by David Dagley
Martin huffed, “Seriously, Cale, this is the kind of shit that got you in trouble before. You read way too much into your work. And you've been holed up in that office for too long. Where do you come up with this kind of stuff?”
“I called the Coopers and told them that if they were withholding any information that could help us locate Alison, it might mean jail time for the senior citizens. Mrs. Cooper was feeling no pain and started crying on the phone. When she stopped, her husband was on another phone in the house, and the three of us discussed their ‘second daughter.’ Some of the story I just told you, Martin, was from them. The rest is in the public record books.”
Martin's head was swimming, “They never mentioned her before. It would take a week for one of the secretaries just to gather all the records, finding the adoption agency, their records, the high school records, foster care records, jail records—not to mention digging up something the family has tried to keep quiet all these years. I have way too many cases to deal with and very few people to do the necessary legwork.”
As Martin complained, Cale dropped a small scrap of paper on the pool table for Martin to read. Martin saw the address and the phone number, “Mr. and Mrs. Cooper's address and phone number. I've already got it.” Martin missed his shot.
Cale explained, “My theory and the Coopers’ story are based on facts and taped phone conversations, which I've already added to your case file: the adoption agency, the adopting family, a list of foster families, a copy of Bridget's police record, two correctional facility journals, three therapy reports, even a copy of her high school file, which runs all the way back to first grade. I even added her probation officer's phone number and Bridget's address where she's living today. It's on the back of that piece of paper there. And I didn't break one law getting the information.”
“You're bullshitting me.” Martin picked up the piece of paper, looked at the back of it, and read the address. “You did all this in one day. Impressive.” He walked over to his beer, “The parents live in central California.”
Cale bowed his head slightly, moved to the pool table, and surveyed the scene.
“Where's Visalia, exactly?” asked Martin.
“Near Bakersfield, actually between Bakersfield and Fresno, sort of. And Bridget lives in Salinas, not too far away. I think she has a boyfriend in the Lompoc Correctional Facility,” Cale replied. He pointed his pool cue across the table and said, “One ball off the five ball.”
Martin watched the one ball careen off the five and fall into the side pocket, just missing the eight ball.
“Impressive police work. I'm sorry I doubted you. I thought you were having another acid rain flash back or something,” said Martin.
“Thanks for the compliment, and for the second comment, in the words of our beloved bartender, Barnard, piss off,” replied Cale.
“Thanks. I really mean it. This could be a huge break, you know. This scrap of paper could possibly solve the case or at least hurry us along in the right direction.”
Cale smiled and joked, “That's why they pay me the big bucks. You're welcome.”
“How did you get them to talk about the grandchild who I didn't even know existed?” asked Martin.
Cale refilled his glass and explained, “I began with a hunch then related a story. Considering the situation and Mrs. Cooper's emotional state, I told them that I had a son, and that even though I was a police officer, my son had been tossed in jail a few times. I said I might think I'm doing the right thing by protecting him, but in the long run, I seem to be doing more harm than good. I hinted that I thought they might be in the same situation. The time for them to come clean was right now. Then I mentioned the possibility of jail time they could end up serving. That's when the tongues started wagging, and the recorder picked it all up. I'll bring your file, and put the recording on a disk tomorrow, and bring it to your desk. It's beginning to take up too much room on mine.”
Martin laughed, knowing Cale was exaggerating, “Dix. It's just one file. But thanks again for going to all the trouble.”
“No problem.” Cale chalked up his stick, looking at the table, and joked, “Talk about a lot of stuff left on a desk, look at this table. Five ball, bank, in the corner.” The five ball hit the rail and drifted slowly into the corner pocket.
Consciously, Martin turned the discussion, intending to derail Cale's shot, “And what do you think of this morning's case?”
Martin watched Cale sink the seven ball from another combination with a controlled leave before Cale spoke, “An Asian guy was found stabbed in the back and through the heart with a very expensive knife in an Asian museum. It's the kind of knife that one would find in such a museum. In my mind, there's something to that, like that both the murderer and the victim are eccentric. The building showed no signs of forced entry so far. No exterior alarms were tripped due to our guard, Mr. Peck, and, so far, nothing stolen. The guys’ pockets had been stripped and emptied. He had no identification on him. His wallet may have been lifted or not present in the first place. It appears, at first glance, that the security guard may have unintentionally paved the way for these guys to get in, and for one of them to get out, by turning off the alarms, plus the chain reaction of running around distracting cameras. The assailant was never interrupted in his search—for what, we don't know. The victim had stones in his mouth, which is a deliberate act, and the stones that didn't fit were scattered on and around him and in his blood. It's as if the murderer wasn't interested in the stones or the money. No, he's telling you he's not interested in the stones and money. There was a couple thousand dollars lying around. So what's the motive?” Cale looked at Martin, “Did you notice that the victim's arm was broken?”
Martin shook his head and looked confused.
