The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan

by Peter J Robinson

  Charlie got the feeling there was no stopping Royle now.

  “Dan and I were unimpressed, and we let it show. Winnings had us in his office, the one we’ve just been sitting in. Gave us a lecture on how we should follow his directions. Said we ‘should not become emotionally involved in our work’, whatever the hell that means.”

  Royle leaned his back against one of several trees shading the parking lot. “He even started instructing us on how we went about our investigations, bearing in mind he’d never been in a courtroom in his life. Even after all this time the best I can say for Gus Winnings is that he brings a lot of joy whenever he leaves the room.”

  Even as he said this Royle noticed Whitland watching them from his office window, realising the old warhorse would have guessed what the two of them were discussing so intently in broad daylight in the middle of the parking lot.

  Charlie, though, appeared unconvinced. “Isn’t that stretching our imagination, suggesting it proves a link with Dan’s death?”

  “Possibly,” Royle conceded. “But I’ve known Winnings a long time, and there’s always been a little voice warning me to be careful.”

  Sensing she was about to say something derogatory about his mental state, he stopped her. “I know what you’re thinking. But there’s one thing your psychology tutors must surely have taught you, up there in Tallahassee…”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Even the worst-case paranoids can be right on occasion. We absolutely need to keep Winnings in mind.”

  Seven

  Later, after Monday’s case update meeting, and four days now since the discovery of Dan’s mutilated body, California State Officer Deming Akroyd met them at Los Angeles airport before whisking them down busy Interstate 5 to his office an hour south of the city.

  “Booked you two a couple of rooms across from the office. Thought we’d meet up in an hour and get something to eat, so I can fill you in about your buddy, Dan Morgan.”

  True to his word Akroyd appeared at eight and they walked the couple of blocks to the restaurant. Then, having ordered meals and drinks, Royle waded in with the questions.

  “How come you’re involved in this?”

  “Got a call from Dan months back, enquiring about a place dealing in exotic birds out in the desert east of here. He wanted to know where they got their stock from.”

  “So, where do they?”

  “They breed ’em. Got rows and rows of breeding pens full of mostly parrots. Gets dammed noisy while I’m doing any visits.”

  “This place got a name?”

  “Big Experience, run by people from Holland and England. Sells lots of baby parrots.”

  Royle let the waitress hand round the plates before responding. “What made you call Dan recently?”

  “He wanted me to remind him when the birds were close to breeding.”

  “You know much about identifying parrots?” Royle queried, trying not to seem too interested.

  “To be honest, no. People out at the farm have all that information, though.”

  Charlie took over, feeling her partner’s questions were becoming a touch too focused. “These visits – what’s involved?”

  “Routine mostly. Checking on housing conditions, examining records, things like that. Nothing’s scheduled; I just ring and tell ’em I’m coming.”

  “Any visits planned for the near future?”

  “One pencilled in for this Thursday, as it happens. You two interested in getting a look around?”

  Picking up on his partner’s lead, Royle confirmed they would be interested in visiting the farm with Akroyd. “Oh, and since you and Charlie spoke on the phone, we discovered Dan had been shot. Does this place look like it could be involved in that sort of thing?”

  Akroyd seemed shocked by the suggestion. “No way, they’re just selling a few parrots.” Then he reconsidered his response. “Well, actually, a whole lot of parrots.”

  “Tell you what,” Royle suggested, “let’s meet up in the morning and make sure we’ve not thought of anything else. Then Charlie and I need to leave for LA, though we could get back for Thursday.”

  Back in their motel Royle asked Charlie what she thought of their latest contact. In particular, could they trust him?

  “There’s always a problem with who we tell, and how much,” she suggested. “But if we go around asking questions from professional people and not giving any answers, we’ll likely run into a wall of silence at some point.”

  Their brief Tuesday morning meeting with Akroyd threw up no new leads, so they sorted out a one-way hire car and followed Interstate 5 back north into LA. By eleven o’clock they were in the California equivalent of their own Florida Federal Wildlife office.

  “What’s so secret, Phil, that you can’t discuss it with me over the phone?”

  The speaker was Mindy Goldsmith, an attractive middle-aged career woman who, like Whitland, had spent her whole working life with the Department.

  “You presumably heard we found Dan Morgan dead,” Royle explained in response. “Turns out he was shot in the back of the head before being eaten by a tiger, on one of those exotic hunting ranches. Dan never did anything the easy way.”

  Mindy leaned forward in her chair.

  “Whatever Dan was working on he kept it to himself,” Royle continued. “He seemed to think it was smuggling, involving the Big Experience bird outfit south of here. Know anything about them?”

  Mindy now leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “We had something suggesting they were up to no good, so we recorded some telephone conversations and ended up even more confused. You may be just the person for that – the guys involved come from your part of the world. Where’s Essex?”

  Royle’s and Charlie’s eyes met briefly.

  “It’s that bit of England east of London and north of the River Thames,” he responded.

  Mindy picked up her phone and asked someone to join them. “And bring along those phone calls from the bird place.”

