Page 17 of Alex Cross Must Die

“Completecopies,” Holmes corrected. “There are plenty of Gutenbergs floating around. But most of them are partials or have at least one forged page. Even experts get fooled.”

“From what Bain says,” said Grey, “his copy is totally legit. That’s why he’s through the roof. He says that First Folios go for ten million. The Bible could be worth—”

“Thirty-five million,” said Marple. “Or more. I have a few nice Bibles in my own collection. Worth pennies compared to that.”

“You can’t put a value on works like these,” said Holmes. “They’re cultural milestones. Human history on the page. The thought of them sitting in some philistine’s garage …” He shook his head in disgust.

“Go see Bain,” said Grey. “I told him to expect all of you this morning.”

“You’re not coming?” said Poe. Marple sensed a bit of disappointment in the question.

“No,” said Grey. “At the moment, this case doesn’t officially exist.” She finished her espresso. “The mayor reached out to me off the record. Bain doesn’t want any official police involvement. He’s afraid the story will leak and make him look stupid. He hasn’t even filed a report. Boolin knows nothing about this.” She placed her palms flat on the countertop. “Can I trust you to be discreet?”

“As silent as shadows,” Poe whispered.

“By the way,” said Grey, sliding off her stool, “Bain donates a million dollars a year to the Police Benevolent Association. Try not to piss him off.”

“So you’re leaving us on our own?” asked Marple.

The detective nodded. “I was never here.”

Marple smiled to herself. Grey was growing on her. She appreciated a woman who knew how to keep a secret.

CHAPTER 18

HUNTLEY BAIN’S FIFTH AVENUEhome had none of the gilded garishness of Trump Tower a few blocks away. It was clean, modern, tasteful. What’s more, it was even closer to Central Park. Location, location, location.

Marple stood in the entryway with Holmes and Poe while a minion hurried to fetch the master. She watched as Holmes began to examine an elaborately sculpted statuette in a small recess. He pulled a tiny magnifying glass from his pocket. Marple rolled her eyes. “Really, Brendan? Where’s your deerstalker cap?”

“Chinese bronze. Buddha Vairocana. At least that’s what they tell me.” A brash, booming voice.

Holmes tucked the glass back into his jacket as Huntley Bain strutted across his gleaming white floor. Marple felt queasy just looking at him. The pricey European-cut suit, one size too small. The manicured nails. The Botoxed forehead. The air of superiority. For her, it was disgust at first sight. Bain poked a finger toward the trio. “So. Are you my goddamn miracle workers?”

By an earlier draw of straws, this was Marple’s case to lead. She sucked in a breath, stepped forward, and extended her hand.

“Margaret Marple,” she said, as Bain gave her hand an aggressive shake. “These are my partners, Auguste Poe and Brendan Holmes.”

Bain’s mouth curled into a cruel smile. “You’re the ones who took down that little slut in the mayor’s office. Good for you. Never trusted her.”

Marple’s stomach was turning. When it came to clients, she always tried to keep an open mind, but Huntley Bain offended her senses on every level. She could already feel him sapping her energy. But this was her case. She asked the first question.

“Why us, Mr. Bain?”

“Because the police are useless,” said Bain. “I called the mayor, and the mayor had someone reach out to you.”

“Where were the items taken from?” asked Holmes.

“Here!” said Bain. “Right here. My apartment. This floor. Weren’t you briefed?”

“Whereexactly?” asked Poe.

“This way,” said Bain, snorting with impatience. “Pay attention. I’m only going through this once.”

Bain led the way down a wide inner gallery lined with meticulously framed etchings and prints. The hallway opened into a large library. The shelves were lined with books bound in color-coordinated spines. Marple doubted that any of them had ever been opened. When she looked across the room, she stopped mid-step.

“Hold on, Mr. Bain,” she said. “I’m confused.”

There, sitting in front of her in a rectangular case, were a Shakespeare First Folio and a Gutenberg Bible. She could tell, because they were boldly labeled with engraved brass plates.

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