The second bad news came when he learned Archer and Haskin met Sunday night.
The worst news came when he was told Archer flew to Boston on Haskin’s jet.
A phone rang. Muffled. It came from the middle drawer of his desk. Opening the drawer, the Professor removed the burner phone. It was the third call on it.
“Yes?”
“We have Archer’s house and phone wired. His office phone, too. We are still looking for an opportunity to get to his cell.”
“Thanks, Duncan. Anything else we can do?”
“We could put a tracker on his luggage but likely security would see it.”
“Okay. Duncan, we need to know where he goes and who he plans to see. Don’t lose him. So, we should have Lupa ready.”
“Aye, sir. On it. In Boston?”
“No. Israel. That will be Archer’s first stop.”
Chapter 37
Glancing at his watch, Chad did the math. Eight o’clock Boston time – one o’clock Sandy time.
She answered her office phone right away. “Moffat.”
“Hi, Sandy. It’s Chad.”
“Crivvens,” she exclaimed, resorting to her Scottish heritage. “If I knew it was you, I would have let it ring. Don’t want you to think I’m just sitting and waiting to hear from you.”
“I’ll never think of you as easy,” Chad said seriously. He paused. “Cheap, maybe. A chip shop and you are mine.”
“You know that’s not funny over here. I doubt it’s even funny in Boston. Your witty conversation needs some work.”
“I suppose you think you could teach me?”
“Oh yeah. I can certainly teach you things. Maybe not witty comebacks. Hey. I spoke with MacDonald and I probed around about that Good Samaritan scheme. Seems its been catching on in the bigger cities. Over here it has been dubbed the Helping Hands.”
“Great. Good to hear.”
“Not so good. My calls to some of the big city districts were in turn passed on to the Yard, who by chance were just assigned an oversight roll on these crimes. The Yard in turn called my district captain. He chewed on my chief inspector, then on me, and then my CI chewed on me.”
“Ouch. Sorry, Sandy.”
“That’s okay. At least Dr. Clark’s death is an open case again because of suspicious circumstance.”
“Not sure that’s a good trade for what it cost you.”
“Oh well. Guess I’ll stay a detective sergeant for another twenty years. I like York.”
“No I really feel bad.”
“Good, Archer. You’ll have to make it up to me.”
“Alright. Next time I’ll supersize your chips.”
“Funny guy.”
“Almost hate to ask, but could you check the list of Doc’s personal items. One of his journals is missing.”
“Sure. No problem. Now that it is open again, I can get the files.”
“Thanks, Sandy.”
Chad hung up, but before he could leave the room, his cell rang.
“Miss me already?” he answered.
“Always,” a deep voice answered.
“Mac. I thought you were someone else.”
“Whew. Was worried for a moment.”
“Ha, ha. What’s up?”
“The short answer is that when we showed her picture around we got a first name – Patti. Then we got a name on a guy she was hanging with – Slick.”
“Really? What were his parents thinking?”
“I know. Pick you up at three.”
Chapter 38
Archer admired the large and regal estates as MacDonald drove through the affluent Weston area. “I know of the Biskell Chevrolet dealership. I’ve seen ads since I was boy. I wouldn’t connect him with a four or five million-dollar estate. He must have sold a lot of Chevys.”
“Chevys, Fords, Nissans, Toyotas. Hell, you name it and he sells it around Boston. He has something like twenty dealerships.”
“I had no idea. They don’t use his name,” Chad reflected.
“I’m sure they don’t on purpose. If his name appeared everywhere, us common folk might think we are getting ripped off by a monopoly.”
“You’re right, Mac. I would. You said that you and your partner don’t like him? Why not?”
”My partner ran into him on an investigation. Biskell was not even involved. He happened to be with a guy who was. Biskell started to throw around an attitude. Like do you know who I am, blah, blah. He’s connected to some politicians and claims to have the ear of police headquarters.”
“And you?” Chad asked.
