The Grey Falcon

by J. C. Williams

  “Lacerations,” Sandy exclaimed. “These were rocks he fell on. There should be lacerations. There aren’t any.”

  “Bright girl. Now go figure out why there were no lacerations.”

  Sandy’s estimation of the doctor went up a few notches. The doc was helping her to learn. That same gutsy instinct that she had in the victim’s apartment came back to her.

  Something was there that she was missing. She needed focus. Half her thoughts were in Liverpool and the murder there. Half were on who was interested in her. Another half was on Chad. Wait. That was three halves already.

  Okay, girl. Get it together.

  She called Liam, a friend in the department that worked in the dark corners of the basement. She explained what she wanted. Then she met him at the Wildman pub around the corner from her place. She parked near her flat and walked past it to the pub. She wanted any adverse surveillance to pick her up.

  “So, you want me to walk back to your apartment. We spend an hour there, making anyone watching think we’re having a shag. When, in reality, I’m putting in video cameras. No alarm system. Just cameras. Sandy, you’re playing a game here, eh? You expect someone to come in. You want to see who it is.”

  “You always could read me, Liam.”

  “You realize that it could be too late for you if he gets in and gets you first?”

  “In that case, I leave it to you to watch the video and find my killer.”

  Liam was quiet.

  “C’mon. It will be okay. I’ll be okay.”

  He brightened. “Oh, it’s not you I’m worried about, dearie. What if Jeff learns about my midday tryst with one of your type? He’d leave me.”

  “Mum’s the word, Liam. C’mon we’ll order take-away.”

  Chapter 43

  Back in the office, Sandy listened to Chad’s voicemail.

  “Hey, luv. It is I. Or me. Uh. Your best mate. I’m coming home tonight. Maybe just the one night. Land there about seven. Will ring you up. Cheerio.”

  She had to laugh. He did his best to use the English idioms and an accent. But, only with her. Because it did make her laugh. His message brightened up her day.

  The phone rang.

  “Moffat,” Sandy answered.

  “Stacker, here. Sorry I missed your earlier call. I was going to contact you with what I found out. Is this a good time?”

  “Absolutely. I can fill you in on the medical examiner’s report as well.”

  Stacker asked, “Do you want to know bottom line or the details?”

  “Give me your conclusion, then a summary, and then we may get into details.”

  “Right. I’ve no reason to believe anything but an accident. Not suicide. Not murder.” He paused.

  “Any gut feeling or instinct tell you different?” she asked. She learned that sometimes there were facts in front of you that you couldn’t see or facts that did not add up.

  “No. No squirrely feelings.”

  “Ever had any squirrely feelings?” she asked, knowing he did not have much experience. Neither did she for that matter. A few years, but nothing like Dickie and other veterans.

  Stacker hesitated with his answer. “Honestly, Inspector, I have only been on a few cases. This must have seemed routine. It is why I was assigned. I cannot say I have had any previous gut instincts.”

  “Thanks for your honesty. How about suspects that lie? How is your lying antennae?”

  Stacker laughed. “I think they are rather good, if I say so myself.”

  “Good. Okay. Give me a summary of what you found out.”

  “Right. At his workplace he was considered bright. He hung out with the newbies, those working there only a few years or so. He was a few years older than their average new hire, but he fit in. He liked to party. Liked to have fun. Spent freely. No depression was observed. No one knew of any enemies or anyone he even pissed off. I chatted with two pubs and one nightclub in town. The bartenders, so far, confirm that Fraser Colbert was a genial chap. I pushed to see if he was into drugs in any way. Nothing that they shared. So, no obvious reason anyone wanted him dead.”

  “How did you get the names of where he hung out?” Sandy asked starting to get into the details.

  “I ran his credit cards to see where he spent the money. I also asked his co-workers. I still have two night spots to check on later, when they open.”

  “Good work. Did those pubs that you checked say he always paid by credit card?”

  Stacker realized he should have asked. “I’ll go back and ask.”

