No Police Like Holmes Read Online Free Page B

as the collection had arrived. That made us look like a bunch of rubes. Plus there was the Holmes connection, guaranteed to set off a media feeding frenzy. Dealing with the press would be a headache on this one, and that was the least of my worries. A certain unbearable college administrator was sure to make my life really miserable.
    The facts of the theft were not in doubt: Both of the Chalmerses and Gene Pfannenstiel agreed that the missing materials had been in the glass case before Gene locked up the room that afternoon in front of the couple. With much hocus-pocus Mac had unlocked the room many hours later using the same key, borrowed from Gene. In between, something had happened.
    â€œGrand theft,” Decker pronounced unnecessarily. “I understand the stolen goods were worth way into five figures, maybe six. Right?”
    Mac shrugged his shoulders, which is akin to a mountain moving. “How does one assess the value of something that is one of a kind?”
    â€œAnd Mr. Pfannenstiel here simply gave you the key, Professor? How do you rate such treatment?”
    From the look on his face, the question worried Gene, but not Mac. “Rank has its privileges, Lieutenant,” he said, “and I am a full professor well known to the library staff.”
    â€œDamned sloppy security,” Decker said with a snort. “The display case wasn’t even locked.” He glared at Gene, who withered under the attention and didn’t bother to explain that he hadn’t thought that to be necessary in a room that was itself locked.
    Decker looked mean. But then, Decker always looks mean, even when he hasn’t been hauled into work late on a Friday evening. He’s built like one of those beefy football players whose jersey number, according to legend, is higher than his IQ. So you probably expect me to say he’s really a heck of a nice guy and a Rhodes scholars on top of it. Not quite. Oh, he’s cooperative enough - letting me know routinely about requests for demonstration permits, for example, so I can be prepared to respond for the media. But Decker is no genius, just a thoroughly professional police officer with skin the color of anthracite, a broad flat nose, a thin mustache, high cheek bones and arms the size of Mac’s thighs.
    â€œI already have a list and description of what Mr. Chalmers knows was taken,” Decker said, tapping a small notebook in his hand, “but I’ll need you to do a complete inventory, Mr. Pfannenstiel, to make sure nothing else is missing.”
    â€œRight away, Lieutenant.”
    â€œGood. Anything else I need to know?”
    â€œYes!” Mac thundered. “I call your attention to what Sherlock Holmes might have called the curious incident of the broken lock.”
    â€œBut the lock wasn’t broken,” Decker protested.
    â€œThat was the curious incident. How did our burglar get in there without breaking the lock?”
    â€œYou tell us,” I snapped. “You’re the magician.”
    Mac slowly shook his massive head. “I have no special insight. Houdini could get into places as well as out of them, but most often he had the help of a concealed lock pick. When you examine the lock, as I did before the lieutenant arrived, you will notice there are virtually no scratches around the lock. It is difficult, if not impossible, to use a lock pick without making scratches.”
    Muttering something under his breath (I distinctly caught the phrase “frickin’ amateurs”), Decker went off to direct two newly arrived officers in dusting for fingerprints or whatever it is cops do at a crime scene.
    â€œI can’t put if off any longer,” I told Mac. “I’ve got to call Ralph.”
    â€œYou have my deepest sympathy.”
    I didn’t want to do this in front of an audience, so I walked over to the other side of the escalator before I pulled out my iPhone and selected the number in my