  The door soon opened to admit a young man and, at Mindy’s instructions, he slipped a CD into the computer.

  “We did a lot of recording,” she explained. “It mostly seemed legitimate business, so let’s get to the weird bits.”

  She nodded to her colleague, who skipped the CD forward. Royle recognised the voice as male, with an obvious London or Essex accent.

  “Shaun, it’s Mick. ’Ow you doing, mate?”

  “I’m great, Mick. The weather’s hot and the girls here are still as gorgeous.” This was followed by laughter.

  Mindy stopped the tape to explain. “This Mick character’s in Essex, England. Shaun’s at the Big Experience site here in California.” She restarted the recording.

  “Yeah, well, enough of that,” Mick continued. “Listen, mate, word is you can’t trust yer dog. Know what I mean?”

  There was a brief silence. “Even as we speak?”

  “You better Adam and Eve it. But you can talk about the weather and the girls as much as you like.”

  More laughter followed, and Mindy motioned to skip the recording forward to a point in the conversation concerning import permits for birds, referred to as the ‘new arrivals’.

  “Might be something I need to sort out with our friend up the apples. Leave it with me,” Essex voice said. “By the way, ’ow are yer Farmer Giles?”

  “What’s going on there, then?” Mindy wanted to know.

  “The Essex feller’s using Cockney rhyming slang. Can’t trust your dog means you can’t trust your phone – ‘dog and bone’. He’s telling the man Shaun he had better believe it – ‘Adam and Eve it’. The last bit refers to someone upstairs somewhere – ‘up the apples and pears’.”

  “What’s this farmer got to do with any of that?”

  Royle grinned. “It seems Shaun here has haemor
rhoids. Otherwise known as piles, or ‘Farmer Giles.”

  Mindy motioned for the CD to be skipped forward again. “This one’s even weirder.”

  Essex man was speaking again. “The clothes pegs will be ready soon, so you better get prepared for the garden gate.”

  “What’s this about a garden gate, then?”

  Royle considered Mindy’s question for several seconds. “I’ll tell you what I think. Essex man’s telling Shaun there’s a crate, ‘garden gate’, arriving at the desert site soon. He could mean mate but that doesn’t make sense. But ‘clothes pegs’ translates into eggs, so there’s a crate and some eggs involved.”

  “So, this Mick person presumably knew someone might be recording their conversations.”

  “Seems that way,” Royle agreed. “More importantly, though, it suggests they wanted to discuss something they’d rather you didn’t know about.”

  He poured himself another coffee. “The apples and pears bit could fit our current thinking. We, or to be more precise I,” he corrected, exchanging glances with Charlie, “think there may be a connection with one of our Federal Licensing offices.”

  “Isn’t it even more serious than that, though?” Mindy continued. “If they knew their phone was bugged then they must have been warned we were listening.”

  “Seems reasonable,” Charlie agreed, easing herself into the conversation. “This Mick, you say he’s in Essex. Wouldn’t be Mick White, would it?”

  Mindy’s face was a picture. “Are you saying you’re ahead of us on this?”

  “Pure chance,” Charlie admitted. “His name cropped up in connection with where Dan was found. He also uses the name Mark van Wynn, and he’s listed as a director of Big Experience.”

  Royle was busily gathering his things together. “I’m all for grabbing lunch somewhere and quickly going over this again.”

  Fifteen minutes later the three of them were seated in a local diner, and Royle kicked things off again by addressing himself to Mindy.

  “What do we think’s going on out at this desert bird place? What are they trying to hide?”

  Mindy took time pulling her thoughts together. “At a federal level we have little contact with a place like that, but they obviously have a guilty conscience about something. Your State Wildlife contact Akroyd is probably your best bet for getting in there.”

  Mindy paused while they placed their meal orders. “They do have a few birds of interest to us, mainly through endangered licensing.”

  “We’re listening.”

  “Our informant suggested they were importing prohibited birds, which usually means endangered birds. We found no evidence of that in our files, neither was there anything on the recordings. Or not until today,” she added, raising an eyebrow at Royle.

  “Where do most of their declared bird imports come from? I’m guessing from across the border in Mexico?”

  “How would you know that? You’re right but we never discussed it.”

  “Just something I found amongst Dan’s scribblings. I’m guessing Mexico City – it fits what one of my contacts mentioned recently.”

  “I’ll dig out the Mexico City address and text it to you,” she promised.

  Royle scribbled on the back of one of his cards before passing it to Mindy. “They’re our new office mobiles, plus I’ve added some other numbers.”

  Then at that point he headed for the restroom, leaving Mindy to add the phone details to her notebook.

  “This Akroyd,” Charlie asked, watching Royle leave, “can he be trusted?”

  “None of us federal people know him well. Bit of a plodder, but I guess he’s honest,” Mindy responded, inclining her head after the departing Royle. “How you finding it working with him?”

  Charlie hesitated. “We got off to a bad start, but he grows on you. And if it’s reliability you’re after then he’s your man.”

  “Does he mention Sukie?”

  “Not a word, and he’s good at avoiding the subject. In fact, getting any information out of him is like pulling teeth.”

