Cale Dixon and the Moguk Murders

by David Dagley

  Cale raised his hand, “Is it all right to take photos?”

  “Sure you can. We don't have a standing policy against it,” answered the guide. “But be careful not to use a flash because it will reflect off the glass casing, and you will not get what you expect.” The guide paused at the end of the hall and stood patiently waiting for people to finish browsing.

  Cale took some photos of some of the silk costumes and a few of the individual knives, trying to focus on the etched symbols on the blades. When he finished, he took a photo of the lengths of the hallway back to the entrance. He let the camera rest against his chest and moved close to the guide, continuing to browse.

  “Does anyone have any questions?” asked the guide.

  No one said anything.

  “Does anyone know who owns the largest ruby in the world?” asked the guide.

  Cale could hear people whispering to each other, and an Asian man stood quietly translating an information card to his wife.

  The tour guide pointed to the last three rooms of the hall, “These rooms are housing precious and semiprecious stones and jewelry from Burma, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand. Some of the pieces are very rare, including some of the largest sapphires in the United States at this time. I'll give you a few minutes to have a look. We'll regroup at the end of the hall where the Cho collection begins.” The guide's heels clicked on the marble as he walked to the end of the hall and stood in an archway.

  Cale watched the people gaze into the cases at the stones. He moved closer to the cases when some people moved on. Cale read the information card, “Moguk stones, Irrawaddy River, Burma.” The stones looked similar to the stones found in the victim's mouth, but Cale couldn't tell the difference between a ruby and a marble. Cale looked into the rose-red color, which seemed to capture light and refract it off some deep fractures that ran through the center of the stones. Cale took a picture of the stones and moved on out of the room to follow the guide.

  Cale entered the archway where the guide stood talking with a woman pointing into a display case and interrupted, “Excuse me, are these all private collections or donated?”

  The tour guide responded, “All that you are seeing today are private collections. Many of them are on a United States tour; some were specifically invited, and others are being housed here indefinitely.”

  “Is there any way to find out who owns a collection or where they came from?”

  “Yes. You would have to be cleared by the curator. Obviously some collectors don't want to brag about their collections because it attracts all kinds of people, including those we don't want to attract. You understand,” replied the guide.

  The rest of the people began filtering into the room and milling around the different cases, reading the information cards and whispering.

  The tour guide stood near the middle of the room and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, early yesterday morning, there was a murder in this very room. An Asian man was found stabbed in the back and through the heart with an Un Jang Do. The knife I have not seen, but I was told of its elegant beauty. It sounds as if it was a ceremonial-style dagger of silver and gold with precious stones mounted in the handle and a sheath that joins the dagger handle to form one artfully crafted uniform piece. There are some similar knives in this case. Some of these knives were made specifically for the Cho family and have unique sayings etched into the blades. The information cards should have an English translation on them for those of you who don't read Hongul or Chinese. There are also some examples with chopsticks attached, some made of silver, and others made of bone, tusk, or ivory.”

  The guide moved further into the room. Cale could now see the fire exit door that he, Martin, and the security guard took to go to the coffee shop next door. The guide continued pointing at different cases and said, “There are also some very old boxes, keys, and other knickknacks, which have mysteries unto themselves. Take, for instance, this case. It is presumed to be a key of solid gold with a Burmese ruby balanced in the eye. This object is the work of a skilled craftsman, and the stone possibly traveled the Silk Road or one of the other trade routes into present-day China, where it was most likely set. Around 450 AD, 800 years before the Cho Sun Dynasty reportedly began, a journal entry portrays an early Merkit family member, a great warrior, who took the key from a slain enemy warrior chief of the Hun, presumably after his return from a campaign in the West. Nothing else has been publicly written, and the key or whatever it is has been a puzzling mystery ever since.”

  The tour group migrated to the showcase to have a look at this remarkable piece of work made out of time. A woman asked, “If it is a key, what does it open?”

