Cale Dixon and the Moguk Murders

by David Dagley

  A police officer stood near the statue, watching Martin and Cale as they approached, each retrieving their identification again and flashing their credentials. Martin spoke to the guard, “Officer Vandal, I want you to sign everyone in and out of this site at this corridor entrance starting right now. I need names and the time they walked passed you. Can you do that for me?”

  “Sure. Give me a minute, and I'll round up a pad of paper.”

  “Thanks,” said Martin as he and Cale turned and entered a peach marble corridor filled with glass cases of Asian artifacts; precious stones, gold and silver rings, decorative knives, chopsticks of ivory, silver and bone, intricately carved and dyed bowls, priceless paintings and glass etchings, wall tapestries, racks of swords, and glass encasements of costumed warriors of a long-past era, armed with bows, shields, swords, and spears.

  Martin slowed his pace as he glanced at some of the displays. Cale stopped at a case with only one object in it, a gold oblong oval with a red stone in an eye at one end. Cale thought it looked like an elongated U.S. military dog tag. The object was pressed into a purple cushion.

  Cale read the card under the item.

  “This object is made of solid gold. The ruby in the eye of the handle is from the Moguk region of Burma. The symbol on the neck has yet to be deciphered or categorized into any known Asian linguistic or numeric cultural history. It is believed to be a key. This object was taken from a noble Hun warrior upon his death by a Cho ancestor in 457 AD, apparently after some of the Huns returned to the East. Research on this object still continues today and is part of the Cho collection.”

  Martin moved on to the next room, and Cale followed. The room opened up with a vaulted ceiling. Large palm and mature ficus trees grew out of gigantic, shiny, black glazed urns spaced out along the walls. Black and white marble squares crossed the floor like a large chessboard. The flooring was bordered by three black pinstripe bands. Martin noticed the officers had taped off a three-quarter portion of the room in a semicircle. Showcases of diamonds, rubies, and sapphires lined the walls between the potted trees, and more gold and silver objects filled the island showcases in two rows centered in the middle of the room.

  Looking through the legs of a small crowd of officers, Cale could see an Asian face on the floor, eyes open and partially rolled up, exposing the whites. Something red protruded from his mouth. The man lay twisted partially on his back, with one arm bent awkwardly underneath him. His shoes were off. Different currencies of money lay strewn on and around the body; U.S. dollars, booklets of traveler checks, Indonesian rupee, and some South Korean money. When Cale moved closer he realized that there were red stones in the man's mouth. There were more stones scattered around the floor and in the victim's pooled blood, but just a shade darker.

  “Good morning,” Martin announced to the room. “If you don't need to be here or have finished your assigned tasks, please sign out with Officer Vandal at the entrance and leave this room.” Martin pointed down the hall towards Officer Vandal and explained, “Give him your name and the time you left this scene. Thank you.”

  Cale watched as a few officers finished their whispering conversations, walked towards the entrance, and left the room.

  One of Martin's assistants, Matt, a want-to-be-detective, lifted the tape for Martin and Cale and greeted them, “How ya doin’, Martin?” Matt was surprised to see Cale and added a condescending jab to his greeting, “Hey, Dixon. Rising from the dead, or do you have a plane to catch?”

  Cale nodded silently.

  Martin turned and barked, “Shut up, Matt.”

  Matt ignored the remark and walked with Martin, warning him, “I hope you aren't busy for awhile.”

  Martin impatiently responded, “Have all the photos been taken?”

  A woman taking evidence photos spoke up, “Just a few more to go, ten minutes tops. I'm done with the body and shoes. I'm just taking some more layout shots.”

  Cale took some photos as well and remained out of the way, watching and listening.

  Martin donned some green latex gloves and approached the victim, “Take your time. Let's get them all now,” he said to the photographer. As Martin knelt down next to the body, he could see the man was holding a knife handle, which led straight into his back and was just visible through the front of his white pressed cotton shirt. Below the sternum was the tip of the blade surrounded by a large blood stain. Martin looked around and asked, “Where are his shoes?”

