“After the last Romanian king. I was born in August of 1944, in the very month that he took power. Of course the Russians forced him to abdicate three years later, but he was a national hero for a brief time. He switched Romania to the Allied side, against Hitler.”
“And Vlado is from Prince Vlad, the model for Count Dracula?”
Michael Vlado chuckled. “No, no – the legends of Transylvania are even more bizarre than those of the Gypsy. Vlado is a common family name among Gypsies, known even in America, where much of the Rom tribe has settled.”
“Where are you from originally? India, as the legends say?”
“Northern India, most certainly. But we were as much outcasts there as we have been ever since.”
“But now you wander no longer.”
“Nine or ten centuries of wandering is enough for any tribe. Perhaps there is another saying: The world shall know no peace, till the Gypsy’s wanderings cease.”
“There it is!” Segar said suddenly, catching sight of the white camper parked just off the road. He pulled in behind it and they got out.
The driver’s door was standing open, and as they neared it Segar saw an arm dangling almost to the ground. He drew his pistol without a word. Norn Tene had toppled sideways from the driver’s seat, and blood was running from two bullet wounds in his head, dripping onto the ground beside the car. In the passenger seat, the girl Rachael was crumpled and bleeding from wounds in her head and breast.
“They’re both dead,” Captain Segar said with something like awe in his voice.
This time Michael Vlado helped him search, but there was no sign of the gold. In fact there seemed to be no personal possessions at all in the camper except for some food and bedding. “Whoever killed them took it,” Segar decided. “Do you agree?”
“There was no time for the killer to search the vehicle,” Michael pointed out. “We were less than five minutes behind them. Besides, you’d already looked for the gold.”
“I might have missed it,” Segar said, though he didn’t really believe that. He had not risen to the rank of Captain by missing something as large and obvious as gold ingots.
“The ingots might be of small size,” the Gypsy pointed out.
“Those seized at the border were large enough. They were hidden beneath the camping vehicle, coated with grease.”
“Perhaps there was some other motive for the killings.” But Segar could tell that the words lacked conviction. They both knew the two had been killed for their gold, by one of the village Gypsies.
“There is no other motive,” Segar said. “I want the killer, Michael, and I want the gold.”
“I cannot give you what I do not have.”
“I want the killer or I will have the militia up here, tearing apart every house in Gravita.”
“You cannot do that.”
Segar’s temper boiled over. The killings seemed like a personal affront to him, and seeing the bodies not yet drained of their blood made him want to strike back. “I can do anything that I wish, Michael Vlado! You are nothing but a band of Gypsies, remember. You are beyond the protection of the law. I can have everyone in this town arrested if I wish.”
“We have lived here all our lives. We are citizens.”
“Then act like a citizen! Give me the killer of these two people.”
“I cannot give you what I do not have,” he repeated.
“I will call the authorities now to deal with these bodies. You have until morning to deliver the murderer to me. Otherwise you force me to take drastic action.”
Michael Vlado merely shook his head and said nothing. Segar used the police radio in his car to summon assistance. Then he returned to the Gypsy, his temper calmed a bit, and attempted to show a degree of moderation. “You could start by listing for me those Gypsies known to possess guns.”
“All of us possess guns, Captain. It is a farming and hunting community.”
“And do all of you possess gold ingots?”
Michael Vlado sighed. “You must talk to King Carranza. If he approves, I will give you what help I can.”
It was thirty minutes before the district police reached the scene, and Segar saw at once that they had little knowledge or skill in dealing with the double killing. Some of his own men arrived soon after, and he ordered the government police under the Ministry of Justice to take jurisdiction in the matter. It was late afternoon before he was able to leave the scene and drive back to the village with Michael Vlado. At King Carranza’s blacksmith shop they found they were not the only visitors. Steven Fetesti and Maria Malita had come with a special petition.
Steven, his young face troubled and intense, was pacing the floor of Carranza’s living room while the crippled king sat hunched over in his wheel-chair. He was obviously making a final plea that his marriage to Maria be allowed to proceed as scheduled. “It is our life, King Carranza, and a dispute over the bride-price should not be allowed to disrupt the ceremony!”
The king raised his hand for silence as Segar and Michael Vlado entered. “What new troubles do you bring me, Michael? I have already heard of the tragic killings on the north road.”
“That is why I come. Captain Segar wants my cooperation. But tend to these young people first.”
It was Maria who spoke next, and she addressed herself to Michael. “We know our fate is in your hands because you will rule on the bride-price controversy tomorrow noon. But we cannot accept a verdict that denies us the right to marry unless a few more leu or a few more gold necklaces are paid.”
“You must abide by the ruling of the kris,” the king told them. “That has always been the way of the Gypsies.”
“Then it’s time that way was changed,” Steven told him. “If necessary we will leave Gravita. We will run away to Bucharest and be married there!”
Michael placed a hand on the young man’s broad shoulders. “Wait until tomorrow, and see what happens. I urge you not to do anything rash that will bring shame on both your families.”
