The Grey Falcon

by J. C. Williams

  His questions didn’t require an answer. Only thought.

  June 21

  7 days to Vidovdan

  Chapter 21

  “Are you on your way in?” Sandy asked.

  “Not yet. What’s up?” Dickie responded.

  “I’ll pick you up. We have a body to look at. You’re on the way there.”

  “Baywater? A Joe Boggs?””

  “No. Victim’s name is Colbert. It’s in Welton.”

  “That could take an hour in traffic. Nobody local can handle it?”

  “It’s only eighteen miles, Dickie. I apologize that someone died. You know that I did send out that email last night and asked everyone in the greater London area not to murder anyone for a few days. And, not to die in any mysterious way. They just don’t listen to me anymore.”

  “You can be a real arse in the morning, can’t you? How does Chip put up with it?”

  “It’s Chad. This won’t take long. We just have to verify it was accidental.”

  “Okay. I’ll be here.”

  Sandy hung up and called Chad.

  “Morning, sunshine,” he answered.

  “Good morning to you , too, Dr. Archer. How is it going? How are you feeling?”

  “I’ve met some good people and saw some excellent digs.”

  “Is it helping your quest?” she asked.

  “I’ve got one lead and an empty feeling about how much time is left.” He started to tell her about the threats to Valmir, but decided it was not the time. “More to tell you when I see you.”

  “Coming home soon?”

  “Probably not for the next week. How’s your case going?”

  “Not well. Possible witness disappeared. The pawnbroker that helped us is in hospital. Victim of a robbery. Coincidence? Maybe or maybe not. Nothing breaking on the stolen items. Except for your lead.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. The fragments from the vase were identified as Meissen. Does that help us?”

  “Sure does. There were Meissen objects involved either by presence or absence in every robbery, and this vase or urn was special for the thief. He did not put it on the truck. I think something was in it. I think it’s possible all the robberies were set up to look for this.”

  “What is in it?” Sandy asked.

  “I’m not sure. I thought I saw an envelope fall out of it.”

  “Chad, you thought you saw it?” Her voice conveyed the concern she felt.

  “Yeah. It’s one of those memories that’s still fuzzy.”

  “You didn’t answer my question earlier, Chad. How are you feeling?”

  “Good. No headaches. I have memory flashes. Sometimes in my dreams. I’m not sure what is real.”

  The silence between them stretched out.

  “I’ll be okay,” Chad said.

  “Wish you were here. Or, I was there. I could take some time.”

  “No. You’re on the team and you’ve got leads there. I’ll call Tellier and let him know. He can track the source of the Meissen porcelain for each robbery. My guess is that they came from the same place.”

  “Your guess? You don’t guess, Chad. C’mon. I know you now. You have logical conclusions.”

  “We’ll see. I need to leave. We’re flying back to Belgrade. Then I don’t know where yet. I might have to guess.”

  “ Goodbye smart-ass Archer boy. Call me tonight.”

  -----

  “Adrien, bonjour,” Chad said when the Interpol agent answered the phone.

  “How are you feeling? Are you taking care of yourself? Resting?”

  “Did Sandy just call you?”

  “No. But, she left me explicit instructions when I left in the event that we talked.”

  “I see. I have some information for you.”

  Chad filled Adrien in on his analysis of the record of stolen items, the special care the thief took with the vase, and the verification that the vase was Meissen. He left out the envelope images. It wasn’t necessary for Tellier to know that yet.

  After a couple questions from Tellier, Chad told him, “I’ll be traveling, but if you get something call anyway and leave me a message.”

  “I will, Chad. Good work. One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Rest and eat your vegetables,” he laughed.

  “You and Sandy should not be allowed to collaborate anymore. Goodbye .”

  -----

  “Where next, Chad?” Harry asked, as their private plane made the short flight to Belgrade.

  “I need your input, perhaps some of your lawyer logic,” Chad answered.

  “Sure. What are you thinking?”

  “I read what I could find last night about the Knights Hospitaller. I’ll give you the short version. First, their origin and then where they are today, nine hundred years later. Their order was formed in Jerusalem during the first Crusade to run a couple hospitals. It became a religious and military order, fighting in the Crusades. They were also called the Order of St. John or the Order of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem. Today it is known as the Order of Malta and the Venerable Order of St. John of Jerusalem. There are chapters around the world in many countries that do good works for charities and run hospitals. I didn’t find that there is any central organization or connections between the many chapters.”

  “How does Malta or the Maltese Cross fit into their history?”

  “They had to leave the Palestine area when the Muslims retook Jerusalem. They settled on Cyprus, an island off the coast of Turkey. When the Knights Templar order was dis-banded, the Hospitallers received many of their properties in several countries. One country was Croatia.”

  “That explains their presence at the battle,” Harry acknowledged. “What then?”

  “They were pushed from Cyprus and settled on a smaller island, Rhodes, off the coast of Greece. They lost Rhodes in 1522 and moved about Europe for seven years until the King of Spain, who was also the King of Sicily, gave them Malta, a very small island south of Sicily. They already had the cross as part of the identity of their order. Their time in Malta lasted for 276 years, until 1798 when Napoleon and his ships took the island. I concluded their cross, though already in existence, was named for the island.”

