Page 95 of The Librarians
“That was right around the time I moved here,” says Conrad. “I’d get on the trail downtown and it would be lined with tents.”
“The phenomenon wasn’t limited to downtown. The library is almost fifteen miles north of downtown and there was a tent city under every overpass in the area, including the one nearest to the library. I’m pretty sure around that time I saw this man a few times in the library. I didn’t have any occasion to interact with him, but some of my colleagues did and they said that he always brought back library books on time.”
Ryan’s expression turns grim. A feeling of foreboding creeps over Jonathan. “My God, Ryan, I hope you haven’t seen him at work recently?”
A silent Ryan pulls the laptop in front of himself and types in several spurts. He then turns the screen toward them. The blue-lipped face that fills the screen stares out blankly, a dead man’s unseeing gaze.
The homeless patron. Jonathan swears.
“I not only saw him at work, he was one of my most recent postmortems. Manny Vasquez—I could be wrong, but I think he was on one of the junior varsity basketball teams we played against way back when. Showed signs of being long-term unhoused. Died of a single shot to the back of the head.”
“I hope this is a coincidence,” murmurs Hazel.
“I hope so too—life on the street is dangerous,” replies Ryan. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”
“How is he possibly related to Perry and what Perry was looking for?” Jonathan mutters, as much to himself as to anyone else.
“What about the other guy?” Hazel and Conrad ask in near unison.
It takes Jonathan a moment to remember the army medic who examined Perry while Perry was unconscious.
“Haven’t seenhimat work,” answers Ryan with obvious relief.
“Not at the library either, except for on that day,” says Jonathan. “But he did show me his military ID. Can’t remember his name anymore but I wrote it down that afternoon and gave it to our administrator for her incident report. Let me see if she has it.”
Sophie answers his text straightaway.Let me log in to my laptop. I always keep a copy of incident reports.
Barely two minutes later, she texts,His name is Tarik Ozbilgin. And what’s this for?
Talking over the case with Hazel. I’ll tell you more later.
“Tarik Ozbilgin,” Jonathan reads the name aloud, hoping he’s not butchering it.
Conrad types into his own phone, a frown on his face. “I can’t get a good hit on his name—most of what’s pulled up is in Turkish. He looks about thirty-five in the video. How old would you say he was in person, Jonathan?”
“Thirty-five would be my estimate too. Why?”
“I want to give that information, as well as the link to the video, to a private investigator I’ve worked with in the past. I think we can use a little professional help at this point—other than Ryan’s outstanding contribution, that is.”
Conrad looks at everyone in turn. “Are we okay with farming this bit out?”
Jonathan and Ryan nod.
“Tell your PI to be careful,” says Hazel.
Conrad gazes at her a full second. “I will.”
Conrad is gone for nearly half an hour, during which time Ryan, Hazel, and Jonathan polish off all the food, clean up the coffee machine, and load the dishwasher.
Mostly in silence.
“Hey,” Ryan calls out when Conrad returns, “you were on the phone with your PI for that long?”
“No, I talked to her for all of five minutes. But this whole thing about fentanyl and carfentanil made me uneasy so I did a little online search to make sure I’m not misremembering things.”
Ryan, who’s been passing around fruits to the guests, tosses Conrad a fig. “What things?”
Conrad catches the fig. “Have you guys ever heard of the Skripals?”
