Searching for Edgar's Five Dancers

by Efren O'brien

  “I’ll tell you everything I know about it then. At the very least I owe you that. I’ll see you in two days,” she said. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on his cheek. And before he could get another word out…she was gone.

  Chapter XLVIii

  With all that was happening, Quinn wanted answers. Marika says she’ll tell me the truth in two days…but why has she kept this from me for so long? If I wouldn’t have matched the cloth up with her scarf, would she be telling me at all? he asked himself. He wasn’t sure he could trust anyone now, including Joel and Katrina. Are they spies too?

  The next night, Quinn decided he would stake out Joel’s gallery. He didn’t have a new car yet after his Buick Coupe was destroyed…but he had his friend Manny from “Manny’s Cabs.” So Quinn hired Manny as driver for the evening for thirty three dollars. Quinn decided he was getting a bargain at this price. At about eight o’clock, he saw Katrina leave the gallery in her uncle’s truck, which was parked behind the building. He had no idea Katrina even knew how to drive…so, as surprised as he was, he had Manny follow her, keeping a safe distance behind. She drove her uncle’s truck on the poorly paved two-lane roads north of Santa Fe. She drove through both the Tesuque and Pojoaque Indian Reservations to the base of the western Jemez Mountains, about 30 miles northwest. She never exceeded 35 miles per hour, so he had to keep his distance behind her as she went. He couldn’t believe his eyes as she began to ascend the mountains on what seemed to be an old mining dirt road.

  The dirt road eventually turned into a paved road again and Katrina passed a sign that read, “White Rock 2 mi.” Quinn had heard of the village of White Rock before. He heard it was a small town about five miles from Los Alamos, and it had a gold mine. His interest was on high alert now, and he instructed Manny to continue to follow her. Katrina continued driving towards the town of White Rock.

  It was about 10:15pm when the two cars entered the small village. Katrina’s car pulled up to a brick building with no windows off of the main street. The building had the word “Laundry” painted on its side in large letters. There was a service loading dock on the far side of the building with a light on and a door that appeared to be open. Quinn, who could see well enough by moonlight, had Manny stay several blocks back and told Manny to cut the lights to his car. What is she doing up here now, at this time of night? he wondered.

  Katrina cut the lights off on her uncle’s truck and got out of the driver’s side. She went to the back bed of the truck and climbed up on the back fender to look in the bed. She flipped open the retaining latch holding the rear door in place to the back of the truck and pulled out what appeared to be a large box. There was a carry handle that stuck through the cloth or sheet on top, so she lifted the box up by this handle and began walking towards the brick building. Quinn, totally puzzled, watched from afar. As she walked, the box swayed back and forth, and something fell out of the box from underneath the cloth that momentarily suspended itself in the night’s air before twisting and gently floating to the ground. Feathers came out…birdfeathers! At least one bird was in the cage. Then Quinn remembered the first time he was in Joel’s gallery, the strange noise coming from the ceiling and Katrina telling him her uncle raised pigeons.

  She disappeared briefly with the cage inside the building. Quinn stared in absolute amazement. And after about 10 minutes, Katrina exited the building through the same door and walked back to her uncle’s truck. She did not have the birdcage with her, so it was obvious she either gave it to someone inside or simply left it there. What is going on? Quinn asked himself again as he saw Katrina start her uncle’s truck and back away from the building. He ordered Manny to follow her for the hour-long drive it took to get back to Santa Fe through two Indian reservations and up a steep climb on the bumpy and chopped-up two-lane road.

  At last the lights to the City of Santa Fe appeared before them. It was almost midnight. He followed her back to her uncle’s gallery, where she parked the truck in the back alley. The same alleyway where Berndt Kruger had been gunned down one year before. Quinn peered on from the far end of the alley as Katrina went into the back entrance of the Finebaum Gallery…her mission seemingly accomplished.

  But what was she up to? What was the reason for her trip that night? he asked himself again.