  The tour guide smiled and patiently responded, “No one knows. From all the data collected, there's no evidence suggesting the Hun, Mongol, Koguryan, or Chinese had this particular style of metal lock back then, or at least that's what the history books and journals tell us. This style of key was, however, in existence and used by a particular group of people halfway around the world in the Barbarian category. It's my belief that the key is Saxon or, more accurately, made by a jeweler from Saxony, Germany, before they migrated to present-day Great Britain. The Saxons called it a “Girdle Hanger.” The Saxons were one of many Germanic tribes who were displaced by the invading Huns. Just for clarification I would like to take a minute and give an explanation of the Barbarian Hordes. In my opinion, it pertains to this key. Research has shown that the title “Barbarian” is far from the truth. The term originates mainly from Roman documentation about a number of groups who eventually tore apart Roman outposts along the Rhine River and beyond. These Barbarians were forced off their lands by other invaders coming from further East, mainly the Huns. Attila the Hun is one of the most famous, although there is some debate to whether that is his true name. The Huns rode horses all the way from Asia into Eastern Europe. They could accurately shoot their bows while riding at a full gallop, similar in practice to the Native American ways, but the Huns were much more sophisticated. There are very few artifacts of the Huns. Obviously, they traveled light and very fast. The Huns pushed the Goths, the Vandals, the Saxons, and many other Germanic tribes in the only direction these people could realistically go and stay in the same climate range, west. They migrated through the Marian Gap and from the Eurasian Steppe, that is, until they all were stopped by the Rhine River and amassed into, I can only imagine, an unruly mob. It's believed that they became something of a confederation of tribes led by the Vandals. They crossed the Rhine River in the winter of 406, when the river froze over. These ‘savage’ tribes captured, destroyed, raped, and pillaged. Historically, the Huns disappeared with few traces, pretty much the same way they showed up. I think they went home and took with them items of interest, such as this key. The Germanic tribes were masters of metalwork, and while they were destroying cities, they were taking gold and silver articles and reworking the metals—'booty’, if you will. The Germanic tribes didn't seem to see much value in the physical cities they conquered. They burned them to the ground on their way to more treasures and raw materials. Remember, it was the conquered Romans who wrote about their own demise and called their conquerors Barbarians. They, the Barbarians, didn't put the same value on architecture and art, as the Romans had grown accustomed to appreciating.”

  Cale took a photo of the object and asked the guide, “Can I ask you a question about the murder last night?”

  “Sure.”

  “Were you working that night?”

  “Well, yes and no. After the museum closes, that's when I get to do my research. I work out here from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. giving tours and answering the public's questions. That's how I earn the privilege to use the laboratory to do research on different pieces brought in by appointment or reservation. It's the real motivation behind my employment here. I help the museum, and the museum allows me to delve further into my field. Apparently, the murder occurred in the early hours of the morning, and I was long gone by then.”

 
Cale asked knowingly, “Where did you say the murder took place?”

  “Just over there,” the guide said as he pointed generally to a small section of the room.

  Cale nodded and said nothing. He began to take photos of the cases and, more importantly, of the rooms and cameras. He noticed long windows and double glass doors onto a concrete, pillared balcony and took a picture through the doors before walking over to inspect. There were large healthy ficus trees on each side of the doors. He spun around and looked for cameras. There was one camera that spanned the room, plus the hallway in both directions, towards the residence and, in the opposite direction, towards the large fisherman statue. Cale stood behind one of the black urns and successfully hid out of view of the camera. He took another picture of where the victim had fallen through the infrared beam and died. His camera beeped signaling a full picture chip. He pulled out another chip out of his camera case and dropped it. The chip hit the toe of his shoe and bounced under the edge of one of the urns. Cale bent down to look for it and saw something else sparkling. He placed his hand underneath the planter and swept out his chip and two red, cut stones. He picked up everything and placed the red stones inside his pocket and replaced his photo chip. He closed up his camera case and walked away to look at the other displays in the room. Cale looked up, searching for the tour guide, and said to him, “The last king of Siam has the largest ruby.”

  The guide looked confused, “The last king?”

  Cale replied, “It is written, ‘ten kings.’ That's it. The present king of Thailand is the tenth, and I don't think the people of Thailand favor the prince as much as they belong to the teachings of the Lord Buddha or the world of the Nats.” Cale excused himself from the rest of the tour. His steps echoed down the hall as he made his way to the entrance and the staircase to Mr. Madison's office.

  Cale walked up to the receptionist's desk on the second floor, holding his credentials out for the secretary to see, “Good afternoon. I'm Detective Dixon. I'm here to see Mr. Madison.”

  “Yes, one moment. Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea?” asked the receptionist.

  “No thanks.” Cale picked up a Smithsonian magazine, moved over to a couch, and sat down. He began flipping through the pages, glancing at the pictures while listening to the receptionist contact Mr. Madison.

  “He'll be with you shortly,” assured the receptionist.

  Cale flipped to a stop on a picture page of three individual bug-netted canopies, lit and hanging from the limbs of a mighty sequoia. It was just past sunset, and all was still in the photos.

  Mr. Madison entered the reception room, “Good day, Detective Dixon, nice to see you again.” Mr. Madison extended his hand. “Won't you come in, please?”

  “Thank you,” Cale replied as he stood and walked passed the receptionist, shaking hands with Mr. Madison. “I just took one of your tours—really amazing. And your tour guide, John, seemed very well informed.”

  “Yes, John really enjoys his work.” Mr. Madison gestured towards his office door with an open palm. “If you want, I can arrange a meeting between you and John when he's in the lab. It's interesting stuff.”

