Warhol's Prophecy

36

SO MANY BOOKS. So many titles. So many authors.

But not the one he sought.

Adam Walker wandered slowly up and down the racks of shelves in the library, eyes flicking over each of the titles.

He had already looked for an alphabetical listing, but found nothing.

He had the right name: Caroline Hacket. But there was no sign of anything written under that name.

Perhaps she’d used a pseudonym, he wondered.

No, surely Hailey would have mentioned that.

Besides, why would Caroline Hacket want to hide her identity behind a fake name? Why would anyone seek anonymity when they could have notoriety instead?

Hailey had mentioned that neither of Caroline’s books had been big sellers, Walker remembered. That probably explained why he’d been unable to find either in any of the city’s bookshops.

Hence this trip to the library.

He continued to walk slowly between the high shelves, occasionally passing other borrowers as he moved.

The library was fairly deserted, apart from two pensioners sitting reading newspapers, and a woman returning books at the counter.

Walker tried the Thriller section. Nothing.

He looked under True Crime. Nothing.

It made no sense. Her books should be here.

He glanced again at titles in the True Crime section.

Beyond Belief

The Shrine of Jeffrey Dahmer

10 Rillington Place

Helter Skelter

He pulled the last volume down and flipped it open.

Photos of Charles Manson.

Of Sharon Tate.

One famous for being an actress, the other famous for ordering her death.

Perhaps more famous, for that reason.

He looked at another of the books.

At the photos of Myra Hindley and Ian Brady.

Famous.

More people knew their names than knew the names of their young victims.

The book itself smelled old, as did the next one he took down and flipped through.

There was a picture of John Reginald Halliday Christie.

He had murdered nine women.

Gassed them. Raped them. Strangled them. Then hidden their bodies in the walls and garden of his house.

Famous.

Walker shook his head.

More titles.

Serial Killers

Hunting Humans

Deviant

Who Killed Hanratty?

A woman in her sixties ambled past him, glancing first at him, then at the books he was perusing.

She gave him a brief, distasteful look and hurried on towards the Romance section.

Walker smiled to himself, then headed for the information desk.

The young woman who sat behind it was sipping tea from a mug that bore the legend: I’M IN TOUCH WITH MY INNER BITCH.

She looked up and smiled as Walker approached.

‘I need some help,’ he said, grinning.

She nodded inquiringly.

‘I’m looking for some books,’ he told her.

‘You’re probably in the right place then.’ She ran appraising eyes over him, and smiled.

He smiled again, that infectious smile.

‘I suppose I asked for that,’ he said.

‘Which books?’ she prompted.

‘Well, I don’t actually know their titles,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘Just the author. Her name is Caroline Hacket. Someone told me they’re crime non-fiction.’

‘Hacket,’ the young woman murmured as she punched in the surname, looking at her computer.

Walker stood studying her as she watched the screen. She was aware of his gaze.

‘This will only take a minute,’ she said. ‘It’s very thorough. It gives you date of publication, ISBN, publisher – everything really.’

‘Don’t worry too much about it.’

Her cheeks flushed slightly as she looked up at him, then back at the screen.

‘Hacket, Caroline,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Two titles. Do you want me to order them for you?’

‘Yes, please. What are they called?’

‘Well, you were right, they are crime books. One’s called Murderous Minds and the other is Fame and Foul Play.’

Walker smiled.