  Chapter XLix

  Professor Ariel Eisenbach drank his cognac in his casita at Los Alamos, otherwise referred to as “The Hill.” The small structures at Los Alamos once housed the faculty and staff of the Los Alamos Ranch School for boys. Now these small houses, which were built around 1913, were home to the scientists working on the Manhattan Project there. Ariel Eisenbach had spent the day in lengthy discussion with Enrico Fermi and Niels Bohr, both preeminent Nobel Prize–winning scientists who had volunteered and were working at Los Alamos. The three professors and scientists filled up four blackboards with mathematical formulas attempting to prove one of Fermi’s theories about plutonium being substituted for enriched uranium in order to create an atomic reaction. The three scientists were elated with their conclusion. If plutonium could be made and would work, then they wouldn’t have to moderate an erratic atomic reaction using uranium that could get out of control. So Eisenbach sat on his small porch, drank his cognac, and watched as the sun slowly set behind the Jemez Mountains of northern New Mexico—pleased with himself and his accomplishments. After the sun fully set, he walked outside to a small storage shed behind his little house.

  Ariel opened the door to the storage shed. There was a beating of wings and feathers floating in the air, drifting towards the ground. He heard the cooing of his 12 pigeons that he kept in the shed. He had become attached to some of them and had given them names. These were the pigeons that Katrina had brought up to White Rock, and then had been smuggled onto the Los Alamos grounds by Gross’ Laundry who provided laundry service for most civilians and military personnel at the new Army camp on “The Hill” only a few miles away.

  Sam Gross was Jewish, and worked with Joel Finebaum, whom he had met and collaborated with ever since the Finebaum Gallery had opened. Gross’ instructions were to bring up only one or two pigeons at a time in small cardboard containers with breathing holes, concealed by laundry being returned to Professor Ariel Eisenbach. It was not difficult, quite frankly. The MPs at the front gate knew Sam Gross and never asked to search his laundry truck before Gross entered the compound. These were homing pigeons and would fly back to their location of origin upon being released. Eisenbach had two messages he wanted to get to Joel that night. The messages were encoded and placed in small plastic tubes with affixed tops and clips that would remain secure on the pigeons’ legs. This was the first time Ariel had flown the pigeons out. He had great apprehension but great anticipation to see if they would actually make it to his brother Joel’s attic in Santa Fe—their ultimate destination.

  He grabbed the pigeons one after the other, tied the tubes to their legs, and released them into the night one at a time. The birds squawked and fluttered and seemed confused, but quickly disappeared into the starry night. The birds circled high above Eisenbach’s little house and then got their bearings and flew high in the sky southward towards Santa Fe. The flight would take approximately 40 minutes for the birds, which generally flew at a fast rate of about 50 miles per hour. The homing pigeons had a natural compass and guidance capability that brought them back to their original home on the northeast corner of the Santa Fe Plaza right above the Finebaum Gallery. Joel had rigged the coop with an open chute above where the pigeons could enter from the outside, but they would be trapped inside once they arrived. The two pigeons sent by Eisenbach found their destination; they crawled into the coop and were safely inside, waiting for Joel when he opened the door to check on his birds.

  Did Professor Ariel Eisenbach know he was committing treason? He did, and he also knew that the secrets he passed on concerning the Los Alamos National Laboratories would end up with Nazi scientists. But he also knew if he and his brother didn’t co
operate with the Nazis, their entire family remaining in Germany would be sent to either Auschwitz or Buchenwald to be killed. Eisenbach was aware the Nazi’s were trying to liquidate Europe’s entire Jewish population. Over 50 members of Eisenbach’s family were within the clutches of the Nazis. In order to have any hope of keeping them alive, he had to comply. So when he had to balance loyalty to his new country, the United States, versus the survival of his family, in Professor Ariel Eisenbach’s mind the choice was clear. He would do whatever he could to keep his family alive.

  Chapter l

  Marika Kraus arrived on Saturday night, slightly before eight o’clock as planned. They took a small table in a corner near the fireplace. Quinn couldn’t help but notice how sexy she looked. To damn bad she’s a spy for the other side…I still may have to turn her in.

