Moffat's Secret

by J. C. Williams

He heard her wail of grief through the phone line.

  “No, no, no, no. Oh Chad.” She was crying.

  “I’m sorry, Julie.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Julie was calmer but still devastated. Chad felt helpless a half world away.

  “Chad, I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

  “Julie, it’s a long trip. You don’t need to come.”

  “I feel that I do.”

  “Why don’t you think about it? I’ll call you back in a couple hours. If you do come, I’ll meet you at Leeds airport. Is there anyone I can call for you?”

  “No. I need to think whom I need to notify,” Julie said with confusion.

  “The University can help you. They can make calls. They also can issue a press release and that will let others know. Someone there can make arrangements. If they need to, they can call me. Do you have my number?”

  “Yes, if it hasn’t been changed over the last few years.”

  “It’s the same,” Chad told her.

  “Chad, thanks for making the call. It was better than hearing from a stranger. This has to be hard for you, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Julie.”

  “I know.” The line went quiet.

  Walking into the squad room, Chad saw the DCI, waiting.

  The DCI asked as Chad approached, “How did it go?”

  “As well as expected. She may come tomorrow morning.”

  The DCI frowned.

  “I know,” Chad said. “Could I take his personal effects?”

  “I would need a member of the family to release them to you. Since his daughter may come tomorrow, why don’t we wait? We need the coroner to wrap things up as well. Make a ruling.”

  “Fine. Thank you for taking your time to do this. I’m sure a traffic death is not something you normally handle.”

  “No worries. Tomorrow let me know when his daughter will be available. I will send someone.”

  Chad wondered about a DCI handling this case. Was it because Henry was not a UK citizen? He had more questions, but he wanted to think them through. He needed to get some sleep.

  Chapter 17

  Archer flopped on the bed. He was exhausted. Mentally, for sure. Jet lag. Sadness. Foreign country. Shock. Concern for Julie. All those things. He felt he should be hungry. Breakfast was a long time ago. He checked his watch – one o’clock. Seven hours since breakfast. He knew should eat even if he wasn’t hungry. He would need the energy. He needed to be sharp. For Henry. For Julie. He was mentally tired. Not physically tired.

  Pulling on running shorts, shoes, a tee shirt, and a hoodie, he checked off the things to take – passport, money, hotel key, water, and his cell phone. He was glad he added international service to it just before he left.

  After stretching, he started his GPS app to track the route and ensure he could find the hotel. At the lobby desk, he took a small map of the city. The desk clerk told him that York Minster, a medieval cathedral, was a large attraction, just a few blocks away.

  Chad jogged slowly up and down the streets of the historic downtown. He peeked at the many shops along the way and wondered what it was like hundreds of years ago. The streets were narrow with few customers on this weekday. He imagined how full they would have been back when. Half-timbered buildings, now over five hundred years old, sagged tiredly, hanging over their first floors.

  Chad thought every other store was a sweet shop and every third storefront offered meat pies and sandwiches. He smiled to himself, knowing hunger was directing his eyes and thoughts.

  He passed York Minster. It was huge. Chad judged its height at seven or eight stories. He circled it passing an attached smaller building on its left side. Counting his strides he estimated the length of the cathedral at nearly two hundred yards – two football fields. He would like to see the inside, he thought. Another day. Another trip.

  Chad turned to the north, taking the first street going that direction. He picked up his pace. He was feeling better. Apartment buildings, medical offices, and plazas with modern stores replaced historic buildings of downtown. The street ahead became a road leading to the country. Chad saw the fields and farm houses in the distance. He took a right, to the east and noticed signs to York University. Breaking into a sprint for a hundred yards, Chad pounded the pavement releasing anger and sadness.

  He crisscrossed the campus and took a breather. Five miles. He’d do another five miles, another forty minutes, and then call Julie again. Thinking of her now, Chad realized he hadn’t seen her since three Christmases ago when he visited Henry in Georgia. Julie still lived in Madison. Henry lived near the campus in Athens, forty minutes away. Julie seemed happy then, so Chad was surprised last summer when Henry told him that Jake and Julie were separating. He didn’t pry.