  “The victim's shoes are against the wall. Fingerprints have already been lifted,” responded the photographer.

  Matt knelt down next to Martin, “Martin, we found two bocce balls loose in the room. No fingerprints were found on them, and they've been bagged.”

  Martin stood up and moved towards the shoes, “Good job. Anything else I should know?”

  “Yeah, I've got the security guard who found the body and made the call early this morning.”

  “Good. Stay with him, and I'll be over in a minute. Thanks, Matt.”

  Ignoring Martin's speed, Cale crouched down by the body as Martin moved to look at the shoes and Matt walked off towards a small group of officers outside of the taped area. Cale noticed that the victim's arm was either broken or dislocated.

  Martin asked the remaining crowd, “What else have we got?”

  Matt stopped outside the tape, spun around pointing to the body, and answered loudly, “All of his belongings are still on him or in him. We'll be extra careful in the lab. There seems to be no evidence of forced entry in the entire building, and apparently nothing has been stolen—besides the life of the victim. The building is fully alarmed and armed with cameras, infrared beams, and a sound recording system. I'll arrange to have the tapes, or disks, and whatever else goes with them collected and brought to the lab.”

  Martin crouched down next to the shoes and asked, “What's going on with prints? How far are you along?”

  A forensics officer dusting a gold metal ball on top of a metal post responded cynically, “We're in a public place. We're dusting for prints within a fifty-foot radius including convex corners, doorknobs, glass cases, switches, railing posts, and more. All prints will be collected and compared in the database back at the lab like usual. Do you want me to dust anything else in particular?”

  Martin didn't respond but stood up and moved back towards Cale. Together, they walked over to meet the security guard. As they separated from the other officers, Martin said sarcastically, “That's a tough way to commit suicide.”

  Cale gave Martin a courtesy laugh and responded, “In your dreams.”

  Martin and Cale stopped at Matt's side where he was speaking with a khaki-uniformed security guard, a heavyset man with red wavy hair, blue eyes, and overweight jowls. A distinguished elderly gentleman with white hair, in a three-piece suit, stood nearby listening intently.

  Matt introduced them, “Detective Hanna and research assistant Dixon, this is the security guard, Mr. Douglas Peck. Mr. Peck called in the murder and was on duty during the incident early this morning. And this gentleman is Mr. Madison, director of the museum.”

  Martin and Cale shook hands with both of them and chorused, “Hello, nice to meet you.”

  Matt continued, “I'm going with Mr. Madison to make a list and have its contents organized for pickup, digital footage if I can, a list of key holders to the museum, and possibly some groundwork information on the museum, like what's on display now, next month, and last month. Is there anything else either of you can think of that we might need from Mr. Madison at this time?”

  Martin frowned and replied, “Nope, but I'll call you if I think of something. I'll meet you back at the office after you see that this room is cleared of all officers.” Martin turned his attention to Mr. Madison and asked, “Mr. Madison, with your permission, I would like to have this room closed for awhile. Just in case we've overlooked something, we would like to have the time and opportunity to retrace our steps. We'll know if we missed something by tomorrow before openin
g time.”

  “I'll arrange for a one-day closure, an exhibit change perhaps,” suggested Mr. Madison.

  “Thanks, we appreciate it,” said Martin.

  Matt and Mr. Madison walked off down the corridor towards the entrance.

  Martin looked around quickly and asked, “Mr. Peck, do you have time to grab a cup of coffee somewhere and tell me in as much detail as possible about what happened here this morning?”

  “Sure. There's a place just around the corner,” offered the guard.

  Martin nodded and said, “Let's go there.” He glanced at Cale, then at his watch, and tapped on the crystal. It was 7:55 a.m.

  The guard led Martin and Cale out of the exhibit room and away from the murder scene to a connecting hall. As they walked, Cale looked at the costumes and armor in the glass cases along the walls, taking in the detail and craftsmanship. Between two of the glass cases a red emergency exit sign glowed, and below it was a metal fire door with a crossbar.

