I didn’t think we’d get much from Grant’s visit with any of the three women he had agreed to talk to. I just wanted him to do something he thought might be useful—or better yet, just fun—anything that got him out of my hair. The wife, Milly McDonald was a pretty straight-ahead greedy bitch looking for a large cash payday on her husband’s left behind books—their cash value, that is. The two other women McDonald had had affairs with—the maid and the mistress—I didn’t expect much from them either. Then again, you never knew. I wanted to remain hopeful. I’d just have to wait and see what Grant dug up, if anything. Meanwhile, I’d go my own way, and that’s the way I liked it.
I spent the rest of the morning with Brian McDonald’s partner, Alex Spears, at his home, talking about Brian, books, and the ins and outs of the book business—in between the cats. The cat smell hadn’t abated since I’d been there last. I tried to put all that out of my mind as I concentrated on business.
“Back again,” Spears said carefully as he greeted me at the door to his house. “You’re not here to arrest me, are you?”
I laughed, “No, Mr. Spears. First off, I want to thank you for the library leads you gave me.”
“No problem, Detective Hollow,” he said. “Did they pan out for you?”
“Yes, actually, they did.”
He smiled, a bit excited that he was able to help the cops in a real murder investigation. He was a crime fiction reader and true crime buff and it was coming through now in his reaction to my news. “Well then, by all means come in. You must tell me all about it.”
So I told him all about it and it didn’t make him happy at all. In fact, he was in an uproar of righteous indignation, and then sudden worry. “My God! My good name will be ruined, my business ruined! How could Brian do such a thing?”
“McDonald didn’t want to use his own name to sign-in, that would prove he had been to each of these libraries—and who knows how many more?” I offered.
“Oh, my, it’s even worse that I thought then. Brian traveled extensively. He may have been doing these thefts all across the country. I am most distressed to hear this news, Detective Hollow. He used my good name, my own good name!” Spears was absolutely beside himself with trepidation and I tried to calm him and get him to focus on talking about McDonald and the book business. It took me a while. I had to impress upon him there would be no liability or criminal charges against him because McDonald had used his name fraudulently.
“You’re the victim here,” I told Spears. “What happened to you was essentially identity theft. You can not be held accountable for what Brian did.”
Spears sighed, breathing deeply, obviously much relieved but still quite concerned. “That bastard! That son-of-a-bitch! He not only stole from our business, he stole rare library books and he stole my identity! I tell you, Detective Hollow, with what I know now, if Brian McDonald wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself!”
I wasn’t shocked by his words.
Spears looked at me sheepishly, “I hope nothing I tell you here can be used against me, detective.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him, as I looked around the room at the shelves full of books. “Why don‘t you tell me about these? The books. What makes them so special, so valuable?”
Spear quickly brightened, “Why, Detective Hollow, I’d be happy to. I could see you have an interest in collecting, but knew it was not books.”
“No, not books, Depression Glassware,” I said.
“Ah, yes, Jadite, Fenton, Carnival, and such?”
“Yes, but I’m getting interested in books. Can you teach me about them?” I prompted.
“That’s a tall order. There’s so much to tell,” Spears began but with obvious enthusiasm. “I mean, books are wonderful, endlessly fascinating. Take a look at some of the ones I have here on the shelves. Go ahead, pull one out, take a look.”
I did as he said. I looked over the bound edges of the books that were facing me on the shelves, what I had learned was called the spine of the book. These spines showed the names of titles and authors. Some of the names I recognized. I saw a copy of James M. Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice and pulled it out. “I remember the movie with Lana Turner and John Garfield.”
“Yeah, she was a real peach in her day. The film was from 1946. That book is the first edition, from Knopf in 1934. It’s lightly cocked, but otherwise in fine condition, you picked a good book.”
“Did I?” I asked, showing my surprise. I had no idea.
“Yes, the jacket is what makes it, it’s in lovely condition. I value it at about $6,000. I have a buyer, or at least, someone seriously interested. Another dealer, drat! If I resell it to him, I’ll have to give him the standard twenty percent discount to the trade. I’d rather sell it to a collector at the full price but maybe it is time for it to go.”
