Cale Dixon and the Moguk Murders

by David Dagley

  “Detective Dixon?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is the airlines reservations and ticketing desk. Your flight to Driggs, Idaho, has been confirmed, and you are to be at the airport tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. Do you have a pen handy?”

  “Yeah.” Cale dropped the belt on purpose. It slapped straight on the floor. He reached for a pen and leaned over a pad of paper next to the phone, “I’m ready.”

  “You are on flight 892, departing San Francisco airport at

  12:00 p.m. tomorrow, arriving in Seattle at 2:45 p.m. Change planes; flight 27 leaves at 3:30 p.m., so you’ll have to hustle. You arrive at 4:38 p.m. There’s no direct. It’s all on the ticket, which you will pick up at the check-in desk. Is there anything else I can help you with at this time?”

  “Be there at 11:00 a.m. Flight 892 at 12:00 p.m. I change planes in Seattle. Arrive at 4:38 p.m. Got it. Thanks.”

  “Have a nice flight.”

  “Bye.” Cale hung up the phone and picked up the belt curiously. Grabbing the belt with two hands, Cale put his ear near the belt and twisted it. He could hear cracking and creaking in the belt. Cale moved to the dining room table and laid the belt out. The buckling device bit into the end of the leather and could easily be removed. It popped off effortlessly and fell away. Cale went to the kitchen, opened a utility drawer, and pushed the tools around until he found a pair of needle-nose pliers. He returned to the dining room table where he parted the leather, exposing the end of a slip of paper. He pulled on it with the pliers until he could pinch it between his fingertips. A foot of stiff parchment slid out of the belt. Cale unfolded the paper and saw what looked like a map in the form of a large oval. Cale remembered the layout of the museum looked similar. All the writing was foreign, predominately Asian, some Hongul, Chinese, Thai, and others he did not recognize. He got his camera and took some photos of the map. He put the camera down, sat with his elbows on the table, and studied the map, even though the writing made no sense to him.

  —

  32

  —

  The phone rang. Cale turned on the light next to his bed and looked at his clock radio—12:30 a.m. Cale picked up the phone, “Hello.”

  “Dixon? It’s Martin.”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “There have been two more murders at the museum. We just got the call. I thought you’d like to get down there and see what you can make of it.”

  Cale sprung up, swung his feet to the floor, and asked, “Who died?”

  “Two techs in the research department. The guard found them with their throats cut.”

  “Shit! What about the knife!?”

  “What knife? No weapon has been found. I suggest you get your ass down there, pronto.”

  “I’m on my way. Hey, who was the guard?”

  The line was dead.

  “Shit!” Cale hung up the phone and dressed. He ran out of the house and jumped the entire six stairs to the sidewalk. He lost his balance and caught himself with an elbow against a tree. He careened off, jumped in his car, and sped off down the street.

  Cale parked in the loading zone in front of the Outcast Café. Two bodies under sheets were being carried out the front door of the museum as Cale arrived at the stairs. He showed his badge as he approached the first of the two bodies. He flipped back the sheet and saw John’s face with a gaping slice above his Adam’s apple. He covered John back up and looked at the other victim. It was an Asian woman in a research coat. The wound was the same. Cale covered his mouth and pulled the sheet over the second body. He walked into the museum and found Detective Martin Hanna waiting at the bottom of the spiral stairs to the side.

  “Martin.”

  “Hey, Cale. Let’s get in there.” They walked together.

  “Tell me it wasn’t on Mr. Peck’s shift. Please tell me it wasn’t,” pleaded Cale hopefully.

  Martin patted Cale on the back, smiled at him, and assured, “You’re in luck. He’s at home. We called his house two minutes after the murders were reported.”

  “Any suspects?”

  “Not exactly. But whoever it was knew the victims. I think they came in with one of the technicians.”

  Cale stuttered his stride and exclaimed, “Martin, I was here this afternoon and spoke to John, the male victim. He was alone, expecting his assistant to come in, and they were going to tell me what the etchings on the knife meant.”

  “So it was a friend of the assistant,” Martin said with a shrug.

  “Thanks, Martin, you are painfully aware of the obvious. The problem is that only a few of us knew the knife was here, and the assistant wasn’t one of them. I wanted a little more information, and since these guys practice this stuff… John said he was going to concentrate his work on the knife tonight. The assistant couldn’t have known what she was going to be working on unless he phoned her or she phoned him.”

  As they entered the museum laboratory, Martin volunteered, “I’ll check the records and see if John made any phone calls or if anyone called him. Who else knew?”

  “As far as I know, Victoria, the captain, Mr. Madison, and myself,” responded Cale.

  “Mr. Madison was called immediately after we called Mr. Peck, but I could check his museum office calls, or we could just ask him. He’s on his way down here right now,” explained Martin.