  Cale walked into Mr. Madison's office, which appeared to be another museum room like the rooms downstairs. His office space was dedicated to the family tree of the building and its occupants over the years. Behind Mr. Madison's desk stood an oil painting of an Asian warrior in bloodstained armor slashing a sword through the waist of an opposing warrior of greater size and heavier armor. Cale couldn't help but recognize the gold object on a chain around the soon-to-be-falling warrior's neck, exposing itself from under the armor. The plate at the bottom of the picture read, “Victory.” A cluster of multiple smaller paintings told more of the painted history. There were three paintings to the right of “Victory” in a row. The first was a painting of three warrior brothers involved in battle, fighting in three different directions against opposing kings, their backs to each other surrounding a chest with a key in the lock. There were numerous keys on the ring. It was entitled, “Sons of Victory.” Moving to Cale's right, the second of the three small paintings depicted the three brothers sitting, in full armor, at a lavish table spread of food and drink. They appeared to be enjoying a feast by themselves. Surrounding them were many bloodied swords and shields, chests of gold and silver, large throne-style chairs bloodied and emptied of their occupants except for their crowns, speared on the spires of the chairs. In the background, the silhouette of an archer showed through a thin paper divider. Cale looked at the title of the painting, “The Bounty.” The last of the three paintings was of one of the three brothers sitting in a throne. His armor was once again covered in blood. A bow and an almost empty quiver hung on the left spire of his chair. From the right spire hung two gold keys on a gold chain, and the red rubies were unmistakable. Crowns lay scattered at his feet. It was titled, “The Spoils.” Cale headed for one of the two chairs in front of Mr. Madison's desk when he noticed the right wall chronologically recorded the building construction projects. As the building grew new wings, the grounds took on a more manicured precision, with ponds and a small pristine shrine at the edge of a latticed tea garden.

  Mr. Madison waited proudly while Cale scanned the walls and mentioned, “Detective Hanna called to let me know you were coming to pick up the box of case-related materials.”

  “That's correct. I should also tell you that I have officially been assigned the case. So for any further information or needs, please refer everything to me.” Cale handed Mr. Madison his card.

  Out of courtesy, Mr. Madison smiled and added, “Congratulations.”

  Cale returned to the wall and followed the pictures of the building phases. Accompanying each construction photo was a picture of the associated offspring of the time. The last family photo was on a balcony above a two-tiered garden maze complete with ladders, stairs, slides, and ropes. Cale couldn't figure out how big it was, but he guessed over fifty square yards. He bumped into a plant living in the corner of the room and turned his attention to his chair and Mr. Madison. “Detective Hanna mentioned tapes and a list of key holders for both alarms and locks.”

  Mr. Madison scoffed, “This box is for you. But it isn't full of prehistoric tapes. That was the nineties. No, Detective, we went digital the minute Southeast Asia could put the parts together for a good price. It's all on disks and memory chips. I assure you, this system is fresh out of the brain tank. What's in the box is much more delicate to give up. Those involved with this museum don't particularly care for people snooping around in their backgrounds or backyards, whichever the case may be. There's a list of U.S. honorary donors, a list of board members, a composite list of alumni and pass holders, and there's our entire list of employees over the last five years, including all contractors, subcontractors, and landscape and maintenance companies.”

  Cale nodded regretfully slow, seeing how much was in the box.

  “Also, Mr. Peck dropped off his report to me this morning. I hope you don't mind; I wanted to read it as well. It's right on top. There are two reports in there; a copy of the one Mr. Peck filled out the morning of the murder and the original report Detective Hanna asked him to fill out separately. My secretary wrote down a list of everything in the box. I have copies, but I'm still hoping to get the originals back when this is all over,” said Mr. Madison.

  “I don't see why not,” replied Cale. “I have a few questions for you before I go. Do you have a few minutes?” Cale pulled out a notepad and a pen.

  Mr. Madison nodded and rocked forward in his chair.

  “Your cameras are motion sensitive, right?”

  “Yes, motion and sound sensitive. If there's a noise, the sensors locate it, and if there's movement, the cameras react, focus, and follow. Its state-of-the-art stuff,” boasted Mr. Madison.

  “Are you aware of any blind spots, particularly in the room where the murder occurred?”

  Mr. Madison folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, “Y
es. I know there are some, but there's no way to get to them. I had a copy of our camera layout put in the box for you. You'll be able to find the blind spots easy enough. The map displays camera projections, and most of them overlap.”

  Cale was feverishly writing in his personally customized shorthand, first letter, first vowel, and all consonants after. It was the only way for him to get all Mr. Madison was saying without asking him to repeat it.

  Mr. Madison watched. As Cale finished writing and looked up, Mr. Madison asked, “Is there anything else you need? Any other questions?”

  “No, Mr. Madison, I think I have enough here to keep me busy for awhile,” Cale said while looking at the box of data. “Thanks for everything. I'll contact you if I need anything further.” Cale reached over Mr. Madison's desk to shake his hand before picking up his box and leaving.

  Cale got to his car and placed the box next to the victim's box of clothing and affects in the passenger seat. He sat down for a moment, staring into his own eyes in the rearview mirror. His door was still open to the parking lot. Cale ran his fingers through Madison's box of manila folders and disks, pulled out the guard's revised report, and got out of his car. He checked his pockets for the recorder Martin had used to record the guard and searched deeper for the coffee shop employee schedule. Cale read down the list and spoke to himself, “Joanna Holmes, 9:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m.”