“I always regarded him as a sleazy used car salesman.”
“I see. Instinct, not facts.” Chad made the point Mac made to him before.
“Ouch. My own words. Well, I did buy a Chevy from his dealership. A lemon.”
“Good enough reason for me,” Chad confirmed.
“He also does some import business on high end performance cars. Like Lamborghini and Ferrari.”
“There’s a profit margin worth talking about.” Chad did some math in his head. “Some of those cars are probably three or four hundred thousand dollars.”
“Not much in volume, though.”
“True. But still, sell a couple each month at ten percent profit. I could live on that. You say we have an appointment? For a suspect interview? How cooperative of him.”
The detective elaborated. “He thinks we’re coming about the attempt to steal his McLaren 650S today. We’re supposed to let him know where we are in the investigation. My captain called the commissioner and set it up. He’s expecting both of us.”
“I don’t know that car. How much is a McLaren 650S, Mac?”
“Two fifty, two seventy five. Somewhere in there.”
“Damn. Where did the theft take place?”
“Attempted theft,” the detective corrected. “His office parking deck downtown.”
Chad looked at MacDonald quizzically. “Rather a convenient coincidence that today of all days, when you want to interview one of your potential suspects, he experiences a car theft. And, hey, you told me yesterday the interview would be today.”
“Coincidence. Pure coincidence. Worked out nice, huh?”
MacDonald turned into a drive and showed his ID to a camera at two gates before driving up to an eight thousand square foot, five million dollar home.
A middle age man with jet black hair, dark blue jogging pants, white tee-shirt under a light blue windbreaker, and wearing flip flops was waiting for them. He wasn’t smiling.
Mac stepped from the car but before he could say anything, the man nodded his head to the left. “Detective, I’m Biskell. I suppose you want to see the car. It’s this way. He started to walk, assuming they would follow. Exchanging a glance and a shrug, they trailed behind Biskell.
Hidden behind the main house and connected to it by a vine covered enclosed archway was a six-bay garage. Biskell unlocked a door and they entered the large building. The first bay was large enough for two cars. The first spot was occupied by a BMW 6 series Gran Coupe. The second space was empty.
Mac asked, “Your wife drives the BMW?”
“No. That’s mine. She isn’t home.”
Archer made note that the wife got the second parking spot. It said something about the man.
Biskell led them through to the second two-car bay. The McLaren was next to a Ferrari. Archer didn’t know cars, other than by the brand names. MacDonald on the other hand was ooh-ing and ahh-ing like a kid in a candy store reeling off specifications and questions. Biskell reveled in showing off his toys. Archer saw there was almost a smile on the man’s face.
“Sorry, Mr. Biskell,” Mac said. “I should be looking for any damage. The uniforms that responded today reported none. Have you noticed anything?”
“No. Nothing, I’m happy to say.”
“Not even a scratch?”
“No. I looked her over thoroughly. Believe me.”
“They must have been good, then,�
� Mac mused.
“Or bad,” Biskell retorted. “They didn’t get past the motion sensor alarm.”
“Good,” Mac responded. “It would be a shame to mark up this fine workmanship, Mr. Biskell.”
“It’s Brian, detective.” Biskell was warming to Mac. Archer almost smiled at the gushing detective, watching his act.
“Call me Jimmy, Brian,” Mac told Biskell.
“Come this way, Jimmy. I’ve got something to show you.” Biskell was beaming.
They walked through the connecting door to the next bay. Whatever was in it was covered with a tarp. Biskell pushed a button on the wall the tarp was lifted off a bright yellow sports car.
“Wow,” Mac whispered.
“My pride and joy,” Biskell stated with reference. “One of the first Lamborghini Aventadors. Made in 2011.”
Mac gushed even more.
“Jimmy, how about a drink or coffee? Let’s go inside.”
Archer felt the man wanted to show off the house as well as the cars. He trailed the two new best friends.
“Coffee will be here shortly, gentlemen. Let’s have a seat.”
