“That could be several people,” he answered. “Maybe they are just uncomfortable with death. Being nervous in this setting does not make them a murderer.”
Dickie grumbled and walked away.
Sandy explained, “It helps narrow the field and may provide a lead or suspect that we don’t have. Nine out of ten won’t be a suspect, but you may find that one.”
“I see,” Stacker acknowledged.
“Or,” she added. “Look for the one who avoids looking at us.”
“But we aren’t in uniform,” Stacker protested.
“No, but the bad guys, like Luc Millet, can smell coppers. Stay here.”
Sandy made her way through the crowd to where Colbert’s mother and uncle stood, near the front of the room.
“Mrs. Colbert,” Sandy began. “Our condolences once again. We met yesterday. Sandy Moffat.”
“Merci, inspector. Thank you for coming. Thanks for your help closing the investigation and releasing my son.”
“No problem. However, I wanted to clear that up. The medical examiner and myself have agreed it was not suicide.”
“I am grateful,” the mother said. “I did not think Fraser would commit suicide. I can believe an accident.”
“We do not think it was an accident either. We have enough evidence to suggest that someone caused his death.”
Mrs. Colbert visibly gasped. “Someone murdered my Fraser? Zut. Porquoi?”
Sandy knew enough French to understand ‘damn’ and ‘why.’
“We don’t know. That is what we are investigating,” Sandy said, directing this last statement toward Luc Millet. He remained impassive. At least in the face and body muscles, but his eyes became harder.
“We have some more questions for you, but this is not the place,” Sandy said.
“Merci,” Mrs. Colbert said and turned to receive condolences from another co-worker.
“Could we have a word, Monsieur Millet?” Sandy asked Luc.
She moved him by the elbow to a quiet corner.
“Who would have done this?” Sandy asked directly.
“I have no idea,” he said, defensively. Yet she noted he didn’t follow that with a ‘how would I know.’
“We wonder what he might have been mixed up in,” she stated, yet leaving it as a question.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Did you see him regularly?” she asked politely.
“No,”
“Yet you have been back and forth to England several times in the last month.”
“Business, not family visits,” Millet said.
“What business is that?” Dickie asked coming up behind Millet.
“Just business. Looking for opportunities,” Luc said turning toward Dickie.
“Like museums?” Dickie challenged.
“Dickie,” Sandy said sharply. “He’s here at a service.”
“Bloody hell,” Dickie answered. “This is duff. Let’s take this to the station and sort it out.”
“Mr. Millet, my apologies,” Sandy said ignoring Dickie but making Luc swing his head back toward her. “We just need to ask a few questions. Where were you three nights ago?”
“In France,” he said, and then he realized her trap. “But, you knew that since you tracked my travel already.”
“Just verifying,” she said.
“You could have had it done,” Dickie spat out. “Not one to get your hands dirty?”
“Why would I harm Fraser? He’s my nephew.”
“Like you let him take the fall in that botched get-away in France?” Dickie countered.
“What are you talking about?” Millet challenged. “I was not involved in that.”
Sandy’s turn. “Perhaps you were not caught, but we know you were involved.”
Luc faced Sandy again.
Dickie made Millet swivel once again. “Like in that museum robbery two weeks ago in London. Your MO. Power grid knocked out. Just a coincidence that your nephew is a trained electrician and also skilled at hacking security systems? Crikey. He does it for his job.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” Luc said angrily. “I had nothing to do with Fraser’s death.”
Luc began to walk away. Sandy touched his arm.
“You may not have murdered him, but you did have something to do with it. Do you know this man?”
She withdrew two pictures from a pocket. She showed Luc the pictures of the first intruder in her flat, Max Alton.
Luc looked. He wanted to look. “No. Who is he?”
“Max Alton?” Sandy asked and waited.
“I don’t know the name,” Luc answered. Sandy felt he was telling the truth.
“C’mon let’s leave. We have enough to link them,” Dickie said. He grabbed Luc’s arm. Hard.
“Attendez,” Luc exclaimed trying to pull his arm away.
They waited.
“How is he connected to Fraser?” Luc asked. Sandy noted the defensiveness in his eyes change back to hardness.
She shared. “He was seen in the area the day of Fraser’s murder.” She paused for effect. “He was also seen in Liverpool inquiring about this other man.”
Sandy showed the photos of Alfred Baywater, pictures of the way they found the body.
Luc grimaced once and looked inquiringly at Sandy.
“He was seen with Fraser at clubs here in Welton. He does small time B&E, bypassing alarms. The type of B&E needed to quietly access the power network near the museum.”
Dickie spoke harshly, “Our victim there, Baywater, blabbed about the impending power outage to a pawnbroker among others. Do you know Cyrus Best?”
Sandy read Luc’s lie even as he said, “No.”
“He looks like this now.” She showed Luc photos of Best, from the hospital, particularly the missing finger.
She and Dickie noted that Luc was not surprised. He knew what had happened to Best.
“Best knew how to find Baywater,” Dickie said flatly. “Seems that Max Alton is cleaning up loose ends, Millet. Are you another loose end?”
Millet stared coldly at Dickie.
