"Exactly," I said, with a glance at my watch. It was nearly six by then. "If you're through for the night, I better let you go. I probably ought to get on out of here myself, but first I want to have a little chat with Christie."
Anxiety flickered in her eyes. "You won't mention our conversation?"
"Would you quit worrying? I won't say a word and I don't want you saying anything either."
"I appreciate that. I believe I would like to go wash my face."
I waited until Myrna had disappeared through the utility room, moving toward her apartment. My tea was untouched. I emptied my cup and left it in the sink. Despite Enid's good example, I've never owned a dishwasher and don't know the first thing about loading one. I pictured one false move and every dish would go flying, crashing in a heap of rubble. I returned to the library. Christie and Tasha had turned on the television set. Christie held the remote and she was switching from channel to channel to see if she could catch the news. She pressed the Mute button when I came in, turning to look at me. "Oh, there you are. Come in and join us. Tasha thought you were gone."
"I'm on my way," I said. "I went out to the kitchen to see if I could help out there. Could I ask you a question before I take off? I heard you mention the mail when you were talking to Lieutenant Robb. Can I ask what that was?"
"Sure. Uhm, let's see. I guess late Monday afternoon someone put an unsigned letter in the mailbox. The envelope had Guy's name on it, but there was no return address. He left it on the hall table when he went to bed last night. I thought the police might want to take a look."
"Was it typed or handwritten?"
"The envelope was typed."
"Did you read the letter?"
"Of course not, but I know it bothered Guy. He didn't say what it was, but I gather it was something unpleasant."
"Did he ever mention a Max Outhwaite? Does the name mean anything to you?"
"Not that I remember." She turned to Tasha. "Does it ring a bell with you?"
Tasha shook her head. "What's the connection?"
"That's how the reporter first heard Guy was back. Someone named Max Outhwaite dropped off a letter at the Dispatch, but when Katzenbach checked it out, there was no one by that name and no such address. I double-checked as well and came up blank."
"Never heard of him," Christie said. "Is there any chance he's connected to one of Guy's old sprees? Maybe Outhwaite was somebody Guy mistreated back then."
"Possible," I said. "Do you mind if I check Bader's file upstairs?"
"What file?" Tasha asked.
Christie answered before I did. "Bader kept a folder of newspaper clippings about Guy's various arrests and his scrapes with the law. It goes back quite a way."
"I'll tell you something else crossed my mind," I said. "This Outhwaite, whoever he is, certainly put Jeff Katzenbach on the trail of Guy's criminal history. I'm not sure Jeff would have known about it otherwise. The minute I saw the letter, I remember wondering if it was really Bennet or Jack who tipped him off somehow."
"Using Outhwaite's name?"
"It seems possible," I said.
"But why would either of them do that? What's the point?"
"That's the problem. I don't know. Anyway, I could be off base on this one," I said. "I do like the idea that Outhwaite's someone Guy sinned against in the old days."
"Take the file if you want. It was still on the desk in Bader's office last I saw."
"Let me pop upstairs and grab it. I'll be right back."
I moved out of the library and crossed the foyer. Maybe when I talked to Jonah, he'd level with me about the letter. I went up the steps two at a time, studiously avoiding a look down the hall. I had no idea which room Guy had been in, but I didn't want to go near it. I took a hard left at the head of the stairs and went straight to Bader's room, where I opened the door and flipped on the overhead light. Everything seemed to be in order. The room was cold and smelled slightly musty from disuse. The overhead illumination was dim and the pale colors in the room looked flat. I passed through to the office beyond, hitting switches as I went. Bader's life force was being systematically erased. Closets had been emptied, all the personal items removed from his desktop.
I surveyed the surrounding area. I spotted the folder with all the newspaper articles about Guy's past behavior, relieved that the cops hadn't swept through and taken it. On the other hand, the search warrant probably wasn't that broad. The list of property to be seized might have been directed only toward the murder weapon itself. I leafed through the clippings, speedreading for content, looking for the name Outhwaite or anything close. There was nothing. I checked through some of the stray folders on the desk, but found nothing else that seemed relevant. One more dead end, though the idea was sound-someone with a grudge making Guy's life difficult. I pressed the file under my arm and left the room, turning off the lights as I went.