“That takes a different kind of thief,” Liam said lightly.
Joe Richter drummed his fingers on his desk. “I always think of that big beautiful living room. The heads on the wall, the voodoo altar right there…the mummy…the Victorian coffin. I guess I’ve always been struck by the larger artifacts. I know he has gargoyles from medieval churches, stained glass, lamps, some kind of Chinese good-luck cats…you name it, Cutter Merlin had it. Crosses, ankhs, relics of all kinds.” He frowned, sitting back. “The ledgers and notes and instructions were all in the house. It was left to Kelsey Donovan as it was when he died. Disposal of the estate is up to her. He might not have seen her in years, but he had no doubt she’d follow all his wishes.”
“That’s true, of course,” Liam said. “I had just hoped you might be able to help. The place is so vast, and I’ve got a murder on my hands.”
“You have my sympathy, that’s for sure,” Richter told him.
“Then—well, you know, I found Cutter holding one of his relics, a shotgun and a book. A friend told me about another book, and I looked for it at the library. It’s gone. I noted that you’d been in the rare-book room.”
Something passed over Richter’s face.
Was he wary now?
The man made a pretense of shrugging casually. “I go there a lot. What was the book you were looking for?”
“Key West, Satanism, Peter Edwards and the Abel and Aleister Crowley Connection,” Liam said.
Richter blinked. Was it because of the title, or because he’d been nailed?
“There is such a book?” he asked.
Liam nodded.
“Why would you want a book like that, Liam?”
“Friend of a friend said that it talked about the book that Cutter was holding, In Defense from Dark Magick,” Liam explained.
Richter frowned, shaking his head. “Cutter Merlin was eccentric—he wasn’t crazy.”
“You don’t think he might have suffered some dementia at the end?” Liam asked.
“I…I…I’d say the man was sane. How do you judge eccentric from dementia at all levels?” Richter asked. “I was at the library. I enjoy the rare-book room. But I’ve never seen the book you’re talking about, and I certainly don’t have it. Why would you think it was me?”
“I didn’t say I thought it was you. I was just asking. I’d like to find the book. Read it. Apparently, there was a man who lived in Key West during the Civil War who did believe in magic and wanted to use it to keep the enemy forces at bay. Then he wanted to atone for his sins, or felt demons were chasing him or some such thing. I’d like to find out what was going on in Cutter’s mind. It might just have something to do with the murder of Gary White.” Liam shook his head. “Were you around a lot? Were you friends with Cutter? Is there anything you can think of to tell me?”
For a moment, he didn’t think that Richter would answer truthfully. Then the man shrugged and folded his hands on the desk. “We had a good working relationship. I can’t say we were really good friends. I found him fascinating. I tried to get him to be more specific about his will—he wouldn’t have it. And, in all honesty, I wanted the property.”
“The property?” Liam said.
“Yes. That little spit of land is a gold mine. Get some zoning, build it up as an exclusive resort, or even a bed-and-breakfast. It’s perfect land. There’s a dock, a little beachfront and a pack of mangroves bordering it all that could be filled in to add acres to the place. I went out a few times, just to walk around the property. I was trying to figure out if I could swing buying it, if I could convince Kelsey Donovan to sell. I mean, the kid spent the last decade in California. She may want to hightail it back there fast as she can when the dust settles.”
Liam nodded. “You didn’t want that property badly enough to try to scare her out of it, did you?” he asked.
Richter stared at him angrily. “I’m a respectable businessman. And I’m an attorney. You better have evidence if you want to cast any accusations against me,” he said.
Liam stood. “Trust me, Mr. Richter, if I had evidence against you, attorney or no, you’d be down at the station.” He set his card on the desk. “If you think of anything, call me.”
He watched as Joe Richter stared at him and picked up his card. “Sure.”
He knew that the minute he left, Joe Richter threw the card in his trash basket.