Cale Dixon and the Moguk Murders

by David Dagley

  “Oh yeah, all over,” replied Rayman.

  Cale’s heart began to race as he spoke, “And the Moguk stones, do you buy and sell them for clients?”

  “No. That’s a personal hobby. I took a second degree in gemology and kind of grew into it.” Rayman paused suspiciously and asked, “Who was it that gave you my name?” Rayman handed Cale the bottle opener.

  Cale popped off the top of his beer and tilted it briefly. He let out a rasp and replied, “It was more of an inquiry that led me to your name and another gentleman named Bower.”

  Rayman pulled his head back in mild shock, “Bower, the Dutchman?”

  Cale stared at Rayman and nodded affirmatively, “Is that where he lives?”

  “It’s kind of his headquarters. It’s the address given for correspondence and where his clients and associates send payments. Did you meet him?” Rayman asked.

  “No, not yet. You were closer and cheaper to visit. I have a partner working on his information,” answered Cale.

  Rayman scoffed, “Well, let me know when you get any concrete information because I’ve never seen him. I’d like to, but he’s very reclusive. Over the last ten years or so I’ve traded merchandise with him through the Internet and auctions but…” Rayman shook his head, thought about it for a moment, and then said, “Do you mind if I ask you more specifically who connected us?”

  Cale looked out over the pond and then answered, “A jeweler.”

  Rayman shifted positions, turning out towards the sun and crossing his legs towards Cale, while putting his arm over the back of his wicker rocker. He raised his head and looked down his nose, “Oh, which jeweler?”

  “In Burma.”

  “Oh, a jeweler in Burma; that narrows it down.” Rayman paused waiting for more information.

  Cale could see Rayman’s brow wrinkle with curiosity. Cale decided to explain some things before asking any more questions. “Let me start from the beginning, Mr. Stell; there was a murder about a month ago in San Francisco at the Cho Estate Museum. Are you familiar with the museum?”

  “Yes, of course, I’m in the business.” Rayman began peeling the label off his beer bottle while thinking and waiting.

  “A Korean man was found inside the museum with a knife in his back that went through his heart and pierced through his chest just below the sternum. He had a mouth full of Moguk stones and a bunch more scattered around him. It turned out the stones are rare and worth a small fortune. The victim had no identification.” Cale stopped talking briefly and looked at Rayman, who had successfully peeled his label off in one piece and was now just staring at the bottle in his hands. “I found out that you and Mr. Bower had both bought such stones recently. Do you still have you stones, Mr. Stell?”

  “Yes, but that’s really none of your business.”

  “No, it isn’t any of my business, but it helps me clear up a few things. It may clear you of involvement. But then again, you could have more stones since you’ve bought them in the past.”

  Rayman looked up towards the sun, took a deep breath, and asked, “When was the murder exactly?”

  “Sometime in the early hours of November eighteenth.”

  Rayman spoke slowly, “November eighteenth.” He nodded his head, assured and confident, looking directly at Cale, and said, “Yeah, I was either here, or attending an auction on the East Coast, or on one quick trip to Washington DC. Those are the only places I’ve been in awhile. I’ve got a daily planner inside with my appointments and hotel, restaurant and airline receipts, if those would help.”

  “I’d like to see that datebook and check it out, if you don’t mind?”

  “No, I totally understand.” Rayman paused before saying, “Actually, I think I remember reading about this murder in the paper. No alarms were tripped or something like that?”

  “That’s right. Yeah, it was in the news for a couple of days—follow-up stories and stuff.” Cale thought back to the front driveway full of unopened newspapers.

  Rayman stood up and asked, “Besides being a suspect, did you have some real questions for me, or did you fly all the way from California by yourself to have a beer and then take me in for further questioning?”

  Cale smiled and relaxed, “At the moment, you’re not really a suspect. I was hoping you could be of some help. I have more questions and possibly some photos with which you might be able to help, but I would prefer to go through your datebook first to alleviate all suspicions. Then I’d feel more comfortable with the rest of my questioning.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll get my datebook and some other things that might help,” Rayman said as he reached out and took Cale’s empty beer bottle. “That went down quick.” Rayman turned with a smile and went inside.

