by S. Robertson
There was no escape from the thundering voice and demand. Wolfram began. “I can’t believe it’s come to this. It’s hard to know where to begin. This is a secret which has been kept by my family and others for centuries.”
“To hell with secrets,” roared Gus, “your family’s very life may be at stake. This killer is heading this way. In fact he’s likely already in town. Damn the secrets, talk!
“Ok, when you put it that way. Months ago when I was recovering from my accident, my grandmother informed me of this old family secret. Sometime in the 1600s the gems of a particular medallion were distributed among a number of Irish/Scots/Welsh families. Some of the families immigrated to North America, and, according to my grandmother, in later centuries one or more families went on to Australia and New Zealand. Each family was responsible for one gemstone, my family having a sapphire. I have no idea if all the stones are identical.”
“Are these large stones?” asked Gus.
“No, actually the only one I’ve seen is relatively modest. However, according to my gem appraiser, the sapphire is very old and of exquisite quality.”
“You have no idea how many families were involved; five, ten, fifteen?”
“No idea. And after so many centuries, I don’t believe the Guardians of the stones know either. According to my grandmother each family had two contacts which they wrote to each year in a coded message. But, sitting here this morning, however remote the possibility after three hundred years and the global scattering of the stones, it may not be as impossible to break this chain of silence as I first thought.”
“My God,” said Gus, “I feel as if I’ve stumbled into some Scottish legend. My ancestors came from Galloway in Scotland, who, my grandfather insisted, claimed descent from Fergus of Galloway, with ties to Robert Bruce. I spent my childhood listening to Celtic stories from my grandmother. There were many secrets in the 1600s for it was a turbulent period in history. Don’t dismiss such tales. There may be more behind this than you know. It must have some importance for aristocrats to take such risks and immigrate to North America, which was pretty rugged at that time. Someone out there knows more than you do, my boy, and they are willing to kill for it. There are two deaths already.”
“Possibly, three,” replied Wolfram hesitantly “and in just two weeks. Perhaps I better continue telling you what I know.”
“You’re damn right, press on,” said Gus, pushing himself away from the desk relaxing into his chair and staring out the window. “This case is beginning to have legs…….. legs from hell.”
Wolfram went on, “I took my grandmother’s sapphire to be appraised. The jeweler, a reliable fellow, felt it could be worth thousands but he wanted to see the medallion to make a full assessment. I then went to my friend Dr. Morgan Mandelthrope at Boston University to see if there was anything in the archives about a 1600s secret or some special medallion. When he failed to find anything he contacted two university colleagues; one in Ireland and another in Scotland, both with extensive Celtic history expertise.”
As Wolfram talked, Gus kept nodding his head and saying nothing.
“Just the other day we got word that his friend, Dr. Kevyn O’Gratteney at Trinity College in Dublin was run down outside his university, a suspected hit and run. His last e-mail hinted at finding a seventeenth century coded secret. Days before he was run down, someone hacked into his computer and retrieved information on the medallion. This information included the name of this Canadian woman and my friend Morgan. My Grandmother’s name, to the best of my knowledge, was not in any of these files. Her name has likely been provided by Nellie’s granddaughter, with permission of my grandmother.”
“Are the Irish police investigating the hit and run?”
“Yes, they have a witness that states he saw the car being deliberately aimed at the professor.”
“Is that it,” snapped Gus.
“Almost,” replied Wolfram.
Gus, swinging about in his chair and confronting Wolfram said, “So far, as I understand it, we have an ancient medallion with an unknown number of precious gemstones, which was dispersed for safe keeping sometime in the 1600s. These stones and some secret have been kept by a number of elite Celtic families for over three hundred years. We know of only two families involved with this secret, yours and this Gordon lady in Canada, right?”
“Actually my grandmother may know a few more. I don’t.”
“OK let’s leave the number for now. By any remote chance do you know who’s behind these killings?”
