by David Dagley
The captain of course nodded and began to explain a warning, “You know, Cale, we’re both entering some deep shit here. You are officially a detective again. Your suspension is over and behind you now. Congratulations. But if you don’t solve this case one way or another, you may be offered an alternative position. That may go for me as well. I feel I went out on a limb with you for good reason, but when one murder becomes three…” The captain gave a suggestive pause, “My superiors are going to start nosing around and wondering if we are doing our jobs. They’re going to look at you, and then they’re going to look at me. We need something for them to chew on besides our asses. I want you to write up a report with an outline of the things we do know and answer some of the questions they’re going to use to attack us. We need it where they can see it and take it away with them, rather than sit in my office and query me. It may buy you some time to start tying things together.”
“I will. First I have to go talk to Mr. Madison and find out what the connection is to Mr. Won or the Won family.”
“Okay. Are you still off to Idaho?” asked the captain.
“Yes. I’ll write up an outline on the way to Idaho and try and get a rough draft for you on the way back from Driggs.”
“That’s fine. Let’s hope Stell is a solid lead.” The captain sat back in his chair, signaling the end of the meeting.
Cale got up, headed out the door, and walked briskly to his office.
Victoria had a headset on and was feverishly entering data from a phone call when Cale swept into the room. Victoria could feel the stress as he opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a file, rapidly flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. He set a sheet of paper on his desk as Victoria finished her phone conversation and said, “Thanks for your help. I think I got it all. Bye.”
Cale was impatient and said, “Rayman’s visa number is—”
“Wait. I’m just about up to speed with you. I’ve even got Rayman’s file open and everything.” Victoria finished typing and sat poised, “Okay, shoot.”
“We have to find Mr. Won and bring him in for questioning. He saw me with the knife at the museum yesterday.”
“I don’t have any results from the hotel search yet. I’ll try family members who live in the states under the same name,” responded Victoria with a shrug. “And what about Rayman Stell?”
“Rayman Stell’s visa number is 5778-4916-7092-9551. I’d run a check myself, but I’ve got to go see Mr. Madison and then head to the airport. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. What else?”
“I need to know when and where Stell used it. Also make contact with any small domestic airlines that touch down in nearby cities for activity by Stell. Go back two weeks prior to the first murder and check connecting flights to San Francisco and Oakland for which he might have paid separately in cash. I’m guessing Seattle, LAX, Vegas, Portland, SFO—hell, Montana,” Cale was getting aggravated. “We also need to go back in time and find out more on the histories of both Robert and John Stell. They disappeared and have never been reported deceased, which leads me to believe that they are still out there. See if there are any other family members. I wouldn’t mind some financial information, really whatever you can get. One of the news clippings said the brothers were in the armed forces in or near Seoul, South Korea. If two brothers are in Korea, then there’s a third somewhere. See if we can find anything in their records. After I visit with Stell, if I have time, I’m going to the local public library to dig around in the newspaper and historical archives, if they have such a thing. Do you think you’ll be able to help me on this? I’ll probably call you from Driggs, hopefully, before you go home.”
“Well, Cale, I’m pretty busy, but I can put out some searches right away and see what we get. If we get something, I’ll keep it with me, and you can call me on my cell even at home. How’s that?”
“That’ll work. I think we are going to have to dig deep. If there’s anything, it’s going to be buried,” Cale warned.
Victoria continued typing while she spoke, “Talk about digging deep; Martin made an arrest on the Alison Cooper case on which you did the research. You were right on with the birthday-holiday thing. Bridget Cooper was receiving and cashing checks from Alison Cooper right after Christmas and right after her birthday at the same bank for the last six years. Her bank account had a good size chunk of money in it, enough for them both to get away and start new lives somewhere warm. Martin started surveillance the day of her birthday, and sure enough she came in the door, and a bank teller identified her. Martin has them both on fraud and conspiracy to commit fraud. Good job, Cale.”
“That’s great. Maybe they’ll get a cell together and make up for lost time. It’s also kind of funny that the captain didn’t mention it. He did mention that he’s putting Martin and his favorite pit bull on the second and third murder.”
Victoria sympathized, “I’m sorry to hear that. Nothing like adding a great deal of stress to an already clueless mess. But the captain has a point; just because the murders happened in the same museum doesn’t mean they’re necessarily connected.”
Cale rolled his eyes at Victoria, “They are connected. The same weapon was used in all three murders. And the weapon got put in some pocket and walked out of the museum. I have to go.”
“Cale, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But at the same time, I know you’re on the right track.”
Cale scoffed at himself and said, “There is no track, just a train wreck.”
“Well, whatever path you’re on, I’ll take care of this end, and you take care of your end, and we’ll meet in the middle.”
“See you later.”
“Yeah, call when your have time in Idaho. Hopefully I’ll have something for you. Have a nice flight.”
Cale shut the door behind him.
“If there is such a thing,” Victoria said as she looked down at her computer.
Cale went straight to his Volvo and drove to the museum only to be met by a security guard with his hands out.
