They still hadn’t seen me: they were engrossed in the hypnotic, totally absorbing business of the bookman—sorting and pricing. I had seen the ritual before and had always found it interesting. Ruby would pick up a book and fondle it lovingly, then they’d bat the price back and forth and finally they’d settle on something, which Neff would write in light pencil on the flyleaf. They were just getting to the Faulkner when I leaned over their backs.
“Buck and a half,” Neff said.
“Too high,” Ruby said.
“It’s a perfect copy, Ruby. I mean, look at the goddamn thing, it’s like it was published yesterday, for Christ’s sake.”
“You never see this for more than a bill.”
“You never see a copy like this either.”
“Go ahead, if you want the son of a bitch to grow mold over there on the shelf.”
“Buck and a quarter, then. That’s rock-friggin‘-bottom.”
Neff penciled in the price. I cleared my throat and got their attention.
“Well, Dr. Janeway, I do believe,” Ruby said, brightening. “We just got in some stuff for you.”
“So I see. The masters of overcharge are already at work.”
Neff gave me a pained look, as if the mere discussion of money was a blow to one’s dignity.
“Always a deal for you, Dr. J,” Ruby said, and Neff’s pained look drifted his way.
I put the Faulkner out of my mind for the moment. I never could split my concentration effectively.
“I want to ask you boys a few questions.”
“Jesus, Mr. Janeway,” Neff said seriously. “This sounds official. Let me guess what it is. Somebody knocked off the sheriff and right away you thought of us.”
I gave him a mirthless little smile. “When was the last time you saw Bobby Westfall?”
“Jeez, I don’t know,” Ruby said. “He ain’t been coming around much.”
“What’s he done, rob a bank?” Neff said.
“See if you can pin it down for me,” I said.
“Well,” Ruby said, “he come in here maybe two weeks ago. Ain’t that right, Em? About two weeks ago.”
“About that,” Neff said. “What’s it about?”
“I told you, I’m trying to pin him down,” I said. “Did he have something to sell when he came in?”
“Just a few turds,” Ruby said. “Nuthin‘ I wanted.”
“Bob was on a losing streak,” Neff said. “He hadn’t found much all month long.”
“He was bitchin‘ up a storm about it,” Ruby said. “Bobby never bitches much, but I guess he needed the money and for once in his life he couldn’t find any books.”
“You have any idea what he needed the money for?”
“Hell, Dr. J, I just buy books from these bastards, I don’t go home and sleep with ‘em.”
“They always need money,” Neff said.
“Who doesn’t?” Ruby said. “But bookscouts… yeah, Em’s right. Those guys’re always scraping like hell just to get two nickels to rub against each other. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.“
“When was the last time Bobby had a big strike?”
“Oh, Jeez,” Ruby said, shaking his head.
“What do you call big?” Neff said.
“I don’t know, Neff,” I said. “What do you call big?”
“Big to him might be this Faulkner you’re looking at. We’d give him thirty, forty bucks for that. Nothing to sneeze at if you got it for a quarter.”
“Bigger than that,” I said.
Ruby’s eyes went into mock astonishment. “You mean like maybe he found Tamerlane in the Goodwill? Something like that, Dr. J?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re kidding.”
They had stopped grinning now and were hanging on my next words. I let them wait, and finally Neff stepped into the breach.
“That’s been done. Remember the guy who found Tamerlane in a bookstore for fifteen dollars a few years ago? Do you know what the odds are of that happening, anywhere in the world, twice in a lifetime?”
“I’m not talking about Tamerlane,” I said. “Just maybe something like it.”
They both looked at me.
“What’s going on, Dr. J?”
“Somebody beat Bobby’s brains out last night.”
“Holy Christ,” Ruby said.
“Killed him, you mean,” Neff said numbly.
I nodded.
“Now who the hell would do that?” Ruby said.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Let’s go back to what I asked you. When was the last time Bobby had a big strike?”
“Oh, hell, I can’t remember,” Ruby said. “Jesus, Dr. J, this’s terrible.”
“You’re asking us when Bob might’ve had something somebody would kill him for,” Neff said.
“Let’s make like I’m asking you that.”
“Hell, never,” Ruby said.
Neff nodded immediately. “Even that big score he made a few years back, when he found all four of those big books in one weekend…I mean, that’s the biggest score any of them ever make, and all four of those books don’t add up to more than two grand. Who’d kill a guy for that?”
“Some people, maybe,” I said.
“Nobody I know,” Ruby said. “Goddamn, this’s terrible. I can’t get over it.”
“Let’s say he had something worth two or three thousand,” I said. “That’s a lot of money to guys on the street.”
“It’s a lot of money to me,” Ruby said.
“But to a guy who lives like they live, it’s more money than you’ll ever see again in one place.”
“You think that’s what happened… Bobby found something and some other bookscout took it away from him?”
“I don’t think anything,” I said. “I’m trying to find out something and put it together with what I know. It’s unlikely Bobby found anything worth a real fortune. You said so yourself. Pieces like Tamerlane don’t just drop off trees into somebody’s lap. The reason they’re worth a quarter of a million dollars is because there are no copies out there to be found. A guy would have a better chance of winning the Irish Sweepstakes, right?”
“I’d give him a better chance,” Ruby said.
“And yet it happens.”
“In movies it happens.”
“Once in a while it really happens.”
“I’d sure hate to chase that down,” Ruby said. “Talk about a needle in a goddamn haystack.”
“On the other hand, if Bobby found something worth a few thousand, you’d have to ask yourself a different set of questions. Anybody might kill for a quarter of a million, but who’d kill for three grand?”
“Three grand wouldn’t begin to solve my problems,” Ruby said. “Hell, I owe the sheriff more than that.”
“But it’s a lot of money to a bookscout,” I said.
“I see what you’re saying.”
“So,” I said, “who did Bobby go around with?”
“Well, there’s Peter. I’ve seen the two of ‘em walking together, that’s all. Doesn’t mean they were fast and tight. Other than that, old Bob ran alone. I’ve never seen him with anybody else.”
“Who’s Peter?”
“I can’t remember his last name. You remember it, Em?”
Neff shook his head.
“Just called him Peter the Bookscout, just like Bobby. Hell, half those boys never had a name, or don’t want you to know it if they do.”
“Does Peter come by often?”
“He was in here yesterday,” Neff said.
“Comes in three or four times a month,” Ruby said.
“When did you see Bobby and Peter together?”
“Oh, maybe a year ago,” Ruby said. “They were going up to Boulder together, to a book sale. Bobby didn’t drive, so he was hitching a ride with Peter.”
“What do you mean Bobby didn’t drive?” Neff said. “I’ve seen him drive. Don’t you remember that old car he had?”