  “What about witnesses. Anyone other than the patrol car? Someone later in the evening?”

  “Oh yes. One guy at work said he walked past him. The witness was with his girlfriend. I got her story as well. They saw the same thing. Colbert, drunk and sitting on the bridge wall.”

  “Did they speak with him?” Sandy probed.

  “No.”

  “Did they see him up close? Positive ID? I recall it was foggy?”

  “They heard him singing. Recognized his coat and cap.”

  “Singing what?”

  “Something in French.”

  Sandy pondered this.

  Stacker added, feeling once again he was not thorough, “Colbert waved at them. Oh, and the witnesses gave me the name of two women who also had seen Colbert. They all discussed it at the pub.”

  “Okay,” Sandy said.

  “Do you think it was someone other than Colbert on the bridge?” Stacker asked.

  “No reason to think that. The blood on the rocks was a match. Did we recover a cap with the body?”

  “No. Why? Wait. How did blood get on the rocks if he wore a cap.”

  “Exactly,” Sandy said. “But, it could have fallen off.”

  “Right.”

  “The autopsy was consistent with the premise of a fall except for the bruises.”

  Stacker was curious. “Which bruises?”

  “Colbert had bruises on his shoulders.”

  “I would think that would be expected. His head would be much worse if he landed solidly on it. So he must have hit on his shoulders.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. But the medical examiner feels there should be lacerations as well as bruises. I think I should go look at them.”

  “It’s closer to me,” Stacker said. “By the way, Colbert’s mother was notified and she is flying in today. We need to wrap this up.”

  “I know. It’s just my gut feeling that something isn’t right. Could you do a little more work on his finances? Find out what he paid using a paper trail. Then find out what he probably spent using cash. Tie that back to ATMs and cash withdrawals. He liked the finer things. A BMW, his apartment deco, parties, and such. Was he spending beyond his means? Was he borrowing money from the wrong people? Dealing?”

  Stacker realized that she was teaching him and giving him a routine to follow in the future.

  “Will do, ma’am. And the cap. And, more interviews. Neighbors tonight as well as a couple more clubs. And, the witnesses.” Then he added. “Again.”

  “Good. I’ll pop down in the morning. Unless something comes up on your inquiries, we’ll be left with accidental death. Hey, Stacker. Give some thought to the bruises as well. The ME will want some investigation of it.”

  -----

  Max watched the video feed that was recording the front of Sandy’s flat. Nothing was going on. He looked around the van for an ashtray. Didn’t find one but lit up anyway. The van was parked several blocks from the flat. Max arrived an hour ago, after his on-duty watcher called about the woman showing up with a man at lunchtime. Max had asked if it was a tall redheaded American. It wasn’t so there was no need to rush over. Still, Max wanted to watch the video. It gave his watcher a chance to take a break for an hour. After viewing it, he called Zevic and informed him of the visitor. Max wanted to go inside Moffat’s flat. But, Zevic said not to. Not, yet.

  Max was sure if he went inside, there would be a clue to the American’s identity. Hi
s confidence waned just a bit with the news of Moffat’s lunchtime tryst. Maybe Moffat and the American were not the intimate pair he thought they were, but there would be some clue in the flat. He felt it. Twenty years of finding people gave him instincts.

  He turned off the video recorder and checked his watch. His man would be another forty-five minutes. That was enough time. He locked the van and quickly walked the three blocks to Sandy’s flat.

  Chapter 44

  “Hey there,” Chad said into his cell as he walked from the gate in Lyon toward the security office.

  “Hello,” Sandy responded. “Who is this? You sound American. Please don’t bother me. I have a very British boyfriend. I don’t take personal calls from strange men.”

  “Yuk, yuk,” Chad responded. “Miss me?”

  “Always. Where are you?”

  “I’m in Lyon. I’ve stopped to see Adrien.”

  “Something breaking?”

  “Maybe,” Chad said. “I’m meeting him and a detective from Dresden. He told me your lead was dead.”

