“We’ll take your word for it. What sort of books were you buying?”
Mr. Ramsey’s mouth clamped shut and his cheeks pinkened. “An assortment of rare books worthy of a gentleman of Mr. Livingston’s standing.”
From behind him, Oliver let out an exasperated huff. “Mr. Ramsey, we don’t care about Comstock Laws. We just want to know if you bought any strange books.”
“Strange as is in books on the occult or magic,” Felipe explained. “Ones that might have had strange writing or gave you a weird feeling.”
“I’m sure there were some that talked about magic or some other superstitious nonsense. Mr. Livingston favors books from the seventeenth century and earlier. They’re all a little strange.”
“What about a book with a black leather cover with gold stars and whirls on it?” Felipe asked only to have the other man’s face brighten.
“That’sThe Corpus Arcanum. It was part of the lot I purchased from Mr. Vaude. I couldn’t read most of it, the typeface gave me a headache, but from what I could surmise, it was a sixteenth century book on occult philosophies. It’s pretty and old but nothing special. Why? Is that the one he tried to steal?”
“Mr. Ramsey, how would you describeThe Corpus Arcanum’scondition when you purchased it?”
“It was in very good condition for how old it is. I thoroughly inspected the book for mold, bookworms, and imperfections as I do for all of Mr. Livingston’s books and any severe flaws were noted in his library’s catalog. Why? Was the book damaged? If so, do what you must with it and give it to me, so I can take it to be mended at once.”
Oliver winced, his gaze trailing to the desk. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”
Chapter Five
Routines
Retrieving Felipe’s Kodak and his gladstone from the back of the hearse, Oliver waited for Felipe to unlock the laboratory’s side door. In the quiet of the alley behind the Paranormal Society, he turned over what they had learned in his mind. The rest of their investigation of the Livingstons’ library had yielded little else, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Mr. Ramsey confirmed that nothing else appeared to be taken, though he said he would inventory the library and send them a telegram if he discovered anything else was amiss. He had been horrified by the state ofThe Corpus Arcanumbut had let it go with little fuss once Felipe explained Inspector Easton would fill out the insurance paperwork to recoup Mr. Livingston’s losses. Cursory interviews with the staff confirmed that no one had seen anyone loitering around the house, though two maids swore they saw a large, grey cat a week or two earlier in one of the upstairs hallways. That part of the investigation had been fine, if not annoying due to the added scrutiny from the lingering police. The worst part had been trying to get back to the hearse when they were finished.
Oliver had hoped that the reporters would lose interest while they were dealing with the body and crime scene, but when they got close to the front door, Oliver could hear them prattling amongst themselves, speculating about when he and Felipewould appear with the corpse. The moment they opened the door, the crowd surged. Cameras popped as reporters shouted questions in a dizzying wave of chatter. He had hoped that the policemen stationed out front might do something to help them, but they never moved from their place on the stoop. It didn’t matter how close they got to the stretcher, as long as they didn’t approach the Livingstons’ house. For a heart-stopping moment, Oliver feared the dead man would fall off the stretcher or someone would try to rip off his shroud. It might have happened had Felipe not yelled at them in his very loud, very official sounding investigator voice. While yelling had convinced them to back up enough to allow them to reach the hearse, it had also left Oliver jangled to the point that he could scarcely steady his hands enough to work the latches on the bespelled coffin. He had intended to drive and stop somewhere on the way back where they could get Felipe something to eat, but he had automatically climbed back into the passenger seat and only remembered his intentions halfway back to the society. At least Felipe hadn’t seemed to mind.
He held the door open as Oliver carried in their things and set them down on the empty lab bench closest to the door. As Felipe turned on the lights, Oliver unpacked the vials of evidence and soiled gloves from his bag and watched his partner from the corner of his eye. On the drive back, Felipe hadn’t said anything about feeling fatigued, but Oliver swore his lover’s hands had trembled as he reached for the parking brake. The dark circles that had been there when they first left had only deepened as had the ashy hue of his skin. Oliver hoped that a lunch full of meat and dairy would be enough to make him feel better. When his partner grabbed the gurney and headed for the door, Oliver followed him back to the hearse to help. Felipe flashed him a tired but loving smile before clamoring into the back of the hearse to unhook the coffin from its moorings.
“Is he going on the table or into the cabinet?” Felipe asked as he guided the coffin onto the gurney.
Oliver knew he should get it over with and autopsy their John Doe then and there, even if it was Saturday. He wasn’t even sure what he would learn from him beyond time of death and confirming a few theories about how the magic acted on his body. Still, he should be as thorough as possible. As Felipe pushed the coffin inside, he drew in a hard breath that gave Oliver pause. Food first. Autopsy after.
“Let me get his liver temperature, and then, we’ll put him in the cabinet. I don’t know about you, but I could use some lunch… and quiet.”
Felipe nudged the gurney’s brake into place just outside the mortuary cabinet. “I can’t blame you. Those reporters were awful.”
“Are they always that bad? I swear one of those reporters tried to pick my pockets.”
“Most of the people there were from the scandal sheets. Tabloid reporters will pick through your pockets or your bones if it means edging out the competition for a story. Any time there’s even a hint of salacious gossip, they swarm on it like ants. We got off easy. If one of the Livingstons had been killed instead of our John Doe, someone probably would have tried to make off with your bag to get the notes inside.”
“You can’t be serious,” Oliver said as he shucked off his winter coat and hung it on the rack near the sink beside Felipe’s.
“I’ve seen it happen. Mind you, the reporters who work for our papers aren’t much better, but at least they’re somewhat more discrete.”
“Do you think anyone will come looking to talk to us? What if they ask about how he died? We can’t say a magic book killed him.”
Grabbing a scalpel and thermometer from the tray of cleaned tools near the autopsy table, Oliver popped open the coffin’s lid and instinctively averted his gaze.A naked John Doe does make things more convenient, he thought as he made a quick incision and stuck the thermometer into the meat of his liver.
“I doubt anyone will want to talk to us. I’m sure the police will spin the story into something like ‘heroic young butler kills intruder,’ and the press will eat it up until another scandal pops up. They know how to run cover for people like the Livingstons. So what’s the verdict?” Felipe asked, nodding toward the thermometer.
“It looks like he probably died somewhere between two and three in the morning, which makes sense in regards to how livor mortis and rigor mortis have set in.”
Oliver turned to write it down only to realize he was still holding the dirty scalpel in one hand and the wet thermometer in the other. At his frustrated groan, Felipe grabbed his notebook from his gladstone and wrote down the numbers that he rattled off. When Felipe first started helping in the lab while he recovered from being stabbed and the surgery that went with it, it had been an adjustment to work with and around someone else. Somewhere along the way, they had become a well-oiled machine, and Oliver couldn’t imagine not having Felipe as a second set of hands. He hoped his partner felt the same when they were working cases.
“Want me to put him away while you clean up?”
Oliver deflated with relief. “Please.”
