Cale Dixon and the Moguk Murders

by David Dagley

  On the way to the airport Cale impulsively made a call.

  “Driggs police department. Officer Barnett.”

  “Officer Barnett, this is Detective Dixon from San Francisco. Is your captain available?”

  “Yes. Just a minute and I’ll patch you through.”

  “Yeah, this is Chief Mathews.”

  “Hey Chief, this is Detective Cale Dixon from San Francisco. I’m in Driggs at the moment, and I just left Rayman Stell’s ranch house. I think he’s got himself into some trouble, and I was curious if it was possible to send a car out there to watch the place for a night or two?”

  Chief Mathews replied, “Ah yes, Detective Dixon. Your captain called to let me know you were in the area. Is Mr. Stell a suspect or a victim?”

  “Honestly, Chief Mathews, I don’t know. Are you familiar with his family background?” Cale asked.

  “Oh yeah. The poisoning, and the disappearances, and all. Yeah.”

  “Right. It’s just a precaution I’d like to take if you have the manpower. I’d do it myself, but I have to catch a flight back to San Francisco.”

  “Is this related to the disappearances of his father and uncle?”

  “I don’t know that either, but it may be,” confessed Cale.

  “All right. I think I can manage to send a car out there on the next shift change if you think it’s necessary,” agreed Chief Mathews.

  “Thank you, sir. We’ll be in touch. Bye.” As Cale hung up his phone, it began beeping at him and again flashed ‘Low Battery.’ He looked at his watch and counted back the hours to San Francisco. He wanted to call Victoria about Monica Won Stell, but Victoria would be gone by now, anyway. Cale tossed his phone on the seat and drove on.

  —

  35

  —

  Lyin drove down the road following in the slushy dark tracks of a police car ahead of him. Police made him nervous. To his left a half-cultivated hayfield of tall golden grass stiffened beyond a wood post, barbed wire fence. Lyin could barely make out the large rounds of hay ready to be moved to the storage shed. Along the fence, the stalks of grass were bent over, burdened with freshly fallen snow. Large snowflakes flashed in his headlights and stuck to his windshield wipers. The right side of the road was an up slope, forested with pine trees. The limbs of the trees were beginning to turn white with snow accumulation.

  The police car’s rear right signal began blinking red, and then the brake lights lit up Lyin’s face as the officer pulled his car over at the entrance of the Stell driveway. Lyin watched in his rearview mirror as the officer turned down the driveway and turned off his lights. Everything went dark in the rearview mirror. Lyin drove on while glancing down at a map of the area. He noticed a back road that connected to a parallel state highway only a few miles away, which circled around behind the Stell ranch.

  The snow made a slight rasp underfoot as Lyin walked with a knapsack and a flashlight through the trees until he saw the dim lights of the Stell house. He turned off his flashlight and put it away while he walked up behind the barn and peered around the corner. He could see the police car parked in the driveway and the silhouette of the officer’s upper body in the driver seat. The radio display glowed blue-green on the officer’s face as he sat looking down, doing some late police report. Lyin moved silently to the living room window and saw Rayman watching a movie with a cat in his lap.

  The cat was looking at Lyin with its ears perked up and its tail racing back and forth.

  Lyin backtracked around the house to the blind side of the police car and moved at a diagonal as he crept closer. When he reached the trunk of the police car, he knelt down out of sight, opened his bag, and pulled out a bottle of ether and a rag, which he soaked with out-stretched arms. Lyin crawled underneath the side mirror view, reached in the partially open window, and grabbed the officers’ face with the soaked rag. He forcefully held his head against the inside of the car while the man struggled and tried to reach for his gun. The ether took effect before the officer could unlatch and draw his gun, switch off the safety, and figure out how to get a clear shot off. The officer slumped over in his seat. Lyin opened the door and pushed the officer towards the passenger side, laying him down with the rag of ether near the policeman’s face, knowing it could possibly kill him if it was too close. Too far away and the cop would wake up. Lyin took the officer’s gun and put on the officer’s cap. He sat motionless in the driver’s seat with the window down, glancing at the house to see if Rayman had heard anything. There were no signs of movement. The snowfall seemed to have suppressed all noise.