  “Right. Probably in more ways than one. You land in London about seven? I’ve got a lot to do here. I can keep busy until then. Call me when you land and I will come home.”

  ‘ Home ’ sounded nice to Chad. He made a quick plan. “I’ll shower and stop around the corner at the wine store and pick up a nice Bordeaux or Burgundy. Maybe we can get take-away and eat in. I need a break. How does that …”

  “Wait,” Sandy stopped him. “What did you say? Wine? Never mind. I have to go, Chad.”

  Chad stared at a quiet phone.

  Sandy scrolled through the photos she took at Colbert’s flat.

  “Wine. Wine. Good wine. Here you are.”

  She zoomed in at the bottle of wine on the table. She read the label. Kumala Cabernet Shiraz.

  “I know you. You’re my second bottle Shiraz. Only a fiver at Sainsbury’s. You are from South Africa. My first bottle is a better bottle. You have no business on the table of a French boy who likes the best.”

  She pulled Colbert’s bio sheet. Where was he from in France?

  Tournon-sur-Rhone. Sandy was not much of a wine connoisseur, but she knew the Rhone valley produces the Syrah grape. Some of the world’s best Syrah/Shiraz wines came from the valley. She looked up the cost of Syrah’s from the Rhone valley. They ranged from ten to twenty pounds. Double the price of the bottle on the dead man’s table.

  The uneasy feeling she had about the case went away. Fraser Colbert did not buy that wine. Someone else did. Someone staged the flat. Someone killed Colbert. She felt it. What else was staged and why?

  Sandy grabbed the file, her phone, and the keys. She was going to Welton. Welton on the River Ember was the last home for Fraser Colbert from Tournon on the River Rhone.

  -----

  Adrien Tellier introduced Chad and Detective Peter Roesler.

  “Let’s sit,” Adrien said. The room was small and the table bolted to the floor took up most of the space. Four hard chairs, no decorations, and no windows. The room intimidated Chad.

  “Nice place, Adrien.” Chad commented.

  Both Adrien and Peter had to look around to see what the problem was. They were no strangers to interrogation rooms.

  Adrien chuckled. “Sorry, Chad. Best I could do. At least we won’t become so comfortable that you miss your flight.”

  “If I do , y ou answer to Sandy. I promised her I’d be home.”

  “A formidable femme,” he nodded. “We will keep her happy.”

  Peter looked confused. Adrien spoke in broken German trying to explain.

  “Gewaltig fraulein,” Peter said, smiling.

  “I will look that up when I get home,” Chad warned in a light tone.

  “Peter, tell us what has happened on your case,” Adrien prompted in English.

  Chad turned his attention to the square jawed, crew cut grey haired detective with hard deep blue eyes. Wrinkles under the eyes were evidence of many sleepless nights from the human depravity he encountered over thirty years as a policeman. Five of those were before the German reunification in 1990.

  “Our victim is Christoph Rauch. He was murdered at the Dresden Museum, as you know. Later that day before we went to his home, it burned down. We investigated. It appears that a burner was left on. At least, it was determined that was the origin point. It was a very complete fire because there were several petrol cans stored in the basement.”

  Chad started to ask a question. Peter stopped him with a raised hand.

  “He is married and father of two. He lost his job as a jeweler one year ago. His wife left him four months ago. She filed for divorce last month. He had been working as a truck driver for the last six months. It’s an unsteady job. Some weeks there is work. Some weeks there is not. He contracts a job. Supplies his own gas. They supply a truck. These independent drivers do not fill up the tank. They run it down low, keeping a lot in the cans.”

  Chad nodded. Peter had answered his unspoken question about the gas cans. “Do we know why he was at the museum?”

  “As Adrien has told you, the camera system was hacked and disabled for the time he was there.” Peter waited to deliver the next line. “But, we have a witness.”

  Chad’s interest perked up.