“I believe there is only one person, his name is Antonino Borgiano. Professor O’Gratteney fingered him in his last e-mail. The little I know is that he is a recently defrocked Roman Catholic priest with powerful contacts.”
Gus, in an angry voice replied, “That’s all I need, a disgraced Roman Catholic cleric, possibly abusive, with powerful contacts in Rome. That’s enough hell in itself but this one’s also a serial killer ……….my cup runneth over!!! This ex-priest likely has access to Vatican or other church archives that date back to the 1600s. That may be his trump card. He likely knows more about this medallion than either you or any of the Guardians. His ruthless tactics indicate as much. He knows precisely what he’s after and why. We’re handicapped without this information, and no photo or profile on this man. The hit in Canada has an underworld signature……..and anyone who maneuvers easily between clerical and criminal worlds is highly dangerous in my books. This fraud case can wait, its months away. This case is now priority one. We have to combine forces. Your grandparents and friend need protection. I’ve no official funds for this so we’ll just be creative.”
Rising from his chair he continued, “First I’ll contact the Canadian authorities with this name. Then I’ll get in touch with the Irish police …… what city did you say?”
“Dublin,” was Wolfram’s quick reply.
Gus, still giving orders, “You contact Gritty Mahr, he’s semi-retired these days but a fine detective. He’s looking for work, and would be a good body guard for your friend Morgan. From your account, I expect he’s the next target. Gritty, is quick, crafty and loves to outwit clever criminals. He’ll love this case; he has a deep seated hatred for abusive priests. Do you have his number?”
“Yes, I’ve used him before. He’ll be a good match for Morgan. But first, I’ll have to convince Morgan he needs protection.”
“I’ll open channels to get a photo and info of this serial killer at once. He may have entered Britain on his own passport, that’ll be a start. I expect he’s under an assumed name here in Boston. I’m sure he’s here. I need to know his contacts, which will tell me a whole lot. I’ll send out a low-key alert, but will be ready to raise its status at any hint of trouble.”
The moment he reached his car, Wolfram called Morgan on his cell phone. “Where are you, Morgan, we need to meet at once. How far are you from Josh’s place? Good, I’ll see you in about thirty minutes.” His next call was to Gritty asking him to a meet at Josh’s place, a location he knew well. Josh had chosen a renovated warehouse in Charlestown for his high tech business. It was north of Cambridge near the Navy Yard, Bunker Hill Monument and U.S.S. Constitution and, most importantly, with easy access to scores of hearty-fair restaurants. The building had lots of space for his equipment, but the heating was atrocious. Josh kept saying the coolness was good for his electronic computers and other devices, but Wolfram knew it had more to do with scarce resources.
Finding a parking space at the back of the building, Wolfram took the rickety elevator to the second floor, the stairs still a challenge. There he found Morgan and Josh chatting about some recent Internet find.
Avoiding a greeting, Wolfram approached the two with, “Josh, do you have a cubby hole where Morgan and I can chat in private?”
“Sure, you can use my cluttered office at the end of the hall. I’m alone today my two techies are off on a job.”
Morgan turned to Wolfram with a slight annoyance “What’s up? You’re a
bit tense.”
When the door closed in Josh’s office, Wolfram, with little fan fare began. “Morgan, sit down,” as he pulled out a worn wooden chair. “I have bad news.”
Morgan sensed the drama and sat down. “I have a feeling this is not going to make my day.”
Morgan blurted out, “Nellie Gordon in Canada is dead.”
Morgan slumped, sitting silently for a few minutes, in a depressed tone asked, “How did it happen?”
“She was attacked by someone, not Antonino, possibly the same man who drove the car into your Irish colleague in Dublin. I expect her age and health plus the attack contributed to her death. But this is not all. The assailant was arrested but later killed in jail by a hired hit man.”