  “Are you a full-time guard here?” Martin asked as they arrived at the door.

  The guard opened the fire door, and stepped out onto a concrete loading dock with a short set of stairs to the alley, and replied, “Yes. There are two of us each night. Kurt Dunn is the guard who I replace most nights. He works from 6:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m., and then I come in until 10:00 a.m. Roger Larson is in there now. He's kind of our living fossil and a serious historian.”

  As the guard led them down the stairs to the alley, Martin asked, “Have we taken you away from your job? It's not even eight.”

  “No. I asked permission to call Roger in early knowing I'd be tied up for some time with this situation,” responded the guard.

  They reached the main street and turned left to the Outcast Café. Martin looked at his watch again—7:58 a.m. The guard opened the door of the café for Martin and Cale, and they walked inside.

  A woman was wiping down a place setting from behind the counter and looked up to greet them. She recognized the guard, “Hello, Douglas.”

  Martin winked at Cale as he tapped on his watch face again and held up three fingers.

  “Hello, Kimberly. How's business?”

  “Steady. Can I get you guys some coffee or something?”

  “Yes, please. Two cups of coffee and a cup of Earl Grey tea for my friend here,” replied Martin. Martin extended his arm to show the guard where they should sit and suggested, “Let's go all the way back.”

  The guard followed Martin to the back booth and sat down across from him. Cale sat down next to Mr. Peck.

  Kimberly brought over a pot of coffee. She flipped up two cups, filled them, and asked, “Who gets the Earl Grey?”

  Cale raised his hand and smiled.

  “Would anybody like to see a menu?”

  “I don't think so, thanks,” answered Martin.

  “Okay. Just holler if you need anything.” Kimberly shot a quick glance at Mr. Peck and walked back to her duties.

  Martin asked, “Were you on time for work last night, Mr. Peck?”

  “Oh yeah, always,” responded the guard. “Do you want me to give it to you from when I arrived or what?”

  “That would be great. Mr. Peck, I'm going to record this conversation rather than come back to you for questions you've already answered truthfully the first time. This way we see less of each other,” Martin smiled, pulled out a small recorder, turned it on, and set it in the middle of the table. “Detective Martin Hanna interviewing a Mr. Douglas Peck, security guard at the Cho Estate Museum. Today is November eighteenth. We are at the Outcast Café. Research Assistant Cale Dixon is here. It is eight o'clock in the morning. Mr. Peck, could you state your full name, your present occupation, home phone number, and address where you can be reached off duty, followed by the events that led up until now?” Martin sat back with a notepad and a pen ready.

