The shelves were made of thick metal with glass doors so the spines of the books were visible. There were six shelves in each unit with the bottom about two feet off the floor and the top a few inches above Mercer’s head, so about six feet, she guessed. Rick and Graham would agree.

“Where are Tessa’s first editions?” she asked.

He stepped to the back wall and put a key into a narrow side panel next to the shelves. When he turned it, something clicked and all six glass doors were released. He opened the second shelf from the top. “Right here,” he said, removing the copies of The Convict and Blood Meridian. “They are safe and sound in their new home.”

“Very safe,” she said. “This is impressive, Bruce. How many books are down here?”

“Several hundred, but they’re not all mine.” He pointed to a wall by the door and said, “Those I store for clients and friends. A few are here sort of on consignment. I have one client who’s going through a divorce and he’s hiding his books right there. I’ll probably get a subpoena and get hauled into court, and not for the first time. But I always lie to protect my client.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, pointing to a tall, bulky, oversized cabinet standing in a corner.

“It’s a safe and it’s where I keep the really good stuff.” He punched in a code on its keypad—Mercer was careful to properly look away—and a thick door unlatched itself. Bruce swung it open. At the top and center there were three shelves, all lined with what appeared to be the spines of fake books, some with titles in gold print. Bruce gently pulled one off the middle shelf and asked, “Are you familiar with a clamshell?”

“No.”

“It’s this protective box, custom made for each book. Obviously, these books were printed in different sizes, so the clamshells vary. Step over here.”

They turned around and moved to the small table in the center of the room. He placed the clamshell on it, opened it, and gently removed the book. Its dust jacket was encased in a clear laminate cover. “This is my first copy of The Catcher in the Rye. Got it from my father’s estate twenty years ago.”

“So you have two copies of it?”

“No, I have four.” He opened to the front endpaper and pointed to a slight discoloration. “A little fading here, and a chip or two on the jacket, but a near-fine copy.” He left the book and the clamshell on the table and stepped back to the safe. As he did, Mercer turned to it so Rick and Graham would have their full frontal view. At its bottom, below the three shelves of the rarest of books, were what appeared to be four retractable drawers, all closed tightly at the moment.

If Bruce indeed had the manuscripts, then that’s where they are. Or so she thought.

He placed another clamshell on the table and said, “This is my most recent edition of the four, the one actually signed by Salinger.” He opened the clamshell, withdrew the book, and turned to the title page. “No dedication, no date, just his autograph, which, as I said, is quite rare. He simply refused to sign his books. He went crazy, don’t you think?”