“The museum is closed today, sir,” announced a security guard outside the entrance.
Cale showed his identification and asked, “Do you by chance know if Mr. Madison is in his office?”
“Yeah, I think so. Most of the upstairs staff is here today, and a few of the lab staff are in.” The guard waved to another guard inside the entrance.
The guard inside walked over and unlocked the front door for Cale.
Cale passed through, and the guard relocked the door. “Who are you looking for?”
Cale showed his credentials again and pointed upstairs, “I’m headed to Mr. Madison’s office, but I want to look at something first.”
“Yeah, go ahead. He’s in.”
Cale walked over to the museum layout chart, reached down, and pulled out one of the museum brochures from a clear plastic holder. The layout of the museum was printed on the back of the brochure. He put it in his pocket and turned for the stairs.
Cale walked into Mr. Madison’s reception area and was greeted by his secretary, “Good day, Detective. Can I help you?”
“I would like to see Mr. Madison if he has time. It’s rather important.”
“Please, have a seat, and I’ll call and let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks.” Cale turned around and walked an impatient loop around the low table in the reception room.
Mr. Madison stuck his head out of his office, “Detective Dixon, come in.”
Cale walked into Mr. Madison’s office, sat down, and asked, “How’s everything going today?”
Mr. Madison shook his head and held his palms to the sky, agitated, “Well, due to three unsolved murders, we are still shut down. We are paying extra for security, canceling future exhibits indefinitely, removing exhibits that are traveling on to other scheduled appointments. I’ve had to lay off approximately half the staff, and I have no incoming revenue. I’ve had to turn to some of the board members to patch up som
e of the holes in our finances until this all gets cleared up.”
“I’m sorry I asked, and I’m sorry about your financial woes. You’re still getting your paycheck, and so am I, so let me get to the point. I need to know the connection between this museum and the Won family.”
“Detective, I’m sorry if I sound condescending, but weren’t you working as a research assistant when I first met you in the museum with Detective Hanna?”
“That’s right.”
“The Cho family donated the property, and the Won family has been paying for the many construction projects since the museum’s existence. The museum is attached to the Cho estate. If you had read the historical section in our daily program or the monthly brochure or our annual schedule, all three of which thank the members and the donors, you would see their names everywhere. One sentence in particular might strike your interest.” Mr. Madison opened his drawer, pulled out the same brochure Cale had in his pocket, and quoted, ‘Although the spelling may differ, the Won family is historically related to the Jo (Cho) family.’” Mr. Madison spun his chair halfway around and pointed at the large picture behind his desk, “See this warrior slaying a much larger adversary? This is one of the Won ancestors defeating a member of the Cho family. Look closely. Do you see the chain around the slain warrior’s neck and the gold object? That is said to be a source of great power and knowledge. Some say it’s a form of key, some say it’s a coded address to a hidden library of knowledge, and, of course, some people say all kinds of ridiculous things. Not many people on the planet know what it is or does, maybe a handful of family members on both sides. Obviously the knowledge has been passed down from father to son and so forth. Anyway, the Won warrior claimed the object for himself. Not knowing what it was for, he forced a marriage into the Cho family in order to gain the information he needed to use the object. He chose a beautiful noble Cho cousin of pure blood to be his wife and,” Mr. Madison pointed to the next picture, “they had three sons and gained the trust of the Cho family. The Cho family gave him the knowledge he desired. The rest is in the genealogy archives. There have been other marriages over the years, and a tie between the two families has been strong ever since. The museum itself is a cliff note to their tangled ties and other financial holdings around the world.”
Cale commented defensively, “You said you had never met the victim, and yet you know his family history as if it was your own. How can that be?”
“The Won are a very large family. Until recently, I had only met a few of the elder generation. I had never met any of the sons until Mr. Won walked in here and introduced himself yesterday afternoon, and I haven’t seen their father or any of his brothers in twenty or more years. These boys would have been somewhere between five and ten years old when I began running this museum. It was a huge disappointment, very saddening news of a murder in the family. Mr. Won told me that it was his brother who had been murdered, not you or anybody in the department. Mr. Won also brought a letter and a large financial donation from his father, which, I might add, is extremely timely.”
“Maybe too timely, Mr. Madison. It’s good news for the museum about the donation, but do you think the museum would have gotten the donation if there wasn’t a murder, or three, and the museum remained closed indefinitely?”
“Detective Dixon, the museum would have managed without it. And an answer to your question either way is speculation and of no value.”
“Do you know where Mr. Won is staying? I would like to ask him some questions.”
“No. Why don’t you ask your questions when you return his brother’s belongings, or when Mr. Won retrieves his brother’s body, or maybe before he boards a plane with his brother’s body to take home for a proper burial? I hope as a detective and as previously titled, a research assistant, you’ve thought of these possibilities.”
“Mr. Madison, Mr. Won is not taking his brother’s body back; an employee of his family is taking care of the transportation issues now, so put away your condescending bullshit. I have unfinished business with Mr. Won and his family heirloom. Besides a few officers who I trust, the only other two people who knew the knife was here were you and Mr. Won. He saw the knife when he left your office. Then two people had their throats cut by that very knife, and it wandered out of the museum. We already know that the knife belongs to the Won family, and they were going to get it back when the case was over, unless someone needed it sooner than that.”