  She took out and lit a cigarette. “Okay, now that I know you were there three years ago… please tell me what happened,” he said.

  “I said I would, and I will. But let me first say that I feel sorry for you, Quinn. Because something wrong happened back then,” said Marika.

  “Okay…tell me,” asked Quinn.

  “You thought you were transporting a scientist in your car that day. Maybe you still believe that. That wasn’t Eisenbach in your car three years ago. I don’t know who it was, but it wasn’t the natural physics professor, Ariel Eisenbach from Germany. The man was a decoy. I have known Professor Eisenbach most of my life. I was first introduced to him when I was a teenager, when Werner Heisenberg won the Nobel Prize in 1932. That wasn’t Ariel Eisenbach in your car, I tell you. I was sent there that day to acquire the professor. I wasn’t sent there to kill him. We were going to smuggle him out and ship him to our contacts in Argentina. It seems like you were used in a scheme to trick us. We both were duped that day. The man we were both looking for was never there…they sent an imposter.”

  “You know who I am and generally why I’m here…I have no reason for perpetuating a lie now,” Marika said. “I was sent to grab the professor…only he wasn’t in your car. You were there guarding a decoy as part of a deception. I’m sorry you were hurt in the process, but I think you should blame your own government—not us,” she said.

  Quinn stared at her in disbelief.

  “Since I’m bearing my soul to you, let me reveal something else. Do you really think you can trust the police here in Santa Fe? Haven’t you wondered how some of the world’s most valuable paintings have been able to pass through here time after time and our little operation hasn’t been shut down yet?” Marika asked. “The police are in on it.”

  “You mean Huff and his detectives?” asked Quinn.

  “Huff and his people? No, they’re too low level,” she said. “It goes much higher than Huff,” she said. “High level government officials here in New Mexico and maybe even Washington are involved in this,” she said.

  Again, Quinn sat with a look of disbelief on his face as he listened to Marika Kraus. But deep inside he had always felt something was wrong with the mission to guard the professor three years ago. And deep down he also knew the Degenerate Art ring was corrupt, and had to have some level of complicity from the police, and maybe even the FBI.

  She was just confirming what he had felt all along. “Okay, what else?” he said.

  “You’re in a place where most everyone is someone other than who they pretend to be,” she said.

  “Including you, Marika?”

  “Oh, yes, me too…although I now realize the harm I have done by supporting this evil cause. Both my parents have passed away now, so they can’t threaten me with their safety like before.”

  “There’s also more going on here than just some smuggled stolen art, isn’t there?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid there is. But I’m not involved with that. I only know a little about it,” she said.

  “So what is it, and who’s involved?” he asked.

  “I honestly don’t know who,” she told him. “But there is secret military work or research happening around Santa Fe. We think your military is building engines for electric missiles somewhere close by. That’s about all I know, though. My mission is to report on these paintings as they are moved through Santa Fe to Los Angeles, and on to South America. Most of the paintings will be sold there, and the money will go back to Germany. My other mission is counterintelligence; to report on any Russians here and eliminate them if I am ordered to,” she said.

  “In Santa Fe?” Quinn mused. Just then a crashing noise was heard throughout the restaurant. The window just off to the side of Marika and Quinn exploded, shattering Quinn with glass and sending shards in every direction. Quinn’s face was cut in several places and glass went in his eye. He was blinded momentarily and looked away. When he turned back to Marika, he saw blood on her collar, and he saw her collapsed body lying face down over her place setting on top of the small table. Another woman off to his left screamed at the top of her lungs, and a man rushed over to help. Quinn put his hand on Marika’s shoulder. She didn’t move. He gently raised her torso up from the table. Her head folded over, and her eyes rolled back. She was shot cleanly through her left temple. Marika Kraus had been assassinated.

  Quinn yelled, “No!” and got up from his seat and ran outside to confront the shooter…but the street was empty. Whoever had pulled the trigger was gone. Marika Kraus’ role in this crazy game of spies and smuggled art had come to a brutal end.