“The victim's shoes were off. That's also a deliberate act. Do you remember if his laces were tied or untied? ‘Cause if they were untied, then I would assume the victim took them off himself with the intention of putting them back on later. That could mean he was supposed to be there and that he knew the layout of the cameras, infrared, audio system, the works. In haste a murderer wouldn't undo laces nor place them neatly together against the wall; he would just rip them off. But if the Asian guy had snuck in and took them off himself…” Cale stopped talking, realizing he was daydreaming into a case that wasn't his. He swirled his beer and said to Martin, “That's all you need, a case with limited clues and lots of possibilities.”
“Yeah, they were untied,” said Martin, trying to keep Cale focused on the case rather than his pool game.
Cale shrugged, “I don't know, and we won't know until someone watches a lot of hours of Mr. Peck wandering around in fast forward. Eight ball, bank, corner.”
“There should be something to go on between the audio and the visual recordings,” stated Martin.
“I wouldn't count on it. These guys got all the way into the building without being detected and were only uncovered after one was violently killed,” responded Cale. He shot the cue ball. The cue ball knocked the eight ball into the rail where it bounced off and confidently crossed the table. The eight ball disappeared in the darkness of the corner pocket.
Martin cornered his pool cue and moved around the table to rack, “We put the body on ice and notified missing persons with a full description. His stuff is going through the labs right now: fingerprints, fibers, dirt, blood, DNA, everything.” Martin put the balls in the triangle. “Don't you think it's odd that the murderer was still there when Peck checked the guy's pulse?”
“Take a look at it from the murderer's perspective; he almost needed Peck to move around to distract the cameras away from what he was doing. And the guard turned off the exterior alarm. We don't actually know if Peck ever turned the alley exit door alarm back on after he went to the coffee shop. If that's the situation, the perpetrator could have made a quick search, stuffed the stones in the guy's mouth, and followed the guard at least as far as the back door. He goes out, and the cops turn th
e corner and come in,” suggested Cale.
—
5
—
A Korean man, wearing all black, scurried down a rain-stained street in Insa Dong, Seoul, South Korea. He moved swiftly between the awnings like a lonely shadow drifting along the sidewalk being swept by a gusting wind. A whisper of a woman's operatic voice hovered in the chill of the Siberian winds. The sting of tear gas wrestled in the man's eyes and nose. On the main street before him dark-uniformed riot police stood on each side of the road, holding black body shields together like the scales of a menacing dragon. Gray-uniformed soldiers stood silently in pairs along the alley walls, watching flaming piles of debris and the remnants of a quelled march. The Korean man stopped under an awning in front of an art dealer's shop, leaned out over the curb, and spat in the gutter, then turned and rang the entrance bell. The agima, a round, elderly woman, came to the door wearing black satin pants and a colorful, silk, half–sleeve, paisley blouse just covering her stiletto elbows. The man outside the door bowed slightly, removed his shoes, and entered. Smelling the tear gas the agima covered her mouth with her hand and peered out towards the riot police at the end of her street before she closed the door and led the man into the residence behind the showroom. She squawked in the house for her son, and a few minutes later a clean–cut, well-dressed Korean man entered the room. The woman left the room, and the son greeted his visitor, “Hello Lyin. Is everything all right?”
Lyin shook his head and explained, “Mr. Won. I am sorry to disturb you this evening, but I cannot be sure if everything is all right or not. One of your brothers has not returned yet from America. He is overdue and hasn't called as he usually does under these circumstances. Your father sent him on an errand and said he would be home yesterday. I thought you should know.”
Mr. Won looked at his Rolex and asked, “What time was his flight supposed to arrive?”
“He was to leave California at 10:00 a.m. and arrive at 5:30 p.m. yesterday,” responded Lyin. “Do you know where he was going?” “Your father arranged a meeting between your brother and Mr. Stell at the Cho Estate Museum in San Francisco. Your brother left a note explaining his airline schedule.”
“Ah, I remember now. He told me. I'll look into it tomorrow. Thank you, Lyin, for coming over. How's everything at the house? How is father?”
“Your father had lunch with Mr. Bower today. The house and everyone in it are in good health, but the house seems very quiet, sir. Thank you for taking the time to see me. Now if you will pardon me, I should return to my duties and will await your instructions back at your brother's house, if in some way I can be of assistance.” Lyin bowed and turned to leave.
“Wait. Do you have a face mask?” asked Mr. Won.
Lyin shook his head and replied, “No sir. It isn't necessary; the tear gas is almost gone.”
Mr. Won corrected Lyin, “It's not for that. There's a Gobi Desert dust warning for the whole Koran peninsula right now. It's not good for you to be breathing it or walking around in it. It stains and ruins your clothes. Here take this one.” Mr. Won pulled a cotton mask from a drawer, handed it to Lyin, and watched him put it on.
Through the mask Lyin muffled, “Khum sam ni da. A ni kay sa o.” Lyin turned and walked out onto the street, heading for home.