Maria Malita seemed reassured by his words, and she took Steven aside. Finally they promised not to do anything until the following day. When they had left, King Carranza said, “Your judgment in the matter must not be swayed by sentiment, Michael. If the bride-price is unfair, you must rule that way.”
“Right now we have a more important matter before us.
“The killings? They were nomads, were they not?”
“They were Gypsies, from Greece. It seems obvious they headed in our direction because they sought safety with us. Instead they received bullets.”
“From whom?”
“That we do not know.”
“An outsider –”
“Not likely. One of our people saw the captain searching for smuggled gold. He – or she – waylaid them along the road and shot them both. The killer no doubt planned to search for the gold himself, but heard our approaching car and escaped into the woods. We were only minutes behind.”
“Why do you say she?”
“We cannot rule out a woman,” Michael said. “A woman would be more successful in getting them to stop in the first place, and she might have hidden a rifle under her full skirt.”
But Captain Segar shook his head. “The murder weapon was more likely a pistol. The camper door was opened on the driver’s side before the shots were fired, because there were no bullet holes in the glass. I think the killer was standing nearby, and at that range rifle bullets would have passed through the bodies. These bullets didn’t. Also, a rifle or automatic pistol ejects its cartridge cases. There were none on the ground, and the killer wouldn’t have had time to pick them up. I would guess a revolver was used.”
Carranza’s eyes twinkled. “You are a good detective.”
“A detective, yes – but my knowledge of the Rom is limited. I speak your language, I know something of your customs, but for this investigation I need Michael here.”
“You ask that he betray a fellow Gypsy?”
“The victims
were Gypsies, and guests of this village.”
“They were only passing through,” Michael corrected. “But we had a responsibility for their safety.”
The king nodded. “Perfectly true, and the Rom is a strictly moral society. We do have responsibility to uncover the killer if he is one of our people. Can we still insist that our unmarried girls be chaperoned when we let a double murder go unpunished?”
“I will help you,” Michael told the captain, “if it is King Carranza’s will.”
“It is,” the man in the wheelchair said.
“Tomorrow morning?” Segar asked.
“Tomorrow noon.”
Captain Segar remained at the village overnight, sleeping at the Vlado home. Michael’s wife Rosanna, whom Segar had not met before, proved to be a pleasant but withdrawn woman who took little interest in her husband’s affairs. She carved little wooden animals which were sold in one of the village shops, and late in the evening warmed toward Segar enough to get out a deck of tarot cards and tell his fortune.
“She’s good with those,” Michael said, watching his wife with unconcealed admiration as she predicted a long and happy life, and many children, for Captain Segar.
“I have four children now,” he told her. “Do you see more?”
“A fifth, at least. A girl.”
Captain Segar smiled.
He slept downstairs on a worn sofa, and sometime past midnight awakened enough to see a shadow move across the front door of the little house. He started to reach for his gun but then he recognized Michael, slipping out of the house. Perhaps he was on his way to meet a woman or find a murderer. Either way, Segar knew he did not want company.
He woke at dawn, and saw that Michael was already sit ting fully dressed at the kitchen table. Perhaps he had not slept at all. Segar rolled off the sofa, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He went into the bathroom without speaking, and when he came out he said, “You promised me a murderer before noon.”
“By noon, I think I said. First I must dispose of the matter of the bride-price.”
“Never mind the bride-price. Do you know who killed those two people?”
“Yes.”
“And where the gold was hidden?”
“Yes, that too.”
“Where did you go during the night?”
“All in good time, Captain.”
After breakfast they walked through the village and Michael Vlado spoke to everyone they passed. He wore a colorful new vest his wife had made, and seemed especially proud of it. “You are happy today,” Segar observed.
“The weather is warming. Soon the crops will be planted. When my people have things to occupy them, there are not so many temptations about.”
“You will lead them someday,” Segar observed. “You will be their king.”
“Carranza is their king. To go against his wishes would bring a curse upon the entire tribe.”
“You still believe the old superstitions?”
But Michael did not answer.
When they reached the council hall, well before the time set for Michael to deliver his verdict, the rival fathers were already on the scene. Arges Malita was pacing back and forth, eying Ion Fetesti with open dislike. “Ah, Michael Vlado,” he said as they approached, “do you have a verdict for me today?”
“I have. You will hear it at noon.”
“Your daughter is not fit for my son!” Fetesti shouted suddenly, and Arges Malita hurled himself toward the other man. Segar moved quickly to keep them apart. Family members led them in separate directions, trying to calm them.
“I thought Gypsy marriages were arranged by the families,” Segar said as they entered the building.
“Usually they are. But with Steven and Maria it is true love. The fathers were never friendly, and this business of the bride-price has driven them even further apart. I think Malita would have objected no matter what price the Fetesti family offered for Maria.”
“Was there trouble when you and Rosanna married?”
Michael chuckled. “Nothing like this. But Gypsies are hot-blooded by nature. It is to be expected.”
The spectators gradually filed in, taking their seats on opposite sides of the room. The families were divided, except that Steven and Maria sat together in the last row on his side. Just before noon Segar was surprised to see King Carranza wheeled in, his chair pushed by Michael’s wife.
