the floor. I had recognized him right away—Vince Goodhue. He was lying on his back, arms outflung and legs twisted sideways. His head was turned away. Scattered around him were miscellaneous items, as though he had turned out his pockets. Tissues, gum, change.

What the hell?

The operator squawked insistently, so I put my phone back to my ear as I knelt next to Vince.

“I’ve found someone hurt. I’m checking for a pulse.”

Thankfully, I found one. Now that I was closer, I could see the slow rise and fall of his chest, and a lump at the base of his skull.

“He’s alive,” I told the operator. This should clear me as a suspect. I hoped.

“Please stay on the line.” I sat back on my heels as the operator continued to do her thing, and I studied the scene in front of me. It looked like a mugging. Vince had been bashed from behind and then rolled. I replayed what I had seen from the car. The sudden drop when someone had surprised him from behind, less than a minute before I was out of the car and trying the door. Another minute until I was in and hitting switches, sixty seconds until the alarm sounded, maybe a minute and a half until I was upstairs. Not enough time for an amateur mugger to do a thorough search. But a search for what? The missing flash drive? Something else? Whatever it was, someone wanted it badly enough to knock Vince out to search for it. If it was that important, I wanted it, too.

The operator told me to remain where I was, the police would be there momentarily. I peeked over the windowsill. There were no flashing lights in view. I had a little time. I looked at Vince’s unconscious form. It was a risk, but at least someone had started the job. I set down my phone.

“Well begun is half done,” I recited as I searched the rest of Vince’s pockets. It was from my mother’s standard repertoire of helpful sayings, not that she’d approve of how I was applying it. No matter. I wasn’t interested in approval. I was interested in finding a killer.

I found nothing of interest except a bent business card. “Julia Wainwright, Esq.” There was an Albany address and phone number below it. I flipped through Vince’s wallet and examined his keychain. There was an extra ring attached to it, and on it was a key to the library. It must have been Joanna’s. As President of the Friends she would have a key to the building, and the key next to it was the make of car she drove. Another small ring was attached, but this was twisted open and held nothing. The missing drive?

A new set of sirens sounded outside. I grabbed my phone and scooted back, not standing until I was beyond the window. Someone killed the alarm. By the time Sam O’Donnell and a uniformed officer appeared on the landing, I was standing against the wall in full view, telling the operator the police were here. I hung up.

O’Donnell bent over Vince, performing the same quick check I had. The uniformed officer had been joined by another who had come up the front staircase. They worked their way down the hall, checking doors and examining unlocked rooms.

“His pulse is steady,” I said. “I told the operator to send an ambulance.”

“On their way,” he said. “Anyone else here?”

“I don’t know. When I saw someone at the window just drop out of sight I came straight here.”

“We’ll talk about that shortly.” He stood to make way for the EMTs.

With brisk efficiency, Vince was examined and transferred to a stretcher. I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to stir.

I turned back to O’Donnell. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. If I’d known the citizens of Raven Hill were this bloodthirsty, I wouldn’t have taken the job. Will he be all right?”

“I think so. We’ll know shortly. Right now, I’m more interested in finding out what went on here tonight.”

“I’m not sure.”

“We’ll begin at the beginning.” O’Donnell pulled out his notebook. A uniformed officer interrupted. The archives were locked and needed to be searched. Did I have a key?

“There’s one at the reference desk,” I said. “I can get it for you.”

O’Donnell nodded and we all trooped down the stairs. I sat at the desk, pulled an envelope marked “MISC” out of the drawer, and upended it on the blotter. I started fishing through the pile.

The young policeman looked in astonishment from the ratty brown envelope to the pile of keys to O’Donnell to me and back to the keys.

“What are all these for?” he said.

“The archives, public rooms, supply closets, staff areas, wardrobes that lead to Narnia, who knows? I haven’t tried them all. Here you go. The big one is to the archives, and the smaller one should open every other door on that floor. There’s a full set of building keys in the boiler room, so here’s the key to that.”

He took the three keys and looked at the pile on the desk.

“Shouldn’t these be secured somewhere, ma’am?”

“It’s a big building.” I repeated what I’d been told when I’d asked the same thing my first day of work. “There’s a lock box in the director’s office, but she’s not always here, so the most-used spares are kept in the drawer.” I shrugged. “And, not my call.”

The uniformed officer looked at O’Donnell, who waved him away. I put the remaining keys back in the envelope and was opening the drawer when