—
6
—
Early the following morning, Victoria answered the phone, “Research department.”
Cale sat at his desk entering data.
Victoria responded into the phone, “Yes, sir, he's right here.” She looked at Cale, “I'll bring him with me.” She hung up the phone, “The captain wants to see us in his office as soon as possible.”
Cale continued to enter data and replied, “Is it judgment day already?”
Victoria smiled, got up from her desk, and moved to the door. Cale closed out his computer and followed Victoria to the captain's office. When they arrived, the captain and two other superiors were having coffee and chatting quietly. Martin was silently sitting on a second desk corner eating a large bear claw pastry.
“Good morning,” Cale greeted the group.
“Hello, Victoria, Dixon,” replied the captain with a nod. “Take a seat, both of you. I'm going to make this as simple as possible. Cale, your suspension isn't officially over until the end of next week, but under the circumstances, it doesn't really matter. We need your services as a research assistant as well as your experience as a detective right now. We're shorthanded, and the workload seems to keep growing. I've spoken with my superiors and with both Martin and Victoria about how best to deal with our situation. Among all of us, I feel we've come up with a compromise. Martin wants to unleash you on the case you went to yesterday morning, and Victoria needs your help as a research assistant. You split your weeks up however you see fit between the two. If it's okay with you, your desk in the research department will be used for both jobs. Share your progress with Ms. Short to keep yourself on track. Seeing that you are adding responsibility to your workload, we're also giving you a pay raise. I am to explain to you that it is not a full raise until the case is closed. At that time, we'll get back to the question of your future title and your whereabouts in this building. Do you or anybody else have any questions?”
Cale asked, “Captain, I have a two-and-a-half-week vacation coming up. Will that be affected?”
“No. You can still take it. You've already been cleared for that. When are you leaving, and where are you going?” asked the captain.
Cale leaned back in his chair and smiled, “I leave in a couple of days for Ko Lipe.”
“That sounds Thai. That makes me nervous,” responded the captain.
“Yes, it's Thai. Ko Lipe is a small island in the Andaman Sea with nice beaches, a handful of European tourists, cheap food, and intriguing Thai gypsies. Or at least it used to. It was hit by the last tsunami. I want to go check it out again,” replied Cale.
“I want to go,” announced Victoria, scratching her forearm.
From the back of the room, Martin jested, “I thought vampires were allergic to the sun.”
Victoria turned and growled, “The only thing I'm allergic to is you.” She continued scratching her arm and raised it towards Martin. “See?”
The captain ignored them both and asked, “Is that it? No more questions?” The captain looked around the room at the faces and continued, “Cale. Here's the file and a box of the man's possessions. The lab has taken all they need for testing. It's all been fiber tested and examined thoroughly, and we're waiting for the results. Take your time with this case. I don't need to tell you, but I'm going to anyway; you're being evaluated as a detective, so keep your nose out of trouble. You three can go.”
Martin, Cale, and Victoria all stood up and headed towards the door when Cale asked, “Captain, has this box been checked out from the lab in my name somehow?”
The captain got up and moved around his desk towards Cale, “Oh, no, it hasn't. It's in my name. Do you mind going down and changing it? I'll call Barbara to confirm. You can pick up the photos at the same time. And Dixon, I want a verbal update and a written report from you before you head off to Thailand.” The captain closed the door behind the trio.
Martin slapped Cale on the shoulder and said, “Welcome back, Detective.” Martin turned right and walked into the cubicle maze.
Cale followed Victoria down the hall towards their office, admiring the swish of Victoria's skirt. Cale made a comment rebounding off of what Martin had said, “Yesterday, I was in a dark bar and had a chat with an old friend who was around when a young Bela Lugosi had his black and white movie debut as Dracula. He called me a ‘bloody vamp.’”
Victoria stopped abruptly at the top of the lab stairwell, turned to Cale, and irritably replied, “Martin's comments are not directed at you, Detective. He wants to embarrass me in front of his pinheaded peers, try to make himself look like one of the guys. He doesn't realize how shallow and selfish he truly appears to others. The only pers
on who doesn't see it is you.”
Cale nodded, “So you like him.”
“Spare me your childish attempts at humor, Cale.” Victoria looked over the cubicle maze to insure there was enough space for privacy and moved as close to Cale as possible, bumping her chest into the box he held with both hands, forcing him to step back as she whispered, “You know darn well who I'm attracted to, and if you don't, then I've underestimated your intelligence.” She turned and stormed off.
Cale stood for a moment absorbing the pain of the verbal slap in the face before he turned and went down stairs to the lab front desk.
“Yes, sir, he's here now. Thank you for calling,” said the receptionist. She put down the phone and looked at Cale, greeting him, “Welcome back, Detective Dixon. The captain said to change his check out and put it in your name, as well as give you copies of the murder scene photos plus all other photos taken. Is that all you'll need this morning?”