“I see. I looked the book over. The jacket didn’t seem to be much, just some fancy lettering of the title with smaller letters at the lower edge of the author’s name. I put it back on the shelf. Then I reached over and picked up a small book that was near it, a paperback, a very old paperback.”
“That’s interesting, do you know what you have there?”
I shrugged, “I haven’t the faintest idea. The Good Earth by Pearl Buck, right?”
Spears laughed, genuinely happy to talk books and I had to admit his enthusiasm was getting to me, “Yes, but it is a very special book. Actually it is an historical artifact, an icon of American publishing.”
“Really?” I was interested but skeptical. I mean, it was just a paperback.
“That’s because it’s the very first mass-market paperback ever. In 1939 Simon & Schuster partnered with Robert de Graff to publish Pocket Books, which began the Paperback Revolution, which spread like wildfire across the country, and then across the world. All Pocket Books were numbered. The number run reached over a thousand, much higher even. Look at the spine. Do you see any number?”
I turned the book and looked at the bound edge, the spine. “No, there’s no number.”
“That’s right!” Spears almost shouted in his excitement. “In 1939 Pocket Books published a tiny trial edition of that book with no number, only 2,000 copies that were given away to influential persons, and distributed only in New York City. There are less than a dozen copies known to exist today.”
“What’s the value of something like that?” I asked, not very impressed. I mean, it didn’t look like much of a book to me. And it was just a paperback. I didn’t think paperbacks were worth anything. Coupla dollars, maybe?
“Well, it is worth perhaps $5,000. It’s a very nice copy,” Spears said with a smile at my evident surprise.
I carefully put it back on his shelf.
“That much, for just a paperback?”
“Oh, yes, and you’d be surprised to know that many paperbacks go for big money these days. Not as much as hardcover firsts of course, but in the hundreds of dollars and sometimes in the thousands of dollars. There is a very frantic market for certain paperbacks. You know about first editions?”
“Yes, that is the first time a book has appeared in print, right?” I answered carefully. At that point I wasn’t so sure of what I knew and something told me the old guy was going to throw me a curve.
“Correct, but many collectible authors, many famous books, originally appeared in paperback. These are called, appropriately enough, paperback originals. These paperbacks are the first true editions. Many famous genre writers got their start in the forties, fifties and sixties in paperback, so you’ll find a lot of key mystery, crime, science fiction and horror work that originally appeared in paperback. These are avidly collected by fans. Paperbacks also have better cover art than hardcover books, much more sexy, passionate, violent, much more exciting overall—and that’s exciting to collectors. There are even books published that reproduce the best paperback cover art. The artists have their own followings too.”
I sighed, I had a lot to learn. I looked over at the shelves again. “You have some very expensive books here.”
“Yes, but these books did not just appear one day, mysteriously. They are the result of a lifetime of collecting, a lifetime in books, my friend. I buy everywhere I can, I search constantly, it is fun, part of the joy of collecting. The hunt!”
“I know that feeling.”
“I am sure you do, from your glass collecting, certainly. Well, I hunt and buy from other dealer lists, book shows, yard sales, flea markets, thrift stores, and the best when I can get them, estate sales. It is great fun and gives me much joy, and it has given me a decent living doing something I love. What can be better?”
I noticed another book and pulled it down to look at it more closely.
“Ah, yes, the Steinbeck, that’s a very nice copy. It took me a lot of work to get that one. I got it from an old collector who bought it new when it first came out in 1939. It was a real job to get him to part with it and I think I overpaid, but I’m not bothered by that now. It’s in lovely condition, a hint of foxing, but the jacket is glorious, so I am well pleased with it.”
“The Grapes of Wrath,” I said, looking over the jacket art showing Oakie farmers during the Depression. What’s something like this worth?”
“I conservatively estimate it at $20,000.”
I grimaced and put the book back on the shelf. “This is a bit overwhelming.”