Segar stood at the back of the small room while Michael sat behind the judgment table. “This kris is now in session,” he announced. “Although my judgment is informal, and has no legal sanction in the eyes of the state, it is binding in our community. Ion Fetesti and Arges Malita, please rise.” When they had done so, he continued. “We find that the bride-price offered by the Fetesti family is a fair and reasonable one, and must be accepted by the family of Maria Malita.”
There was cheering from the family of Steven Fetesti and silence from the Malita clan. Captain Segar glanced at King Carranza and thought he detected a slight smile. In the last row, Steven kissed Maria gently on the lips.
“There is one other matter,” Michael announced as some of the family members began to file out. “Though it is not the official business of this kris to investigate crimes, we cannot let yesterday’s terrible event pass without notice. Two travelers, Roms like ourselves, were brutally robbed and murdered while passing through the village. For this the killer must be brought to account. I have investigated the matter, and it is now my unpleasant duty to name the guilty party.”
There was dead silence in the room as he spoke. Segar tensed, waiting for the next words.
“Ion Fetesti, you are the murderer!”
Fetesti, basking in the triumph of his victory on the bride-price, looked dumbfounded for just an instant. Then his hand streaked beneath his coat and came out holding a revolver. Segar’s own shot was just a second too late, and he saw Michael topple as the killer’s bullet struck him.
It was Rosanna who insisted that Michael be carried to their house, and it was she who worked on his shoulder, digging and probing until the bullet had been removed. Segar took it to match with the slugs from the other two victims, though the result would be of only academic inter est. His own shot had blown off the back of Ion Fetesti’s head.
When Michael could sit up and talk, there were questions from Rosanna and King Carranza, as well as from Segar. “It was a foolish thing, I suppose, announcing his name like that,” Michael admitted. “But I had no way of knowing he’d be armed. I suppose he brought the weapon to protect himself from Maria’s father.”
“How did you know he killed those two?” Captain Segar asked. “You must have had some knowledge I lacked.”
“No, no – you saw and heard all that I did. My midnight journey last night was only to confirm what I already knew. Our first sight of the victims’ camper, parked in the village yesterday, showed that it was shiny – not dusty like your own car, Captain, after traveling these dirt roads. And yet the Greek license plate on the back was dusty. What does that suggest?”
“My God! They switched plates!”
“Or to be more exact, they switched campers. You did not find the gold ingots when you searched for them because you were searching the wrong vehicle. That camper came from this village, and they simply attached their plates to it. If you were listening during yesterday’s kris testimony, you know that Ion Fetesti owned the only camping vehicle in the village. And I remarked myself how much alike they all looked. Is there confirmation of this theory? Yes, because young Steven told us his father first saw the visitors and sent Steven to tell us. While he was telling us, his father warned them the police were in the village and struck a deal with them. He emptied his own camper of his personal possessions, quickly switched license plates, and allowed them to drive it into the village. They did it in such a hurry, no one noticed the dusty license plates. Fetesti would have avoided getting his fingerprints on them as much as possible if he was planning a crime.”
“He planne
d to kill them from the beginning?”
“Perhaps not. But while they were in the village with us he found the gold ingots fastened beneath the camper. He needed money – for his son’s bride-price if nothing else – so he decided to keep that camper with its gold. He met Norn Tene and Rachael at the agreed-upon rendezvous outside the village, but instead of returning their camper he killed them.”
“Where did you go during the night?” Segar asked.
“To Fetesti’s house to look at his camper. I guessed he would leave the ingots safely where they were for the time being, and I found them just where you said, covered with grease.”
“Why didn’t those Gypsies simply remove the gold bars and leave them with Fetesti, rather than change campers?”
“They didn’t trust him enough to show him what they were carrying. And when I examined them they were well hidden and difficult to remove from the camper’s chassis.”
Rosanna finished bandaging her husband, the rings on her fingers catching the light as she worked. “What about the wedding?” she asked, “now that Steven’s father is dead?”
“Ion Fetesti must be buried first,” Michael decided. “Then the wedding will go on as planned. A fair bride price has been decided upon.”
Gypsies, Captain Segar thought, remembering the young couple. There are good ones and bad ones. “I’ll be going soon,” he said. “Take care of yourself, Michael. That bullet might have killed you.”
Michael Vlado smiled. “I have the luck of a Gypsy.”
“It didn’t help Fetesti today.”
ODDS ON A GYPSY
In the spring of that year, Captain Segar often made the long drive through the foothills of the Transylvanian Alps to the village of Gravita. He had grown friendly with the Gypsy leader Michael Vlado who was attempting to educate his people and instruct them in the ways of farming.
In the few short months they’d known one another Segar, had learned a great deal about Gypsy life in general and Michael in particular. Though Gypsy caravans still roamed the back roads of Romania, Michael Vlado and his people were not nomads. Like most Eastern European gypsies, they had settled in one place and were attempting to integrate their culture with that of the general population.
The Iron Angel Page 2