  Lyin poured the rest of the ether on the rag, dropped the empty bottle in the car, and rolled up the window. Still wearing the officer’s cap, Lyin made sure the safety was on and put the gun in his pocket, then opened the door and stole off into the night. His tracks were already filling in with snow and disappearing. He tried not to step in the same tracks as he returned to the edge of the house. When he got to the corner, he took a piss in the snow. If Rayman came out and saw the tracks, he would think it was the police officer relieving himself and probably stop his brief investigation. Lyin zipped up, cut the telephone line, opened his knapsack, and pulled out one-gallon milk jug of gasoline. He began pouring it on the siding as he moved around the house until he was at the corner closest to the barn. He put the jug on the ground and retrieved another one out of his pack. He continued pouring it on the siding as he neared the porch and the living room window. As he emptied the jug on the front door, the front porch motion sensor light went on. Lyin dropped to the ground and lit the door on fire. Flames engulfed the front door and screen and raced around the building five feet high. Lyin ran off the end of the porch and hid in the bushes. He pulled out the police officer’s gun from his pocket, switched off the safety, pointed it at the front door, and waited for Rayman to come out of the burning building.

  —

  36

  —

  Cale walked into his office half asleep. He set his briefcase down behind his desk and headed for the kitchenette to start some water for tea and coffee.

  Victoria burst in the door, excited and half in a panic, “Cale?” The door bounced on its hinges and briskly closed on its own as she moved through the office.

  Cale stood in the entryway of the kitchenette, “You almost broke my nose.”

  “Cale! Oh, sorry! What’s wrong with your phone? I tried to call you back yesterday while you were at the Stell place.”

  “Oh. The battery ran out, and I didn’t have a chance to recharge it. What’s up?”

  Victoria took a deep breath, “After you gave me Stell’s flight details, I had the airline confirm the information. The airline called back about a half an hour later saying that, yes, Rayman Stell bought a ticket with his Visa card at the airport, but he never got on the plane. When you buy a ticket at the airport, they also confirm you on the flight at the same time. His seat would have been empty, and the stewardess would have a minus one head count. They would have paged him. The flight was full, and there were people on standby. So the airline refunded his purchase and resold his seat. He has a receipt for a flight to New York, but he didn’t fly to New York!”

  Cale moved to his desk, picked up the phone, and asked Victoria, “Do you have the phone number of the hotel in New York?”

  “Yeah, hang on. It’s area code 212-807-8228.”

  Cale dialed the number, and while he waited, he told Victoria, “The Won family and the Stell family are related through John Stell’s ex-wife, Won Ji Tun. It turns out she was pregnant when she filed for divorce. She might be the person who changed the etchings on the knife, maybe as a message to her family. Then Ji Tun, in the old custom of ending pain for all, committed suicide, but not before giving birth to a baby girl, Monica Won Stell, who is the Stell family accountant in DC. That’s probably why you’re not getting any response.”

  Victoria wrote down Won Ji Tun’s name and stated, “There’s another loose end tied off. I’ll check her out.�
��

  “They’re also major contributors to the Cho Estate Museum. It’s in honor of the other side of their family ties. It appears that the Cho dynasty lives.”

  “Hello, Squire Hotel reception. This is Trudy. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, this is Detective Dixon in San Francisco. Is there a manager on at the moment who I can talk to?”

  “One moment, please.”

  Cale asked Victoria, “Who did you talk with yesterday at the hotel?”

  “Head of security. Let me look through my notes.”

  “Hello, this is Dillon Harper, the manager. What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “Hello, Mr. Harper. This is Detective Dixon calling from San Francisco. My partner, Victoria Short, called your hotel yesterday inquiring about a guest of yours, a Mr. Rayman Stell. Can I speak to your head of security?” Cale looked at Victoria as she flipped through her notes.

  “Head of security, Mr. Cummings.”

