by BV Lawson
VENGEANCE IS BLIND
Three Scott Drayco Mysteries
by
BV Lawson
Crimetime Press
Arlington, VA
VENGEANCE IS BLIND: Three Scott Drayco Mysteries
Copyright 2012 BV Lawson
Smashwords Edition
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Devil to Play
Drayco tries to prevent the theft of a rare violin that appears to be cursed.
Blood Antiphon
A suspected serial killer plays mind games with Drayco, who learns the two men are connected in a most disturbing way.
Valley of the Shadow of Death
Betrayal leads to attempted murder-by-flash-flood in the American desert southwest.
Acknowledgements
About the Author
The Devil to Play
Blinded by smoke, Scott Drayco crouched in darkness as alarm bells wailed. He wiped his burning eyes on his sleeve and strained to hear any sounds the alarms weren’t drowning out. His companions were surprisingly silent, save for a few choking coughs from Belinda. Underneath the din, he thought he heard a faint metallic scraping, a noise he couldn’t quite identify.
Drayco’s mind was surprisingly clear despite the smoke bomb, and he started counting off the seconds, one by one. The metallic sound came at thirty seconds, and now, at about forty, the first drops from the sprinklers began raining down.
The deluge was the last straw for Martin Mabie, who exclaimed, “Oh for the love of God!”
Drayco could see a vague outline of Mabie now. Or at least he thought the blobby shape was Mabie, looking like a ghost crab as he crawled out from under a table where he’d sought refuge and started scuttling toward the door.
Mabie yelled, “I’m going to turn those damn things off before they ruin the exhibits. I’ll be right back.” As he growled those words, it had been only fifty seconds.
Just yesterday, Martin Mabie had contacted Drayco with a peculiar request. He hadn’t wanted the FBI or police involved because he feared they would just laugh at him. Who in their right mind, after all, would take a threatening note against a violin seriously? But as Director of the Alsberg Museum of Fine Art, Mabie couldn’t take that chance.
“A private consultant would be more discreet,” he’d said, pleading with Drayco to help. “Your music background makes you the ideal person under the circumstances.”
Music background. What an innocuous-sounding phrase, that. He’d avoided anything remotely musical in his professional life over the past decade, keeping it between himself and the beloved Steinway parked in a corner of his D.C. brownstone. Had fate made this Drayco’s first solo case as an investigator after leaving the Bureau?
Even though part of him hadn’t wanted to touch this case, one of the reasons he’d decided to take it on was the knowledge this was no ordinary violin, the Lady Ambrose Stradivarius. As had Mabie had explained, “It’s named after the most recent owner, Lady Amelia Ambrose, but it had a previous sinister past, including a Russian countess who’d murdered her lover to get her hands on the instrument.”
And even more horrible, it was used at Auschwitz in prisoner orchestras who played as Nazis marched Jews to the gas chambers. But in the perverse world of collectors, its grisly history only made the instrument more valuable.
Babysitting that rare instrument was why Drayco found himself ensconced with Martin Mabie among Balinese masks and Greek statues in a side room off the main basement exhibit hall at midnight. They were joined by curator Jonas Pancoast and Loncor Insurance rep Belinda Tewksbury, who’d insisted on coming along to protect her company’s investment. Mabie believed if the instrument truly were in jeopardy, tonight was the night—tomorrow it would go on tour with the Lafleur Quartet, before being sent on loan for six months to a museum in the Netherlands.
After Mabie scurried away in search of the sprinkler shut-off valve, Drayco checked on the two other occupants of the room, now that the smoke had mostly dissipated. Jonas wiped his wet glasses on his damp lapel, and Belinda was still holding her tiny yellow Prada purse over her head in a vain attempt to stave off the downpour. Seeing they were okay, Drayco grabbed his pocket flashlight and headed toward the violin display case.
The case was a stand-alone exhibit on an ebony pedestal in the middle of the hall, the bottom filled with a luxurious red velvet lining. Drayco could clearly see indentations in the fabric where the violin had rested, but the violin itself was gone. What had the threatening note said? Occasio facit furem. Opportunity makes a thief.
Belinda joined him and stared glumly at the naked case. How could she see anything, with the strands of soggy dark hair plastered to her forehead covering her eyes? In his annoyance at the whole situation, Drayco raked aside the dripping locks on his own face and scratched his forehead in the process. He should have seen this coming, should have checked under the furniture beforehand. That was a rookie mistake.
Belinda whined, “Maybe Wall Street stock traders are accustomed to losing two million dollars in under a minute, but I’m not. And I certainly don’t think my bosses are the understanding sort.”
Belinda was positively stoic compared to Jonas, the picture of agitation in motion as he wrung his hands together and rocked back and forth on his feet. “Oh dear Lord, a centerpiece of the museum, just—gone. Do you know that violin brought in thousands of tourists who came to see it? More than one person has told me it was worth the price of admission alone.” He glanced up at Drayco, “These exhibits become like our children as we restore them and care for them. I don’t know what we’ll do without the Lady.”