Sandy said quietly, “Dickie, can you give us a minute?”
When her partner left, she moved closer to Millet. “Luc, you didn’t murder Fraser. At least I don’t believe that you did. Of course, we don’t have all of the evidence. We also don’t know if Max Alton will claim you hired him.”
She let this possibility and threat sink in. She had a sudden thought and took out one more photo.
“Maybe this is the man tying up loose ends?” She showed Millet a picture of the man she fought with in her flat. She saw Millet’s eyes flicker. Millet knew the man.
“Why don’t you help us?” she asked. She gave her card to him for the second time in two days. Then she turned and left the room, picking up Dickie who was watching.
“How’d it go?” she asked as she walked past Dickie.
“Good,” he said. “He’s still looking at your card. You have him thinking.”
Chapter 59
Max Alton passed through customs at Heathrow, noting the double take of the agent after checking a screen. Alton assumed it was a watch list. Max glanced back catching the agent on the phone. No doubt he was to be picked up, at least followed. He reached in his pocket for the ringing cell phone.
“Yeah,” Max said.
“Boss, I tried to call you earlier. Some interesting events at Moffat’s flat this morning.”
Max kicked himself. He forgot to shut down the surveillance after Zevic told him to yesterday. The forgetfulness was certainly the result of too much German beer and his other weakness, bratwurst.
“What happened?” he asked his watcher.
“Just before nine, Moffat left, then a big guy comes in wearing gloves. Moffat returns within ten minutes, she takes an empty wine bottle from the trash and rushes in. Another guy shows up. Looks like a cop. Beefy guy. He’s hurrying, too. Two minutes later the first big guy rushes out. Ten seconds later the cop comes out
and then goes right back in. The big guy must have disappeared.”
“I’ve got to see that. Shut it down. Take out our camera. Meet me at the Prince. If I’m not there by noon, leave. I’ll call you.”
Max could guess who the big guy was in the video. So, Zevic made the search of Moffat’s flat. Whatever Dr. Archer had must be very important. Maybe this video would also be important to Zevic. Max Alton sensed he now had some leverage. What do I want, he asked himself.
Chapter 60
Archer enjoyed the drive from Belgrade to Ravanica Monastery, once he was out of the city. It took time to get through Belgrade and its suburbs along the E-75. By the time the A-1 joined the main road, the city had changed to farm country. The going was easier now. He felt anonymous and safe using his new ID to rent a car. He was mulling over the facts he learned from Father Damir this morning as the scenery changed to rolling countryside. More farms. Small towns. Highway refueling stops. He passed them all.
He was less than two hours from Belgrade when he first saw the Kucaj mountain range rise in front of him. He had read it was just over four thousand feet high and it was a plateau. It didn’t seem like it as he approached. Forested peaks dotted the horizon. It was his hunch, partly an educated guess, that this type of mountain range harbored a series of caves. Similar to what they saw just inside Kosovo a few days ago. The entire Balkan-Turkey corridor was riddled with caves. Many archeologists and historians feel that the caves were very often interconnected in ancient times and provided a protected migration path from Africa and the Mideast to Europe.
At Cuprija, the GPS directed Chad to turn east on the 160 for ten kilometers, eleven minutes up a gradual slope. He pulled over and looked closer at the Google map. This road continued east and then turned north after another ten kilometers. There were two other roads out of the mountain area near the monastery. Either one could be an escape route from Ravanica if there were connecting caves or tunnels. The first route looked the best to Chad. It would be a thirty-minute walk and slightly downhill from the monastery. Nonetheless, he planned to drive all the routes, do some hiking, and looking for outlet caves.
Before he could start, his phone beeped. It was Sandy.
“Hi,” he answered. “How’s your day?”
“Oh, the usual. Another intruder. I defended my home with a wine bottle. Dickie joined the fray. Intruder escaped. We’re running facial recognition. Went to a funeral service, confronted the suspected museum thief.”
“Ho, hum. Boring, huh?” Chad replied, while worried about the intruder. “You guys okay?”
“Yes, we are fine. I have a bruise developing on the left side of my face, so stay away a few days to let me get past ugly.”
“No need. I’ll just stay on your right side,” he joked.
“You jest, but you will see. How have you been?”
Chad filled her in on the outcome of the Dresden visit and the discussion with the priest on the plane.
“For the next couple hours, I will be exploring this mountain.”
“Be careful, especially in the caves. You don’t know what may be in there. Lions, and tigers, and bears …,” she began
“Oh my,” he completed. “Don’t worry. I’ll take an empty wine bottle in with me.”
“Yuk, yuk. Chad, I took a call from the dry cleaners. They found something in the pockets of your coat. Photos. Two photos, they said. Crumpled up.”
A feeling of relief washed over Chad. His dreams were reality.
“Did they say what they looked like?” he asked.
“They didn’t give me details. They said they were disturbing.”
“A proper English response,” Chad commented. “Most likely understated.”
“Probably. I’m on my way to London now to pick them up. I’ll send them to you.”
“Okay, but I’ll be out of touch for a while. Can you send them to Harry? We’ll get together tonight. I’ll text his email address to you.”
