Shadow Duel (Prof Croft Book 9) by Brad Magnarella (ereader with android .txt) 📕

amounts of red blood cells, something that would have been in abundance if he’d cleaned up here after the shadow murders, but nada. Neither was my cane picking up the potion. I panned the apartment for any energetic anomalies before stepping out.

I still didn’t like Eldred’s access to everything, but at the very least it made him a good witness.

If he cooperates.

I returned to the library, where the arriving members and staff were filling out pre-interview paperwork. The actual interviews were being conducted in the meeting room in back. I knocked and entered to find Hoffman standing over Eldred, who was sitting with his arms folded.

“And I told you this was off record!” Hoffman shouted.

Color inflamed his cheeks, and his eyes were bulging from their bags.

I hurried over. “What’s going on?”

Spiking his pen against his pad, Hoffman sat down with an explosive huff. “Eldred here is being a pain in the ass is what’s happening. I’ve already explained that this is a voluntary process. Nothing he says can incriminate him or anyone else unless he chooses to say it on record.”

“I won’t be saying anything without the club’s lawyers present,” Eldred shot back.

“Why?” Hoffman challenged. “You hiding something?”

It looked as if Hoffman had met his match, but he was also on the verge of alienating our best potential witness, if he hadn’t already.

“Whoa, all right,” I said, sitting on Eldred’s other side. “Let’s all just take a few deep breaths here.”

I took the paper Eldred had signed—damp and wrinkled from Hoffman seizing it at some point—and flattened it out. “Speaking as someone who’s had plenty of dealings with the NYPD, including being arrested and serving probation, this by itself protects you. A lawyer will tell you the same thing.”

Eldred’s eyes fell to the paper.

“I met you last night,” I said, then chuckled. “I was actually that guy who showed up late. How long have you worked here?”

His shoulders retracted with importance. “Forty-two years.”

“Wow, and you’ve lived here that whole time?”

“About half.”

“Can I ask what brought you here?”

“The previous doorman was my father.”

I’d managed to build a little rapport, but I could tell it was already wearing thin.

“You know, when I was up in the lounge, I noticed a bottle of scotch. Discovery Select? That’s not one I’m familiar with. Is it connected to the club?”

I sensed that Eldred liked being a know-it-all, and his ready answer confirmed it.

“It was a label Strock created in honor of the Discovery Society. It hadn’t gone public yet.”

Probably why the perp chose it. They’d known Strock would drink and distribute it among the fellows. Though Hoffman still looked as if he’d bitten into a raw lemon, he kept quiet as he jotted down the info.

“We have a few questions about people coming in and out of the club,” I said. “You’re clearly in the best position to answer them, but if you’d rather not, we understand.” I glanced over at Hoffman, who was looking back at me in disbelief. “I’m sure we can piece together that info from the staff,” I finished.

Eldred scoffed. “They wouldn’t know.”

“Well, it won’t hurt to ask them, right?”

“What kind of questions?” he asked, as if his time were important.

Hoffman allowed a grudging nod. My gamble had worked. We had him.

“For starters, do you keep a record of everyone who comes and goes?” I asked.

He held up the tablet from the night before. “It’s all here. I check everyone in and out.”

“Does anyone ever get in who shouldn’t?”

“Our security is subtle but state of the art. We have rare collections to protect. Short of disabling the system and battering the door down”—He narrowed his eyes at Hoffman—“no one enters who shouldn’t.”

Hoffman cleared his throat. “Is it possible for anyone to come into the club and then hide till it closes?”

“No, it’s not,” Eldred stated.

“Have you ever seen a visitor or staff member somewhere in the club they shouldn’t be?” I followed up.

“I have, as a matter of fact. And I don’t mind telling you it was Ludvig Lassgard.”

I pictured my happy, cross-eyed friend from the night before. The same person Sunita had named.

“What was he doing?” Hoffman asked.

“He was in a restricted room. The door was secured, but he claimed it was open and that he’d thought it was one of the public displays.” Eldred scowled. “He plays the fool, but Ludvig knows exactly what he’s doing. I’ve watched him. He’s cleverer than he lets on. Did you know we had two pieces go missing last month?”

I straightened. “From the collection? What were they?”

“I’m not sure. I happened to overhear Walter talking about it. I brought up my suspicions about Ludvig, but Walter wanted to ensure it wasn’t a stocking error before implicating anyone, especially his protégé.”

Could explain why he was being so stern with Ludvig last night, I thought.

“Can you give us a minute?” I said to Eldred, standing and angling my head for Hoffman to follow. Grunting, he pushed himself from his chair and limped over to the far corner of the meeting room.

“Is Lassgard coming?” I whispered.

“Supposed to be. We contacted everyone who was listed as staff or a member.”

“The other fellow, Sharma, said the same thing about him sketching around the collection rooms.”

“Probably pawning antiques on the side,” Hoffman said. “That’s the club’s problem. I’m trying to catch a killer here.”

“Right, but what if one of the items compelled him. Remember the infernal bags last year? That all started with a necklace some guy found in the ruins of the Financial District. Cursed items pop up every so often, compelling people to kill, often people with no histories of criminality or violence.”

“Well, how do we know he wasn’t the one compelled?”

He squinted past me at Eldred, who’d picked up the form he had signed and was reading it over. I could tell by Hoffman’s expression, he was doing the Vince Cole thing again, holding stubbornly to his favorite suspect.

“I don’t like him,” he muttered.

“Well, I can’t say I’m a huge fan either, but we have more