  Her career had bounced around. She followed her degree in political science with a two-year stint in the local Madison office for the U.S. Representative for the district. Julie liked it, learning the local issues and fronting for the Representative while he was in Washington. As the junior member of two-person team, she was handed most of the work. Their Representative was in his fourth six-year term. She traveled to Washington often in her second year and became intoxicated by the workings of the House. She set herself a goal to eventually reach Washington. The Representative took a personal interest in Julie and mentored her next career moves.

  She ran for county magistrate and won. The magistrate didn’t require a law degree or experience. She judged and ruled on civil matters that were less than fifteen thousand dollars. Three years later she ran for the school board and was elected. She volunteered and maneuvered her way to Board Chairman. To Chad this seemed like a detour in her political career. He learned later that it wasn’t. The school board was not only a powerful force in the county, but the contacts she developed in the community, working across the state with other school boards, and with the Georgia government bureaucracy was invaluable. Julie Stuart was becoming known in the halls of the Georgia legislature and the back rooms that directed the state politics.

  As his path crossed back over the two rivers that were the reason the Romans first built a fortress here two thousand years ago, Chad thought of another communication that was needed regarding Henry’s death. He didn’t know whom the private contractor was that Henry was working for right now. Julie may know. It would probably be in Henry’s papers, or computer, and certainly in one of his three journals. Chad wondered if he should look in Henry’s room.

  At this stage of his run, Chad’s mind disassociated with his body. He liked to think of it that way. His legs rose and fell, his arms pumped, and his breathing was rhythmic. He didn’t think of the physical. His mind drifted. It was almost an out of body experience. Today, his thoughts were on Henry. Chad saw Henry in front of the first archeology class he took. Images and impromptu lectures in digs all over the world flashed before Chad, some as still photos some as vignettes. Henry in his khakis, his floppy hat, and his pea green vest with what seemed like hundreds of pockets.

  Henry laughing, Henry puzzled, Henry making a discovery. Tears pooled in Chad’s eyes, clouding his vision and drawing a veil over the memories. Wiping his eyes, Chad remembered something he heard about seven stages of grief. He remembered shock and anger. He couldn’t remember them all and wondered what he felt now. Depression, maybe.

  The time went quickly. Chad sensed he was close to the hotel. He stopped running and began his cool-down walk. Looking around, he didn’t see anything familiar. The he saw it. The pub.

  The name was scrolled above the windows and on a small plaque on the door – the Crossed Arms Pub. Chad stopped.

  The street was between him and the pub. Traffic flowed steadily. It seemed wrong. People were walking by. Cars were moving. Didn’t they know Henry died here? Chad wanted to scream. He wanted to scream STOP. Instead he stood motionless.

  It didn’t look like the image the DCI created with his words this morning. It was daylight. Not night. Not a sunny daylight. A gray dayligh
t. It was dry, not raining. Chad tried to guess where it happened. In front of the pub door? To the right? On the left? Where was the car that hit him? Where was the car he was thrown into? Maybe it didn’t happen?

  This was denial, Chad thought. He willed himself to turn away and follow his GPS to the hotel.

  Chapter 18

  “I understand, Julie” Chad told her. “I will be waiting at the airport for you.”

  “I appreciate that, Chad. I’ll email you the flight details. I’m leaving now to catch a flight to JFK. I’ll be in Leeds at nine your time in the morning.”

  “See you then,” he concluded. “Goodbye.”

  “Bye, Chad.”

  They hung up.

  After showering, Chad walked a block in the direction that he ran, hoping he remembered the location of the shop with the good-looking sandwiches and the mouth watering aromas. He found it and enjoyed a meat pie.

  He called the DCI and told him that Julie would be arriving in the morning. Allowing her time to freshen up, they would be available about eleven.