“Hell, what have we stumbled into,” moaned Morgan. “This is becoming a horror show ………and its all due to my stupid carelessness. I caused those deaths. Mark my word. Wolf, I am going to hell for this.” He stopped looking at his friend and stared out the large storage building window at a brick wall.
“Stop that, Morgan; you can’t blame yourself for the fanatical killing spree of this mad man. Listen to me, this situation is more serious than you think.”
“More serious, I suppose you’re going to say I’m the next target.”
“That’s exactly what I’m about to say. Remember, you are the only other name he has from O’Gratteney’s files, at least that is what you told me, right?”
“Right,” said Morgan almost in a whisper.
“Well, this killer is likely already in the city.”
Fear gripped Morgan as he contemplated his fate. “I’m going to be killed……..I can feel it in my bones. This is a righteous outcome for my foolish slippery tongue.” He sat dejected, like a lost child.
“Well, that’s not going to happen. Pull yourself together, Morgan. Stop being maudlin, listen to me. We are going to fight this. You are not going to die if I have anything to say about it.” He reached forward and shook Morgan to get his attention. “The Boston police are on the case. I was in Gus’s office when the call came in from Canada. I want you to have a body guard starting today.”
“A what?” asked Morgan, trying hard to grasp the enormity of the situation.
“A body guard. I have someone in mind. You will need a cover story for the university, such as an out of town researcher or something. Can you do that?”
Still slow in responding Morgan finally replied, “Sure, it’s summer, there are always researchers floating around. A short spell will not be noticed. How long are you thinking of?”
“Let’s say a month, maybe more. Now your home may not be safe either. I don’t suppose Kari-Ann would agree to a boarder?”
“Not likely,” responded Morgan in a scowl, “We’re hardly on speaking terms these days. She has her life and I mine.”
“Well, we’ll have to think of something else,” replied Wolfram, realizing this could be the weak link in his plan. Still wanting assurance that Morgan would accept the idea he asked again, “So you’ll accept a body guard?”
“I have little alternative. Without your help and this shadow I’m a goner. If this Antonino can wipe out three people in less than two weeks, I’ll be a cinch. I was never a fan of murders, books or shows, and it’s too late for a crash course.”
At that moment, a light tap came on the office door glass. Wolfram waved in his old colleague, Gritty Mahr, a nondescript late fortyish man in jeans and mustard colored sweatshirt, almost emaciated, with graying hair and a wide grin. “Well, my old friend, what kind of mess do you need me for this time?”
Wolfram stepped towards the open door and turned, “He’s sitting right here. This is Dr. Morgan Mandelthrope of Boston University. Morgan say hello to your body guard, Gritty Mahr.” The two men eyed each other; one trying to assess what protection this little, wiry man could provide, the other wondering what would necessitate the need for a bodyguard for this man in front of him. Morgan stood up, said a quiet “hello” to Gritty and slumped back into his chair.
In the next half hour Wolfram filled Gritty in on the situation and his expected duties. Gritty kept nodding his head as Wolfram spoke, interjecting the occasional question for clarification. When Wolfram finished Gritty turned to Morgan.
“You and I will have to discuss my cover. I’ll blend in, I always do. It would help if I had a photo and profile of this killer,” looking at Wolfram.
“Gus should have something later today. I’ll make sure you have it.”
“What’s happening at his house, I can’t cover twenty-four hours?”
Wolfram, still in charge responded, “Gritty, do you have anyone that might be able to do night duty in front of Morgan’s house? I was hoping that you or someone else might get inside the house, but that’s a no go.”
Gritty thought for a moment. “Well there’s……..no he’s out of town. May be …….no, he’s in hospital. I know I have an old army buddy. He did police duty overseas, a great guy who prefers nights. I’ll get in touch with him and get back to you. How are we communicating on this?”
“We’ll stick to the old fashioned methods like cell phones. This guy has used technical hackers before so let’s stay away from the Internet. Morgan, are you listening?”
“Yah, I’ll have Gritty to remind me. No e-mails and no calls from my office phone. This is going to be difficult.”