  “I noticed you call him Phil, so perhaps you get along better than you’re saying.”

  Charlie’s initial reaction was to not respond, before spotting the opportunity to obtain a more experienced opinion of the situation she found herself in. “I seem to swing between being attracted to him and wanting to smother him.”

  However, at this point the object of their discussion returned, to stand hovering over the table, keen to be moving on.

  “We’re down in Mexico tomorrow,” he explained to Mindy. “We’ll keep you in the loop on what comes of that.”

  Mindy and Charlie brushed cheeks. “Good luck with that other matter; give me a ring if I can help,” Mindy offered.

  Royle raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “A girl thing, Phil,” his partner responded as the two of them turned to leave.

  Back at LA airport, mid-afternoon Tuesday, they prepared for their flight down to Mexico City. On their way out to the airport Royle had briefed his partner regarding his long-time friend and now main Mexican contact, Zip McGee. He also gave her brief details of the Mexican dealer he was hoping to get a look at, and who he believed gave Dan cause for concern. Interestingly, at the same address as the one Mindy had just texted him.

  The boarding formalities completed, Royle leaned back, eyes closed, reflecting on what had occurred since chance first brought him and Charlie together in Whitland’s office. Interestingly, he still saw her in much the same light: quietly spoken but not lacking in confidence; without doubt quick on the uptake; and well able to grasp the complexities of what they were investigating. There was no denying he now accepted her as his working partner, doubtless precisely as the scheming old Whitland had intended. But he still needed to find out more about her family background.

  * * *

  That same Tuesday afternoon, whilst Charlie and Royle were settling into their seats in preparation for the flight down to Mexico City, over in Fort Lauderdale Paula Howath’s phone rang.

  It was Mindy Goldsmith. “Hi, Paula, thought it was time I called. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mindy, and I’m guessing there’s a connection between this call and a visit you just had from our new special agent team?” She could hear her California colleague laughing.

  “What’s it like having Phil back?”

  Paula tucked the receiver into her neck and continued typing. “Personally, I think it’s a scream. Three weeks ago, Charlie was independent with not a care in the world, then he appears on the scene and she’s all over the place. I bet they never mentioned their late night.”

  “Go on.”

  Paula stopped typing. “They stayed up late, talking and drinking; Doug overheard part of it but fell asleep.”

  “Does Royle know about her family?”

  “Not yet and I’ll not be the one telling him. If that’s what Charlie wants then it’s not my place to interfere. But is he in for a shock.”

  “Actually…” Mindy started, before pausing briefly, “I think Charlie’s good for him. She’s quite perceptive; I doubt he can keep her too much in the dark.”

  “You’re not wrong. She asked if Whitland had a son, said she’d noticed how he and Royle got along so well. Suggested it was more of a father–son relationship.”

  * * *

  Around ten o’clock Wednesday morning the pair arrived at Mexico City’s North Bus Terminal, known locally as the ‘Terminal Central de Autobuses del Norte’, where Royle had arranged to meet his long-time friend and now Mexican contact, Zip McGee.

  Over last night’s hotel meal Royle had explained how she should not expect too much of Zip, who following a messy marriage breakup in Florida had abandoned any semblance of respectability, losing himself instead amongst Mexico City’s back streets. Formerly he and Royle had been close, but a
s Zip’s marriage slipped away so too did his hold on normality, to the point now where Royle had no real idea how Zip managed to survive, though survive he obviously did and by a variety of means, doubtless some legal, some not so legal.

  “You name it, Zip seems to be into it,” he told Charlie.

  They stood watching Mexico City going about its morning business, until their attention was distracted by a battered pickup erratically weaving its way through the turmoil of buses, taxis and donkey carts. Piled high in the back, five or so slatted wooden crates full of live chickens shared the limited space with a large, and by all indications not too friendly, dog. The vehicle rattled into the kerbside and there was a loud explosion as the ignition was switched off.

  “That’s our man,” announced Royle.

  Zip wore a battered straw sombrero and over his shoulders a colourful but ragged poncho, both identifying him as part of the local populace and not some hippy gringo tourist. And as if that were not enough, it was immediately apparent he found difficulty making eye contact. But for all his appearance and obvious personality issues Zip still seemed genuinely pleased to see them. He was also attracted to Royle’s suggestion that he take them to wherever they could buy him breakfast. Opening the passenger door, he swept a collection of newspapers and wine bottles off the seats and invited them to climb aboard.

  The place he took them to appeared more suited to his own budget range, though the food proved to be above expectation and the service more than efficient. For Charlie’s sake Royle explained how, among other things, Zip was involved in minor dealings in domestic birds, mostly ducks, chickens, turkeys and the like, but also captive wild birds. There was, it seemed, a lucrative local trade in pet birds, including small parrots, in the course of which Zip had built up local contacts. He pointed to Zip and nodded.

  Zip hesitated, clearly summoning up the courage to continue, doubtless aware that some of the information he needed to disclose might not reflect him in the best of lights. Sensing this, Royle interrupted him before he could get started.