“No thanks. I ate earlier.” It was eleven now. He wanted to see what traffic was like this time of night.
After another sip, Chad commented to Sean, “It’s not too busy at this time of night.”
“Not unless there is a match on. Yesterday, Manchester was touring South America. I’m sure they were busy in here. I watched it at home.”
Chad’s disappointment must have shown.
“Why the frown?” Sean asked.
“I was hoping you might have been here last night. My friend, the one I was supposed to meet was here last night. He was hit by a car outside when he left.”
“Ah. Sorry, Chad. I heard about that.” Sean was at a loss for words.
“Thanks. I was hoping to find someone who may have been here then.”
“Well, Bobby was, I’m sure,” Sean said and motioned the bartender to come over.
“Another?” Bobby asked, Automatically glancing at both their glasses. Both were half-full.
“Bobby, this is Chad. That accident last night, he was Chad’s friend. Chad was looking for someone that was here last night.”
“Sorry for your loss mate,” Bobby offered.
“Thank you. I wonder if I could ask a couple questions?”
The barman was clearly uncomfortable.
Chad noticed this and quickly deduced why. “The police told me that he had been drinking and that impaired his actions and contributed to the accident. They said the darkness, the rain, the different flow of traffic, were all factors.”
This relieved the barman. “I didn’t know if you knew. I didn’t want to have to tell you.”
“Thanks for that consideration.”
“What can I tell you?” Bobby asked looking quickly around at the handful of customers.
“Do you know what time he came in? Was he with anyone?”
“I had to estimate it for the police. We were busy. I thought it was between eleven and eleven thirty. We checked the register tab. It was eleven forty five. He was alone when he came in, I think. He only ordered the one drink when he came in. Bushmills. A double.”
“How many did he have?” Chad knew Henry’s choice of drink was Irish whiskey.
“I served him that one. Mary was here. She served him another. Then he switched to beer. Sorry, Chad. He and his mates had several more.”
“You said he was alone when he came in? He wasn’t alone later.”
“He was sitting across from a couple chaps. Over there.” Bobby pointed across the room to the front of the room. “Your friend was on the bench facing us. When they ordered for themselves they ordered one for your friend as well. They said he insisted his went on his own tab. I assumed they knew each other. One even helped him stagger out…. Sorry, walk out. But the helper, he came back in right away, sort of pissed. I remember because he came over to pay your friend’s tab. Mary took it, but I heard it. Your friend gave him the money for the drinks.”
“What was he angry about?” Chad asked.
“He said he offered his help and the damn old man pushed him away. Then we heard tires screech. Someone came in and said there was a bad accident. The man helping your friend was real shook up. He kept saying he shouldn’t have let him go. Hell, he was just trying to do a good turn. It turns out he didn’t know your friend, they just happened to be sitting across each other.”
Chad nodded. “Thanks. If you see that man again, tell him I said thanks for his concern. Is Mary here? I’d like to ask what she remembers. It may sound morose to you, but I’m trying to picture my friend in his last moments.”
“No worries, mate. I’ll see if Mary is still here. She had to open this morning at ten and worked until two then came back tonight. I told her to take off. She was going to clean up in the back.”
“A bad business,” Sean empathized.
“It is. I wonder what was bothering Henry. To drink that much he would either have to be enjoying the company or trying to forget something. I should see if Mary knows who was at the table with him. Maybe Henry said something to them.”
A middle-aged woman with dark hair, several piercings, and tattoos popped up in front of Sean and Chad.
“Hi, Sean. You must be the friend. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Bobby said you took orders for my friend. Could you tell me about the men he was with? Did you know them?”
“I hadn’t seen them before. We were busy, so I didn’t look their way much, seemed like every time that I did, your friend was just sitting there. No conversation. Kind of spaced out. I thought about cutting him off.”
“How many did he have?” Chad asked.
“Two double whiskeys and three pints, for himself. In just over an hour.”
