Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  “Okay, Mrs. Smith,” he smiled. “I understand.”

  Tammy took herself through the door leading to the offices, and Claire turned to Mark.

  “Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you what you don’t,” she said.

  Mark looked around seriously.

  “I know the museum receives the majority of its funding from the sale of the antiques it receives in donations. What isn’t worth selling, is then donated to a charitable organization. Donations must be sorted, to determine under which category each item falls.”

  “That’s about it,” Claire replied. “Anything sent to the antique store must be in saleable condition. So, if there’s a minor repair to be made, or cleaning to do, then you’re in charge. Otherwise, start sorting. The shelves are there, and labeled. If you’re in doubt, ask. If I’m busy, guess. I’ll look over everything before it gets picked-up. If something got missed, I’ll catch it then.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and picking a table, he began.

  The ma’am threw her for a second, just like it did when Joe, the unofficial tour guide, called her that. But Mark looked sincere, not sarcastic. So she picked another table, and got to work.

  “Tammy tells me you’re from Ashland,” Claire commented.

  “Going to school there, yes ma’am,” he said. She looked at him funny. If he didn’t stop soon, this would start irritating her.

  “It’s Claire, just Claire. There’s no ma’am involved.”

  “Yes, ma’am—I mean, Claire. I’ll try and remember.”

  “And I’ll remind you every time, until you do,” she promised.

  “Alright,” he nodded, and smiled.

  She wasn’t sure if he was shy, or just quiet. He wasn’t talkative, that’s for sure. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. She remembered Lenore, one of the ladies at the antique store where she used to work. Claire couldn’t remember many consecutive minutes in which the woman wasn’t rattling on about something. She began to suspect Lenore had a low tolerance for silence. Claire wasn’t in her presence long, before she found it difficult to tolerate idle chatter.

  Silence in the workplace was nothing to complain about. As long as the workplace wasn’t a radio station, and the work that of a DJ. Or an air traffic controller. Or operator, or…

  “How do you keep track of all this?” Mark asked, glancing around.

  “What do you mean?” she replied.

  “There’s got to be a record of what comes in, and goes out,” he clarified.

  “And yet, there isn’t,” Claire replied. “The antiques, yes. We do keep track of those. But the rest… it would take an awful lot of work, for no return.”

  “I guess so,” he considered, frowning a little.

  “You’re probably used to keeping detailed records,” Claire pointed out. “Where things are found, what those things are. You’re in grad school, so you’ve been on excavations. Right?”

  “Yes… nothing major, but yes.”

  “This isn’t like that. Most of it is like the dirt at the excavation site, I guess. There’s no benefit in keeping track of every grain. If there is, pretend there isn’t, otherwise this analogy won’t work.”

  “Okay… I guess I get it.”

  “It’s not what you’re used to. I was surprised by it myself, at first. I do use the iPad to take pictures of the shelves at the end of the day, just in case that info is ever needed. You never know. But… after I thought it over, I realized it didn’t make sense to spend time cataloguing every hairdryer, frying pan, and Barbie doll, that comes through here. Assuming Barbie is not antique, of course.”

  Mark seemed to be thinking that over as he worked. Claire set another armful of donations on the donate shelves, and returned to the table she was rapidly divesting of donations. Mark was making steady headway with his own, she was glad to see. Maybe they’d be able to explore Mr. Edwards’ estate, soon.

  Claire wadded up a plastic shower curtain. As she took a step toward the rolling dumpster, she froze and her eyes lit. She tossed the curtain, and latched onto the gold-painted pedestal. She had no idea what it once held, but it would be perfect for holding the mosaic basin she used as a birdbath. Who knew, maybe the two belonged together, and were separated at some point. It even had a rounded depression on top. The basin wasn’t likely to tip over, like it would be if set on a flat surface.

  She hoisted it into her arms, and carried it to the exhibit shelf, where her purse sat. She placed it on the floor, and turned to see Mark giving her a funny look.

  “What?” she asked, frowning a little. “You don’t think this lovely, gold-painted plaster tower is exhibit-worthy?”

  Mark chewed the corner of his lip as he looked back at her in concern.

  “I hope this isn’t a trick question, because… no.”

  “I appreciate your honesty, Mark. You’re right, it isn’t. But, I have a birdbath without a pedestal. So it’s coming home with me. And I can tell by your raised eyebrow and look of surprise, that you’re unfamiliar with the museum’s policy regarding donate-worthy items.”

  “I don’t remember hearing anything about that,” he replied.

  “Museum employees are welcome to anything determined to be donate-worthy. It’s first come, first serve. So, if you see anything you want—after it’s run past me, that is—then you’re welcome to it.”

  “You’re kidding,” he said, staring at the shelves.

  “I’m serious. It’s one of the perks of the job, according to Tammy, although that doesn’t seem to be enough to get her down here very often.”

  “That’s… some job perk,” he said, taking in the heavily laden shelves.

  “There’s a lot of nice stuff here,” Claire agreed.

  Mark pondered that as he added several more items to one of the shelves.

  “Some of this is expensive,” he pointed out.

  “It would cost a lot to buy it new,” Claire agreed.

