Chapter One
The Scene of a Crime
Librarians are a helpful lot. Dedicated, responsible, and eager to assist, they're counted on by the young and old for their patience, broad knowledge, and resourcefulness, though they're also often characterized as uptight. When 100 people were surveyed on the TV game show Family Feud and asked what a typical librarian's characteristics were, they responded: Quiet, Mean or Stern, Single/Unmarried, Stuffy, In Glasses. Admissions officers interviewed in several college library programs had a different take. They stated that the finest librarians have excellent communication skills, are eager to provide service, and have an outstanding ability to organize knowledge. Male librarians, by far the lesser-represented gender in the group, are considered equally resourceful and just as competent as female librarians. They are typically mild, civil, and intellectual. "Macho" men need not apply; eccentrics may. And one did.
William E. Coday Jr., 38, fit most of the characteristics offered by Family Feud contestants and the admissions officers. He was quiet, meek though occasionally stern, single, sometimes stuffy, bespectacled, eager to help, well organized, widely read, and highly intellectual. In 1995, Coday applied for the prestigious job of supervisor of the International Languages Collection at the Broward County Main Library in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and was hired on the spot. Among other duties he was expected to perform, he was put in charge of expanding the library's international language collection, which brought with it the special perk of travel abroad. It was a plum position—$33,000 per year— and Coday was a natural for it. Fluent in Spanish, German, French, and, of course, English, he was also proficient in Italian, Hindi, and Farsi. He held three degrees: a bachelor's degree in history and literature, a master's degree in library science, and a law degree. Plus, he had lived abroad in Germany and India for several years. What better person to fill the position?
The library, located on South Andrews Avenue in downtown Fort Lauderdale, was a bustling place— and a breathtaking site. Ultramodern, with a stepped glass façade that was punctuated with lush, landscaped terraces, the building was both eye-catching and inviting. From a reflecting pool on the first floor, an atrium rose six stories, allowing the Florida sunshine to brighten the central hall for the over 600,000 individuals who visited the library every year.
By all accounts, William Coday was a model employee for the two years that he worked there. Library official Steve Kerr called him an "intelligent, laid-back person . . . a very charming, bright, interesting, attractive young man," who was also "personable and very witty." Punctual, helpful, and resourceful, Coday was admired by his colleagues for his vast knowledge, and counted on by library-goers for his self-effacing assistance. Kathleen Imhoff, assistant director of Broward County Libraries stated, "He was an employee in good standing," and noted that he had been promoted the year after he arrived. Records indicated that he never missed a day's work without calling in ahead of time, and that missing work was an infrequent occurrence.
So when, on Saturday, July 12, 1997, Coday failed to appear for work at the front desk of the library, or call in sick, several staffers became concerned. Marjorie Moorefield, a co-worker, took it upon herself to cover the desk until he arrived. After all, Coday was her good friend, and friends help out friends in time of need. She wondered if perhaps Bill was hanging out in the back room, chatting with colleagues and enjoying a cup of coffee, and had somehow lost track of the time. But after making a quick check of the room, she knew for sure he hadn't shown up. In fact, no one she spoke to had seen him at all that morning.
Feeling uneasy, Moorefield asked one of the staffers to give Coday a call. Her first thought was that "he was reading one too many books and some car hit him." That's because the previous week, as she and her husband were driving home from Borders bookstore, they had spotted Coday crossing a street, deeply immersed in a book, blithely unconcerned and perhaps unaware of cars. She had said to her husband then that she feared for his safety.
The staffer called Coday and reported back to Moorefield that no one had answered his phone. She said she'd left a message on his machine. By 10 o'clock, Coday still hadn't shown up, and according to several librarians, Moorefield became "a nervous wreck" because "it's just not like him at all." Moorefield asked a fellow librarian to take her place at the desk so she could take a ride to Coday's apartment to check things out. By that time, three different messages had been left on Coday's machine, and still, there was no word back from him.
If it had been any other staffer besides Coday, Moorefield and others at the library might not have blinked an eye. But because "Bill had been meticulously on time and reliable as an employee," his absence was unusual. Plus, recently, things about him had begun to change. For one, he had lost a great deal of weight. For another, he had become extremely quiet, barely looking up from his desk to speak to his colleagues. And several times in the previous weeks, he had disappeared into the elevator without telling anyone where he was going, an act that was against library policy— staffers were not supposed to leave their desks without first telling someone where they were going, and making sure their post was covered. Plus, he often seemed oblivious to what was going on—out of it, in fact—and that was not like the Bill they knew. At one point during the previous week, Moorefield had realized that she was the only person at the library Coday was still speaking to. Other staffers also noticed that something was definitely out of whack with Coday. His appearance, which had been meticulous and appropriate, and his demeanor, which had been dignified and engaging, had deteriorated. It seemed that showers and clean clothes were a thing of the past. Some days, he even arrived at work unshaven and with stains on his shirt. Talking among themselves, some co-workers expressed fear that he might be suicidal. They all knew that he had recently broken up with a girlfriend, and had been very unhappy about it.
After a fellow librarian agreed to cover the desk for Moore-field, she and a colleague drove to Coday's corner apartment, 1B, at 1701 Northeast 5th Street, in the Victoria Park neighborhood. Perhaps Coday was sick. Perhaps he was too depressed to get out of bed. Perhaps— and they could always hope— he had reconciled with his girlfriend, and the two were having some fun.
As the librarians drove along, they agreed to each look at a different side of the street to see if Coday was walking to the library. After all, he had no car, and either walked or biked to work every day. It could be that he had simply forgotten what time he was supposed to show up that Saturday. His co-workers scanned the road, but Coday was nowhere to be seen.
By that time, it was around 1 p.m. As the two women pulled up in front of the apartment, their spirits soared. There, in the front yard behind the wooden fence lined with bursting, bright pink bougainvilleas, was Coday's trusty bicycle. Probably, he was still asleep. They were ready to tease...