“You’re speculating again, Detective.”
Cale continued, “In which case, someone else in going to be cut open in the near future.” Cale was beginning to feel the wall Mr. Madison was building up between them. “If there’s anything else you’re not telling me…” Cale shook his head.
Mr. Madison defended himself, “You said it yourself; Mr. Won didn’t know the knife was here until after he and I had spoken. You’re the one who displayed the knife to him on his way out of my office!”
Cale replied in a threatening tone, “I’m beginning to see a conflict of interest for you, Mr. Madison. You can’t answer my questions due to your loyalty to the Won family. I feel that I should warn you at this time about withholding evidence. We may interpret your actions as aiding and abetting or even as a coconspirator. It could make great headlines and be very unfortunate for the museum’s reputation, not to mention your own. I’m sure you are aware of the severity of such an act.”
Mr. Madison stared at Cale, eye to eye for moment, before announcing irritably, “I have nothing to add. Good day, Detective Dixon.”
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Madison. I’m sure I’ll be back, and you better pray I’m not carrying a warrant for your arrest next time.” Cale got up and let himself out of the office.
Mr. Madison confidently barked after Cale as the door swung nearly shut, “I’ll call the museum lawyers and bring them up to date.” Mr. Madison glanced at the door briefly and, behind his swinging shield, he opened the museum address book on his computer, searching for Father Won’s phone number in Seoul, South Korea.
Cale headed for the domestic airport terminal at San Francisco.
—
34
—
Cale drove his rental car up the Stell driveway. He noticed some newspapers in plastic orange bags lying in the road and a box below his mailbox, stuffed full with more newspapers. The ranch house was a faded rustic red color set against a forested hillside with a small pond across from the circular drive. Fruit trees were scattered around the front yard and in bad need of pruning. Ripe fruit lay fermenting below the fallen, brown, rotting withered leaves. Cale drove around the circle and pointed his car back out the driveway. As he looked out over the pond, he decided to take some photos of the area. The house was a simple single-floor ranch style with a broad-roofed front porch facing southwest between two low ridges towards the setting sun. Cale put his camera on the dash of the rental car, walked up on the porch, and rang the doorbell.
A man came to the front door and opened it. A wood-framed screen door remained between Cale and the man inside. The roof made a shadow, blocking out the upper portion of a man’s body. Cale could make out a pair of blue jeans and a white button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He could see up to a man’s chest, crossed by the horizontal roof shadow, and a silhouette of the man’s shoulders and head.
“Yes?”
“Hello. Is this the Stell ranch?”
“Yes.”
“Does Rayman Stell live here?”
“Yes. I’m Rayman Stell.”
“Hi. I’m Detective Dixon from San Francisco.” Cale held up his credentials. “I’m investigating a murder that took place at the Cho Estate Museum awhile back. I was hoping I could ask you a lot of questions and then go away.”
Rayman remained behind the screen door and asked, “Questions about what?”
“For starters, I have some questions about Moguk stones. I hear you’re a bit of a collector.”
Rayman stood silently for a moment before he pushed the
wood crossbar of the screen door open. The door squeaked towards Cale.
Cale took a step back and caught the door as it slowly came towards him.
Rayman followed the swinging door out on to the porch. Rayman stood six-two and in good shape with brown hair and sky-blue eyes. “Please have a seat.”
Rayman pointed to a pair of cushioned wicker rocking chairs and a bleached-wood church pew backed up against the house. “Can I get you something to drink? I’m gonna have a beer. I have tea, coffee, soda, water, booze, or whatever.”
“Actually, a beer sounds great. Thanks,” responded Cale.
Rayman ducked back into the house for a brief moment and returned with two bottles of beer. “Sierra Nevada Pale Ale all right?” He handed one to Cale.
“Sure. Thanks. I have some preliminary questions just to make sure I have the right person in the right profession and all that. I hope you don’t mind.” The sun broke on Cale’s eyes as it dipped below the eave. Cale set his beer down on the porch next to his chair, pulled out a small notepad and a pen, and placed it on the armrest of his chair. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Stell?”
“I buy and sell mostly artifacts and antiques for people who usually have the money but don’t usually have the expertise or the time to leave their jobs. I collect a commission for my services plus either shipping and handling or personal delivery. My commission is commonly a percentage of the overall price of the piece or pieces.”
“It must be fascinating work,” remarked Cale.
“Yeah, I like it.”
“How did you get into the business?” asked Cale.
“My uncle got me interested in artifacts and brokering auction deals, but that was pretty much after my father disappeared when I was young. I’d go with him to auctions and listen and watch. I suppose it was cheaper than paying someone to watch over me here at the ranch house while he’d go away. My high school days were unsettled at best. Later I studied Asian history and gemology at UC Berkeley.”
“So you traveled a lot before going off to college?”