Henry Wood Detective: Boxed Set (Books 1 - 4)

by Brian Meeks

  There was a light knock at the door, and Hans leaned in. “Dr. Schaeffer, if you don’t need anything else this afternoon…”

  “That is fine, Hans. Henry and I have much to discuss. I'll speak with you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Hans gave Henry a polite, albeit cold, nod and then closed the door. A moment later, the front door could be heard opening and shutting.

  Hans walked across the street and down the block. He entered a bakery, where a man waited for him.“They will be there for hours. I propose we head up the street.”

  “I could use a pint.”

  Hans and Arthur, unbeknownst to their employers, were old friends. They also had their own agenda. They sat in the corner, away from prying ears, and spoke in hushed tones.

  Arthur started. “Patrick would have a fit if he knew what was going on.”

  Hans laughed. “The father is a prick, wearing his collar and acting pious all the time. But we know his skeletons, don’t we, my friend?”

  Arthur and Hans clinked glasses. Arthur asked, “So, what do you know about this Henry guy?”

  “He is not to be underestimated. He was Michael Thomas Moore’s apprentice and seems much cleverer; plus he has help, something Mr. Moore could have used.”

  “So where are we?”

  “The Falcon assures me that everything is on schedule, despite the Eye still being at sea. We are a few days from never having to work again. I must admit, I'll miss Dr. Schaeffer, but it will pass. How is the whale?”

  “He is as disgusting as ever.” Arthur shook his head. “He is almost manic over the thought that the good father may call off the auction. His paranoia is beyond the pale, although, I guess it is reasonable in this case.”

  They laughed again.

  * * *

  Dr. Schaeffer was just finishing up with his childhood and Henry was getting a little impatient, but then the story got interesting. “So there I was with a nice practice, and Hitler starts World War II. Before I knew what had happened, I was practicing my trade in the Luftwaffe.” He stood up and went to the bar, refreshed his drink, and continued. “There were many evil people, on both sides. I had devoted my life to the healing of the sick, and suddenly death and cruelty were everywhere. I suppose I shouldn’t complain; my parents were safe, for a while at least. I'm ashamed of what Hitler did in the name of the ‘Master Race.’ When I learned of the camps, I started to think of redemption.”

  “Redemption?”

  “Yes. One man can only do a little, but I was determined to devote my life, and considerable resources, to do as much as I could. I had only a few friends during the war, but they were well connected. We would gather, and they would tell stories of the plunder and looting of the Jews. The world’s finest pieces of art were being stolen, hidden, and sometimes burned. The pieces which did survive, hidden away in secret spots all across Europe, are still mostly there. I decided to devote my life to returning these paintings, sculptures, and other treasures to their families. Sadly, many of them are still lost, but I have managed to acquire and return seventeen pieces.”

  “You're buying art and giving it back?”

  “Yes. There are a number of Jewish organizations who are searching for the stolen treasures. They have been compiling lists of missing pieces since the war ended. I have made a friend with a rabbi, who researches each piece I buy. On those occasions when he has determined that the piece was stolen, he returns it anonymously to the rightful family.”

  “I'm impressed,” Henry said, and he was.

  “Don’t be. I'm only doing what must be done. The problem is that there are many people who don’t care if there is blood on the work they buy. Art collectors are soulless. This brings me to the Eye of God, a truly unique opportunity.”

  “Was it stolen?”

  “Well, not in the same way as the other pieces. But it has caused quite a stir, and I intend to use this to my advantage.”

  The woman with the accent brought in a tray of food. She asked the doctor if there would be any guests for dinner. Henry declined when invited, explaining that he had a previous engagement.

  Henry enjoyed a few of the tiny sandwiches the woman had brought in. Dr. Schaeffer seemed ill at ease. "I don't believe in fairy tales Mr. Wood. My own fascination with this..."

  Henry looked up, sensing the change in moods. "…Eye of God?"

  "Yes, I hate even using the name. Do you recall the story of how the brothers found it? I believe that's where I left off."

  "Yes, I remember," Henry said as he was suddenly aware that the cats were once again seeking his attention. “They are Jacob and Wilhelm?”

  Dr. Schaeffer smiled. “Yes, the nosy one, trying to wiggle his way onto your lap, is Jacob.”

  Once Jacob was done settling into Henry’s lap, and the purr had died down to a murmur, Dr. Schaeffer continued. "For several years after the find, the two brothers hid it in their uncle’s house. The uncle had a fascination with clocks, and liked to take them apart and study the gears. It required a year to uncover the secret to opening the inner two cases. When they pulled the device out of the box, it was a mechanical marvel. It is here that my story becomes, well…unconfirmed.”

  “This is interesting, sure, but I fail to see what you hired me to do.”

  “Please, if you will indulge me a little further.”

  “Yes, of course. Please continue.” Henry rubbed Jacob’s ears. It was well received.