Belinda scowled. “At least you won’t lose your job over it.”
Suddenly, the sprinklers switched off, and the overhead fluorescents hummed back to life. Drayco said to the pair, “I’ll take that as my cue and check the other rooms. Keep an eye out.” He lowered his voice, using the same commanding tone that had worked well on suspects in FBI custody. “And don’t touch anything.”
The Victorian room was the first he hurried through, dodging John Singer Sargent paintings and amethyst-colored sandwich glass. The smoke hadn’t made it this far, although the sulfur smell followed him through the halls. He’d memorized the building layout before the stakeout and quickly checked all access points and even the bathrooms. The museum designers had planned for maximum traffic flow—leaving few hiding places, much to the dismay of small children, perhaps, but at least it made his search easier.
He didn’t spy any evidence of other life forms, menacing or otherwise, save a spider in a corner of the Folk Art room, and his damp shoe prints were the only ones he saw. Still, Drayco was keenly aware of his lack of a gun, something Mabie had insisted on. “Stray bullets in a museum full of expensive artifacts are not a good thing,” he’d said. The knife in Drayco’s Leatherman tool would have to do, if needed.
After the initial call from Mabie, Drayco had dug up a recording of the famous Italian artist, Nino Pattillo, playing Fritz Kreisler’s “La Gitana” on the Lady Ambrose violin. Like all Strads, it possessed the same famous and impossible-to-reproduce sound, but with haunting overtones.
Drayco wasn’t the superstitious type. But when he�
�d first seen the instrument lying in its case in the museum, he’d thought he’d heard strains of those exact overtones echoing in the room, even though he and Mabie had been the only ones present.
As he made his way through the empty corridors, he could almost hear whispers of that violin music following him from room to room. Get a grip, Drayco. You’ve got a multi-million dollar treasure to find. You can read all the ghost stories you want later, if you ever get any free time again, Mr. Freelancer.
Drayco made a circle back to the center hall, where Mabie had rejoined Jonas and Belinda, all three lined up in a row and staring into the empty case, as if their concentrated will might somehow blink the violin back into existence. On Drayco’s return, Mabie started pacing around the room, hands knitted behind his back. He grumbled, “I had to call the police. The alarm system alerted the security agency, anyway.”
He stopped pacing long enough to flail his arms in the air. “Oh, I can just see the headlines in the newspapers: ‘Famous violin stolen from under museum director’s own nose.’ First incident like this we’ve ever had, and it happened under my watch. Our donors won’t be happy.”
Belinda fished a comb out of the yellow purse, but that wasn’t going to help the mascara running down her face like oil slicks in the street after a rain. She queried Drayco, “Did you find anything?”
He shook his head. “All the doors were still bolted, no sign of anyone entering or exiting the building. I checked potential hiding places but found no one.”
Belinda frowned. “Are you saying this was an inside job? Oh, good Lord. That means the crooks might still be in here.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “These musty museums have all kinds of attics and crawlspaces, don’t they?” She edged a little closer to Drayco.
Jonas placed his hand on the glass case and fingered the lock before Drayco could stop him. Drayco quickly pulled Jonas’s hand away, and Jonas looked like a child who’d been corrected. Then he gave a half-smile and nodded. “I’m sorry. You said not to touch anything.” He put his hands in his pockets and turned to Mabie. “If it’s an inside job, Martin, who would have keys? I thought you limit those?”
“You and I have the only two. I guess someone could have made an impression of the key. Or lock. Has your key ever been out of your possession, Jonas?”
Jonas shook his head. “I keep mine here in the museum safe. I don’t even take it home.” He groaned. “This is like a biblical pestilence that stalks in the darkness.”
Belinda snorted. “Pestilence, nothing. This is greed, pure and simple. Although good luck to whoever tries to sell the thing. Rare violins aren’t easy to pawn.”
Mabie stopped pacing again. “You don’t think it’ll end up in a sleazy pawn shop, do you? I can’t bear to think of the Lady Ambrose lying next to hideous Rolex knockoffs and cubic zirconia medallions of the Last Supper.”
Drayco tried to reassure him, at least on that point. “This isn’t a petty theft—someone went to too much trouble. High-profile cases like this usually involve collectors. Instead of a pawn shop, the instrument could find its way into someone’s private study and not turn up for decades.”
Alarms and sprinklers had been replaced by thunder and a pounding rain reminiscent of an orchestra of snare drums. Belinda looked toward the one window in the room, high up toward the ceiling. Drayco almost imagined he could see small bolts of lightning shooting from the top of Belinda’s head as she fumed. “You can’t begin to comprehend the paperwork involved. Wish I’d been assigned to some jewelry account. People always want to steal necklaces or brooches. But a violin—how am I going to explain that one? Personally I’d take diamonds over a violin, any day.”
Mabie sniffed. “If you want to see baubles like the Hope Diamond, go the Natural History Museum. Our exhibits are cultural, not mere superficial frivolities.”
Jonas countered, “But the Hope Diamond has a shady past, too, just like the Lady Ambrose. Or so say legends of the diamond’s curse. I daresay former owners like poor beheaded Marie Antoinette would agree.”