Spears laughed, “It can be, there is a lot to learn, a lot to know. I’ve been in the business for over thirty years and every day I learn something new. The important thing as a dealer is that selling books is my bread and butter, so I don’t want to get caught with my pants down.”
I smiled, “What do you mean?”
“No one can know everything. Smarties abound, but always get outsmarted. Every dealer has their interests and specialty, but when they come across something outside that realm they can become nervous, they have to be careful.”
“I know what you mean: you can sell too cheap if you don’t know what you have. It’s the same with glassware,” I said, remembering the competitiveness there for prime pieces among dealers.
“Correct. It can be a bit of a crap shoot, but a pleasant one. I could think of no other way to spend my time on this old world of ours,” Spears said softly, thoughtful now. “But what do you like to read? Do you have a favorite book, a favorite author?”
I sighed, “Police work doesn’t give me much time for reading. I like private eye stories, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, crime fiction generally, and some science fiction and horror.”
“Hammett, Chandler, probably Stephen King, perhaps in science fiction, Isaac Asimov?”
“Yeah, he wrote The Foundation Trilogy, didn’t he? I read them in school.”
Al Spears got up and walked over to the shelf behind him, pulling down three hardcover books wrapped in clear shiny plastic. “Here they are, Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy: Foundation, Foundation and Empire and Second Foundation.”
He handed me the books and I looked at the jacket art. They showed spaceships and alien faces. They were lovely and the condition was really nice, almost like new. “These must be old. I remember these covers from when I was a kid, from the high school library.”
“Not these books, Detective Hollow, but ones just like them, reprints certainly, or book club editions, which abound. These are the first editions from Gnome Press, a small science fiction specialty publisher. They were published one each year, from 1951 to 1953 and these copies have the added bonus of being signed by the author.”
“Do signed books bring a higher price?” I asked.
“Good question. That depends on the author. Asimov did sign quite a bit. Other authors don’t sign much, some won’t. Others, sadly, die young. Unfortunately, the signature on most books contributes little if nothing to its overall value.”
“So Asimov signed these? Are they worth more signed.”
“For Asimov, absolutely. You see, while Asimov signed a lot of books, he’s a revered science fiction writer, a real icon, and these three books are his magnum opus. You know, he also wrote sequels back in the ’80s and the ’90s before he died; later, other writers continued the series, but these three were the originals. There is significant demand. They are science fiction cornerstones as well. I’d place them easily at $5,000 a piece, perhaps as much as $20,000 for the set of three.”
“Wow!” I blurted, in spite of myself. It was amazing, the world of rare books was like an entire new world that had suddenly opened up before me. I was just glad that Charlie Grant wasn’t here. My moron partner would just be annoyed by all this book talk, and I didn’t want anything to interfere with my newly acquired fascination for books. I carefully handed Spears back his Asimovs.
“Nice, eh?” he asked me with a glint to his eyes as he took the books and placed them back on his shelf.
“Yeah, but nothing I can afford.”
Spears nodded sagely, “Yes, that is true for now, but not always, and there are great finds still out there. All you have to do is look. You’d be surprised. You just have to know what to look for.”
“That’s just it, I don’t know what to look for.”
Spears smiled, “Yes you do, you have an advisor.”
“I do?”
“Of course, you have me. I’ll teach you what you need to know. That is, if you really want to learn.”
I thought about that carefully. It was very generous of him, but I was still on a case. I was a busy cop with a messy career, a runaway wife. I really didn’t need another job on top of all that, especially one that seemed so complicated. I had no idea how to be a bookman, what to look for, even with the help of Al Spears.
“I don’t know,” I said almost sadly.
“Well, maybe some day, Detective Hollow. I can see you have the collecting bug in you, and you seem to have a real interest in books. I think that some day, we will meet again…in books.”
“I hope so, Mr. Spears. Thanks for all your time, I enjoyed it and I think I learned a few things.”
“Well, then our time hasn’t been wasted. Good luck, detective.