“Ouch,” Sean commented.
“You said for himself?” Chad asked.
“Yeah, he bought a half-pint for the suit-man.”
“Who’s the suit-man?”
“He came in about midnight, ordered a half-pint. He stood out in here. We don’t see too many tailored suits. He went over to your friend’s table. Your friend bought him a second one later.”
“How did the suit-man pay for his first drink? Credit card?”
“No, cash.”
“Could you describe him?”
“If he were a Brit, I’d say he was dressed as a proper gent. Average height. Average face. Average black umbrella. I wouldn’t want to be mean, but his face was narrow and he had large ears. Kind of weasel looking. A mustache, too.”
Chad hadn’t thought about an umbrella. If Henry carried one, it could have blocked his view crossing the street.
“Did my friend have an umbrella?”
“Not sure. I didn’t see him come in or leave.”
When Chad pictured Henry with an umbrella, it didn’t fit. It would be too encumbering – an umbrella in one hand and his cane on the other. And Chad remembered that the journals were not in Henry’s room. He would need a third hand for those.
Chad told her what he was thinking. “Come to think of it, he probably didn’t have an umbrella. He needed a cane to walk. An umbrella would occupy his other hand and he was carrying notebooks.”
“A cane?”
“Yes.”
“This morning when I opened up I found a folded cane down in the cushion on that bench where your friend was. I didn’t even make a connection. It could have been there for several days. I got it in the back. Do you want it?”
“Yes, please.” Chad wondered if it should go to the police. If Mary didn’t offer it to them, he wouldn’t either. It was one more piece of an evolving puzzle.
“Sean, can I buy you a pint?”
“I should say no, cause Maggie is waitin’, but then you don’t look like a man that will take no for an answer. Are ye?” He laughed and signaled Bobby for a refill.
It was two more pints for Sean, one for Mary and Bobby, and another for two others who had been there Monday night. By half past twelve, Chad had asked all of his questions.
He was careful crossing the street.
Chapter 20
Five time zones away, Wayne Haskin stood in his southwest corner office on the top floor of his forty-story Fort Worth building watching the sunset. The 820 loop ten miles away curved from the south to the Naval Air Station just a tad north of due west. That was how granddad would have said it.
He smiled to himself thinking of the way his grandfather gave directions. Thoughts of his grandfather were a companion to any sunset. Especially if it might be a winking sunset, as his grandfather called them. Haskin just had to watch. Wait and watch. Today’s sunset had all the characteristics needed. The dry western plains stretching away from Fort Worth created a heat sink as the cooler air blew over it. Dust rose so fine that you didn’t see it but nonetheless it created a filter that changed the white sun into shades of red and gold near the horizon. Haskin marveled at the massive fiery gas ball millions of miles away that now looked like a child’s red balloon pushed flat against the ground and close enoug
h that he could reach out and touch it.
The sun grew larger and wider as if holding onto the day for a few more precious seconds. Then, poof. Haskin saw a brief flash of light. Like a wink. Then, it was gone.
His grandfather showed him the winking sunsets on a camping trip when he was ten, forty-five years ago. Wayne “Boss” Haskin was born in 1900, ran horses, bought land, and drilled oil in the 1930s, creating the family fortune. The camping trip, Haskin learned later, was a rite of passage for him like it was when his daddy was ten.
His grandfather regaled him with stories, taught him camping skills, and gave him a tour of the older man’s younger years. They did the trip on horseback. Haskin, at ten, could ride as well as most ranch hands. He grew up in the city but the weekends and summers were spent on the family ranch two hours west of Fort Worth. Later, Haskin realized Boss had planned this trip as a last hurrah, a ride down a memory trail. Boss must have called ahead and arranged their passage across ranches from south Texas to Wichita, Kansas. Boss had a way of life that he taught to his grandson. If you want it, take it.
