But first Abraham needed to uncover Dupin’s identity.
CHAPTER8
WHENABRAHAM ANDLAWSON ARRIVEDat O’Dell Publishing at ten the next morning, nearly a dozen people were picketing outside the entrance. Signs condemning the publisher for printing immoral books were interspersed with signs demanding Dupin be handed over. The group appeared peaceful, but that could change quickly.
As Abraham and Lawson entered the three-story brick building, one of the picketers who lived on Abraham’s beat recognized him as an officer and called him out. The picketer, then the crowd, lobbed insults about the police not doing their job and insisted they arrest Dupin. Lawson appeared unperturbed, but Abraham remained tense until safely inside. Hopefully they’d ascertain Dupin’s identity today and subdue Cincinnati’s bubbling temper.
Just past the vestibule, locked glass cases displayed copies of O’Dell’s printed works with an obvious pride in the material they published. As he approached the secretary’s desk, Abraham noted Mr. Dupin and Miss Pelton each had an entire shelf dedicated solely to their works. Only two other authors shared that privilege. They must be the primary moneymakers for the company or perhaps the most prolific of the company’s contributors. It would explain Mr. O’Dell’s reluctance to expose Dupin. If Dupin were guilty, O’Dell would lose a source of income. His refusal to share Dupin’s identity might speak more of his doubt over Dupin’s innocence than his presumed desire to protect his author.
A dark-haired man, far too broad for the cramped space provided by the desk, rose to greet them on their approach. “Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Marcus Monroe, managing editor of O’Dell Publishing. How may I help you?”
“I’m Detective Talbot Lawson, and this is Detective Abraham Hall. We’re here to speak with Mr. O’Dell.”
Monroe’s smile faded. “I presume you seek Mr. Dupin’s identity.”
“It is the only way to clear Mr. Dupin of suspicion.” Lawson led the conversation as Abraham watched for any inconsistencies. “As managing editor, you have contact with the authors. Is that correct?”
“Yes, but Dupin is an exception. I’ve only dealt with him through letters. The man has never set foot in the building.”
“Did you know Dupin was a pseudonym?”
“It was agreed upon in his contract, and I’ve never been told his identity.”
It didn’t take observing the man’s defensive stance or his slight avoidance at meeting their eyes to know Monroe would protect Dupin. Maybe O’Dell would be more cooperative.
“Is Mr. O’Dell available to speak with us?”
“He’s in his office.” Monroe gestured behind him. “Down that hall, take a right at the end, and it will be the last door on the left. I’d take you myself, but our secretary had a family emergency, and I’m covering for him.”
“Thank you, Mr. Monroe. Don’t go anywhere; I may have more questions for you afterward.”
The dainty chair groaned as Monroe dropped onto it. “As long as you finish with O’Dell before closing, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
James O’Dell welcomed them into his office with an exuberant handshake and wide smile. Odd, given a crowd protested at his entrance and the police were paying him a personal call. With a magnanimous sweep of his arm, he offered them each a padded seat across from his massive desk. The thinning hair combed over his balding head bounced with each jaunty step to his publishing throne.
“For a man whose author is suspected of murder, you appear quite jovial.” Lawson claimed a chair and Abraham followed his lead, though he’d rather stand and keep the advantage.
“What can I say? Murder is good for business.” O’Dell rested his hands over his plump belly. “I’ve sold every copy of his books I had since this whole scandal started. Second-run prints are in process, and I’ve commissioned special editions to be created with the original news stories at the back.”
“I see greed is alive and well.” Lawson crossed a leg over his knee and leaned back in his chair. The man was an expert at appearing nonchalant and relaxed, even while delivering an insult.
“Greednothing. It’s business. The profit margin of the publishing world is not so great as you might think. Each story we print is a risk, and when I have a moneymaker, I’ll run it until there’s no more gain to be had.”
“Even at the cost of lives?”
O’Dell snorted. “Dupin is no murderer. The man is far too protective of his reputation to stoop to something so risky. Why do you think he uses a pseudonym? No, gentlemen. You’re wasting your time. Someone else is responsible for those men’s deaths. Not that their passing is any great shame.”
Abraham bristled. “Every life is valuable.”
O’Dell waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, of course. But you must admit, the world is a safer place having those criminals permanently off the street.”
“They were fairly tried and exonerated.” The justice system might not be perfect, but it was not the public’s place to overturn that decision.
“Fairlytried? Had it been anyone else, convictions would have abounded.”
“That is a very decided opinion, sir.”
“And one shared by the majority of Cincinnatians. The newspapers may be decrying Dupin as a villain, but I guarantee you, there are many more who gather in their parlors and declare him a hero.”