  Police officers were poking around the entire room. Everybody had gloves on. Cale and Martin walked past the table where Cale had first showed the knife to John. There were blood spatters across the floor and on the side of the table. A tablet of paper, a box of gauges, and various calipers lay on the table covered in what Cale guessed was projected jugular pulses. Cale lifted the cover of the tablet to see if the lab techs had written anything down. The first page was stuck to the cover. The blood had dark edges from drying. Cale pulled a pen from his pocket and split the first page from sticking to the cover. Blood soaked the page and roughly joined the pattern on the table. Under the blood, Cale saw the Hongul markings of the knife faintly written. Below the markings, in English, ‘One woman to one man; One man to one self.’ Cale turned around and asked, “Where’s the photographer?”

  “Here,” a woman said. She immediately walked to where Cale was standing and looked where he was pointing.

  “You better get a photo of this,” Cale said. He walked away and wrote down the saying. He began looking around on the other tabletops, in the shelves, in the cabinets, in the refrigerator. just like the other police officers were still doing. Cale raised his voice to the whole room and explained, “We’re looking for a knife inside of a cylindrical sheath and identical handle, which fit together. It’s made of gold and silver with inlays of dark red and light green stones. Let me know if you locate it in your travels. Thank you.”

  Martin walked off and listened to another police officer who was interviewing and taking notes from the security guard.

  Mr. Madison walked in and looked around. He saw Cale and walked straight at him.

  Cale saw him and shook his head in regret and disbelief. Cale said softly, “I don’t suppose there are any cameras in here, are there?”

  “No. We have never considered it necessary. This is terrible. I’m going to shut down the museum until this is completely sorted out, and the murderers are caught and behind bars. I can’t have anymore of this going on in my museum.”

  “That’s probably a good idea, for awhile anyway. I’d even go as far as double your security guards at night, and leave the alarms on at all times. Report to the police station when the guards go in and when the guards go out at the end of their shifts. The police station can monitor all peaceful exit and entry activity from there.”

  “Okay. If you think that will help,” said Mr. Madison.

  Cale asked, “Mr. Madison, did you by any chance tell anybody that the knife was here?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I’m assuming the knife I brought in earlier today was the weapon used here tonight, and it’s gone. Is there any place tha
t the staff uses to store special items or artifacts? A temperature-regulated room or safe, perhaps? Somewhere we should look?” asked Cale.

  Mr. Madison sighed in disbelief, shook his head, raised his shoulders, and said nothing. He looked around the room again and asked Cale, “Has anybody notified John or Stephanie’s families?”

  Everything went quiet.

  Police stopped doing their work and looked around towards Martin and Cale.

  Martin looked at Cale.

  Cale looked at Mr. Madison.

  Mr. Madison looked at Cale, bowed his head slightly, and said honorably, “I’ll take care of it, Detective, but I’d like you to accompany me when I go to their houses. I owe it to my colleagues, and I am going to need some help with some of the families’ questions, as well. I have the addresses in my office. I’ll be right back.”

  —

  33

  —

  Cale walked into the captain’s office shaking his head.

  “Dixon.”

  “Captain.”

  “What happened last night?”

  “I took the knife to the museum. John, one of the victims, was the guy I went to see. He couldn’t answer my questions at that moment, but his assistant was going to translate the writing on the knife. She wasn’t going to be in for awhile, and he assured me that the knife would be safe and that they were going to work on it last night—not just the translation, but all the details of the knife, what purity of silver, gold, the stones, how old, and possibly where it was forged. God, I feel terrible.”

  “Dixon, you needed to get more information on the knife, and you knew where to get it. I gave you permission to get that information.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So don’t shoulder all the guilt yourself; I get some. You didn’t know that the knife itself was going to stir up two more murders. What I want to know is who knew it was in transit?”

  “The only people who knew where the knife was going were you, me, Victoria, and Mr. Madison. I asked Mr. Madison if John would be interested in helping me, and he enthusiastically agreed.”

  “And Barbara downstairs?”

  “Yes, and Barbara.”

  “How about Martin?”

  “He didn’t know the knife was there until early this morning when I got to the museum lab.”

  “So, outside the department, that leaves Mr. Madison.”

  “Yes, but I can’t imagine Mr. Madison wanting two more murders at the museum. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe not, but that doesn’t exactly clear him. What do we know about him and who he talks to after you leave his office? Maybe there’s a connection between him and a museum member who would pay for such information. I don’t know.”

  “Well, Martin is checking phone records from the museum lab, John’s cell phone that he had on him at the time of death, and Mr. Madison’s phone for all calls after I left his office and the lab,” explained Cale.

  “That’s a good start. What else? There has to be a connection if only so few knew the knife was out of lockup,” said the captain impatiently.

  “I don’t know. I must be overlooking something or someone obvious,” admitted Cale apologetically.

  “There is one thing you may not know; while you were away, the body was identified by a Korean man, a Mr. Won,” explained the captain.

  “Yeah, Victoria told me.”

  “So I take it you didn’t find out what the inscription said on the knife?” asked the captain.