  “There is so little known about the item since then. It is believed a covenant was created. Nobody knows how many people were involved. It certainly must have been a fair number, probably relatives and close friends, because the item is rumored to have changed locations on a weekly basis, never returning to the same hiding spot. Over the years, Valerios devoted his life to understanding the purpose of the mechanism. I don’t know if he ever uncovered its true purpose, but I do know some of the ridiculous claims which have been made. Though there are few people who are aware of the Eye of God. Those who are have speculated that it is a device for calculating the precise moment when the stars and planets are arranged in a fashion, which will allow for communicating directly with…”

  Henry didn’t say a word.

  “…with God.” Dr. Schaeffer rubbed his face. “I don’t know, it all sounds so crazy, especially when I say it aloud. But there have been some strange cases where those who have tried to use it have had life-altering experiences. Supposedly the first time Valerios used the machine, there were five people present, and at the hour predicted, he spoke into the small opening which appeared. Two doors opened up, and Valerios requested an end to the drought, which plagued the farmers. Those present were all in agreement that it was a selfless request. That night, after two consecutive months without rainfall, they received almost twelve inches. The resulting flash floods destroyed many of the farms, left hundreds of people homeless, and took the lives of six people.”

  “Be careful what you wish for…” Henry said with a sigh, not sure if he should believe the story.

  “Indeed. This one act, or more likely, coincidence, put the fear of God into the group protecting the mechanism. They quickly evolved into a society of men devoted to the protection of this powerful artifact. Though locals knew of the society, they didn’t know the name, and we still don’t today. Or at least, I haven’t been able to learn the name. It doesn’t matter. There is another story, when one of the society members, in great debt, about to lose his family pottery business, asked for help. The next day he received an order which would bring him vast riches. A week later, his wife died in a freak accident with one of the kilns. From that point forward, the locals would attribute every serious catastrophe and triumph to the secret order. Most of the other stories seem only loosely connected to the machine or its protectors, so I won’t go into them. I honestly couldn’t say if any of the stories are true, partially true, or just the product of simple minds, but I do know that the perceived powers make it extremely valuable. It will also make Th
e Eye more dangerous than you imagine.”

  “Dangerous, how?"

  “It's the sort of relic that entire religions are based upon. It's the type of thing which could raise an army or destroy one. And that's if none of the stories are true. If it's as they say, well then, my mind can’t begin to comprehend the power. I've hired you to uncover the truth about the item and to find out who is after it.”

  Henry set Jacob on the floor and stood up. “Why did you hire me, specifically?” It was time to find out if Dr. Schaeffer had hired Mickey.

  “I hope you won’t take offense, but you were not my first choice. I hired another private detective, and he had been working on the case when he was killed. I believe he was hit by a drunk driver or something. The papers didn’t say.”

  “Did you know that I used to work for Michael Thomas Moore?”

  The look of surprise was genuine. “I did not. Admittedly, I've been relying on Hans. I sent him out to find a new detective after he informed me of the accident involving Mr. Moore.”

  It seemed to be the truth. Henry had his first answer. It provided little consolation. “What were the instructions you gave Mickey?”

  “Mickey…ah yes, Mr. Moore. I told him the story and then asked the same of him, the only difference being the time. We are but a few days from the sale now, so it's much more urgent that you get me answers. There is one other thing; I would like you, and your professor, to accompany me to the viewing. Hans tells me that he's an expert in antiquities.”

  “I'm not sure this thing falls within his area of expertise, but he'll be thrilled to see it.”

  “If nothing else, he can verify the ages of the containers. This would be invaluable to me. To be honest, I would be relieved to find that this whole thing is a hoax.”

  Henry shook his hand and gave both cats a goodbye pat. Henry liked Dr. Schaeffer, almost as much as the cats liked Henry.

  CHAPTER 39

  If he answered on the third ring, it meant trouble; if he let it ring past three and then answered, then all was on schedule. If he didn't answer, Patrick would try again, just to be sure. This was a system devised long ago – as with everything, he liked to be careful. In general, they wouldn't talk during the calls, unless there was something important. Tonight, Patrick had to alter the plans. On the fourth ring, Randy, the 'Remarkable,' answered.

  "I have an update."

  "Oh?"

  "We will only need five viewing areas. One of the interested parties is no longer collecting." Or breathing, he thought.

  "You’re not trying to cut my fee?" Randy asked.

  "Your fee will remain the same. Are you ready for the arrival?"

  "I have the first four locations complete and the last two – well, one, I guess now, will be done tomorrow. It's really too bad: the sixth spot was quite clever. My personal favorite."

  Patrick smiled. "My friend, you are a true artisan." An idea suddenly flashed across his mind. "If you want, you could finish it, and we could meet there for the final payment. I would love to see it."

  This appealed to Randy; he was a complete narcissist and loved to show off. “I'll finish it. You’re paying for six, so it only seems right. It's almost show time, so I'm off. Check in after 10:00.”

  Patrick was satisfied.

  Randy hung up the phone and stood looking out of the 4th floor warehouse window.

  In his right hand, he cut a deck of cards over and over. The bottom two floors were rented by a company who sold cheap tourist gifts. Most of the stuff was crap, so there wasn’t much security, and it was likely insured for more than it was worth. The third, fourth, and fifth floors had been vacant for months. The fourth floor, divided into two rooms, was perfect for receiving the shipment. Randy had set up a card table in the room to the right of the freight elevator. On the table sat two envelopes and a bottle of ouzo. Patrick had sent the bottle of liquor with the money, figuring their Greek friends probably needed a shot.