  Quinn waited at the El Viajero for the authorities to arrive. He knew he was duty bound to stay there. He had found some shell casings outside that night, but for his own reasons would keep them to himself. He was the last person to have contact with her. So he waited…and finally the police arrived. Lt. Frank Huff was the first one through the door. Huff saw the body spread over the table. “What happened here?” Huff asked. “Who is this woman?”

  “Her name is Marika Kraus…she’s an art collector and dealer from Chicago,” Quinn said.

  “We’ll have to check her for identification,” Huff replied. “Were you here when she was shot, Chase? What’s your involvement and connection to this woman?”

  “She was a friend, detective, that’s all. We were having dinner together. Right at this table.”

  “Are you carrying your handgun, Chase? Let me see it if you are.”

  “Lieutenant, you know my .32 wasn’t used in this crime.”

  “I know what you’re saying, but I’ll be taking it into evidence just the same.” He motioned for Quinn’s handgun, and Quinn complied, handing it over to him.

  Huff then said, “Mark this!” as he handed the gun to one of his assistants. “You should find bullet casings outside, lieutenant, from the shooter’s weapon,” Quinn said.

  Huff then ordered his assistant to check outside the restaurant.

  “Well, you were eating with her…what the hell happened?” Huff asked.

  “We were drinking and talking when I looked away briefly. There was a thunderous popping noise, and I felt the shards of glass hit me from the window. When I looked back at Marika, she was lying face down on the table,” Quinn said.

  “You’re just bad luck, Chase,” Huff said. “The incident in Albuquerque and now this…I hope you don’t have any plans on leaving the area anytime soon. You’re now involved in my investigation into this. I just hope you don’t lose your PI license over this Chase. What a shame that would be,” Huff sarcastically said.

  Quinn nearly exploded. He had tipped the police off, and that led to their biggest bust ever. Now the very detective Quinn helped to make into a local hero was mocking him. Huff saw Quinn’s emotions on his face and that Quinn was losing control. The words from Quinn were just about ready to be hurled at Lt. Huff in the most offensive way.

  Huff softened his demeanor, and then he said, “I’m sorry this happened to your friend, Chase. We’ll do our best to solve the crime. The shooter was clearly outside the restaurant and shot in through the window. Of course we have no idea who the killer was, or any
motive, so we will probably need to interview you again. Now I’m gonna process the crime scene and an ambulance should be here soon. If you want, you can stay here, but if you do, let us do the detective work here tonight, okay. If everything checks out, you can pick your handgun up in a day or two. Sorry again about your lady friend. I’ll do everything I can to bring this killer to justice.”

  Chapter li

  Quinn couldn’t sleep that night or the rest of the weekend and was in the office by 6:30 Monday morning. “You look like crap,” said Ethan when he walked through the door. “It looks like you’ve been on a drinking binge for three days, old man.”

  “Marika Kraus was killed Saturday night, Ethan. Somebody shot her right through a window as she and I ate at El Viajero’s. Actually, I have no way of knowing if the bullet that struck her wasn’t really meant for me,” Quinn said matter-of-factly.

  “Tibor’s nemesis? I know she was a friend of yours, Quinn, and I’m sorry,” Ethan answered.

  “She never did a thing to him. She considered him a misguided crazy old man. But Ethan, I know he’s behind her shooting,” said Quinn.

  Quinn and Ethan went to see Laszlo Tibor at the La Fonda later in the day. Ethan gave the following warning to Quinn before they left the office. “I know you’re highly upset about the shooting.”

  “Ethan, this was an assassination,” Quinn said.

  “Just make sure you keep your temper under control. He’s an old man, and all you really have is your suspicion,” said Ethan. Quinn acknowledged Ethan’s warning and said he would keep his temper under control. At least that’s what he said.

  Laszlo Tibor cracked his suite door slightly and peered through when Ethan knocked. As soon as Quinn saw Laszlo’s face he pushed the door and jarred it open. “You son of a bitch, you son of a bitch!” Quinn yelled. “I know you’re responsible for her death! I’m gonna finish the job that she can’t do now!” Quinn yelled.