  “A woman was on the same floor as the murder. She said she saw Rauch sitting next to another man. She saw Rauch pass an envelope to the other man. She looked away but her curiosity made her look back toward them. Rauch was walking away. He carried a briefcase. She did not know if he carried it in with him. We looked at cameras in the area and saw Rauch before he went to the museum. He did not have it.”

  “What do you think happened?” Chad asked.

  “We think drugs. He had some bills on him that had traces.”

  Chad was talking as he was thinking. “He bought drugs? He didn’t have a job. Where does he get the money to buy? Who does he distribute to? Is there any other record of him as a criminal? Probably not. Independent driver. He was a transporter. Was he the go-between? Delivered money, picked up drugs. Takes the risk out of it for the money source. Why a museum?”

  Chad stopped talking as Peter looked at Adrien and smiled.

  “You are correct,” Peter said to Adrien. “He is very quick. He thinks like a policeman.”

  Chad was embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Peter. You have probably considered all these things. Why don’t I let you continue?”

  “This is okay,” Peter said. “You ask. Maybe we missed something. We agree with your question, why a museum. Not a place to make an exchange. Unless, you wanted someplace public. So no double cross. As for a motive for murder. Maybe many. Maybe he decided to go into business for himself. He borrows money from, uh, in America, ein Kredithai?”

  Adrien helped the interpretation. “A loan shark in America.”

  Peter continued. “Maybe the drug distributor finds out about Rauch’s intention to be their competition. They wait until he gets the drugs, the briefcase, then take him out, getting free drugs and leaving the loan shark losing money.”

  Chad interjected, “I doubt the money source would let it drop.”

  “We agree, and there is no word on the streets of a war or retribution.”

  “So, it’s not drugs?” Chad asked.

  “Oh, but there are drugs. And, money,” Peter said.

  Chad looked confused and expectant.

  Peter continued, “I didn’t like the drug dealing idea. We searched the house, what was left of it. Found nothing. We spoke with the wife. She knew nothing. Was there money somewhere? We checked banks for safety deposit boxes. None in his name. We searched for lockbox keys in house. None. We looked for purchases or evidence of living outside the means of an occasional truck driver. None. We left the house taped off. I put a camera on the burnt house site. This week there was a visitor. We did not monitor real time. When we did watch the video we saw a man we know, who has a drug dealing history, go into the basement. He carried a shopping bag in and out. I
t was fuller when he came out.”

  “You questioned him?”

  “I will get to that. However, in the basement we found some bricks in the wall removed. There was a hidden cavity. It tested positive for cocaine. We found the intruder. He had no drugs on him and a few thousand dollars. We had no evidence except that he crossed a police barrier. We threatened to prosecute fully; he was a repeat offender. He agreed to talk. He said he got a call and was told there were drugs and money in the wall in the basement. He said he did not find any. He lied, but we do not have proof of a call. There was no record of any calls. He said it was a burner phone that he threw away.”

  “You say he lied? Then, there were drugs?”

  “I don’t think so. He lied about the phone call. I think he put traces of drugs there.”

  “Why?” Chad asked. “And, didn’t you say the bag looked fuller when he left the house?”

  “To steer us away from the truth.”

  “Which is?” Chad asked.

  “We don’t know. We hope you can help us.” Adrien said.

  Chad thought. He looked at his watch. “Can we get a coffee? I think better with coffee.”

  “Good idea,” Adrien said.

  “Let’s make it a beer,” Peter suggested. “I think better with a beer.”

  “That’s sounds even better,” Chad agreed.

  Chapter 45

  Archer walked between Peter and Adrien toward his gate. He was tired. Just twenty-four hours ago he was in Malta. Then it was to Italy. To Belgrade. To Lyon. And now, to London.

  The three of them explored what else Christoph Rauch could have purchased. What else could have been in the briefcase? They could not come up with a plausible idea. However, when they turned it around and considered that maybe the briefcase held money and he was selling not buying, well then, the possibilities flooded their thoughts. Rauch was blackmailing someone. Rauch was selling documents. Rauch was selling a key to a locker with information. Rauch was selling a location of an object.