we amused each other in bed for a while. Afterwards, Pete yawned and stretched. "Well, I guess we'd better get up. We could go to the farmers' market."
"I've got a better idea."
"What?"
"Field trip. How do you feel about antique books?"
There were several antique and rare book dealers in town. I knew one of them better than the others. Kendall McEwen was an Australian who had been a Rhodes Scholar a few years before me. I hadn't met him at Oxford, but at a meeting of the Oxford University Society of Los Angeles, a group for Oxford alumni. We'd hit it off, mostly due to our mutual interests in books, surfing, and rugby. He was straight as an arrow and kind of a horn dog, a big, blond guy who looked like he should be holding a can of Foster's. And he had that Aussie accent. The guy made the girls go wild, apparently. I understood the attraction.
Kendall McEwen Books was in the Palisades. When Pete and I pushed through the front door of the shop, Kendall himself was lounging on a stool behind his counter, talking on his cell phone, and drinking a bottle of water. He saw us, waved, and said to his phone, "I've got customers, mate. Gotta go." He hung up and turned to us. "Jamie! Long time! How the hell are you?"
"Doing great, K. Pete, Kendall McEwen. Kendall, Pete Ferguson, my partner."
Pete and Kendall shook hands. "Pleased to meet ya, mate." Kendall grinned at me. "Now what brings you out on a beautiful day like this?"
We pulled up stools. "I've got a story for you. See what you think." I recounted the tale of finding the dead guy with the piece of manuscript in his hand, leaving out names and details like I’d done with Conrad. Kendall listened with interest. When I finished telling him about the conversation I'd had with the police, I asked, "Was it you that they brought the page to?"
"Nope, I haven't had a visit from the cops lately. Must have been someone else. They didn't give you a name?"
"No, just said the dealer was recommended by the art theft unit."
"Hmm. Not sure who that would be." Kendall frowned. "Why would they take it there? Why not to a museum, or to your medieval scholars at the university?"
I shrugged. "I guess because the department has a relationship with whoever this dealer was, through the art theft unit. The cops like to work with people they have relationships with already, you know."
"Yeah." Kendall jumped off his stool. "Where are my manners? Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Sure, some water would be good."
"Okay." Kendall went to a back room and returned with two cold bottles of water. He sat back down. "So. How good a look did you get at this torn bit?"
"I got a very good look. It was in a plastic bag, so I couldn't feel it. But it looked old. Of course I know things can be aged to look old, but if that was the case, it was very well done. And it was definitely from an illuminated manuscript, even if it was a recently done facsimile."
Kendall mused. "I haven't heard anything about a missing page of a well-known manuscript. And that kind of news gets around in my business. Of course, from what you say, if it was missing, it's been missing for twenty or thirty years up in the old lady's attic."
"Right."
I gave Kendall the copy of the page that Belardo had given me. "This was made on a police department copier, through a plastic bag, but it's the best I could do. What do you think?"
Kendall studied the page. "The script is definitely Latin." He turned it over, then pulled out a magnifying glass and examined it more closely. "How well does the copy reproduce the colors?"
"They're a shade lighter on the copy, but the tint is pretty close."
"Huh." He kept studying it for a while. Pete got up and started browsing around the shop. I sipped my water and waited. After about five minutes, Kendall laid down the magnifying glass and straightened up. He handed the copy back to me.
"If I remember my Latin correctly, those words are from the gospel of John. The bit where Jesus is being
"I've got a better idea."
"What?"
"Field trip. How do you feel about antique books?"
There were several antique and rare book dealers in town. I knew one of them better than the others. Kendall McEwen was an Australian who had been a Rhodes Scholar a few years before me. I hadn't met him at Oxford, but at a meeting of the Oxford University Society of Los Angeles, a group for Oxford alumni. We'd hit it off, mostly due to our mutual interests in books, surfing, and rugby. He was straight as an arrow and kind of a horn dog, a big, blond guy who looked like he should be holding a can of Foster's. And he had that Aussie accent. The guy made the girls go wild, apparently. I understood the attraction.
Kendall McEwen Books was in the Palisades. When Pete and I pushed through the front door of the shop, Kendall himself was lounging on a stool behind his counter, talking on his cell phone, and drinking a bottle of water. He saw us, waved, and said to his phone, "I've got customers, mate. Gotta go." He hung up and turned to us. "Jamie! Long time! How the hell are you?"
"Doing great, K. Pete, Kendall McEwen. Kendall, Pete Ferguson, my partner."
Pete and Kendall shook hands. "Pleased to meet ya, mate." Kendall grinned at me. "Now what brings you out on a beautiful day like this?"
We pulled up stools. "I've got a story for you. See what you think." I recounted the tale of finding the dead guy with the piece of manuscript in his hand, leaving out names and details like I’d done with Conrad. Kendall listened with interest. When I finished telling him about the conversation I'd had with the police, I asked, "Was it you that they brought the page to?"
"Nope, I haven't had a visit from the cops lately. Must have been someone else. They didn't give you a name?"
"No, just said the dealer was recommended by the art theft unit."
"Hmm. Not sure who that would be." Kendall frowned. "Why would they take it there? Why not to a museum, or to your medieval scholars at the university?"
I shrugged. "I guess because the department has a relationship with whoever this dealer was, through the art theft unit. The cops like to work with people they have relationships with already, you know."
"Yeah." Kendall jumped off his stool. "Where are my manners? Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Sure, some water would be good."
"Okay." Kendall went to a back room and returned with two cold bottles of water. He sat back down. "So. How good a look did you get at this torn bit?"
"I got a very good look. It was in a plastic bag, so I couldn't feel it. But it looked old. Of course I know things can be aged to look old, but if that was the case, it was very well done. And it was definitely from an illuminated manuscript, even if it was a recently done facsimile."
Kendall mused. "I haven't heard anything about a missing page of a well-known manuscript. And that kind of news gets around in my business. Of course, from what you say, if it was missing, it's been missing for twenty or thirty years up in the old lady's attic."
"Right."
I gave Kendall the copy of the page that Belardo had given me. "This was made on a police department copier, through a plastic bag, but it's the best I could do. What do you think?"
Kendall studied the page. "The script is definitely Latin." He turned it over, then pulled out a magnifying glass and examined it more closely. "How well does the copy reproduce the colors?"
"They're a shade lighter on the copy, but the tint is pretty close."
"Huh." He kept studying it for a while. Pete got up and started browsing around the shop. I sipped my water and waited. After about five minutes, Kendall laid down the magnifying glass and straightened up. He handed the copy back to me.
"If I remember my Latin correctly, those words are from the gospel of John. The bit where Jesus is being
Similar Books