Irritated, Wolfram replied harshly, trying to imprint on Morgan’s subconscious the seriousness of the situation. “In case you need any reminding think of the three dead bodies……..and then realize you could be next.”
Morgan cringed, “Yah, that seals it.”
Thinking again on the potential problem of coverage at Morgan’s home, Wolfram made a note to himself, “I’ll need to make sure that this fellow Gritty has in mind for the night shift is up to the task, for Morgan’s home could be the attack zone.”
“OK, let’s set some parameters. We will only talk about this case here at Josh’s. If, for any reason, we need to meet in a hurry, let’s have an emergency communication like, “Josh, urgent.” Is that workable?”
“OK by me,” said Morgan.
“Nice and simple,” said Gritty. “By the way Wolfram, who’s footing the bill? I don’t suppose the city’s flush with cash.”
“For now,” replied Wolfram, “you’ll bill me. Gus and I will work out the details later.”
“Fine with me,” said Gritty with a smile, “I prefer dealing with you. Gus and I don’t always see eye-to-eye.”
Morgan, suddenly realizing the economic implications of his protection blurted out “Heh, I can contribute something, after all it’s my life you’re protecting.”
“Fine, Morgan,” said Wolfram, “you and I can work out some arrangement once I clear this with Gus.”
Just as they were about to depart Gritty added, “So this killer is a defrocked priest, likely one of those ‘dears’ protected by the great Vatican cover up. The whole world needs protection from that lot. Thanks for thinking of me, Wolfram. I have a special stake in this. Old wounds……… Old, deep, ugly, wounds.”
Wolfram and Morgan both looked at each other wondering, but not wanting to hear anything about such ‘old wounds’. Their main concern was whether it might have any implication to their newly formed partnership.
Morgan and Gritty gave Josh a quick farewell as they departed. Wolfram watched them leave noting their similarities.
He stayed to fill Josh in on as much as he felt he should know. After all his place would now become there hub for meetings for the next while.
* * *
Canada, Charlottetown: The Funeral
A black car eased gently to the curb. Angi disembarked, alone. The funeral was over. It had been a day of sadness and heart-wrenching testimonials. “Thank God,” she thought, “they didn’t expect me to speak.” The circumstances of her grandmother’s sudden death and police cautiousness were given as reasons for such leniency. It was fortuitous, for mid-way in the church service,
for the first time in her life, she felt faint. Suddenly feeling cold and clammy, she drifted into a strange light where again the golden snake slithered out of her grandmother’s trunk. Disoriented, she pulled herself back to reality, saying to herself, “Come on Angi, your hallucinating ….stay focused.” The church service and hall reception took hours and drained every morsel of her energy. “So many people,” she thought, “I’m sure some were there because of the media hype.”
The three steps to the front door seemed insurmountable. Struggling, as she reached the top step, the front door swung open.
“It’s over!” said Vette “You must be exhausted,” noting the weariness in Angi’s face. “I expect you’ve had little to eat. It’s hard to eat, talk and handle the emotional turmoil of these events. I’m also sure you’ve had enough of everyone and everything for one day.”
Angi slipped past Vette oblivious of her questions. Talking to herself she mumbled, “I need to change…….. I’ll feel better after a shower……… Maybe then I’ll try some food……..something easy.”
“Sure, you go on. I’ll stand guard,” replied a sympathetic Vette.
Days before, it was decided that Vette would not attend the funeral; instead she would stay at the house in case of uninvited house intruders. Even with the death of the assailant, the police still felt a second attempt might be made on the house especially during the well-publicized funeral. Undercover cops circulated at the funeral and reception in case Angi was still a possible target. Nothing happened.
Before mounting the stairs to the second floor, Angi turned, “By the way, did anything happen here during the funeral?”
In an almost disappointing tone Vette replied, “Not a peep, quiet as a mouse. If there were others in on this caper they’re long gone.”