  “She spoke with Mr. Cummings,” Cale quickly relayed over the phone.

  “Mr. Cummings. Hang on a second, and I’ll see if I can reach him in his office. I’m going to put you on hold. If he’s in, I’ll transfer you.”

  “Thanks.” Cale sat down and waited.

  “Hello, Mr. Cummings here.”

  “Hello, Mr. Cummings. This is Detective Dixon calling from San Francisco. My partner, Victoria Short, head of our research department, called you yesterday inquiring about a guest of the hotel, a Mr. Rayman Stell from Idaho. Do you recall the conversation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there someone there that can identify Mr. Stell, maybe at the reception desk where he signs his credit card or a maid perhaps? It’s very important.”

  “I’d have to check the records, and see who was working at the time, and make some phone calls before I get back to you on that. It shouldn’t take too long. I can also go through the lobby camera file.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Most everybody that stays at the hotel or visits our guests has to come to the reception desk. We have a camera that films the receptionist and anybody standing at the counter. We keep the film clips for one year, then erase them and start over.”

  I need you to fax me a photo of Rayman Stell. His Visa receipts say he was there on November seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth. I also need some other form of confirmation, if someone remembers what he looks like. Can you take down my fax number here at the department and send me whatever you dig up?”

  “I can sure try.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Our fax number is 1-415-788-7000. And you already have our phone number; is that correct?”

  “Yep.”

  “Just ask for Victoria Short or Cale Dixon. We would really appreciate it.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can get for you. Is it okay if I send the fax later this afternoon or tomorrow morning? It really depends on who is still working in the housekeeping department who was here then. And right now, I have an appointment with a guest requesting a security team for the penthouse suite for the next couple of days. I’m supposed to be meeting my guys after that to brief them on their detail.”

  “I understand. That’s fine. As soon as possible is preferable. Thanks for your help, Mr. Cummings.” Cale hung up the phone and moved towards the door. “Vic, could you make a reservation for me to go back to Idaho? I have to see the captain.”

  “I already did a couple minutes after the airlines called me back. I talked to the captain, and he told me to call the Driggs police. They said they already had someone out to watch the place until further notice. Your flight is in three hours.” Victoria thought for a moment before asking, “You can’t arrest him yet, can you?”

  “I can hold him for seventy-two hours without a charge. I don’t have anything on him, even if he didn’t show up at the hotel. He may have lied to me, but that’s not even a misdemeanor. He’s either buying time or hiding something, but unless I uncover what it is or can somehow connect him in some way, I’m toast. I’ll bring him in for questioning. I have to go back there and talk to him again.” Cale closed the door behind him and headed for the captains’ office.

  Cale saw Martin in the captain’s office and knocked.

  The captain waved, and Cale walked in, “Hey Captain, Martin.”

  “What’s up, Dixon?”

  Cale sighed and explained, “I went to Idaho and spoke with Stell. He may be involved, but I don’t know exactly what the connection is yet besides the fact that the Won family and the Stell family are related through John Stell’s ex-wife, who had a daughter, and then the wife committed suicide. I also think she’s the one who changed the markings on the blade of the knife. I spoke with Stell yesterday while Victoria confirmed his Visa activity and dug around in the family history. Everything seemed on the up-and-up when I left his place yesterday. While I was flying back, the airlines called Victoria with information that doesn’t fit what he told me. For instance, he said he was in New York attending a two-day auction around the date of the first murder. I saw the Visa receipts for the airline ticket to New York, the hotel where he said he stayed while attending the auction, even a short list of items he supposedly bought at the auction for a client. But the airlines called back and told Victoria that yes, he bought the ticket with a credit card at the airport, but never got on the plane, and they resold his seat. We just got off the phone with head of security at the Squire Hotel in New York, and they’re going to try and find a picture of him and a confirmation that he stayed there and fax it to us. My point is that if he doesn’t get on the plane, then he doesn’t stay at the hotel. Then he lied to me, and the records he has at his house are bogus. Victoria already spoke to you about me calling the Driggs police requesting an officer be sent out to the ranch house to watch him and the place while I get back there and find out more. Is that all right with you?”