  Mr. Peck sipped his coffee and began comfortably, “My name is Douglas Peck. I'm one of ten or so guards at the Cho Estate Museum. My home phone number is (487) 843-5397. My physical address is 2075 South Western Avenue, Daly City, California.” Mr. Peck took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing, “I arrived at the museum at twenty ‘til two in the morning like usual. I parked in one of the two security guard parking spaces available and called Kurt Dunn, the other guard who I replace. I called on my radio and asked him to turn off the exterior guard door alarm at his deck so I could let myself in the building. I walked through the staff break room to the staff dressing room where our lockers are and changed into my uniform. I met Mr. Dunn at the front security desk at five minutes ‘til two, which is what we normally do. He filled me in on any requests from Mr. Madison, specific duties or details of our evening rounds, and then we chatted about football teams for a few minutes. He said good night and left for the break room, changed into his street clothes, then called me to turn off the alarm to let him out. Once he was outside, he called back; I turned on the alarm at approximately 2:15 a.m. The museum was all quiet and business as usual for the next few hours. I do my rounds about every hour, and it takes maybe fifteen to twenty minutes to make a complete round. After my round, I return to the security desk; sometimes I watch the screens for awhile, read some of my book or the newspaper, and generally keep an eye on things. On my rounds, one of my duties is to make sure the infrared detectors are on and functioning properly. There are a few different places where the infrared glasses are kept. I put the glasses on to see the red lines, make sure they are there, then put the glasses back, and lock the box shut. At around 6:30 a.m. an audio signal was activated while I was on one of my rounds. That's normal because it usually picks up my footsteps and my keys when I walk, but this was from a different audio camera unit in the museum where I hadn't been yet. I noticed it when I returned to my desk. I sat down and watched the screen for a bit. The camera moved around normally, and I didn't see anything strange or out of place, but I was on alert. I decided to go check it out myself, so I walked into the section of the museum where the murder took place, but there was nothing unusual at the time. There are some double doors in that room that lead to an outside deck and courtyard. I checked the doors, and everything was locked up, so I turned around and walked back to my desk. When I got to my desk, the audio recorder was going off again in the same area. I called the police and requested assistance. After I hung up the phone to the police, the infrared alarm went off at my desk, which also goes off at the police station. I looked at one of my screens and saw a guy fall and squirm around on the floor. I ran down the corridor to that same room. Before entering the room I drew my gun and cautiously turned the corner. I could see the man on the ground, but I saw nothing else, no one else. I tried to make contact. In fact, I think I yelled at him. I got no response. There was no one else in the room who I could see. I continued to survey the room as I moved closer to the victim. I figure when the guy fell, he triggered the infrared alarm. Blood was throbbing out of the front of his shirt and coming out from beneath him in a pool. His eyes rolled up in his head, and the throbbing stopped. It was gross. I'll never forget the image. I held my breath and checked his pulse when I got close enough. He was dead. The police called me on my handheld radio and banged on the front door around that time. I rushed back to my desk, turned off the exterior alarm to let the police in, and brought them back to the scene. When we got back to the body, I noticed somebody had, I guess, rifled through his pockets and thrown the money and the stones all over the place. That stuff wasn't there when I checked his pulse just a few minutes before. I told the sergeant all that information, and the police secured the building and took over with a grounds search. That was when the sergeant called for backup and later for a detective and a lab crew. It must have been just after 7:00 a.m. I went back to the security desk and called Mr. Madison. He told me to leave on all the surveillance equipment, audio and visual. That's when I got permission to call Mr. Larson and did so. Once that was all taken care of, I remained at my desk, filling out my evening report and watching the screens, which ba
sically followed the police around the building. A nightly report is filed in Mr. Madison's office if you need a more accurate time line of events. Mr. Madison matches the report to the footage from the cameras if he has any questions or notices a discrepancy. Then your assistant, Matt, came, and brought me to the crime scene, and told me that I was to wait to talk to you.”

  “Mr. Peck, I'm going to need to see that report for the same reasons Mr. Madison does. I guess we can agree that the perpetrator would have still been in the room or somewhere very close by in order to hide from you, return to the body when you went for the police, search the victim's pockets, drop a bunch of cash, and stuff stones in the victim's mouth, all the time knowing he only had a matter of seconds before a small band of bluecoats were going to clamber down the main hall—soon to be at the other end of his hall where he could be seen. That's cutting it mighty tight,” Martin said skeptically.

  Mr. Peck looked straight into Martin's eyes, nodded, and said, “That's what happened.”

  Martin looked at his notepad and asked, “Mr. Peck, you said that the section of the museum where the murder took place isn't part of your usual rounds?”

  “No. I said a camera was activated and registered an audio level where I hadn't been. Once the motion or audio sensors register something, the camera reacts and tries to focus on the object. This takes the camera out of its normal or regular pattern, which is also recorded information on my monitor. But Mr. Madison doesn't think it's necessary to enter all the sections because the cameras do plenty, and some of the sections are dead ends, like down towards the residential part of the building. I'd have to come back the same way, and there's a camera at the end of the hallway, so if anybody used the hallway, he or she would definitely be picked up by the camera.”

  Cale interjected, “Mr. Peck, do you ever leave the museum on your shift?”