The theft of antiquarian books from libraries for black-market sale is a crime which prompted murder in my first two novels. The idea was launched by a few articles I had read about Marino Massimo De Caro, the former director of the Girolamini Library (Italy) who was accused of stealing thousands of rare books, including 15th and 16th century tomes penned by the founders of astronomy. Turns out that theft from libraries—a cultural heritage crime—is all too common.

​A library’s rare books, illustrations, and maps are most often snatched for profit, feeding the growing black market for cultural relics. The greatest problem is that while most curated items are one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable historical gems, there are limited protections in place. Few libraries have funds for high-end security systems, relying instead upon manual checkouts, turnstiles, and—most recently—electronic tag detectors. How do you guard a collection that can be browsed by anybody? Once upon a time, books were chained to the wall. With the production of more books, chains became unmanageable. In the Middle Ages, the weapon of choice against potential book thieves was a curse. Such harm-filled magical spells included the threat of being struck by palsy, suffering eternal damnation, or—my favorite—having all your members blasted. Ouch!

Who are the most common library book thieves? Employees. Insider theft happens regularly because it takes little planning beyond the common sense of not taking what is highly popular. Unpopular items are rarely missed or reported. Janitors might tuck a book into their mop buckets, but only a librarian can remove the card catalog record, a trail documenting an item's existence. The whistle might still be blown, of course, if the item has been used by a researcher, creating another trail when used in citations. Honest book buyers and vested librarians often spot and report stolen items appearing at auction or in online sales. This is how De Caro was finally tripped up in Italy.

Punishment for the theft and sale of such cultural antiquities is a whole other issue. In 2013, Massimo De Caro was convicted and given a seven-year sentence for embezzlement. He was in prison for only six months and then allowed to serve the remainder of his sentence at his own home. Although his assets were seized and visitation heavily restricted, I’ve read that he dwells in “confined splendor,” awaiting subsequent trials and appeals for looting, conspiracy, and forgery while enjoying the view from his villa. It's no wonder cultural heritage crimes flourish in the modern era.

Imagine spending your Christmas holiday on a canal boat, floating every so slowly on waterways across the U.K. Fairy lights strung across deck. Swans paddling by. It sounds perfect to me!
 
Wanting to place one of my novel’s characters on a canal boat led to research about these tranquil vessels that have stood the test of time. Buoyant narrowboats originally served as a transport chain, delivering cargo from coastal ports to retailers across the U.K. Many were drawn along the shallow channels by horses strolling the towpath. Then came steam and diesel engines, putting the mellow beasts out to pasture. You can glimpse a lovely horse named Bilbo Baggins still carrying on the canal boat towpath tradition in the video below:

​An extensive railway network eventually led canal boats to a new use: residential digs and holiday lettings. When housing prices peaked, people willingly settled into a spartan lifestyle on the seven-foot wide boats, permanently docked in urban-based canals. Leisure cruising can also be had on these colorful boats, bobbing along the waterways through a series of self-run locks, swing bridges, and low tunnels. Leisure narrowboats offer all the modern amenities while tugging nostalgically on our heartstrings, beckoning us to a slower-paced holiday. While I continue on my own journey to a minimalist lifestyle, I wonder if I could find serenity on a tiny, brightly-painted narrowboat. I’m more than willing to give it a try on my next visit abroad!

I faced that thick wall known as “writer’s block” for about three months. It was undeniable. Insurmountable. Dreadful. Then chance favored me with inspiration. 

Ages ago, I signed up to receive various newsletters that monitor historical discoveries and the black market trade of cultural antiquities. The topic is endlessly fascinating and allows me to peek at stunning art and historical relics from around the globe. One of these newsletters is where I stumbled upon the Caratacus Gold Stater. This ancient (AD 40-41), one-of-a-kind coin was recently discovered in England by a metal detectorist. Estimated value: £50,000. 

It doesn’t get more inspiring than that!

Caratacus was a tribal leader based in Wales who fought against Roman invaders. He was very successful, yet so popular that when he was finally captured, the Roman emperor spared his life and allowed him to settle in as a well-hailed guest in Rome. (Is this where the saying 'Keep your friends close, your enemies closer' comes from?)

This tiny, recently discovered relic of a coin catapulted me over that wall of writer’s block. You’ll find Caratacus gold launching murder and mayhem in my fourth novel, The Nighthawk’s Nemesis.

My fanbase knows that the police Incident Room is relocated in every Barrington Bay story. It has hopped from an abandoned fish warehouse to a shuttered bank, then to a vacant chandler shop, and now—in The Nighthawk’s Nemesis—to a disused funeral parlor.

Apropos for an All Hallows' Eve blog, don’t you think?

This newest setting for the Incident Room launched my research into funeral homes and burials which invariably led to grave robbing. Ugh! Memories of the 1945 horror film The Body Snatcher still make me shudder. The film was based upon the Burke and Hare murders undertaken in Scotland as a way of obtaining fresh corpses (and put to ink by Scotland’s author Robert Louis Stevenson). The film showcases some of classic horror’s greatest talents: Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi.