Moffat's Secret

by J. C. Williams

  “I’m good at solving puzzles. In this case, I just need more pieces.”

  Sandy’s face changed. She smiled. Her freckles seemed brighter. “Chad, what did the hippie say to the archeologist?”

  Chad broke into a broad grin and shook his head back and forth.

  “He said - I can dig it, man.”

  “That’s terrible. Where did you hear that?”

  She laughed, “How about this one?

  “Two archaeologists were excavating a tomb in Egypt.

  Archeologist 1: I just found another tomb of a mummified pharaoh!

  Archeologist 2: Are you serious?

  Archeologist 1: No bones about it!”

  “Sandy! Stop.” Chad was laughing at the sophomoric humor. “Where did you hear those?”

  “Archer did you know we had a dig here in York for several years?”

  “The Hungate Dig?”

  “Yes. I visited it twice. It was interesting. Anyway, a local radio show was promoting visits and asked people to make up or send in jokes.”

  “Those were the best ones?”

  “Those are the ones I remember.”

  “That site has been closed hasn’t it?”

  “Quite. It was open for six years. They made many finds. Now they are building over it.”

  “That’s a shame,” Chad said solemnly.

  “Another whiskey?” she asked. “I’ll buy.”

  “Sure.”

  “By the way,” she said, “This isn’t a date.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked seriously.

  “My mother told me not to date an archeologist because they are always dating other people.”

  “Funny. You should talk to my mother. She encourages every girl I bring home to marry me. She tells them that the older they get the more I will be interested in them.”

  The rest of the evening went even better.

  Chapter 26

  “Who’s on your short list?” Wayne Haskin asked Boyer over the scrambled line. Haskin recorded every call and kept the ones he could use later for legal defense.

  Boyer read five names.

  “Who do you like best?” Haskin inquired. He believed in solid vetting, and he listened to the opinions of his people. He listened to his own opinion as well. His instincts were usually dead on.

  “I like Dr. Matthews. Young, bright, and hungry. He’s on a contract at the moment. He started it full time last summer. We could buy him out of it. If we pay enough, he would jump. Maybe help find a fill-in for a few months.”

  Boyer continued, “Then there is Dr. Archer. He’s a solid scientist. He has a good rep. He teaches, but appears unattached for the summer. He usually works for Dr. Clark. Been doing that ten years. He’d be the best one to make sense of Clark’s notes and techniques. We only have a few months left. He’s the best bet. Clark may even have discussed this with Archer. He said he didn’t talk to anyone, but I have to think they are close. Archer was on his way to visit Clark, when Clark had his accident.”

  “I agree. Clark’s reports were copies of what he called his project journal. The notes were too abbreviated, almost cryptic. How soon can I meet him?” Haskin asked.

  “If it doesn’t seem out of place, maybe at Clark’s funeral Saturday?”

  “Let’s do it. I’ll join you there.”

  Chapter 27

  Half the guests of the Charles House Inn probably awoke to the loud beeping of Archer’s seven-thirty alarm before he did. Eyes closed, fumbling with unknown objects on the nightstand, Chad tried to clear his mind from his latest dream. He pushed every button that he found on the alarm clock until finally it was silenced. He rolled back onto the bed, pulled the covers up and buried his head under the pillow. Slowly, real time thoughts crept in to replace the dream thoughts. They were nice dream thoughts, too. He smiled. They had parted last night outside the hotel. Sandy to her car parked in a garage a block away, Chad to his room. He offered to escort her. That earned him another jab in the arm.

  “I’m a copper,” she said indignantly.

  “I thought we agreed on bobbette?” he laughed, the three whiskies having their effect.

  “We’re also called peelers. Named after Sir Robert Peel who began the police in London in the 1820s. That sounds better than bobbettes.”

  “Peelers? Now that has an intrigue to it.”

  “Another time for that,” She kissed him quickly, about-faced and disappeared into the settling fog.

  Chad remembered that this morning. It was like she became part of the fog. He smiled. He knew it was a goofy schoolboy smile.

  Raising himself, he looked at the clock. Better get up. What is it? Three in the morning at home? He had not adjusted. The sobering events to take place today prompted him to get moving. He noticed a message light on the phone. He pushed buttons following menu choices. Finally, he heard Julie’s voice telling him to sleep in. The coroner’s inquest was cancelled.

  What did that mean? Before he had a chance to make sense of it when his cell phone rang.

  “Archer,” he answered.

  “Chad, it’s me, Sandy.”

  She didn’t sound warm and friendly this morning.

  “Hi. Hey I just got a voice mail that the inquest was cancelled.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. The coroner decided there was not any evidence of a criminal act and that the causes were well established.”

  “So no inquiry?”

  “No. I think he also wanted to spare Mrs. Stuart more grief. The bad news is that he made the decision yesterday evening. In accordance with the form that was filled out by Mrs. Stuart yesterday, he released the body for cremation last night. The funeral director felt he was doing a good thing by acting on it right away so that Mrs. Stuart can take Dr. Clark’s ashes with her. We didn’t get a blood sample for analysis. I’m sorry, Chad.”

  “Why didn’t they call you? Your name was on the form, too.”

  “He said he didn’t look for a name. He knew the DCI was involved, so that was the call he made. The DCI called Mrs. Stuart.”

  “Okay,” Chad said feeling like he had a second puzzle, another one with missing pieces. “Thanks for calling, Sandy. I guess that I won’t get to see you again before I leave.”

  “I’ll look into some of the things you asked about last night. I owe you that.”

  “You don’t, Sandy. But thanks. You have my email. Let me know if you find something.”

  “Hey, you said that you had no plans for the summer. Maybe backpacking across Europe? How about backpacking in England and Scotland?”

  “I wish I knew somebody that lived there. Oh well, I’ll stick with Italy and Spain. I hear there are hot blooded women there.”

  “Maybe. But the official peelers are here in England.”

  “H-m-m. You have a point. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Right. In the meantime, I’m making a sketch of you and putting it on an Interpol Wanted poster. If you show your face in Spain or Italy you will be arrested.”

  “Oh, so, I am wanted.”

  “In your dreams, Archer.”

  Chapter 28

  The messenger merged into traffic on the A720, avoiding the center of Edinburgh on the way to St. Andrews. It was a five-hour drive from York to the famous seaside city - famous as the home of golf and famous as the home of Scotland’s first university.

  The driver enjoyed the scenery - the rolling hills, stonewalls, and sheep herds. The pastures altered their shades of green as the sun occasionally peeked from the clouds.

  A copy of the police inquires and the official report along with the coroner’s final conclusions sat on the passenger seat. In addition, the surveillance photos and notes of the two watchers were tucked into folders. The messenger’s review and analysis was clipped to the top of the pages.

  The economics professor at St. Andrews was a stickler for facts and accuracy. Every detail was important to him. He had questioned this messenger numerous times. The Professor had a way to mak
e you feel that you knew more than you thought you did. He made you feel important, like it was just you and he. The messenger wasn’t naïve. There had to be many messengers and watchers throughout the UK, and possibly the world.

  An hour and a half later the messenger waited in the Professor’s study, standing, not invited to sit, looking out the two large windows that took up the entire left wall overlooking the far end of the Old Course. This would be a short meeting.

  Floor to ceiling bookshelves behind the desk displayed covers of various colors. The bright covers were from the newer studies and a few novels. They were outnumbered by the many, brown, thick, and aged works collected over a lifetime. The wall to the right was warmed by a centered fireplace flanked by two tapestries depicting golfers in plus fours from two centuries ago. The final wall, now behind the messenger was covered with a light green wallpaper designed with crossed golf clubs, a subtle backdrop for several paintings of golfers, probably famous. The messenger didn’t know golf.

  The Professor looked up. “Your conclusions?”

  “Dr. Clark came close to finding it and claims to know what it is. Sorry. Claimed. Past tense. Officially, there are no doubts it was an accident. The newcomer, Archer, is inquisitive, but has left the country. All in all, the secret seems safe and remains a secret.”

  “I agree. Good work. I’ll be in touch.”

  That was a short meeting the messenger thought.

  The Professor had other thoughts. It was a safe secret perhaps, but he didn’t know where the object was. He thought about the next steps. His success in economics was using the past to frame the present and to predict the future.

  Rising and triggering a hidden lever on the bookcases behind the desk, he entered a large room. The door swung silently closed behind him.

  The Professor knew little about programming and IT networks, but he knew enough to hire the best. He sent twenty separate, coded emails, through a program designed to randomly bounce and route the communication through various public IP addresses.

  Six went to the United States, five within the UK, two to Mexico, one to Peru, one to India, three to Israel, one to the Vatican, one to France, one to Norway, and one to Iceland.

  Chapter 29

  The Jeffers Funeral Home fit the antebellum style of Madison, Georgia. The tall white pillars and the three-step entrance welcomed everyone into the thick-carpeted, high-ceilinged rooms. The dimensions of the visitation room, though crowded to almost overflowing, muffled the undercurrent of a hundred conversations.

  Archer stood next to Julie, as he had for the last hour. She was holding up very well. Occasionally, both last night and today, she would pull Chad away into a private room to take a break from the overwhelming attention.

  He found himself going through the motions with many of the attendees passing their condolences to Julie. It seemed that every local and state politician was present. At first, he found it warming that they had taken the time to pay their respects, but he soon figured out that many were just here for show, not for Julie. Chad knew many of the non-politicians - an international representation of archeologists, fellow teachers, and administrators from Braxton College.

  Archer’s attention wandered to the crown molding, dark red wallpaper, large gold-framed pictures of southern plantations, and stately southern homes. He didn’t know if this was a snapshot of Madison, but it could have been, he thought, at least from what he saw of the homes leading to downtown. He was in a state of mind he called fuzzy. The last two days were indeed fuzzy. The flight from England was long, made even longer because he sat next to Julie who moved in and out of sleep. They swapped stories and memories of her father. He felt that trip was probably a better closure for them both than these services.

  Yesterday wasn’t any comfort for Julie. He was with her all morning as she handled things like flowers and a headstone. She spent a tearful three hours picking out photos to arrange around the urn. That bittersweet trip into the past was done twice. First, by she and Chad. Then once again when Henry’s sister arrived from Michigan late Friday afternoon. That was Chad’s chore, to pick her and her husband up at the airport - an hour and a half drive both ways. Chad had the foresight to rent a large van when he and Julie arrived Thursday night from London. He used it to pick-up several others at the same time.

  Henry’s sister Liz was ten years older than Henry. There was a brother in between Liz and Henry. He died young, before he was thirty. Chad didn’t know how.

  Among the other four passengers was Janine, a college best friend. She sat up front and luckily for everyone was chatty. She worked at it. Filling awkward moments and asking questions. She was their tour guide of Madison when they drove through town to the motels. Chad gathered that she and Julie were still close.

  Archer felt a tap on the shoulder. Turning he faced a man a couple inches shorter than Chad - black hair, high cheekbones, and two almond shaped eyes - deep and dark as pools of ink. Chad recognized a strong Native American bloodline.

  “Dr. Archer. I’m Elsu Begay. We have not met. I studied under Dr. Clark here at U of G. He spoke of you often. I wanted to say hello and pass on my condolences.”

  “Thank you, Elsu. Please call me Chad. Henry mentioned you to me. It’s Dr. Begay now, correct?”

  “Yes. Now is not the time, I know, but I would like to talk to you about your old dig in Sedona. It’s been re-opened and I will work there this summer. In fact, I’ve been there off and on since September supervising the cleanup. It has taken four years because of governance contentions. My ancestry bridged several of the issues. I have some questions for you when you have time.”

  “Are you here tomorrow?” Chad asked.

  “No. I return to Arizona State where I’m teaching.”

  “Let me get your cell number,” Chad suggested.

  They exchanged information.

  “Where will you work this summer?” Begay asked.

  “No plans yet,” Chad responded, but he had been thinking about Sandy’s offer to backpack through the UK.

  “Perhaps you might have some time to spare for me and Sedona?”

  “Perhaps,” Chad answered. They shook hands as the ebb and flow of the people in the room moved some more, always with Julie at its center like a vortex in a tornado.

  Archer moved back to Julie’s side as he heard a man say to her, “Mrs. Stuart. My condolences. Your father was doing some research for me. For Stella Enterprises. I had met with him a few times. The world has lost a good man.”

  “Thank you. Please, it’s Julie. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m sorry. I am Wayne Haskin.”

  “Wayne. Thanks for coming. Where is home for you?”

  “Dallas.”

  “Again, I appreciate you coming such a long way. When I have a chance to get Dad’s affairs in order, I am sure we will be talking.”

  “Absolutely. And this is Mr. Boyer.”

  A man that had been shielded from Chad’s view stepped forward. Chad’s mind clicked several time on his features. They fit the collage of images formed by the description given him in the Crossed Arms Pub. A narrow, weasel face, two large ears, and a thin mustache.

  The man in the suit.

  Chapter 30

  Archer was one of the several people that Julie asked to say a few words. It went well and quickly. Chad spoke of Doc’s ethics and his respect for local residents at the excavations. He included Doc’s views of the ownership of artifacts by the people that owned the history. Chad was a good lecturer and weaved in humorous stories about Henry.

  When he finished, Chad looked at Julie who smiled and then at Henry’s sister who was nodding.

  Many in the pews were nodding in agreement. At the back of the room, Chad noticed Wayne Haskin smiling and nodding as well.

  Haskin turned to Boyer and said, “We need him. He’s our man.”

  -----

  It was strange staying at Henry’s rented house in Athens without the master of the house present.
Chad had been there several times. It was an old house in a nice neighborhood where several college professors resided. In addition to a large dining room, kitchen, and living room on the first floor, Henry had a small office. Squeaky stairs led to a three bedroom second floor - Henry’s room, the guest room, and the third room that Henry dubbed his history room.

  Chad wandered through the house on the evening of the funeral. Julie was kept company by her old roommate, Janine. The office was ‘Henried,’ as some of his students called it. Not a book out of place, nor a pencil, nor a picture. Chad was used to it. The only time Henry was not that way was when he dived into a project. Then it was book after book lying open on the desk. Files were piled high. Papers covered with sticky notes and layered in alternate directions created precarious mounds. Henry could work like that for several hours and then realize what it looked like. He’d stop. Re-file papers. Close books. Place them back on the shelves and start again.

  Chad was surprised when the house phone rang. He answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “Chad. Good. I was hoping to reach you. Your cell phone must be still shut off.”

  He checked. “Oh, sorry, Julie. It is.”

  “No problem. I called to let you know that everyone has rides to the airport tomorrow, so you are freed from the taxi duties. I cannot thank you enough. Will you stay a few days?”

  “I have to get back for my finals on Tuesday. I can put off leaving until Monday noon. What’s up?”

  “I would like your help.”

  “Sure,” he said. “What can I do?”

  “It’s a big imposition, Chad. Don’t say yes till you hear what it is.”

  “What is it?”

  “My father’s things there at the house. Could you go through them with me? Maybe tomorrow?”

  “I’d be happy to do that.”

  “That would be great. If you are bored tonight and want to get a start, take a look at all of his files and records if you would like. I want to hang on to the important things. I don’t know that I would know what some of them are. I also need to find whatever I can on his arrangement with Stella Enterprises.”