Biskell sat behind his large desk. Mac took one of two chairs on the other side. Both were just slightly lower, maybe an inch, compared to Biskell’s seat. Chad wandered the room, looking at the framed pictures on one wall. All were of Biskell with someone – recognizable, important someones. Biskell receiving a plethora of civic awards. Biskell at a charity dinner. Biskell at an event. The other wall contained shelves of trophies – none looked like they belonged to Biskell. His sons? Chad’s wanderings were bothersome to Biskell. He didn’t have control. Chad could sense it.
Mac led off the discussion, pulling pictures from a file he carried. “Brian, I have some photos, I’d like you to look at.”
Laying them on the desk, he turned them toward Biskell. There were four. All grainy images from surveillance cameras. Chad recognized the picture of Patti from the Southie garage camera. He didn’t show his surprise.
“Brian, these were caught by the garage camera, not long before the attempted theft. Do you recognize any of these people?”
Biskell looked at the photos intently. Chad saw no reaction.
“No. I don’t. Who are they?”
“They’re suspects in a car theft ring. We thought perhaps they targeted you. Maybe you might have seen them tailing you or watching you.”
“No. I haven’t noticed them. Really, detective they look like a sad group to call themselves car thieves.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Biskell?” Chad asked.
“They may be good enough for everyday cars, but not performance cars. Performance car thieves are the elite. They are very smart. They outwit not only the car security designers but investigators as well. Often it’s not even a match.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience, Mr. Biskell.”
“I do, Dr. Archer.”
“What do you mean? Do you steal cars?” Chad asked.
MacDonald let the two of them spar.
Biskell looked like he wanted to say yes. Instead he said, “I could. In my business, I have to know my opponent and how they operate.” He paused. Then added, “Thieves. Investigators. Interrogators. Like I said, it takes a smart person to steal, alter, export, import, and resell high end cars.”
Chad smiled. Then he changed subjects. “These awards on the wall, Mr. Biskell. It’s quite an array of trophies. Baseball, football, basketball, track, and gymnastics. Are they yours?”
“In a way. They were earned by my daughter and two sons.”
“I noticed there are no second or third place finishes?”
“Dr. Archer. There are only winners and losers in life. It should be that way in sports, as well. In everything. Second place is a loser. I wouldn’t dignify a loser by displaying it.”
Mac saw the anger rising in Biskell. They were all distracted by Mac’s vibrating cell phone.
“Excuse me,” he said. “MacDonald here.”
He listened. “Thanks.” He put the phone in his pocket.
“Brian, I think we took up enough of your time. Appreciate you showing us your cars. Really was a treat.”
Biskell let his angry gaze linger another few seconds on Chad. He turned to Mac. “Thank you for taking the time to come here to follow-up. I’ll be sure to pass my thanks, and comments, on to the Commissioner.” The last few words were accompanied by a glance at Chad.
“Oh, one more thing, Brian,” Mac said as he picked up the four photos. He shuffled through them and tossed the one of Patti back down on the table.
“Are you sure you don’t recognize her?” Mac watched for Biskell’s reaction. “Her name is Patti Bertram.”
Mac and Chad both noticed a brief flinch by Biskell.
“Sorry. Don’t know the name.”
“H-m-m-m,” Mac mused. “Thought you might know her. She works for you.”
“Really?” Biskell asked, his mouth set tightly. “Well, I have over a thousand people working for me. I don’t know them all.”
-----
They hadn’t even cleared the second gate when Mac asked Chad, “So, what do you think?”
“About Biskell or you?” Chad answered sternly.
“Me? What about me?” the detective asked innocently.
“You were holding out on me. You knew her name and new she worked for Biskell?”
Mac laughed. “Partly. Our canvassing with her picture found a guy who thought she said she worked at an import auto repair. We had a team looking at auto repair businesses and car dealers who do imports. When we learned that Biskell owns one, European Auto Repair, we sent a detective there. That was him on the phone. He learned that she did work there. He learned her last name, too. He also learned she quit a week ago.”
