Colton Banyon Mysteries 1-3: Colton Banyon Mysteries (Colton Banyon Mystery Book 20)

by Gerald J Kubicki

  “Yes,” she acknowledged in a sweet voice and nodded her head.

  “You called the station?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  Banyon decided that the woman was not very talkative. She was dressed in a traditional Indian sari. This one was green silk. She had on a small white undershirt that did not completely reach her midsection, revealing a small ring in her navel. Banyon knew her to be a silent, gentle, woman of less than thirty, who spent most of her time with her two little children. She never spoke when her husband was around.

  Heinz was gearing up to question her further when she seemed to muster enough courage and started to speak.

  Her accent was slightly British. She explained that she had been returning a video to the Blockbuster store when a white Ford Aerostar van with Illinois plates pulled up next to her. She explained that she was talking at length on the phone with her sister when it happened otherwise she would have been more aware.

  “Four men got out and circled my car. The leader had a gun. Imagine that, a gun to steal my video. Anyway, I kept my doors locked, and next thing I knew they were back in the van and headed west on Irving Park Road.” She pulled in a breath, which caused her chest to rise and hinted of curves below all that cloth. She continued, “They tried to appear like military men but were very disorganized and sloppy. Only two had their masks all the way on. Of the other two, one was young, maybe twenty. The other was older, maybe forty, and had the gun, a Steyr M40, same as you are wearing.” She pointed to the weapon on the policeman’s hip. “I’m pretty sure that I would not be able to recognize them in a lineup, but I’m sure about the ages. Oh, and they had hard rock music on the radio, you know, lots of drum-beating and screaming. The words seemed foreign to me.”

  Stunned at the completeness of the report, Detective Heinz and Banyon looked at each other in amazement. Banyon asked, “You didn’t, by chance, get the plate number, did you?”

  “I am sorry,” she said sincerely. “I was only able to see the last three numbers. The numbers were two, zed, and two.” She said the three numbers precisely, with slightly parted lips. Banyon thought that the way she spoke was alluring.

  “What the hell is ‘zed’?” demanded Detective Heinz.

  “It’s zero,” explained Banyon. “It is the way many people say zero.”

  “Please, my name’s Pramilla,” she announced with complete composure. “Why is Mr. Banyon here? He lives next door to me.”

  “How do you know that the gun was a Steyr M40?” asked Detective Heinz, ignoring her question.

  “In India,” Mrs. Patel replied, “my father taught me about guns. I’ve lived with guns all of my life. I know a police gun when I see one.”

  Banyon looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. There was something very appealing about her. She looked beautiful. As she stood tall with her back straight, the slight breeze rustled her green-colored sari. Her long black hair lay straight. It flowed halfway down her back.

  “Did you notice anything out of place or different around your neighborhood today?” The inquiry came as the detective looked up from the note pad.

  A delicate index finger, with perfectly polished red nails, ventured up to touch the bottom of her chin. “I thought I heard someone on my roof around dusk, but I wasn’t dressed to go out and look.” A small smile crossed her face. The smile said she was probably naked.

  “Well, Mrs. Patel, it’s like this,” Heinz started, “we have your statement, but no evidence that anything happened. I’m not saying that it didn’t happen, but we don’t have much to go on. I’ll type it up and if we get a break, I’ll let you know. I doubt you will see these guys again.”

  “I understand. But it would be nice to get the riffraff off of the streets,” Mrs. Patel countered.

  “Do you want to call your husband, or can you drive yourself home? I’m heading that way and can follow you,” he added. “Mr. Banyon can ride with you if you want.”

  “Oh, my husband would not like that.” It came out as a typical reply by an Indian woman, as she snuck a peek at Banyon. Banyon was intrigued now and sensed that she was not as controlled by her husband as she appeared.

  Detective Heinz was pensive and bounced his pen on the note pad. Then he spoke like a true veteran detective, waiting for the last second to catch the person off guard. Detective Heinz asked, “Before you go, is there anything else you can tell me about the men, anything at all?”

