Reece tipped his chair back, pausing for effect. “It was Oakley Keys. He didn’t bother to use an alias. He said he might have another piece to sell, even more valuable. Sounds like he planned more thefts.”
Drayco pondered that for a moment. More thefts. Scrimshaw, perhaps? On an impulse, he reached over to turn on the miniature carousel on Reece’s desk and watched it go round and round in circles as it played the tune “The Windmills of Your Mind.” Like a clock whose hands are sweeping ... keys that jingle in your pocket ... words that jangle in your head.
“That doesn’t prove Oakley stole your clock, only that he was the seller.”
“Oh, I’m past being angry. I mean, the man was murdered, for God’s sake. I guess we’ll never know why Oakley did it. But if you apply Occam’s Razor, it was to f