  Chad stopped at the front desk.

  “Jeffrey, isn’t it?” he asked remembering the clerk.

  “Yes, Dr. Archer. What can we do for you.”

  “Two things. First, Dr. Clark’s daughter is arriving tomorrow morning. Can she get a room for two nights, one that she can check into tomorrow morning?”

  “Certainly. Consider it done.”

  “Put it on my credit card. My room as well. Originally Dr. Clark told me that his employer was picking up the cost of the rooms. Can you tell me who that might be? I need to notify them.”

  “I’ll check.”

  A few keystrokes later, Jeffrey said, “Dr. Clark had both your room and his under his credit card.”

  “I see, thanks,” Chad said. Not unusual. Henry would pay for the rooms and turn them in as expenses rather than directly bill the client. “The second thing is could you tell me the manager’s name? In the shock this morning, I didn’t catch it.”

  “Dennis Haverty.”

  “Is he available? I’d like to thank him.”

  Jeffrey called a number and told Haverty about Julie. “He is in his office at the moment. You can try there. Do you remember where it is?”

  “I do. Thanks, Jeffrey.”

  The manager’s door was open when Chad reached it. Haverty motioned him to enter.

  “Dr. Archer. How are you doing?”

  “Still in shock. Still absorbing it, Mr. Haverty. I wanted to say thank you for this morning.”

  Haverty gave a little shrug and shake of his head. The message was that it was nothing. Or, it was something. In a culture that valued service, taking care of customers was part of his DNA.

  Chad continued, “Thank you. For your sensitivity and your concern.”

  “We are sorry for your loss. Jeffrey tells me that Dr. Clark’s daughter will be staying with us.”

  “Yes. Regarding that. I was going to pack up Dr. Clark’s things. However, with his daughter coming, I think she should have a hand in that. Would you be able to hold Dr. Clark’s room until she gets here?”

  “Certainly. That is not a problem.”

  “Also, I was wondering, could I take a look through his room? I wouldn’t want his daughter to find out any embarrassing things about her father.”

  “I understand. We pride ourselves in discretion. I will let Jeffrey know. He can give you the key card for 302.”

  “Thank you again, Mr. Haverty.”

  -------

  Chad turned on the lights to Henry’s room. He looked around, taking in the well-made bed, the exact alignment of the desk materials, and a cleanliness that superseded even the standards of the Charles House Inn.

  Crossing the room, he pulled back the drapes, an action he didn’t dare to perform in many hotels, fearing the exposure of dust, streaks, and exposing unnamed things to bright light. Henry’s room looked fine. Chad recognized that his own level of OCD was minimal compared to Henry’s. He knew Henry had made the bed. He knew Henry had cleaned the dresser and desk surface. He knew Henry had sanitized the remote and every doorknob and handle in the room. He knew that Henry also called housekeeping and borrowed their vacuum cleaner.

  Chad looked in each drawer and found the neatly stacked piles of underwear in the top drawer, socks in the second drawer, next to the neatly folded pajamas. He hesitated. Something did not look as he expected. He could not identify what bothered him.

  Moving to the closet, the shirts were all pressed and hung neatly on the left. The pants were on the right. In between were two sweaters and one sport coat, also hung neatly. However, the sport coat was facing the wrong direction. Henry always hung shirts and sweaters with the front to the left. The coat faced right.

  The suitcase was stored on the floor of the closet. It was also in the wrong position. It was vertical, wheels down. Henry always laid it flat.

  Returning to the sock drawer, Chad realized that they were folded in pairs, but laid crosswise in the drawer, not lengthwise.

  Someone had been looking. Chad sat heavily on the bed. Who? Why?

  He slapped his forehead with an open hand. The police - of course. The manager told him this morning the police had come by early. They would have found his wallet. Henry always kept his room key in his wallet. On the right side. The first item. In front of the bills.

  They would have looked for any thing out of the ordinary. It was probably part of a checklist for any foreigner who died.