Mabie ignored him. “Drayco, do you think this is an inside job? You said you didn’t see signs of an intruder.”
“The note had a local postmark. Whoever took the instrument is very familiar with the building, security and procedures. And there’s the matter of the key.”
Mabie put his hands over his face. “The Board of Trustees will have my head on a platter.”
Belinda smirked. “Welcome to my world. And Marie Antoinette’s.”
Mabie lowered his hands long enough to tug hard on his grizzled beard. Amazingly, the man could simultaneously tug on the beard and grit his teeth, a model of coordination. He said, “I guess I should go meet the police and show them the way,” then gave Drayco a withering glare. “Since you’ve been so helpful, why don’t you stick around down here. See if you can keep anything else from disappearing.”
Belinda looked hopefully toward Mabie as he turned to leave, “Can I come with? I have to make some phone calls to my employer. I’d love to put them off, but I suppose I have to face the music.” She laughed nervously and gave a quick glance around the room, one foot poised in front of her as if ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger.
Jonas piped up, “I’ll stay put, if you don’t mind. Perhaps the Lady will somehow magically reappear.” He watched Mabie and Belinda leave, his hands still dutifully contained in the pockets of his white lab coat. “Why did Martin call you in the first place, Drayco? Do you specialize in stolen antiquities?”
“I have a musical past of sorts and Mabie knew me through the friend of a friend.”
“Music, as in the violin?”
“Piano, actually.” Drayco thought of his little Steinway sitting at home forlornly. On any given day, he was lucky to get a half-hour to practice and sometimes tumbled out of bed at 4:30 just so he’d have the chance.
Drayco thumped the violin case pedestal with his fingers. “This sounds solid. No seams. Are any of the pedestals in here hollow?”
Jonas thought for a moment. “We only use hollow ones for lighter exhibits like Hopi pottery. Never when there’s a heavy glass case on it, like these here.”
Drayco surveyed the soggy space, looking from the skylights down each wall to across the various displays in each corner. He returned to the side room where they’d crouched earlier in the darkness and smoke. The rubber soles of his shoes made virtually no noise on the wool-blend carpet.
He clicked the timer on his watch and paced off the steps from the side room to the case, walking first, then running at a moderate clip. Ten seconds might just do it.
Jonas followed, prodded him, “You mean piano, as in performing?”
“In a former life.” Before the accident. Before the scars. Before it became impossible to practice long hours. “Do you play an instrument, Jonas?”
“I’ve got a tin ear. My first music teacher said the highest compliment she could give was I’d make a great scientist.”
Drayco smiled. “I’ve found music and science aren’t all that far apart.”
Drayco headed to the side room and began looking under the furniture pieces until he found what he was looking for. It was appropriately hidden under a curio cabinet decorated with clawed feet and a fanged mask scowling at him. The smoke bomb was homemade, but expertly crafted, complete with timer. He brought the item into the main hall and set it next to the violin case.
Jonas bent over for a closer look. “Kind of puny to cause such a ruckus, isn’t it?”
“Doesn’t have to be big. It just has to have the right ingredients in the right amounts.”
Jonas tried to chuckle, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. “I wish I’d thought of something like this. Curators don’t make a lot of money and my retirement account is almost nonexistent. Maybe I can steal that jeweled cornet over there. I’ve never really liked it. Too flashy.”
Drayco re-examined the empty case. There were no drops of water inside, on the cloth o
r on the glass walls. The violin was taken before the sprinklers started. Before the forty-second mark. He took out a handkerchief and used it to open and close the unlocked violin display case. Five seconds, if you practiced. He was up to fifteen seconds now, leaving thirty-five.
Jonas watched him in silence, before curiosity apparently got the better of him. “If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly are you doing?”
“Time can be friend or foe to a thief—dependent on circumstances, planning and luck. But in a precision strike like this, timing is critical.”
“Then you think the thief is long gone and off to sell the violin by now?”
“I’m not at all convinced he’s going to sell it.” Drayco paced around the room methodically, over to the display case with the exotic flutes. They were all quite exquisite, one made of gold, one of glass, another made from buffalo horn.
Despite Jonas’s assertions, Drayco wanted to check for hollow pedestals. But the flute case wouldn’t work anyway—too far from the violin exhibit. He headed back to the empty violin case, then over to a display of balalaikas and lutes. Again, too far. He was looking at about twenty-five seconds, the all-important gap.
There was a wall much closer to the violin case. It didn’t have any displays, but Drayco saw an ordinary air duct near the baseboard, centered in plain sight. It was covered with a painted steel grate—the metallic sound during the chaos had occurred approximately thirty seconds after the smoke started.
Drayco strode over to the duct. Probably deep enough. And if you didn’t care whether you hurt the violin or not, a dirty cramped space like this would more than suffice.
Jonas joined him, hovering over Drayco, who was on hands and knees. “Looks too small for a thief to escape, don’t you think? Unless he’s an equatorial pygmy.”