“Will do. Be careful, Archer boy.”
“I will. You too, bobbette.”
Chad continued up the road to the monastery. He was surprised and impressed at the same time. The old stone fortress’s walls were gone in some places, but two towers and a gate entrance still stood. He decided to take a tour here before searching the country for caves.
There were several buildings inside the walls. One three-story stone building was the residential area. The ground floor included a kitchen, dining, hall, laundry room, and a small chapel that held only eight people. The chapel was an easier access than the church in wee hours of the night. The top two floors contained small bedrooms. At times, nearly sixty monks occupied the facility. Now half the rooms were enlarged providing a more comfortable bedroom for retreats and business motivational seminars. Nowadays, Chad learned, there were eighteen monks and seven nuns. They tended the grounds, worked the gardens, and did the housekeeping. The jewel of the monastery was the Church of the Ascension. It had been restored several times, the latest in the 1980s. It housed the remains of St. Lazar.
The church was beautiful. Its front was a simple design. The four-foot high base of red block stone supported a tan and reddish stone entrance hall. From the parking lot, Chad could see successive sections of the church each rising higher. The last part appeared to be an eight-sided dome and tower over fifty feet high, more decorative with alternating four-row layers of white and red stone. The rear of the church nestled into trees that covered the hill that rose above it.
As a strategic location, the monastery failed to occupy the high ground. But, the church with its thick stone construction and narrow windows provided a high level of protection.
The site was clean and well maintained. A sign at the entrance in Cyrillic and English reminded tourists that this was the tomb of St. Lazar.
He paid admission at the church door and picked up a brochure. It gave the dates of the original construction and renovation of the church. Multiple frescoes and sixty-two window lights provided bright colors throughout the lower rooms. These included a kitchen area, chapel, and two dining halls. The smaller one was still used for dining. The larger one had been converted to a museum that housed the tomb of Lazar and historical pictures, timelines, and artifacts from six hundred years ago.
Three meeting rooms of various sizes at the rear of the church provided opportunities for a reflective and motivating environment. Upstairs were the sleeping quarters for the priests and acolytes that tended to the church and provided services for the monks. The resident clergy now only used three. The other three were converted into posh sleeping quarters for various dignitaries or celebrities. The middle room on the ground floor contained a large fireplace that accommodated logs six feet long. Lighting came from windows high in the dome. The side rooms received their light from windows in the outside walls. Halls separated the three meeting rooms and led to storage areas at the rear of the church.
Chad did his best to wander off the escorted tour’s path through the church, feigning being lost. He found a door that he thought might lead to a basement. He remembered the trap door access below the basement level in Malta. It was locked.
“Can I help you?” a voice behind him asked.
He turned to see a cute young girl dressed in traditional Serbian dress. She had flaxen shoulder length hair and light brown eyes. Her mouth twisted in an amused smile. It was a smile his older sister often had when she caught him somewhere he was not supposed to be. A long-sleeve billowed white blouse was partially covered by a black vest that formed a deep V just above a gold belt. The vest edges were trimmed in the same gold fabric. Her black skirt, also hemmed in the gold, ended a foot above her ankles. A bright bouquet of red, gold, and purple-leaved flowers was sewn to the front of the skirt. Her socks were black with one red flower embroidered on each. Her shoes were soft sandals with a large red buckle. She looked high school age. Maybe college freshman. They looked younger each year, Chad thought. She had taken the tickets when he first entered. Chad remembered
her name.
“Andjela,” Chad sighed. “You caught me.” He turned on one of his smiles that always worked on his sister, and a few girls in college, as well.
She was not impressed with either his smile or that he remembered her name.
“Dobar dan,” Chad said, hoping he correctly remembered good afternoon.
“Dobar dan,” she replied. Then in English, “I have been watching you. You appear to look for some other rooms. Do you think we hide something?”
Chad was taken back. He was both looking for other rooms and for the hidden royal adornments. Did she know?
“I am interested in Prince Lazar. I am an archeologist. I was hoping I would find some unspoiled rooms from his time.”
This seemed to intrigue her.
“An archeologist? That is what I want to be. I will start at the University in Belgrade in the fall. My studies will be in history and anthropology for one year. Maybe two. When I have the money I wish to learn in England or Germany. Where did you study?”
“Braxton College. Boston.”
“That is a good school. I would like to go to the University College London. Do you know of it?”
“Yes. It is a good school. Very good archeology professors there.”
“Really? Wonderful,” she said.
“I am biased though, since I teach there.”
That got her. Her eyes grew wider.
“You will do a study here?” she asked. “Perhaps, I can help you?”
Chad gave her one of his cards.
“I don’t plan to do a study. But, here is my card. When you are ready to come to London, contact me. Perhaps, I can help you.”
He read joy and disappointment in her eyes.
“Well, maybe you can help me now,” he said. “Are you from this area?”
“Yes. We live not far from here. I grew up here. My father has a farm, but it does not make much money. He is trained as a mechanic and works the highway fuel stops. He is called to many of them along the main highway.”
“Do you know the mountains? I am looking for caves and tunnels.”
The Grey Falcon Page 24