  “But even on eBay or craigslist, some of this would bring in more capital than the majority of the antiques on the shelves.”

  Claire gave both sets of shelves a critical look.

  “Yes, but, who’s going to take the time to list an auction, ship, or set up a meeting with an online buyer?”

  “It could be time consuming, I guess,” he admitted.

  “Then again, libraries have book sales once or twice a year,” Claire considered. “The museum could do that… have a sale, or auction, for the higher dollar items.”

  “I’d feel kind of guilty walking out of here with something like this,” Mark said, setting what appeared to be a brand-new, top of the line coffee maker on the shelf.

  “That’s very conscientious of you, but if you don’t, someone else at the museum will,” Claire pointed out. “If Gina catches a glimpse of that, it’ll be out of here just as fast as she can get it out the door to her car. Take it, if you want it.”

  Mark looked uncertain, so Claire rolled her eyes and carried it to the parking lot exit, and set it down.

  “Don’t forget it when you leave,” she said.

  “Okay… thanks,” he replied, but his voice was still uncertain.

  “Thank Mr. Lochlan. This is his set-up,” she said. Claire glanced at the clock, then retrieved the iPad from the exhibit-worthy shelf. “Here, I’ll show you how to take photos of the shelves, and where to save them.”

  “What about the coffeemaker?” Mark asked. “There’s a file for what employees take home, isn’t there?”

  “No,” Claire shrugged. “No one takes anything, without running it past me. If I’m in doubt, I run it past Mr. Lochlan. I’m glad you like the coffee machine, but it’s not worth keeping a record of.”

  “Then… okay,” he finally accepted. “This is just not like anything I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Probably not. But it’s pretty cool.”

  Claire gave Mark the rundown on the iPad and their record keeping system, such as it was. When she felt satisfied that he was
properly educated, she returned the iPad to the shelf, and they returned to sorting.

  There was a knock at the door. On the way to answer it, Claire glanced at the clock.

  “It’s quitting time,” she said to Mark. She saw Alec on the monitor, and smiled as she opened the door. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he smiled back, as he stepped inside. “Do you want to eat out, today? And by out, I mean home. We got kind of busy yesterday, after we got back into town. We didn’t get a chance to do any of the research we wanted to.”

  “Ooh, I like that idea. Especially since I didn’t bring lunch today,” she replied. She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t forget your coffeemaker, Mark.”

  “I won’t,” he replied, setting a few last items on the donate shelves.

  “I’ll see you Monday morning, at eight,” Claire said, as he picked up the machine.

  “I’ll be here. Nice meeting you again,” he said to Alec.

  “You too,” Alec replied. Claire swiped her ID, and Mark exited the building.

  “Come on,” she said, catching Alec by the arm before he could follow. “I’ve got something I want to bring home.”

  “This?” he asked doubtfully, as she indicated the gold pillar with a triumphant wave of her hand.

  “That’s right. It’s the perfect finishing touch for my birdbath,” she informed him, picking up her purse.

  “Now that you mention it, I can kind of see that,” he said, and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

  They loaded it, and themselves, into Alec’s truck. A very few minutes later, they were back at Claire’s house. He placed the pillar in the yard as instructed, and Claire set the basin in place.

  “Perfect!” she said in delight. She filled it with water, then they went inside.

  “Do you have your laptop?” Alec asked. He took his usual seat in the kitchen, and set his lunch on the table in front of him.

  “Right beside you, on the chair,” she pointed out, as she swiftly made her own lunch. “What are we searching for, first?”

  “Allen Parker. We may turn up more with a computer, than you did your phone.”

  “We’ll soon find out,” she replied.

  Claire joined him at the table, and entered her password in the space provided on the welcome screen. When at last the desktop appeared, she opened the web browser and entered the name Allen Parker in the search field. They scrolled slowly through the results.

  “There are a lot,” Claire pointed out.

  “Yes… I think it’s safe to say he isn’t an English film director, producer, or screenwriter,” Alec commented.

  “Or a lawyer. We need to better define who we’re searching for.”

  “Try Allen Parker and Variant Research Laboratories.”

  Claire submitted another search request, and a new list of results appeared.

  “Here’s their directory… and here’s Allen Parker,” she pointed, and clicked.

  A brief biography appeared, along with a photo.

  “Twenty-nine,” Alec commented. “He worked there for five years.”

  “I wonder how many of those were spent stuffing bobble-heads and Troll dolls with research material of some kind,” Claire considered. “Not that we know this, for certain. He might be an innocent pawn.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t think so. His salary was listed on LinkedIn. He made good money. He didn’t need to pack his office full of dolls, and sell them on the side.”

  “You don’t think?”

  “Are you kidding?” he asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow as he looked back at her. “I’d sell a kidney before I did that.”

  “You obviously feel very strongly about this,” she replied, trying not to laugh at his disturbed expression. “But would you do it for my car? That’s the real question.”

  Alec laughed. He also appeared to be thinking it over.

  “I don’t know about that. But I might sell my house.”

  She managed to laugh and look appalled at the same time.

  “Then I may just keep it. You can use it to chauffer me around.”