  “When they opened the sliding door to the van,” she started, “a book fell out. One of the men scooped it up and threw it back in the van.”

  “Was there anything special about the book?”

  She seemed hesitant, almost shy to respond.

  “What did you see?” Heinz probed.

  “I think it was a religious book,” she finally said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There was a religious symbol on the front.” Her voice had fallen to a whisper.

  “Can you draw it?” Heinz urged, as he flipped to a page in his book and offered it to her.

  Slowly she raised her hand. But instead of taking the pad, she slid her fingers smoothly into the top of her undershirt. Banyon was mesmerized. Detective Heinz stood staring as Mrs. Patel rummaged around under her shirt. The hand came out with a pendant. Gracefully she laid it across her chest. “It was this.”

  Banyon was astonished. The pendant was a swastika.

  No one could say anything. The most hated symbol of the Western world was on the neck of this gentle woman. Was there something more mysterious about her? What, in fact, did Banyon know about her? One of the men that had invaded his house had a swastika tattoo. He started to look around to see if there were any white vans around. He saw none. How is this connected and what the hell is going on?

  Before either of the men could think of anything to say, Mrs. Patel again spoke. “It’s a religious symbol in my country.” It was a straightforward statement.

  “How could that be?” Detective Heinz uttered.

  Pramilla explained that the swastika was, in fact, the second most holy symbol of the Hindu religion. The word “swastika” came from ancient Sanskrit and was connected to the beloved elephant-headed god referred to as Ganesha. Ganesha is the god of good luck. Hindus routinely put the symbol over doorways and thresholds and at the beginning of account books to bring them good luck.

  Mrs. Patel went on to say the pendant was a good-luck charm and was not exactly like the Nazi swastika. The edges on the pendant were pointed counterclockwise, while the Nazi swastika was pointed clockwise. The history of the swastika could be traced back over three thousand years and to cultures in Asia and Europe, and even to the American Indians.

  Banyon knew many things about history. He had studied it all his life. He had a degree in history and was an avid reader. He knew the Nazi movement was still around but sometimes went under different names today.

  He spoke up. “The swastika was the symbol for the Nazi party. In the broader sense, it meant hatred of people who were not like Nazis; it is often the symbol for white supremacy. White supremacy meant racism and the need to not just dominate, but actually eliminate, all others who are not pure ethnic white people.”

  “Come on,” Heinz said with skepticism. “Are you telling me that Nazis exist today? That they are right here in Streamwood?”

  Banyon replied to the question, “Actually Chicago has always been a hotbed for white supremacy. Movies like The Blues Brothers made fun of the movement, but the white supremacy movement is no joke.”

  Mrs. Patel joined in, “Fascism is everywhere.” She nodded her head as approval to Banyon’s words.

  A list of facts continued to roll through Banyon’s mind. “There are over two hundred white supremacy groups in the United States. In Illinois, there are twelve white supremacy groups. Almost all are chapters of the mysterious ‘Altar of the Creator’ church. The leader, Joe Kroll, the self-appointed �
�Pope’ of the church, has studied law and uses it to his advantage. I’m surprised that you don’t know that detective.”

  “I have read his name on some police reports,” admitted Heinz sheepishly.

  Banyon continued to speak. “There is a logical reason why Chicago and surrounding cities continue to have white supremacist organizations. Most people don’t realize the upper Midwest, especially Wisconsin, during World War II, housed prisoners of war. At one time, there were more than twenty thousand German prisoners interned in Wisconsin. They were spread out all over the state in thirty-eight different camps. Local newspapers documented that the German prisoners were often seen drinking in neighborhood bars during the war. As you went north from downtown Chicago, the German population kept growing. Milwaukee, only ninety miles north of the Chicago Loop, was already very heavily populated with Germans. Many Germans settled there in the eighteenth century and made Wisconsin the beer and bratwurst capital of the USA. The prisoners of war mixed in well with the locals and many prisoners never returned to Germany after the war ended. To this day, they continue to live in the area. Some of the prisoners, according to the Anti-Defamation League, were former Nazi’s who had somehow changed their identities, but not necessarily their attitudes. The original Nazis would be in their nineties by now, but many had children and grandchildren they raised to believe in the cause.”

