Chapter 25 #2
“The university website said you teach Victorian literature,” she said, wanting to get him comfortable again or at least keep him that way until Noah returned.
People loved to talk about their jobs, their passions, the things they were most knowledgeable about.
She pointed to a leatherbound book on the top of the stack, reading off the title.
“The Gentleman’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness. ”
“That’s a new edition,” Emmer said, sounding almost disappointed. “The original was published in 1860. I haven’t been able to track down a first edition.”
“May I?” asked Josie.
Emmer nodded and watched as she picked up the book and leafed through it. “You have an impressive library. You must have a lot of first editions.”
“Yes,” he said, a little less stiffly this time.
Josie was gratified when he turned and walked over to a glass-encased bookshelf and began pointing out his first editions.
She went to put the Book of Etiquette back on the stack of books but paused when she saw what lay beneath it.
A small volume that looked as though it was well over a hundred years old.
The cover was red, now faded to burnt orange and edged with light green.
Two Victorian women stood on either side of a trellis that contained the title: The Language of Flowers by Kate Greenaway.
“What about this one?” she asked quickly.
Emmer turned, a frown forming on his face. He walked back over and picked it up. “This is a first edition. Not that valuable, though.”
Josie remembered seeing several books about the language of flowers online when she was researching the camellias that the killer had left at the Barnes crime scene. “Flowers were used to convey messages in Victorian England, is that right?”
Emmer nodded, clutching the book. “Yes. Women used to carry small bouquets called ‘tussie-mussies’ when they walked along the streets. They were meant to mask unpleasant smells, but their arrangement could deliver a very specific message which they might give to a potential suitor.”
“Every flower has a different meaning then?” Josie prompted. “Do you know them all?”
He glanced down at the book in his hand. It was so small and slim that it only just covered his palm. “Many of them, yes.”
“Camellias,” Josie said. “What message would they send?”
Emmer’s eyes burned into her and Josie had the disconcerting sensation like she was being watched.
Not the kind that was happening in this room where they were face to face, having a conversation.
No, this feeling was the sort one felt walking alone on the street or walking past a window in the house that had no blinds where all the fine hairs on your body stood.
It was a tingle of awareness as your body prepared for fight, flight, or freeze.
“The red Camellia japonica means ‘unpretending excellence,’ whereas the white means ‘perfected loveliness,’” he said.
“But the symbolism has been… perverted over time. Now, you can search the internet and find a dozen different meanings for the same flower. You know, I teach a class on this. Victorian courtship and the use of floriography. It’s a bit of a ride, but you could audit it. I’d be happy to have you.”
Either this guy was dumb enough to flirt with her or dumb enough to subtly threaten her. Before she could respond, Noah returned. “So. Where were we?” Turning to Josie, he said, “Quinn?”
“We took a break from talking about police matters,” said Emmer without looking away from Josie. “To discuss more interesting topics.”
Noah must have picked up on the same unnerving vibe as Josie had because she felt him bristle at her side. It was a protective impulse that was usually only evoked when he watched her go toe to toe with a predator. Luckily, Emmer was too laser-focused on her to notice.
“Fascinating,” Josie said, playing along.
“Right,” said Noah. “Unfortunately, Doc, we need to wrap up our police matters and get on the road. I don’t believe you answered the last question. Do you know where Kyle Turner lives?”
Finally, Emmer tore his attention from Josie to answer Noah with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not proud of it but yes, I know where he lives. I may have driven past his building, but I know nothing about his wife or daughter.”
“How about Maxine and Haven Barnes?” said Josie. “Do you know them?”
“Who?”
Noah took his phone from his pocket and pulled up photos of the mother and daughter. “Maxine is on the right. That’s her daughter, Haven, on the left. Recognize them?”
Emmer stared at the photo entirely too long, as if he was trying to come up with a correct answer, rather than a truthful one. Then he shook his head again. “No. No, I don’t.”
Noah removed a business card from his pocket and set it onto the table. “Do me a favor and check your calendar for those dates we mentioned. Let us know where you were.”
“Right.” Emmer cleared his throat before leading them back toward the door. As they stepped onto the sidewalk, he called, “Detective Quinn.”
Josie paused. She felt Noah’s hand at her lower back.
Emmer stepped closer and held out The Language of Flowers. “Would you like to borrow it?”
She hesitated for a few seconds before forcing a smile onto her face. “You don’t mind lending out a first edition?”
He shrugged before pressing the book into her hands. “Like I said, it’s not that valuable but you might find it interesting.”
“Thanks,” she said. The word was barely out of her mouth before Noah’s warm palm pressed more firmly against her lower back, pushing her toward his SUV.
Once inside, he said, “I see Professor Library Card didn’t waste any time making you his new potential obsession.”
Josie laughed. She’d dealt with her share of Dustin Emmers throughout her career. “I can handle him.”
“I know,” Noah said. “Too bad he didn’t gift you the book. We could get his DNA from it, get the lab to develop a profile. If Hummel gets anything from the crime scenes, we’d have it on hand to compare.”
“I’m not sure it would meet the criteria of an abandoned item,” Josie said.
In Pennsylvania, police could take DNA samples from items without a warrant or consent if a person gave up possession and control of the item and had no expectation of privacy.
That meant things like discarded coffee cups, water bottles, or cigarettes.
A gift was trickier. While they could make the case that it fit the definition of an abandoned item, a good defense attorney could still make sure it was deemed inadmissible at trial.
“True,” Noah conceded.
Josie popped open the glove compartment and slid the book carefully inside. “That’s okay. I bet if I drive all the way back here to return this book to the professor, I could convince him to voluntarily give us a DNA sample.”