We shook hands and I got ready to leave. I took one last look at the books filling the shelves all around me. They were magical. It was really quite nice to look at them all, and I didn’t even notice the cat smell any longer.
On the way out Spears walked me to the door. That’s when the attack came. It was fast and furious. I was ambushed by that damn Hemingway. The cat clawed my hand as I fought him off and sent him scampering away. I think he had been going for my gun.
* * * * * * *
The doorbell rang and it was answered right away.
“You? What do you want?”
“Good morning. I have something for you. Something I know you are looking for very much. I have it here in this box.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see. Will you let me in?”
“You’re the last person I expected to see.”
“I’m sure, but do you want what I have here, or not?”
“What is it?”
“Are you going to let me in?”
“Very well.”
“Let’s go upstairs, into Brian’s old office, where we can be alone. Is anyone else in the house.
“No.”
“The maid, or your pool boy, perhaps?”
“They’re all gone, off for the day, and my sister and mother have gone back home. They were getting annoying. We’re quite alone.”
“That’s good, then lead the way upstairs.”
“All right, follow me. You know, I am surprised to see you. It has been a long time.”
“Yes, it has.”
“Here we are, Brian’s old office. Come in.”
“This is the room where Brian was murdered?”
“Yes. He was killed there, right at that very desk.”
“How awful.”
“Yes, it was a surprise, let me tell you.”
“I read it in all the papers. It must have been very difficult for you.”
“Well, we were going to divorce, so….”
“Of course.”
“So what do you have for me?”
“It’s here in this box. Take it and open it. See for yourself.”
“All right. Let me see. Well…it’s a book of some kind. Some kind of binder.”
“Not just any old binder.”
“My God! It’s Brian’s missing Value Book….”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’ve been looking everywhere for this!”
“Well now you have it back.”
“But…but that means…doesn’t that mean you took it? Then that means…you’re Brian’s murderer!”
“Yes. It does.”
Then two shots were fired, a body fell to the floor, and the visitor quickly left the empty house. It was not yet noon.
* * * * * * *
It was noon and I called Charlie Grant to compare notes.
“I spoke to Spears,” I told my partner over my cell phone. “He’s a good guy. He’s pretty upset about McDonald using his name, he was highly insulted and worried about how it will all play out.”
“Huh! Too bad. I still think he’s in deeper than he lets on. What about all those names he gave us?”
“Spears told me he knew some of the people, used some of the libraries for research on occasion, like all book people do. I don’t think there’s much to it though.”
“That’s it, Hollow, you don’t think,” Grant jibbed.
I let it go, counted to ten, then said, “So what did you come up with?”
“I visited the two Black women. The ex-maid, Sledge, is a nasty piece of work, she told me McDonald owed her big time for getting her fired. She had a sweet gig, from what she told me. She did nothing at all, just serviced the bookman for pay and perks. Live-in hooker. Nice set-up! Then the wife caught her and McDonald doing the dirty deed in the upstairs bedroom—the same bedroom where hubby and wife slept, not a good idea. Sledge was fired. McDonald ended up dumping her soon after. Our boy had no scruples, no loyalty at all.”
“Yeah, he was one of a kind.”
Grant continued, “Then I ran by to see the mistress, Alice Sparks. She seems to have moved on from McDonald, wanted nothing to do with him after a brief affair. Seems she dumped him a month or two ago. She wasn’t all that interested in him anyway, just his money, and when the money got sparse, so did she. She’s an interesting woman.”
“How so?”
“Well, she came on to me,” he said simply.
I was surprised and could imagine the leering smile on Grant’s face. I resisted the urge to comment or ask for explicit details.
“Don’t you want to hear about it?” he prompted.
“Not really.”
Grant was quiet for a moment, obviously disappointed I had not jumped to the bait to hear about his most recent sexual adventure.
“So what now, Hollow?”
“I guess we finish it up. You revisit the wife, see what she has to say, I’ll drop in on the ex-wife again, see what I can come up with there.”
“Zilch, is all,” he said, then hung up.