  Cale heard him throw the bottles in with others before the refrigerator opened and closed. Cale looked over his shoulder through the window from where he sat. He could see Rayman’s silhouette moving towards a desk to the side of the living room and stooping over to peel through what looked like files in a drawer. In the background, four warrior masks hung on the wall. The wood was cut into dark brown elongated ovals with fierce shelled and feathered faces silently barring three-inch wild boar tusks for teeth.

  Rayman walked out with his daily planner and a manila folder and handed it all to Cale.

  Cale set his notepad on the planner and began jotting down Rayman’s information, a hotel name in New York, and two restaurant names off of receipts pulled from the manila folder. Cale asked, “What were you buying at this auction in New York?”

  “It was a four-foot mask/shield from Papua New Guinea. The maker used his own hair on the face of the shielding mask—to bring it to life.” Pointing down, he continued, “If you look at the bottom of the page, you’ll see a list for items bought on the particular day, their costs, and how I paid or traded for them.” He pointed at another column in the folder. “These are all the flights I’ve taken over the last year. I get a tax write-off with them, and my clients eventually pay for them, so I like to keep pretty accurate records.”

  “That makes sense.” Cale ignored the tax infraction for the moment, looked over the list of flights, and asked, “Do you mind if I write a few of these down?”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you being so open about all of this. Maybe you could look at something for me and tell me what you think.” Cale reached into his pocket, pulled out two Moguk stones, and showed them to Rayman.

  Rayman reached for them and asked, “Did you buy these in Burma?”

  “No. I found these under a black urn at the museum.”

  Rayman nodded to Cale as he looked at the stones and asked, “When were you in Burma?”

  “Quite recently.”

  “You still have a serious tan.” Rayman rolled the stones around in his hand, adjusting them. He left one in the center of his palm, and the other he moved to his fingertips to help it towards the sun, which was about to disappear behind a weather front.

  Cale watched Rayman as he looked through the stone the same way all the other jewelers did and asked, “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s going to snow.” Rayman watched the luster of the stones fade as the sun disappeared and concluded, “They look like high quality, but I couldn’t tell without the proper tools.” Rayman handed the stones back to Cale. “Why were you in Burma?”

  “I went to Thailand for a vacation and had time for a little work, as well. I made some random inquiries in Bangkok. A jeweler there took a look at the stones, drew me a map, and sent me to four jewelers in Mandalay. Rather than me waiting around and bringing attention to them, I went up onto the Shan Plateau with the goal of getting to Lashio, but I turned around at Hsipaw after witnessing and hearing so many military atrocities against the Burmese ethnic groups. I felt like I was always being watched or followed all the time—almost spy-like. There seemed to be two sides; either you were part of the Tatmandaw problem or you were part of the suppressed solution. The jewel
er in Mandalay was making some jewelry for a Dutch couple when I arrived; earrings, necklace, and a ring for each of them with Moguk stones they had acquired. I didn’t ask how. They were big ones, though, as big or bigger than these here. Somehow the Dutch couple got picked up by the Tatmandaw and were interrogated, tortured, and later killed and left in a ditch. The Tatmandaw was the investigating party, so nothing will ever come of it. The jeweler and his family are on the run now due to the Dutch, not knowing what they said and all. The jeweler told me of different groups that had bought Moguk stones in the recent past that fit the volume description. There was a Laotian co-op, a Russian cartel, two Chinese families, a South Korean family, Bower, and you. Out of them, you were the only American. At the time the jeweler thought that maybe I was in danger of being arrested due to the Dutch couple and should leave Burma quickly and quietly. They sent me to Enle Lake to meet a trekking guide, who took me off the beaten path to Rangoon. The trek was an incredible journey, truly beautiful. I was amazed at all the opium still being cultivated. Most of it seemed to be grown by the local villagers, but the real money went to the Tatmandaw and the government via payoffs or sale across the borders to China, Laos, Vietnam, and anybody who wanted to buy large quantities.”