  Harry asked, “From what you said, if the Hospitallers had the sword, it could be in Cyprus, or Rhodes, or Europe, or Malta, or wherever they went after Malta.”

  “Yes, any of those. Including Rome, their last stop after Malta.”

  “Where do we start?” Harry asked.

  “We could start in Croatia, try to find out what happened to the Knights after the Battle of Kosovo. Or we could go to Cyprus and try to track their history by going place to place looking for clues.”

  “We don’t have that sort of time, do we?”

  “We don’t. I suggest that we contact historians in Croatia, then we find a good Hospitaller historian, and while we do that, we go to Malta. That’s where they were for the longest time. That is where they still have a presence. If artifacts found a home, I believe it will be there. What do you think?”

  “I agree. When we land in Belgrade, let’s contact the minister and I suggest that we ask Sonja Maric if she can recommend the historians that you want.”

  Chad sat back and closed his eyes. He had a helpless feeling despite having a next step. A next step was not a plan. A sharp pain erupted in the back of his head as the plane descended. The torment spread like a wave to the back of his eyes. He closed them tighter. Images of black and white photographs appeared for a second, and then faded away as his anguish dissipated.

  “Chad? Are you worried at all about the people making threats to Valmir? I mean worried for us?”

  “No,” he lied, knowing it was obvious.

  Harry sighed, “Right. Let’s go with that.”

  Chapter 22

  “In five point two miles turn left on Willet Road,” the GPS intoned.

  Dickie reached over to the console and turned the volume down. “Hav
e you been to Welton before?”

  “No. I’ve been meaning to. I hear there’s a club scene down here. It’s becoming the place for twenty and thirty somethings.”

  “I heard that, too. I haven’t been here for some time. Not much crime. Stolen cars have increased as the quality of transportation begins to match the salaries of the young crowd. The economy was wonky for a while. The influx of technology companies has lifted the area tremendously.”

  Sandy asked, “Do you know of a lake there? Or a river?”

  “The city is on the River Ember, a small feeder for the Thames. Why?”

  “Our victim drowned.”

  “Ugh,” Dickie said.

  “What ugh?” Sandy gave him a quick look.

  “Have you had a bloater in your short career?”

  Sandy heard the undisguised shot at her age and rank, but ignored it. “A couple every morning before breakfast. We do have two rivers in York.”

  “Bugger,” Dickie said. Then he hurriedly tried to explain. “I didn’t mean anything. I was just saying, you know. I’ve just been around a lot longer. I really don’t think what the others think about you, what they say, you know.” Then he shut up.

  Sandy reflected on that a moment. She knew they talked about her and her advancement. Some thought her promotion was just to add to the women of rank. She knew better, but she still worked all the harder.

  “That’s okay, Dickie. I know that’s why they partnered me with you.”

  “Why? Because of my experience?”

  “No. Because of your age. You know how old farts start to lose their memory and sharpness.”

  “Okay. Okay. I deserved that. Here’s our turn.”

  They met Detective Constable Stacker at the Welton Police Station. After introductions, he drove them to the scene.

  The three of them stood behind the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off a small dock jutting out into the River Ember. Sandy noted the river was about forty feet wide with grassy banks on both sides. They stood on one of them.

  To the left they could see a bridge over the river about a half-mile in the distance. To the right, homes backed up to the river. Nice large homes on this side. Several had docks.

  The constable gave them a report. “At eight ten this morning, the owner of this home found the body of Fraser Colbert wedged into the pilings of the dock. The homeowner rows every morning about that time. He called the station. We responded and pulled the body from the river. Observations at the time noticed a wound in the back of the head. The current had washed away any blood. We could not determine at that time if he had sustained the blow before or after drowning.”

  “Where is the body now?” Dickie asked.

  “It was taken to the St. Angiers Hospital, where it can be preserved, temporarily.”

  “Pictures?” Sandy asked.

  “Pictures?”

  “Of the body before it was pulled out and then immediately afterwards?”

  “Yes, of course,” Stacker said politely.

  “We’ll take a look. How was he dressed?” she asked.

  “Long pants, dress shirt, jacket, shoes and socks. If you think it might have happened on an early morning run, or late night jog, I don’t think so.”

  “Did the ME estimate time of death?” Dickie queried.

  “She said the body had been in the water more than two hours, less than twelve.”

  “Then what did you do?” Sandy prompted Stacker.

  “We checked ID and ran it. He is French, working here on a visa. I found that out by running his ID, obtaining the auto registration, and then going to his address. It is an apartment building. I found his car and there was a parking sticker for Molton Industries.”

  In response to Dickie’s raised eyebrows, he explained.

  “It’s an IT security company. They located here about five years ago. High tech. Bright people.”

  “Constable,” Sandy began then corrected herself. “Detective Constable, you have done well. What else did you find?”