  Randy liked the idea of the booze, as it would distract them. Each envelope had $15,000, twice the agreed upon payment. Patrick had figured the poor schmucks might want more after their horrific sea adventure. He decided they had earned the bonus. Randy agreed, but considered taking half, knowing that they wouldn't be expecting the bonus. Then he thought better of it. Father Patrick had a way of smelling deception. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  The truck pulled up without its lights on. Good, they can follow directions, Randy thought. He watched them get out at the loading dock.

  * * *

  Speaking in Greek, the tall one said, “I need a drink.”

  “This wasn’t worth it. We should ask for more money. We could have died,” the younger one complained.

  “Yes, maybe, but what are we going to do if they say no? Take it back? Not on your life.”

  “You are right, my friend, this box is cursed. We should be paying them to take it.”

  They both laughed, though not too heartily, as sea sickness had taken its toll. The crate was hoisted onto the cart and wheeled to the freight elevator. The siren from a distant ambulance barely disturbed the eerie quiet.

  * * *

  The aged elevator cables creaked as it lifted the two men and their precious cargo. Randy knew they were on their way. Both men looked surprised to be greeted by only one man. They expected a small army.

  “Hello, my name is Randy. Do you speak English?”

  The tall one looked at his friend, who said, “I do. He doesn’t. He is old.”

  Randy shook both their hands. “You had a rough trip, boys, but it's almost over.” His easy tone seemed out of place.

  “Where do we put it?”

  Randy led them to the room on the right. The vast open spaces seemed odd for only one box, but they did as they were told. It took both of them to lift it. They placed the crate by the center pillar on the far side of the room. The silence, except for the squeaking cart wheels and the two men’s footsteps across the wooden floor, was unsettling.

  Randy seemed to walk like a ghost. “Please take the cart with you. I have your money in here.” The two men followed, leaving the cart in the hall. Randy pointed to the table. A desk lamp shone on the two envelopes next to the bottle. The tall one said something to his comrade, in Greek. Randy guessed it was regarding the bottle, as they both seemed happy, and the smaller one patted his friend on the back. “Please, count the money. As you will notice, there is a bonus. You have suffered much on your trip, and earned it.”

  * * *

  The one who could speak English translated what Randy had said to his friend. Both men opened the envelopes and thumbed through the bills. The tall one turned around, grabbing the bottle. They were alone. He opened the bottle and took a pull, then handed it to his friend. They both walked towards the door, the bottle passing between them. “Hey, tell your boss that we appreciate the…” The shorter one poked his head into the other room, expecting to see the man inspecting the massive box, but he wasn’t there. The room was empty, no sign of the man or the box. He tapped the taller one on the shoulder to show him. They shrugged their shoulders, grabbed the cart, and got on the elevator. The Greeks were glad to be done bearing gifts and couldn’t care less where it had gone.

  CHAPTER 40

  It's hard to say how many people showed up to The Dublin Rogue, but they all had the same solemn look on their faces. A look Mickey would not have tolerated. At the end of the bar, a large photo of Michael Thomas Moore greeted the guests. It was the same with each person, the moment they saw Mickey's goofy expression – a smile and a heavy sigh.

  Tommy Dorsey’s version of “I’ll Be Seeing You” brought a roar from the crowd. It was one of Mickey’s favorite songs and his favorite argument. Half the regulars preferred “The Ink Spots” with Bing Crosby’s version, and Mickey would routinely rally the other half in a rousing debate. Tonight, the Bing Crosby supporters, led by officer Thompson, raised their glasses and toasted. “To Mickey and Tommy Dorsey, forever number one, always in our hea
rts, we will be seeing you whenever this song plays.” A great cheer erupted from the bar.

  Throughout The Dublin Rogue, tiny groups laughed as they shared their favorite Mickey stories. One by one, people made their way to the booth in the back to give Henry their condolences.

  Luna and Sylvia listened as Henry and Mike told their most loved stories of Mickey. Much as everyone was filled with sorrow, it was impossible to feel sad when remembering such a wonderful and full life.

  Mickey had a sense of humor few could top. First and foremost, he always thought about the story, and often did things because it would make the tale more fun to tell. After one particularly funny story, as the laughter died down, Henry took a drink of his beer. There was a silence, which needed filling.

  “I think Mickey would have liked the party you threw in his honor. The food, picture, and beer are perfect.” He looked at Luna, then Sylvia and Mike. “It’s perfect.”

  Luna grabbed Henry’s hand. “I'm sorry I never got to meet him. He sounds like the most wonderful man.”

  * * *

  Katarina had not come with Henry but had taken a cab from Brooklyn. Earlier in the day, she had gathered her belongings from the hotel and settled into Henry’s place. Kat, wearing black, made her way through the crowd. She came up behind the booth and saw Luna’s hand on Henry’s. She put her hand on Henry’s shoulder and leaned down, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I'm so sorry, Henry. Mickey was always kind to me. He will be missed.”