  “You seem very knowledgeable,” Mrs. Patel noted sweetly. Banyon had by now become very impressed with her.

  “My father was a military hero during World War II. I have been fascinated by what happened. You know that history repeats itself, right?”

  “I have read about white supremacists. They are sometimes called Aryans. What is the difference?” Mrs. Patel asked shyly.

  Now up to the task, Banyon responded. “The Nazis discovered information about the Aryan race from ancient writings of other cultures that had come in contact with the secretive Aryans. They were misguided in believing the swastika was also an Aryan symbol.”

  “But my understanding is that the Aryans lived in India,” questioned Mrs. Patel.

  Banyon nodded his head in agreement. “The Aryans were a nomadic tribe that settled in northern Iran and India. They believed themselves to be ethnically pure and superior. Little else is known about this extinct race and no one has ever found any written history. The Aryans, however, were the model used by the Nazis as the cornerstone to develop the Third Reich.”

  “Why use them as a model?” the impatient detective asked.

  “No one really knows,” answered Banyon. “Hitler was a believer in ancient cults. The word Aryan is derived from ayas, a Vedic term meaning metal, or people who used metal, as in swords and so on. Also, there are many references stating that the Aryan people were involved in ‘struggles between light and darkness.’ This can be interpreted as good versus evil or perhaps light-skinned versus dark-skinned. We do know the Nazis spent much time searching the deserts of India for artifacts.”

  “You sound like a bookworm,” the feisty detective remarked.

  “Education is not one of my shortcomings,” Banyon quipped.

  Detective Heinz tried to summarize. “So, was this a religious book or a Nazi book?”

  “The symbol I saw was the Nazi symbol,” Mrs. Patel replied.

  Banyon was searching the placid beauty of her liquid brown eyes. She lowered her face in shame, as if she had disappointed someone who needed her help. This was a more complicated woman than at first appeared, he thought. Although she was reluctant to get involved, Banyon felt that there was something competent, and tough, lurking just below the surface of that creamy skin.

  Suddenly there was a noise. “Great,” said Detective Heinz as he snatched up his ringing mobile. “Go ahead, Dean.”

  “Just came on duty, and there is no one here, just a black Lincoln in the parking lot. What’s up, Chief?”

  “Where’ve you been, Dean? You were supposed to be on duty two hours ago. I’m up to my ass in coincidences right now, plus there is a big fire over on Barrington Road. You stay at the station and man the phones until I get back,” the detective ordered.

  “Where are you? Is anyone with you?”

  Heinz didn’t particularly like Officer Dean and thought that Dean might be after his job. But, Heinz had to admit, the number of arrests that Dean made was well above average. Revenues from tickets and fines had never been higher. There were, however, some serious concerns about Officer Michael Dean.

  “Just man the phones Dean. I’ll be back in half an hour,” Heinz ordered, “and stop calling me chief.”

  “Do you want me to run the plates on the Lincoln? Maybe have it taken to the police impound? It would give me something to do.” Dean was digging for information, and Heinz knew it.

  “Just do what I told you. I’ll be there soon,” the annoyed Heinz replied.

  “Roger, Chief.”

  Heinz noticed that Banyon was now agitated. He turned to Heinz and said, “Dean was the one who arrested me last year — he knows my car.”

  “I realize that,” admitted Heinz as he ended the call.

  Part Two

  Conspiracy

  Chapter Seven

  The small caravan was headed west on Irving Park. Mrs. Patel was in the lead; Banyon and the detective trailed two car lengths behind. They were heading in the same direction that the van had taken. It was the way to Banyon’s home.

  “What do you know about Officer Dean?” Banyon carefully inquired. He had seen the concern on the detectives face when he mentioned that Officer Dean knew his car.

