“Why is that?”
“After only spending a few moments with the man I realized I just didn’t like him. And when I refused he raised his price. Double, then triple! Still, even though the money would have been useful, his desperation to obtain the book put me off. I told him it was not for sale and asked him to leave.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Unfortunately, no. Though by his demeanor, I suspect it would have been as fake as his face.”
“What happened when you asked him to leave?”
“Well, he ranted and raved, calling me unprofessional and then left. I pushed out the entire incident from my mind.” He looked at the empty drawer with realization dawning on his face. “And now I see that by my refusing to sell him that book has resulted in Elicia losing her life. The poor woman.”
I did not argue the last point. “Was Elicia here during this exchange?”
“Yes, she was.”
“Then I think either he approached her about purchasing the tome, or she contacted him somehow.”
Misael shook his head. “I’d suspect the former. Poor Elicia wasn’t the brightest girl. The notion to steal from me was beyond her realm of capability. She had to have been coerced.”
“That is a possibility,” I said, though mostly to make the man feel a little better.
“But how did Elicia get the book from the cabinet? The keys are always on my person.”
“I believe your love of tea was how she did it.”
“What do you mean?” Misael asked.
“I found a bottle of sleep berries at her townhouse. It would not have been a stretch for her to drop one in your tea and wait until you fell asleep to take the keys from you. Then after she stole the book, and secreted it away, she returned them.”
Misael went silent, hurt by the betrayal of one he trusted.
As Fairfax and I were leaving Misael said, “Please. As a favor to me and poor Elicia, find this man and make him pay for what he has done.” There was anger in this gentle man’s eyes.
“Of that, Mr. Rousset,” I said. “I promise.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We left the bookshop keeper with his regrets and returned to the buggy.
“So we need to find a tall, rude, skinny man covered in all black attire and wearing women’s make-up,” Fairfax said. “Should not take us long.”
“I admit our list of suspects is still as non-existent as when we started. But this revelation about the book Elicia stole provides a few answers,” I said.
“How so?”
“The suspect stole the Talon from the museum, but could not use it. It was inert. So the suspect tries to get the Magic Sources & Rebirth book from Rousset. Maybe he did not know of its existence until after the auction. When he could not purchase the book he manipulated Elicia into stealing it.”
Fairfax nodded. “He meets her at her home, going through the back door at night. Then he… turns her to stone?”
I held up a finger. “Not yet. The Talon is still useless at that point. So he checks the book to confirm its validity, finds the spell within its pages and reads it somehow. He must be versed in the language. The spell works, breaks the soul-binding on the Talon from Gunther the Ungrateful, and binds it to himself.”
“How do you bind an artifact?”
“By touch,” I said, and did not want to get into the details for which I was familiar. “So once the artifact is bound to him his first act is to test the Talon on poor Elicia.”
“As she was drinking her tea, daydreaming of her future life in the South Islands.”
“Yes, but why he would desire the Talon, specifically, is beyond me. If he wanted to kill someone using a pistol would work just as well.”
“But less grand a spectacle.”
I shrugged, “As to his true motivations for trying to obtain the Talon and get it bound to himself, I am at a loss.”
Fairfax said, “So why kill Oswall?”
“He must have found a connection to the suspect, or was getting too close for comfort. Then he was lured to Muddy Way on some pretext and turned to stone.”
“Oswall knew of Elicia. Wrote her name on that card for a reason. How did he make the connection between the museum burglary and Elicia? There must be an overlap.”
I pondered that. “He was pulling on a thread we missed.” Then I sighed. “Ah, Fairfax we’ve gotten ourselves tangled up in some ugly business. It makes me tired.”
“Let’s report in at the Constabulary, then I will take you home. We will pick up first thing in the morning. And I will bring biscuits this time.”
That made me laugh, which was what I needed.
We drove back to the Constabulary as the sun was setting on the horizon. As we turned into the lot there was a large open backed truck parked there. A small crane atop it was lowering something wrapped in canvas to the ground. Constable Webster was supervising, shouting instructions to two men working the crane.
He nodded to us as we approached. “Finally managed to get him here in one piece. Took a bit of work, too.”
I must have been more tired than I realized because it then hit me that the object being lowered was Detective Oswall.
“Well done, Constable,” I said.
Fairfax looked around the lot. “Where are you going to… uh… store him?”
“He’s too heavy to move inside, might ruin the new floors, so the Chief suggested we put him over there under the awnings. Should keep any rain off of him. We’ll be moving the woman out of the townhouse tomorrow.”
I looked at the canvased statue of Oswall. His outstretched hand poking out, forever trying to ward off his doom.
We left Webster to his task and went inside. As we passed Sergeant Constable Maginhart’s desk I snatched another biscuit from the tin. I had not eaten all day.
The kennel area was full of constables going about their business. It was a shift change, with a handful of them staying on for the night. Crime never sleeps.
“Chief’s here,” Fairfax said, and I saw the rock lights in his office were on.
As we entered the Chief saw me, stood and rounded his large desk. He took my hand into both of his and for the briefest of moments I thought he would kiss it. Now wouldn’t that have been a thrill at my age?
“Beeweather!” Chief Constable Kyrill said. “Such a pleasure to see you again. I do wish it was under different circumstances though. How are you feeling?” He noticed how tired I was.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I said. I blushed at his attention. “It has been a rather long day.”
Kyrill released my hand and motioned to a chair. “Please sit,” he said, and I did. It felt good to relax a little but my mind was still heavy with thoughts of the case.
Kyrill looked to Fairfax, “So, any progress?”
Fairfax opened his mouth to answer when a voice from the doorway behind us cut him off.
“That is what I want to know!” It was Sigwald Archambault looking flush from hurrying through the kennel to confront us.
Behind him arrived his lick-spittle of an assistant, Davlon Blythe. Upon seeing me, Blythe sneered, which only emphasized the ugly birthmark under his left eye.
“Mister Mayor,” the Chief said with a sigh. “To what do we owe this interruption?” He had no admiration for Archambault, of which I was grateful. It would only make the lives of the entire Constabulary that much more difficult.
Archambault glared at me. “What is she still doing on the case? I made it perfectly clear that reactivating retired personnel was against regulations unless approved through a committee -”.
Kyrill stopped him with a raised hand, annoyance on his face. “Enough Sigwald. We know why you are really here. You are sore at Beeweather for throwing your crooked business partners into a deep, dark hole. And now you see an opportunity to vent your spleen.”