  Rayman smiled and said, “The opium trade is alive and well in Southeast Asia. Did you participate?”

  Cale smiled back and said politely, “I’m sorry, that information is confidential and does not pertain to this case—and is none of your business.”

  Rayman smiled and replied, “Fair enough. On that note, I’m going to close up the barn in the back. I’ll just take a few minutes, and we can resume this conversation inside. Do you mind?”

  “No. Actually I should make a phone call back to my partner in San Francisco, and it should take about the same amount of time. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Cale handed back Rayman’s planner and manila folder and walked to his rent-a-car.

  Rayman stepped inside to drop off his paperwork on a table near the door, then turned, walked the length of the porch, and dropped out of sight around the corner.

  Cale reached his car and sat in the passenger seat with the door propped open. He flipped open his phone and hit speed dial for Victoria.

  “Research.”

  “Victoria. It’s Cale. How’s it going?”

  “Good. I’m still receiving searches as we speak. I’ve got a few things for you. Hang on a second.” Victoria sifted through a loosely stacked group of manila folders and pulled one out while explaining, “Not much on Bower, yet. Two of the Stell brothers were stationed in the same camp for one tour in South Korea. John Stell did a second tour at the same camp. He also did a short stint in the brig for a bar fight with a higher officer in an area called Iteawon. The report states that the higher officer provoked Stell by insulting a Korean woman Stell was with and apparently seeing on a regular basis. Iteawon was close to the military base, and a lot of the men recreated in the area when on leave. Robert Stell, Rayman’s father, had very little in his record. Both were low-ranking officers at the same base for four years, which is apparently unusual. Robert married his high school sweetheart six months after he returned. Four years later John applied for a marriage license a week after he returned, but didn’t get married in Idaho; he got married in Vegas to a woman named Ji Tun, probably Korean.”

  “How do you know Robert and his wife were high school sweethearts?”

  Victoria gave a patronizing sigh before she explained, “Because their records show that they went to the same high school, and Robert went into the marines out of high school and got married six months after he returned, which didn’t leave him much time for dating, courting, or other meaningful relationships.”

  Cale changed the subject still looking for something simple to help him find a direction for his questions to Rayman. Cale replied, “You said two of the brothers?”

  “Private Ryan Clause and all. The third brother, Kevin, got to stay home and go to college, only to be involved in a plane crash at sea three years after John Stell returned from service. The wreckage of the plane was found, but no bodies were ever recovered.”

  “How about John’s wife? There hasn’t been any mention of her in any of the news clippings.”

  “Like I said, she may have been Korean and not able to write in English. I’m guessing. I’ll keep trying on that,” replied Victoria.

  Cale looked out towards the porch, making sure that Ray-man wasn’t within earshot, “And Rayman’s credit card activity?”

  “All’s well there. His latest activity is an airline ticket to Dulles, Washington DC, a little over a week ago. He pays on time. He bought an airline ticket to New York at the airport and signed for his room at the hotel in New York. Everything looks pretty normal. I’m still working on the Stell ranch account balances. It appears that the Stells have a family accountant who lives in Washington DC handling the estate. All bills go to an 1860 Euclid Street address. I tried to reach the accountant’s office, but they were already closed, and I got a generic phone message. I’ll call them again tomorrow. I wish there was more for you. Are you coming back tonight?”

  “Yeah, I should arrive around midnight. Speaking of flights, Rayman has a Visa receipt here that says he flew to New York on the seventeenth and returned on the twentieth of November; could you just double-check that for me?”

  “No problem. Is your car at the airport? If not, I can come and pick you up.”

  “Yeah, my car’s there, but thanks. And Victoria…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you’re my boss and all, but I was wondering if I could take you to dinner when this is all over. Would that be all right?”