  “Since his car was at his apartment, I thought it likely that he had walked to the Flats.”

  “The Flats?” sandy asked.

  “Sorry, ma’am. The Flats is the renovated area downtown with the clubs and restaurants. You see that bridge to our left? He lived in a flat on the opposite side. Downtown is on this side. There are many apartment complexes on that side of the river. Nearly a thousand units. An easy walk to downtown. It’s a bang-up location. They can walk to the train station and shop at two nearby plazas without ever driving a car.”

  Dickie asked. “I don’t suppose there were any witnesses to anything?”

  “Yes and no. No witnesses to his death, but we do have a witness prior to his death. Mr. Colbert was on that bridge, rather intoxicated. Singing.”

  “A reliable witness?” Dickie asked.

  “I hope so. It was one of our patrol units.”

  “They knew him, did they?” Dickie questioned.

  “No,” the constable answered, a bit flustered. “They recognized his hat and he was singing and spoke in French.”

  Dickie pressed, “Did they identify the body?”

  “They looked at the pictures.”

  Dickie asked, “You said they recognized his hat?”

  “He had on a rather floppy, full brimmed hat with a chin strap.”

  “Only one of those in town, is there?” Dickie said sarcastically.

  Sandy jumped in, “Stacker, how was it the night shift unit became involved?”

  “I look at the night shift reports every morning. I saw their comment about an inebriated citizen singing in French.”

  “You check those every morning, or just this morning?” she asked.

  “Every morning, ma’am.”

  “Commendable,” Sandy commented. “Good work.”

  “When you contacted the night shift, what did you tell them?” Dickie asked.

  The Detective Constable hesitated, recognizing his error, but he was honest. “I told them I had a Frenchmen found drowned in the river and wondered if they could look at his picture.”

  Dickie grunted.

  Sandy stepped in again. “You have done a lot in just a few hours. What will be your next steps?”

  “I need to see if there are any other witnesses. I should also question his neighbors and work associates. Tonight I will check with the traffic going over the bridge in the late evening. Pedestrian and autos. I will knock on flats today and this evening.”

  Sandy prompted him, “What will you be looking for in your questioning?”

  “Character. Activities. Enemies. Temper. What kind of a pisser he is. You know. Giddy. Singing. Happy. Angry. Depressed.”

  “Will you be looking for any thoughts about suicide?” Dickie asked.

  “From that bridge, sir? It’s only a fifteen foot drop.”

  Dickie stared at the young policeman.

  The constable quickly said. “Of course, sir. If I may add, sir, I examined the bridge and the stones below it left from a previous bridge. Centuries old. I will show you. I found traces of blood and the tech teams took a sample.”

  “H-m-m-f-f,” Dickie grumbled. ”Can we take a look at the victim’s flat?”

  Chapter 23

  “Do you want me to call Tech to go through the flat?” Detective Constable Stacker asked.

  “Not yet,” Dickie answered. “Let’s wear gloves and booties.”

  “What are you looking for?” Stacker asked.

  Sandy continued her teaching of the younger officer.

  “What are the possibilities in Mr. Colbert’s death?”

  “Looks like an accident. I don’t think it’s a suicide. You think it could be murder?”

  “We try not to immediately rule out any of the three. Keep an open mind,” she answered. “With that in mind look for anything that would suggest any of those three. How many suicides have you investigated?”

  “One.”

  “You’d be surprised at what
some people try, what works, and what doesn’t,” Dickie commented. “I’ll take the bedroom.”

  “Stick with me,” Sandy told Stacker.

  She made a running commentary as she looked around.

  “Nice flat. Good quality furniture. Modern. Expensive. I know. I’ve been pricing some. What do you think?”

  “Above my pay. But, he works for a tech firm.”

  “What kind of car does he have?” she asked.

  “BMW. Late model.”

  “Look into that. What’s he earn? Does he lease or buy. Same with the furniture.” Stacker made a note.

  “He’s neat. There’s a wine glass and a bottle. Most of it is gone. The cork is on the counter. Looks like it was just opened.”

  “So he drank almost all of a bottle,” Stacker said making a note.

  “Not so fast,” Sandy cautioned him. “Any other glasses or sign of company?”

  Stacker looked around the kitchen and in the dishwasher. “None,” he said.

  “Check the cupboard. Any glasses recently cleaned? More clean than the others? Dish towel damp?”

  Stacker checked it out. “No.”

  “Do you see anything like a suicide note?”

  “No.”

  “Computer?”

  “No.”

  “Dickie, do you have a computer in there?” Sandy called.

  “Yeah. A laptop. Password protected. I’ll take it.”

  Sandy snapped pictures of the room, the wine glass, the bottle, the dishwasher, and the refrigerator.

  “I’m done,” Dickie said, coming back into the room. “Bed’s made. Bathroom is neat. Stacker, in your questioning, ask about his entertainment habits.”

  “Like women, you mean?”

  “Right. Women, men, whatever.”

  “We’re done too,” Sandy said. Using her phone to take pictures of a few books. “All French,” she commented.