“Okay. That lets you off the hook a little bit,” Chad agreed.
“Did you see his reaction?” Mac asked.
“I thought he flinched at her name.”
“Me, too. But he wasn’t surprised when I told him she worked for him. He knew that, once he heard her name. He’s our guy.”
“I think you’re right, Mac. I thought he as much as admitted he has some dealing with stolen cars. He feels he is smarter than law enforcement and was throwing it in your face.”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Do you think the blackmail might have been about stealing cars?”
“I do. Imports. I think she found out something illegal that involved Biskell.”
“What do you do now?” Chad asked.
“Now we have a name. An employer. We’ll get her address. Now we have a lot to go on.”
“You said she quit? Is she running? Hiding?” Chad was assimilating the forensic history.
“Don’t know yet. I thought for sure she was dead. I still think so.”
Chapter 39
Archer was busy on Thursday, preparing to travel. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone. Using Doc’s journals as a guide, he knew he would start in Israel, then perhaps to London, and then perhaps to Mexico. Doc went to each of them several times. Chad hoped to reduce that to only one visit.
His first stop was to meet with the Dean of Liberal Arts, to pitch his plan to do a biography of Doc. The Dean loved the idea as a tribute to Henry, a path for Chad to be published, and as a positive statement on Braxton. Chad had decided that each chapter would be one of Henry’s excavations, interweaving science, personal reflections, and anecdotes from his colleagues. He planned to name it Dirt on My Hands.
Chad made ten phone calls while he was packing. One to Boyer to discuss the itinerary. One to Boyer’s designee to arrange the details. Two were to Doc’s contacts in Israel and Mexico. One to Julie. One to Sandy. One to Mac. One to his parents. Two to friends to look after his house and water his plants.
All ten conversations were transmitted through several miniature microphones in Chad’s house, to a Bluetooth receiver planted in the attic and forwarded to a battery-operated satmodem. The
satellite modem delivered the conversations to a recorder in a hidden room in Scotland. A man reviewed these each day. Today’s calls initiated activity. The man relayed the details to his boss, Duncan. Duncan then called Lupa, the wolf, in Tel Aviv. Archer was coming.
Chapter 40
Archer moved slowly with the other mid-day passengers processing through customs at Ben Gurion International. He knew that incoming scrutiny was mostly complete before the plane had even been boarded. Background checks had been done on all passengers using super computers. Still the arrival airport made additional baggage checks looking for weapons and explosives. Outgoing security would be even more intense.
Israel uses screening technology as much as any nation. What they excel at though, Chad had read, was the team of specially trained observers that looked closely at all the travelers and airport employees. The team was part of the armed forces and were scattered around the airport, some in uniform, some at customs, some in plain clothes.
Chad answered the questions at customs. Three days, maybe longer. Business. Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. King David Hotel. Contact – Gaige Mandl, archeologist.
Forty minutes later, Chad was in line at the taxi stand. It was the Sabbath and public transportation was shut down. The taxis that chose to operate had a booming business. Traffic was light and the ride was only fifty minutes to the King David hotel in Jerusalem. Chad had no idea where or when his contact, the rabbi, would meet him. He was told to use this hotel. He knew it wouldn’t be before the Sabbath was over. Boyer had made the reservation and the bill would be charged to Stella Enterprises.
Chad didn’t notice the person behind him in the taxi queue that bumped into him and placed a tracker on his suitcase.
After check-in, Chad fell into bed. He didn’t sleep well on the plane. It was semi-productive he thought. He started working on ideas for the chapters for the book. He wanted to share Henry’s qualities and skills. Lying in bed, more thoughts of Doc swirled in his head. It kept him from sleeping. Or, so he thought. He was still thinking of chapters but realized he was dreaming when the room telephone ring finally roused him ninety minutes later.
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