  Victoria silently laughed and in an exaggerated sultry whisper said, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Yeah, as long as you don’t sue me or put me up on fraternizing charges.”

  “Well then it’s all right… Good night, Cale.” Victoria clicked off her headset and could now hear the fax machine as it sputtered and buzzed.

  Cale hung up. His phone beeped and signaled “Low Battery.” It was beginning to snow. He sat for a minute and flipped through the photos he wanted to show Rayman. Satisfied with his collection, he closed the folder and headed back towards the corner of the porch to go into the back and find Rayman.

  Cale got to the corner as Rayman came from the back of the house. Rayman jumped back, exclaiming, “Jes-sus! You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry about that,” Cale said, apologetically, smirking.

  “Well, did I check out, or are we going for a ride down to the station?” asked Rayman with a knowing smile.

  “I’m happy to inform you that everything checks out, so far,” Cale said with an affirmed head nod of skeptical approval.

  “So far?” Rayman returned.

  “There are always loose ends until the facts are all in and the case is solved.” Cale saw raised goose bumps on Rayman’s forearms. “You look cold.”

  Rayman looked up at the sky, watched the snowflakes drift effortlessly down to the ground, and said, “A little. It’s below thirty degrees, and it’s beginning to snow. Do you want to come in and have a cup of tea?”

  “That sounds good,” replied Cale.

  Rayman turned in front of Cale, moved onto the porch, and headed for the door. He half turned and glanced at Cale’s folder, “Are those the photos?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rayman pulled the screen door open and unlocked his front door.

  Cale inquired, “Do you usually lock the front door when you’re out back in the barn?”

  Rayman eyeballed Cale and said, “Detective. If you’ve done your research like I expect, then you know I’ve lost my mother to a foreign poison. My father disappeared a long time ago, and my uncle vanished while I was away studying in California. I don’t like people around here who I don’t know or can’t see. Besides the fact that I deal in collectable artifacts, which are usually rare and rather expensive, I would hate
to lose a valuable piece to some redneck punk kid who wants to ignorantly take something out for target practice. It’s become a habit.” Rayman opened the door and walked inside, “Welcome to my little museum.” Rayman flicked on a light switch. Track lighting lit specific spaces around the living room.

  Cale followed Rayman inside and looked around. A group of large, brightly feathered iron and wood spears leaned in one corner. Small teak masks lined part of the adjacent wall, accompanied by ivory sculptures and two encased Renaissance paintings. A miniature gold Buddha sat at the foot of a pair of Elizabethan chairs. There were showcases of everything from butterflies to exotic stones. An intricately carved Chinese shrine cabinet stood near another corner with a small arsenal of colonial rifles and primitive crossbows with sinew drawstrings still intact, leaning against the cabinet. While Cale stood near the middle of the room, Rayman opened a floor safe below his desk and carried a large metal thermos to a worktable with lights and motorized filing and cleaning wheels on it. Rayman placed the large metal thermos at the end of the table and turned on the light.

  Cale walked over and watched.

  Rayman opened a drawer, laid a white cloth on the table, and poured out a large fortune in red rubies, saying, “I think the Moguk stones you showed me earlier come from the same place these do. May I see your stones again, please?”

  Cale set his folder down, reached into his pocket, and said in awe, “Have you ever considered a double steel door, bulletproof glass, and bars on your windows?” He pulled out the Moguk stones and set them on the brightly lit cloth.

  Rayman laughed. “No, too obvious,” he replied as he sat down and pushed one of his stones next to Cale’s. “They’re identical in size and color.”

  Cale could see the similarities as he watched the stones sparkle under the light.

  Rayman’s thoughts were raging as he separated the two stones with tweezers. He inserted a monocle magnifying glass in one eye socket and picked up Cale’s stone, bringing it close to the light.

  Cale watched Rayman inspect the stone and thought to himself that none of this would have happened had he not randomly met Yongyot, in Bangkok. Gratitude was due. Cale spoke slowly, “Ever hear the name, Won?”