Five years later, Boss died. Walter Haskin, Wayne’s father, diversified the business, giving it protection from the fickle nature and price pressures of Arabian oil. Market investments in the booming eighties grew the Haskin fortune but left it vulnerable. Walter Haskin retired at sixty, leaving the business in the hands of his thirty-year-old eldest son, Wayne.
Wayne moved the bulk of the stock holding into bonds and property before the 2000 bear market. He put a sizable amount into backing chip manufacturing and then funded and built a wafer research facility. He brought the best minds and engineers to work there and became the go-to contractor for research projects for Silicon Valley and for the US Military.
WH Industries LLC, named for Boss Haskin and continuing through Walter, then Wayne was one of the richest and powerful, yet quiet businesses in America.
A soft knock on his door turned Haskin from the window as the sun set, the darkness began, and the lights of suburbia Fort Worth blinked on.
“Yes, Kathy,” he said to the prim middle-aged woman at his door.
“Mr. Haskin, we received an alert from the Eye.”
He had tried unsuccessfully for fifteen years to get her to call him Wayne. He also could not break her of calling their data mining software program as the Eye, for eye in the sky, though it resided on a server in the basement and backed up in two other cities. The program looked for any communication that mentioned any of WH Industries’ employees, businesses, suppliers, competitors, customers, or a list of thousands of other relevant words. It also tapped into other public record data sources. Unknown to all but a few employees, it also hacked into some private data bases of airlines, car rentals, and other consumer records. They could track a person’s movement almost as well as some of the alphabet government agencies.
“What did it find?” The question would have been more precise to ask what did it find that I need to know about. The Eye made hundreds of hits a day. A very small team filtered through the information directing the bits and pieces to the appropriate department.
Kathy explained, “There is a press release tonight about a Dr. Clark from the University of Georgia. He died in a car accident. In York, England.”
“I see,” Haskin responded. He sat wearily in his chair.
“The Eye has him associated with Stella Enterprises,” she added. “Did you know him?”
Stella was one of many parts of WH Industries. Stella Enterprises was a research and development company for space robotics and communications.
“We met once. Kathy, can you do a few things for me? I know it’s late.”
“Absolutely. What do you need?”
Kathy was the senior executive assistant. She worked from noon to eight. There were others that covered the earlier times of the day. Haskin could be in the office anytime from six to midnight, depending on what part of the world he was working with that day. Normally though, he worked at home or played golf in the morning and came to the office at noon. Kathy set her hours to be there when he was. One thing Wayne Haskin learned from his father and grandfather was what not to do – don’t let work consume your life. He enjoyed some of the finer things – automobiles, art, and antiquities.
“Can you get me the personal information about Dr. Clark, his family, etc. Send a note of condolence. Find out when the funeral is. I may go. Send a large arrangement from Stella. Also, ask legal, make it George, to pull Clark’s contract and meet me first thing in the morning. Oh, and find Mr. Boyer to let him know. I believe he is in London.”
“I will get things started,” she said as she left.
Haskin didn’t need the personnel file or the contract. He knew them both in detail. As always, he kept an appropriate distance for legal and liability reasons. Kathy could attest to that if needed.
Nonetheless, he needed a new archeologist.
Chapter 21
Archer searched the faces of the arriving passengers. Expecting her shoulder length golden blonde hair to single her out, he was surprised when she appeared in front of him ten feet away. Her blue eyes, as always, seized his attention.
“Chad. Oh, Chad,” she said sadly, letting go of her carry-on, wrapping both arms around his neck, and burying her face into his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Julie,” Chad responded. His stuttering in her presence had finally ended a couple years ago. He felt her sobbing. They stood together oblivious of the sea of people parting around them.
“I’m sorry, Chad,” she said stepping back. “I’m making a spectacle of us.”
Looking into the deep twin pools of blue, he answered, “Nonsense. Come here.” He opened his arms, stepped forward, and pulled her to him once again. “Go ahead and cry.” She did. Her arms tightened, releasing her pent up shock and anger.