  “Actually, I did, I think, I need to have it confirmed, but yes. There’s more to it. On one side of the knife, the inscription has been changed or modified, whichever. John told me that on one side of the knife there’s a traditional saying; ‘One woman to one man; One man to one country.’ It’s on a lot of knives. I’m pretty sure John’s assistant translated the modified inscription. I found it in a blood-soaked notepad on the table where I had dropped off the knife. It reads; ‘One woman to one man; one man to one self.’ I don’t know what that means, but it was changed fifteen to twenty years ago. The lab report that Victoria picked up while I was gone says that there’s a female family member’s blood crusted in the inscription. I don’t remember how long ago, but in one of Martin’s taped conversations with Mr. Won, he told Martin that the knife has been missing for fifteen years or so. Now, you would think that Mr. Won would know when a family member was cut, stabbed, or killed by a family heirloom if the blood reached the inscription in the middle and had time to dry there and not be cleaned off. Victoria is the one who told me that the Won family wants the knife back when everything is settled.”

  “That’s right. And Mr. Won has made arrangements to have his brothers’ body, his clothing, and the knife taken back to South Korea with a servant who works for the Won family. Mr. Won wants them all as soon as possible. The body has already been moved from the morgue, but you have had the victim’s clothes locked up in your flat since before you took an almost three-week vacation.”

  “And I’m glad they were still there. I found what looks like a map or layout of the museum hidden in the victim’s belt. The map perimeter is pretty much the same as the museum, except that there are more rooms on the map. It’s got some Hongul, Chinese, a little English, and a bunch of other types of writing on it that I can’t begin to recognize. I’m guessing the writing is titles to the rooms, but there are more rooms and hallways on the map than there actually are in the museum guide pamphlet. Last night I put one on top of the other, and the dimensions are almost exact. I have to check it out with the lab. As for the clothes, they’re now in the research department office in a box on my desk. I’ll take them back to Barbara when I leave here and get a linguist to check on the map. We don’t need to keep the map because I took photos of it. This way the Wons don’t think it’s missing either.”

  “Good idea, but it sounds like you have a handful of loose ends,” the captain said regretfully. He continued, “When do you tie them together?”

  “Soon, I hope.”

  The captain paused in thought looking at Cale, wondering how far out on a limb he had climbed in the last three weeks. He shook his head and made a decision, “Cale, I want you to be the first to know my strategy on this double homicide. We’re going to treat it as unrelated, and I’m going to let Martin work with Matt on it from their angle, as a separate case. If they head in the same direction you’re going in, then so be it. And Matt is eager to hunt. But I want you to stay your course.”

  “But the murders are connected!”

  “Well then there are two more dogs in the hunt or possibly chasing a completely different fox.” The captain was getting impatient and argued loudly, “You don’t have a suspect yet, Cale! It’s possible there are two murderers out there for which we’re looking, and I’m sticking with that viewpoint until proven otherwise. I’m treating the presence of the knife as circumstantial. If Matt and Martin keep bumping into your trail repeatedly, then I’ll consider pulling them off and let you take it. If they go in an entirely different direction, then I’ve lost no time. Am I making myself clear?”

  Cale disappointedly responded, “Transparent.”

  The captain watched Cale for a minute. He could see through Cale’s body language the wheels turning, many wheels, and added, “Cale, while you were gone, Martin has been wrecked by too many cases, and Victoria has bent over backwards trying to keep up with the research load and help you in any way she can in collecting information. And I realize you have some catching up to do. From when you left until right now, the only thing you haven’t seen is Mr. Won. I don’t know if it will help, but you are missing a possible link. I took the liberty of getting some photos of him entering the police station, which I orchestrated with the front desk and Martin’s entrance and position.”

  Cale shrugged his shoulders.

  “You may have seen him in your travels and not known it. It’s a possibility.” The captain handed Cale a group of photos. “These are of Mr. Won, one of the living bro
thers. There are two more brothers living in South Korea and some sisters, two or three.”

  Cale took the photos and looked at the first photo of a man walking into the police station from far away. It was vague. Cale looked at the next photo of Martin shaking hands with Mr. Won and thought he recognized the coat. Then he remembered splitting the knife from its sheath in Mr. Madison’s waiting room and an Asian man leaving Mr. Madison’s office. Cale blurted, “The man said, ‘Be careful. You could hurt yourself with that.’” Cale looked at the captain and exclaimed, “I saw this man leaving Mr. Madison’s office when I dropped off the knife yesterday.” Cale voice trailed off.

  “That’s a big link. Why didn’t you mention that an Asian man saw you with the knife at Mr. Madison’s office?”

  “I didn’t think about it. It was a total of about five seconds.”

  The captain frowned at Cale and added, “We need to find out who he spoke to after seeing the knife. I went as far as to find out when Mr. Won arrived in San Francisco and when he is planning to leave town, and it looks like he’s staying for a few more days. He’s changed his return once already due to the body, clothing, and knife. That doesn’t mean he won’t change it again. And, kind of unfortunately, he wasn’t in the country when his brother was murdered. He didn’t arrive until a week or so after.”

  “Do we know where he’s staying?” asked Cale.

  The captain shook his head and said, “No. I’ve got Victoria working on that issue, searching hotel guest lists. I’d say he’s a suspect except that it doesn’t make sense that he would kill for it, since he’s going to get it back anyway to send home. We’re checking into it. We definitely want him for questioning.”

  “Unless he needed it.” Cale then asked, “Can I get copies of these?” He tossed the photos back onto the captain’s desk and sat back in silence.