  “That’s police business,” growled the veteran cop. “Steer clear of it. He is one of my most successful officers.”

  “There is something shady about him,” Banyon continued. “I think he purposely lost my report from last year.”

  Detective Heinz shot Banyon a mean look just as Banyon’s cell phone rang. He drew it from his pocket and answered it.

  “Jesse, I’m kind of busy right now….What did you say?” Surprise registered on Banyon’s face. “Is everyone okay?”

  Banyon turned to the detective and muted the phone. “I’ll just be a minute, it’s my sister. There is some kind of family trouble back on Long Island.”

  The detective’s right eyebrow was suddenly raised. “Take your time,” he muttered.

  Banyon returned to his call. “No, I don’t think it has anything to do with the ghosts,” Banyon said into the phone. Both of Detective Heinz’s eyebrows were now raised.

  “Ghosts?” he repeated and shook his head slowly.

  “Did the police find any leads to go on?” Banyon asked into the phone as he snuck a glance at the surprised detective driving the police car.

  “Ghost and leads, now that’s a good one,” Detective Heinz laughed.

  The conversation between Banyon and his sister continued and eventually Banyon said, “No, everything is great here.” There were more pauses.

  “Actually, I’m on my way to Las Vegas,” Banyon finally said. “I’ll be gone about four days, and I’ll touch base with you when I return.” Banyon then ended the phone call.

  Before Detective Heinz could ask a question, Banyon said, “I need to call my three children right now.” He pressed a button on his phone and began to talk.

  The final call was to May, his kind of girlfriend. “May, its Colt, are you all right? Hey, I’m going out of town for four days. Got a pen? Okay, write large and clear.” He spelled out the hotel and gave her the number from memory.

  “No, it’s business. I’ll watch my money. Just remember to put the note on the refrigerator. Did you put my name on it? Thanks. Call you when I get back.” He was very happy with May, but she had declared that she was “taking a break” some weeks ago. He hardly heard from her and wondered if it meant they were “just friends” now.

  Detective Heinz realized Banyon was checking on his children and girlfriend. Banyon was also feeding his family a plausible story for dropping out of sight for a
while. Detective Heinz began to wonder whether Banyon was actually scared. Or was he actually very calculating. Banyon seemed to react quickly and think fast.

  Heinz asked, “What happened to your sister?”

  Banyon looked straight out the window and hesitated before he answered the question. “All three of my sisters’ houses were broken into; just about the same time those men were at my house. My sisters all live in the same area on Long Island. There is too much evidence to be a coincidence. Somebody is after something and my family is now somehow involved.”

  Heinz was quick to reply. “So far nothing makes sense. You have this outlandish story, no evidence, and a neighbor who could be in on whatever it is you’re trying to pull and now you’re talking about ghosts. Who or what are the ghosts?”

  They had been parked in Banyon’s driveway for some time. Now Mrs. Patel began to gently tap at the window of the cruiser. Banyon opened the window just as Detective Heinz asked the question.

  “Jesse, my sister, said someone called her earlier in the evening and said he had information about the ghosts. All she had to do was meet him at our old house on Speonk-Riverhead Road at eight-thirty at night. The caller didn’t give a name, but it wouldn’t have mattered as Jesse was already hooked. She called both of our sisters, who also wanted more information about the ghosts. They all trouped over to the old house — sisters, husbands, and children. But after they waited for two hours, no one showed up. My sisters thought it was just some prank, but when they returned home, they all discovered their houses had been rifled. Not much had been taken — just some old relics, war stuff from my father. The police said they have no leads. They said the timing of the burglaries was purely a coincidence. The police predicted that some friend would probably show up with the things taken, and the earth would continue to rotate.”

  “That doesn’t explain the ghosts,” Heinz said dryly.

  Mrs. Patel leaned into the open window. Banyon caught the scent of her perfume and a slight hint of garlic and other exotic spices. Her eyes reflected genuine interest.