The Whole Megillah by Howard Engel Read Free Book Online Page A

and started after her friend. I suppose Dalton saw me, but if he did, he saw me cross the street and move along the north side of Bloor without any reference to the movements of Honour’s friend on the south side.
    The quarterback in the tan suit didn’t go far. After skirting the window of a large, dim, empty-looking store that sold wrapping paper and paper napkins (in spite of a sign that advertised Crist’s Billiards), he turned into my home-away-from-home, Book City. I followed him in.
    I played on the fact that Honour’s boyfriend was ignorant of my existence and that my presence so close to the counter as he talked to the stocky blond man behind the cash would mean nothing to him. They were talking about Moore’s death. The well-dressed stranger was addressed as Mr. Lowther, which was really more information than I’d hoped to learn. Lowther was paying for a copy of the afternoon paper he’d picked up outside.
    â€˜The police still have no leads,’ he said, as he pocketed his change.
    â€˜There must be a psycho loose in the Annex, that’s all.’
    â€˜Sure,’ said the bookseller, tilting his glasses up to his forehead. ‘Who but a nut would want to kill a nice fellow like Mr. Moore? You know I served him right here in the store a few hours before he was killed. Weird, isn’t it?’
    Lowther was satisfied that he would learn nothing fresh from this source. He left his paper at the cash and went up the stairs into what I now regarded as my part of the bookstore. I followed him. Lowther’s long hair, which at first I thought looked messy, was cut to look that way. There were signs of careful barbering near his ears, but a hard, newly cut line had been avoided at the back of his head. It was like the head of a kid from a private school; they always look like they need a trim even after they’ve just had one.
    Lowther had headed directly for the section I’d been haunting: the books on rare books. He must be trying to get his hands on the megillah like everybody else. In order to get some action around the murder, I should offer to auction the damned thing off to the highest bidder. That would flush out the murderer fast enough. But first I had to get my hands on it. And then I had to recognize that what I had was the megillah and not some other old book.
    â€˜Mr. Lowther,’ I said, surprising myself, since I had no idea that I was on the point of breaking radio silence. He turned abruptly, as though I’d caught him with his nose in what we used to call a ‘skin book.’
    â€˜Yes?’ he said evenly, with the trace of a smile.
    â€˜My name is Cooperman. I’m a private investigator who was doing some work for Mr. Moore at the time he was killed.’
    â€˜Oh, you’re the one! I’ve heard about you. Were you able to find any leads before...?’
    â€˜Not many. But of course, I’m out of a job now. Mr. Moore was paying my fee and expenses. I don’t think I can go on working in hopes of dunning his estate later on.’
    â€˜No, that would hardly do, would it? What can I do for you, Mr. Cooperman?’
    â€˜Well, I’m not sure, unless you want to hire me to find out who killed Anthony Moore.’
    â€˜I think the police have a man or two on that.’ He was humouring me. I didn’t like it.
    â€˜They might not recognize the megillah when they stumble on it. And even when they do, it will become Exhibit A, won’t it? Nobody will see it for years, will they? And only then by going to visit the Metro Police Black Museum, where they’ll have it in a glass case along with all those butcher knives and guns. I’ve never seen it, but I hear that it is very interesting.’ Lowther didn’t blink when I mentioned the megillah, nor did he like the idea of the megillah being permanently out of the running as an addition to his collection.
    â€˜I’m sure you’re right. What