“Are people still proposing that as a theory?”
“Once or twice,” he said, leading her out of the elevator. “You people love your gossip. But I agree that she doesn’t seem the type for a lover.”
“Do you suspect Vivek?”
Yuan shook his head and jogged through the cold October afternoon to the bright-yellow falafel truck that parked outside the library.
“I hope you’re okay with falafel. I’ve had a hankering since I first saw this truck. Everything Professor Patel has told us has checked out.”
“What then?”
Detective Yuan spoke Arabic to order their sandwiches. Liesl squinted at him.
“Languages are useful in my line of work.” He handed her a bottle of water. “The missing books and the missing woman could be a coincidence. And sometimes there are coincidences. But rarely.” He filled a tiny plastic ramekin with hot sauce as he waited for their meal. “It looks like she took your books. Maybe only temporarily. But the theft was discovered, and she probably ran off. Got spooked. Do you like hot sauce?”
“No,” she said. “I’m fine with tahini.”
He poured a second ramekin anyway.
“So what you’re saying,” Liesl said, “is that when you find her, you’ll find the books.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” said Yuan. “The books aren’t my concern.”
Liesl cleared her throat, swallowing the saliva that had risen when she caught the scent of the vinegary hot sauce. She wished she’d asked for some, that she hadn’t given in to her reflex of saying no to every question.
“But you said they were stolen.”
“It looks that way,” He glanced at the window of the truck but received a slight headshake from the proprietor. “But that’s a property crime.”
“It’s a crime.”
“The books are my concern only in that they relate to Miriam.” Summoned by something inaudible to Liesl, he began to walk away from their conversation.
“I don’t understand,” Liesl said, taking hold of his arm in her frustration. “You just said you think she stole them.”
“Lunch is ready,” he said, removing his arm from her grasp and reaching up to the truck window to claim their sandwiches.
“Can you explain this?”
“Are you okay to sit outside?”
“I don’t mind the cold,” Liesl said. She followed him to a bench a few feet from the truck. “Can you be frank with me out here? Maybe I’m dense, but I’m missing something.”
“The university hasn’t filed a complaint about the books.” He unwrapped the foil all the way to drench his sandwich in hot sauce, and she wanted to scold him that he would make a mess trying to eat it like that.
“They haven’t?”
“This sandwich is dynamite,” he said, licking hot sauce off his pinkie.
“Can I file the complaint?” She took a small bite, trying her best to ensure that nothing dripped into her lap. She had never thought to eat at this truck.
“No,” he said with a full mouth.
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“You really should try it with the hot sauce.” He held the second ramekin out to her, but she shook her head and swallowed her bite.
“No, thank you,” said Liesl. “I’m worried I’ll spill some on my blouse. The rest of the sandwich is pretty beige, but the sauce is a risk.”
“Your loss,” he said, seasoning his next bite with an extra dab of the sauce. “You’re not the property owner.”
“The owner is the institution,” Liesl said. “This isn’t a purse snatching.”
She always felt it was a good policy to remain calm, maybe to the point of stoicism, when anger or frustration were expected from her—holding back tears at funerals, speaking in a low tone when someone else was yelling—so she could never be categorized as hysterical. She had worked at it for years. But as she placed her sandwich down in her lap, it took all her energy to suppress a scream of aggravation.
“You have to take that up with President Garber,” the detective said with a shrug.
“Have you spoken with him?”
“Briefly.”
“And he didn’t report the books stolen?” She looked at the sandwich in her lap, picked at a piece of lettuce, and took deep, calming breaths.
“He didn’t file an official complaint.”
“So, what now?”
Yuan had a mouthful of pita and falafel. He took a long time to chew and swallow.
“We’re searching for her car.”
“Okay,” Liesl said. “How does that help me?”
He scrunched up the wax paper from his sandwich. Hers was only a quarter eaten.
“Well,” Yuan said over his shoulder as he got up to throw away his trash. “She may have the books with her.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s all you can hope for.”
“Why?”
“It’s still only a missing person case.” He hadn’t sat back down, and she sensed that he was preparing to leave, that he had given her enough of his time.
“So you suspect she is missing because she committed a crime.”
“Right,” Yuan said. “Most logical explanation.”
“Right,” Liesl said. She stayed sitting as a form of protest, not wanting him to leave until she had some small bit of satisfaction, some answer that made sense. “But you won’t investigate her for the commission of said crime.”
“Right.”
“Is all law enforcement this insane?” she asked.
“No. But in my experience, all academia is.”
“What should I be doing now?”
“Eating your delicious sandwich,” he said. He put his hands in the pockets of his trench coat.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve never had more authority and less control in my life.”
“That’s funny.”
“Not to me.”
“Let President Garber deal with the theft, and let me deal with Miriam,” he said. “You keep yourself sane by finding yourself something no one else can say no to.”
***
She asked Dan to clear some boxes out of the receiving room. He cited a clause from the collective bargaining agreement explaining why he wouldn’t. She picked up the Christie’s catalog, looking with longing at Lot 37. She ignored the stack of unpaid invoices on the desk. She took her half-eaten sandwich to the lunchroom and threw the sandwich and the wrapper in the general trash bin instead of the green bin. It didn’t satisfy her. She went back to the office and picked up the phone.
“Rhonda,” she said. “It’s Liesl from the library.”
“Is everything all right?”
“All right? Why wouldn’t it be?”
She was drumming her fingers on the table and clenching her jaw. She might have sounded manic.
“I’m calling about the Peshawar.”
Somewhere in a hospital bed, Christopher’s eyelids fluttered.
“I’d love for you to take it for your research.”
A team from the university’s Radiocarbon Accelerator Unit came to the library the next day. All three wore eccentric designer glasses.
They came several times over the next few days. There were measurements and preparations and discussions about how to carry out sampling. Liesl did not ask Dan to bring out and put away the Peshawar every time it was needed for these meetings. She did it herself. In the evenings she called Vivek and Detective Yuan to check on progress, and she responded to President Garber’s voicemails with curt emails. It began to get dark very early in the evenings, but Liesl did not let that deter her from walking home through the cold every night.
13
Liesl lay on rumpled linens, drool puddling on her pillow, one eye half-open and watching the clock so she could count every second that she had left to sleep, pretending not to notice the sour smell of night sweat paired with last night’s gewürztraminer on her breath.
“Liesl, wake up.” John came into the room smelling of shampoo. “You have to go to work.”