Thinking of Henry, Chad remembered a time in Mexico when Doc took the entire dig team from the steamy jungle to the coast for a weekend of R&R. Several of them, Chad included, went snorkeling over a century old shipwreck. He had a vivid memory of the how blue and clear the water was that day. When their boat arrived over the submerged vessel, he was startled by the dark outline of the wreck below them. Julie’s eyes today reminded him of that morning. Beyond the tears, behind the bright blue, he had glimpsed a dark image - her personal shipwreck of hurt, sadness, and sorrow.
Finally, she stopped squeezing. With her hands resting on his shoulders, she leaned back and looked into his face.
“Perhaps you were right that I shouldn’t have come. I kept all of this bottled up on the flight.”
“I’m glad you came. I needed this, too,” he told her.
“I’m glad you are here, Chad. I couldn’t do this by myself. And, Dad would want you here, too. You are… you were, like a son to him.”
“I thought perhaps Jason might have come with you.” Chad left the question hanging.
“No, he didn’t. But, we’ll talk more, later. Let’s go.”
“We’ll take a cab. It’s nine-thirty. A Sergeant Moffat will meet us at the hotel at eleven.” The DCI had left a message at the desk for Chad. They walked out of the terminal toward the taxi stand.
“I’m hungry,” Julie said. “That wake-up breakfast wasn’t much.”
“I was lucky,” Chad said. “I met a nice lady from Cambridge on the flight from Boston. She introduced me to the proper full English breakfast at the airport. My arteries are still complaining.”
“Elderly? What age is that for you? Forty? You look good, Chad.” She eyed him up and down. “You still look so young. Especially, when you smile like you just did.”
“Elderly, like h-m-m-m, she had to be nearly thirty,” knowing she reached that milestone this year.
She punched his shoulder. “You’re a bad man, Archer.”
The brief levity allowed them to reflect quietly in silence for the long ride from Leeds to York.
“If you would like to go to your room and freshen up, I can dash aroun
d the corner and get us some breakfast sandwiches. I’ll bring them to your room.”
“That will be nice,” she answered. “How bad will it be?”
He knew what she was asking. It was on his mind too.
“Julie, I identified Henry for them yesterday. You don’t have to see him.”
“I should. I need to. One last time. I’ve decided to ask them to cremate him here, rather than return the body to the states. It was what Dad wanted. He had prepared me for this eventuality. Dad left a letter with instructions to open at the time of his death. There are other things to do as well.” Her thoughts drifted in silence. Chad remained quiet.
“I contacted the University like you suggested. They are helping me. There will be a press release. Actually, they did that last evening. I contacted a funeral home in Madison. We’ll have the funeral Saturday. Today is Wednesday, right?”
“Yes. What can I do for you, Julie?”
“Can you return with me tomorrow? If everything is wrapped up here?”
“Sure. If we can get last minute flights.” Chad put off the thoughts of the logistics needed.
-------
Balancing two cups of coffee, stirrers, sugars, creamer, and a bag of sandwiches, Chad knocked on Julie’s door.
The lock clicked, the door opened, Chad stood awkwardly, mouth hung open as Julie, hair wet and body wrapped in a towel faced him.
“Come in. What? I needed to shower. Don’t go all teenager- shy on me. Surely, we’re past that.”
“It’s your hair,” he replied, lying, trying to recover. He stepped into her room. “At the airport. I almost didn’t recognize you. It’s shorter and light brown. Why the change?”
She turned her back to him, talking over her shoulder as she padded across the room to the steamy bathroom. “I’m running for office. I’m going for that elderly look that you like. Is it working?” She dropped the towel just as she disappeared into the other room.
“You’re a bad girl, Julie Stuart.” He wondered if she was still a Stuart or was she a Clark once again. Chad took a black coffee, one of the sandwiches, and left.
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