  “Dixon, you be careful. If he has committed a murder or multiples, what’s another one,” the captain warned. “I suggest you keep the Driggs officer there with you while you’re in talking with Stell. Have the officer take Stell down to the station for questioning for you. Unfamiliar surroundings could help you more than hurt your chances at this point.”

  Cale nodded in agreement and added, “I’m going to try and hold him for seventy-two hours.”

  “That’ll either piss him off or scare the piss out of him. I hope you’re getting close to something here and not just tacking on airline miles,” said the captain.

  “Oh, there’s something there. With the connection to the Won family and the Stell family history—one death by poisoning and two disappearances in his family—he’s involved in something. He has identical rubies to the ones found in the victim’s mouth in a floor safe at his house. I saw them. He’s close,” assured Cale.

  “Then go to it and make sure the Driggs police department is involved,” ordered the captain.

  —

  37

  —

  Six inches of fresh snow had fallen in Driggs overnight. By the time Cale tried to turn into the Stell ranch driveway, the snow had been melting, and the driveway was blocked by two fire trucks and two policemen. Cale pulled over and parked on the side of the road. He noticed two news vans parked directly across the street, pointing their cameras at the house. He got out and walked towards the ranch house. A police officer put his hand out to stop him. Cale stopped and pulled out his badge and credentials, and the officer let him through. One of the camera crews took photos from the road and filmed Cale passing through the police barrier. The air was filled with the smell the damp carbon ashes. The house had been burned to the ground. Some spots were still smoldering after a deluge of water had suppressed the flames and cooled the melting metal and glass. A few firemen were putting their gear away and rolling up hoses from the middle as Cale walked passed. The local police had taped off the burned house and were taking photos of the site, concentrating on some particular areas. Cale walke
d up to two police officers and asked, “Is there a police officer in charge here?”

  “Yeah, Chief Mathews, he’s standing next to the photographer there in the site,” said one officer, pointing into where the house used to stand.

  Cale didn’t enter the tape, but flashed his badge in the direction of the chief and the photographer and introduced himself, “Hello, I’m Detective Dixon from San Francisco. May I enter?”

  Chief Mathews waved Cale into the scene.

  Cale looked at the burned-out living room area, watching his step as he moved towards where the two men were standing.

  “Detective Dixon, hi. Chief Mathews.” The chief reached out his hand.

  Cale did likewise and replied, “Hi. Wow. I was just in this house yesterday. What happened?”

  “We haven’t determined the cause of the fire yet, but it appears to be arson and started outside the house. We have someone on it,” said Mathews pointing to a man picking up samples outside the building foundation and putting them in individual vials and baggies. “You requested an officer out here last night to keep an eye on Mr. Stell?”

  “That’s right. I need to ask Mr. Stell some more questions about a murder case I’m working on in San Francisco,” replied Cale.

  “I’m sorry you had to come all this way for nothing. Rayman is involved in a death right here.” Chief Mathews pointed in the direction of the photographer, who was taking shots of a partially charred body, face to one side. “His own.” The chief sighed and continued, “The fire department got a call early this morning that the Stell house was on fire. We tried to confirm the information with the officer we sent out to watch the place, but he didn’t respond, so we sent out another car to check on things. Our officer was found unconscious in his patrol car. He says he was grabbed from outside his vehicle and forced to breath through a cloth, and it knocked him out. A soaked cloth was near his face when we found him. Whatever was on it kept him down and out until we moved it away from his face, probably ether, by the smell of it. He’s at the hospital now getting his head examined. By the time the fire trucks got here, the house was ablaze, and no one entered because all the walls were on fire and the integrity was questionable. The firemen saturated the roof and busted open the windows to get water inside and yell in for survivors. Then the roof fell in. The center beam landed directly on Mr. Stell’s lower back. Once the firemen got in here, they pretty much destroyed the scene with water and moving things around until someone spotted the body. Then they focused on keeping the body from burning any further.”