  “Really? Are you serious?” he asked in surprise.

  “Are you kidding?” she retorted. “I don’t want your obsession to end in homelessness, and I’m afraid to drive it. If I scratched it, I can just imagine how devastated you’d be. I don’t want that kind of power over another person’s mental health.”

  “I do love your car, but I’m sure you could use the money if you sold it,” he pointed out.

  “I’m doing fine. Once you’re done with it, it’ll probably be in better shape than the Blue Lightning. So we’ll see.”

  “I’m glad you’re thinking about it, anyway, instead of doing something rash,” he replied, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got work to get back to, so what else do we have on Allen Parker?”

  “Twenty-nine years old, he started working for Variant Research five years ago. Before that, he worked for Alliance Research Initiative. He’s unmarried. I guess. Either that, or he doesn’t advertise it.”

  “His former coworkers at Variant Research said that his family threatened to sue because his personal effects were disposed of,” Alec remembered. “They could’ve meant wife, but that’s not the title they used.”

  “They also used ‘they’ as the pronoun, not ‘she.’ But, their, as in the coworker’s, information was second-hand. So that might not mean anything,” Claire added. She pulled forward a notepad, and started a list. “We’ll see if we can turn up anything about his family. He might have a social media account. That could give us info. We know what he looks like, so that’ll help identify the right Allen Parker.”

  “We need to know more about Variant Research,” Alec said, and she added that to the list. “What pharmaceutical company are they in connection with? What clinical studies are currently underway? Allen was selecting candidates for a new trial when he was fired.”

  “Someone else had to take that over,” she considered. “Do you suppose they’re advertising his position already? We might find details, if we find that.”

  “They haven’t taken his name off the online directory, or removed his bio from their website yet. They don’t seem too concerned with keeping it up to date,” he pointed out.

  “True, but just because they haven’t taken something off, doesn’t mean they haven’t added on. Their web developer probably does whatever he or she is told to.”

  “And if Variant is hiring, the web developer is more likely to be given a job to post, than an employee to remove all trace of,” he conceded.

  “We can probably get an address for Allen Parker, don’t you think?” she wondered, as she added another search item to the list. “Not that we’d go by and see him… what would we say?”

  Alec didn’t reply, so Claire turned to look at him. His gaze was intently focused on the screen. He reached over and clicked a link.

  “I don’t know, Claire. I guess we could inform him there’s an outstanding federal warrant with his name on it.”

  “What?” Claire exclaimed, her eyes racing over the screen. “Why? What did he do? I mean, what do they think he did? Do they know what he did? What’s a federal warrant?”

  “Pick your favorite, and give me time to come up with the answer,” Alec replied distractedly, as he scanned the information displayed on the screen. He scrolled down slightly.

  “I can’t choose, this is too hard,” she declared. “What’s a federal warrant?”

  “It’s issued by the FBI,” Alec replied.

  “Good grief!” she exclaimed. “Is it about this, at all? If he stole from the company, wouldn’t it be the police trying to arrest him?”

  Alec took over the laptop, and the search.

  “No, the police are city. Anything at Variant would be handled by the sheriff, I think, since it’s the sheriff office that handles county. State police handle crime that crosses county lines, and federal marshals handle federal crimes…”

  “So why the FBI? Does it say what he’s
being charged with? This has got to be about something else! What is he, a serial killer?”

  They both scanned the page.

  “Corporate espionage,” Alec pointed. Claire stared at the words for several seconds.

  “What is that?”

  “Espionage means spying. So, spying on the company and passing along information. But let’s look it up, and be sure.”

  “Okay, so… not to minimize what he was doing, but the FBI? That sounds so serious,” Claire said, as Alec opened another tab and did another search.

  “I was right, that’s what it means. And according to this, economic espionage costs the American economy hundreds of billions of dollars, annually.”

  “That’s awful!” she exclaimed in surprise.

  “Economic espionage involves other countries. Corporate, would be one U.S. company stealing knowledge from another U.S. company. Can you imagine, working for years to come up with a cure for some type of cancer, or Alzheimers? It would take a huge investment in not just time, but money. Then someone else comes along, steals the results of the research that’s been done, and comes out with the cure first. The thief benefits financially, and gets the glory the inventor deserves.”

  “Then I’m glad the FBI is involved,” she declared, her eyes snapping. “I hope they do slap Allen with a two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollar fine, and twenty years in prison. Plus restitution. If he’s guilty. There’s the teeniest possibility he was being used.”

  “We won’t convict the man just yet. Knowing how crucial it is to whoever invented whatever it is that’s missing, makes me want to solve this even more. It seems likely that whoever’s searching for it, hasn’t found it,” Alec said, as he continued to read.

  “I’d be afraid to let anything leave the sorting room, if I wasn’t sure it’s contained somewhere inside one of those banker’s boxes.”

  “The amount of money at stake explains the number of people searching for it, and their skill,” Alec pointed out. “They’re heavily funded by a competing company.”

  “I wondered about that. I also wonder which it is,” Claire commented, as she read over his shoulder. “Corporate, or economic? Was he—or someone else at Variant—selling research to a company in the U.S., or is a foreign government involved?”