  Chad looked in the drawer of the nightstand. The King James Version of the bible was the only occupant. Usually, Henry kept two of his three journals in the nightstand. Though sometimes, he took all three with him for the evening if he planned to transcribe while having a whiskey or two.

  The first journal was a daily log of events, activities, finds, difficulties, and meetings. The second was his project journal. Each evening, Henry would copy from his activity log into his official project notebook. This was a record of definite facts, and data - no speculations.

  The third journal was personal reflections – about the project, about world events, about life. Chad had never read any of them. Henry accumulated volumes of them over the years. Doc encouraged Chad to keep a personal journal. Chad tried. He bought the same 8x10 spiral notebooks. The longest he lasted was a month.

  The project journal was a similar 8x10 spiral notebook. The activity journal was a small spiral notebook that fit in a pocket.

  It was most likely that the police found them and took them, or perhaps Henry was using the pub last night as a temporary office. They would be in his personal effects.

  What about the sport coat? He answered that question right away. They just put it back wrong after checking the pockets.

  Chad sighed. He didn’t know what he was expecting. He didn’t really believe that Henry had something embarrassing in his room. Chad had to admit that he was hoping to find some reason for his death, something sinister. He was hoping that Henry’s death was not just an accident, an accident due to drinking, and hoping there was some meaning for it. What stage of grief was this he wondered? More denial? Compromise?

  Chapter 19

  The nighttime clouds and the quiet muffling fog brought a darkness that battled the streetlights. The darkness won. It claimed the night, beating the lamps into pinpoints of light that provided a mere few feet of visibility.

  Archer stood across the street from the Crossed Arms Pub. Even the blue OPEN sign looked like a feeble gray apology instead a beckoning invitation. The pub’s internal lights peeked from the cracks of the window blinds and danced out of the door for a brief bow when customers came and went.

  He had stood there for fifteen minutes, watching the traffic, or lack of it. Over and over he visualized Henry stepping into the street from between parked cars, under a streetlight still not fixed. Last night would have been even darker with the rain, Chad thought. The curve was dangerous. There would be little time for a driver to react.

&n
bsp; Carefully, cautiously, and wary of the left-side-of-the-road driving, Chad crossed the street and opened the door to the Crossed Arms.

  He stopped just inside and looked around. The warmth, the light, and the sound of voices immediately had its effect. It was like walking into his parents’ house on Christmas day. He couldn’t resist a smile. It felt like home.

  He walked the length of the room to the bar and ordered a pint of Guinness. Two minutes later, the proper time to pour a pint, the dark beer with a creamy white head arrived. Chad held it up to admire the ruby red color, then sipped the froth.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” asked a man on a stool next to where Chad stood.

  “Did I do it wrong?” Chad asked, an apology written on his face. The first thing Henry had taught on their first dig together the summer he turned seventeen, was not to do anything to offend the locals.

  “Nay, you did ‘er right.”

  “The last time I was in the UK, we took a ferry to Ireland and visited the Guinness Brewery.”

  “Aye, that’s one of our claims of fame.”

  “You’re from Ireland?”

  “I am lad, Dublin itself.”

  “What brings you here? Do you live here?”

  “I do.” He laughed. Chad didn’t get it.

  “Sorry,” the man said. “I was answering your second question and realized it’s the same answer for both questions. I do. I married Margaret forty years ago. She’s an English lass, and we decided to live here. She grew up on a nearby farm.”

  The man stuck out his hand, “Sean.”

  “Chad.” They raised their glasses in a toast.

  “What brings you to York?” Sean asked.

  “I was to meet a friend,” Chad began. “Are you a regular here?”

  “Aye. Tuesdays and Thursdays by m’self. On Wednesdays and Fridays, Maggie joins me for dinner. Good food here, but I’m afraid the kitchen is closed for the night. However, I know the people here and if you want, and I ask, they’ll probably make you something.”