Cale Dixon and the Moguk Murders Read online

“We aren't supposed to leave the building on our shifts, but, if so, only to this coffee shop to get a cup to go or to fill up a thermos; it's been okayed by Mr. Madison.”

  “Did you leave last night?” asked Cale.

  Mr. Peck sat up straight and confessed, “Actually, yes. During an early morning round, I ran out the same way we came here, got a thermos of coffee, and returned immediately. That's when I noticed the first recorded commotion.”

  Martin inquired, “So how many infrared stations do you pass through to get to the exit door?”

  “Two.”

  Cale turned towards Mr. Peck to get a better look at him, “And I suppose you turn those off from your desk. So tell me when I'm wrong, Mr. Peck. You turned off the exterior alarm for the exit door and two infrared sections from your desk to go get coffee; you walked over here to fill your thermos and have a wake-up chat with the waitress, then retraced your path all the way back to your desk where you noticed a commotion on your audio or visual monitor in a section you hadn't visited yet, which happens to be very close to the exit door. You then turned off that section so you could get in there without tripping the alarm yourself, and you saw nothing. You went back to your desk and saw that the audio or motion detector was still recording activity. Realizing someone was in there, you called the police. Just after the call to the cops, that's when you realized you still had an exit door and two sections of infrared still off, plus now the section you just came from. When will the footage show that you turned all these sections back on? Will it be after the visual shows a guy squirming around on the floor with a knife in his back or before?”

  Mr. Peck started to perspire and admitted, “I turned it on just after the call to the police. I thought I saw a shadow at the edge of the screen, and I had forgotten all about the other sections because I was distracted. Once that was clear to me, I needed to find out where they were immediately.”

  Cale concluded, “That's when you watched the victim fall through the now ‘on’ infrared. I think it was bad judgment to turn off that alarm in the first place. The cameras and sensors are there for a reason. You put yourself in harm's way by turning off your extra sensors. You let at least two people roam around without infrared on while you walked from your desk to and from this café and twice from your desk to where the victim was found. How long does that take—five, ten minutes? It appears you may have given them a way into the building by simply going to get a cup of coffee.”

  Martin took his turn in the scramble of Mr. Peck's mind, “Did you ever hear any identifiable sounds, voices perhaps?”

  “I don't know for sure, something rumbling or rolling maybe. Anyway, there's a gauge that records noise levels, interruptions in camera cycles, anything out of the ordinary. When we return from our rounds, if something has happened, moved, or made noise anywhere in the museum, a light flashes, and a level registers and is recorded. These microphones are super-sensitive; they can pick up the slightest sound, and it'll register at the security desk. Sometimes the infrared goes off when a ficus tree sheds a leaf,” explained Mr. Peck.

  “So these recorders pick you up when you make your rounds, you said,” stated Martin.

  “Yes, and so do the cameras. Like I said, you can cross-check the audio with the visual, and all noises should be accountable, plus a visual conformation of the noises, plus where I am at all times.” Mr. Peck looked in Cale's eyes and reiterated, “Even leaving the building. To be sure what the noises were, we would have to play the footage back. If a leaf falls through the infrared, the motion sensors pick up the activity, and the camera will aim at the falling leaf and focus on it until it hits the ground. After a few seconds, if the object doesn't move, the camera will return to its normal cycle.”

  “Mr. Peck, you have been very helpful at this point in our investigation. Is there anything else you would like to add at this time, perhaps some personal insight or questions of your own?”

  Mr. Peck nodded and asked, “Yeah. How did the perpetrator get out?”

  Martin looked to Cale for a theoretical answer.

  Cale answered Mr. Peck calmly, “We got past your museum alarms to get here, Mr. Peck, and we didn't call anybody at the front desk. Your exterior alarms have been off since the police arrived early this morning. To sum it up, Mr. Peck, you turned off the alarm to the back door when you came here to get coffee this morning. That means the alarm was off for ten minutes or so until you got back to your desk, maybe even longer. An amateur can get into an unalarmed building in less than a minute. You said that when you let the police in, you turned off the exterior alarm at the front door, giving the murderer a few extra precious seconds more with his search and the freedom to escape. The cameras were probably following you because you were not trying to be quiet when you walked your rounds. You find a dead guy in the next room on your shift. You begin to think about possibly losing your job, and you freak. You probably ran down the hall to let the police in because you were in over your head. How much noise do you make on your rounds when you carry a full set of keys on your belt, Mr. Peck? Now double that noise when you run, and all cameras are trained on you because you are the primary moving target. Whoever the perpetrator was may have had to wait for you and the police to attract the cameras to the corridor before he or she could move around and out. The sensitivity of the audio is also probably why the victim's shoes were off, which might indicate that they were familiar with the system.” Cale glanced at Martin for conformation.

  Martin nodded approvingly, looked at Mr. Peck, and said in closing, “Thank you very much for your time and cooperation, Mr. Peck. If we have any further questions, we'll be sure to contact you or Mr. Madison.” Martin turned off the recorder, “This is good coffee compared to ours at the precinct. Is this place open all night?”

  “Twenty-four, seven,” replied Mr. Peck.

  “Mr. Peck, you could really help us out if you wrote up another copy of last night's report, but this time, try and fill in all the blanks, and I mean all the blanks. For instance, include the approximate amount of time the exterior alarms and infrared were turned on or off and the amount of time you think you spent outside the museum last night. I would like to know when you went to the restroom and how much time you spent there, and I need all this information as quick as possible, while it's still fresh in your mind. I'll pick up a copy of last night's report from Mr. Madison, and you write me up another one.” Martin turned his head towards Kimberly and asked, “Is Kimberly on all night, or is there someone else that's here?”

  “Joanna. She works the late night-early morning shift. She filled my thermos.”

  Martin prepared to write, “What's Joanna's last name?”

  “Holmes. Joanna Holmes.”

  Martin stood up and reached for his wallet, “I'm going to have to contact her.”

  Mr. Peck and Cale both stood up, and Cale asked, “Mr. Peck, is there a camera pointed at your security desk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it stationary?”

  Mr. Peck looked at Cale sheepishly and replied, “Yes.”

  “So we'll know when you weren't there. Is that right?” asked Martin.

  “Yes.”

  As they walked away from the booth towards the front counter, Martin continued, “When you fill out the details, Mr. Peck, I want you to ask yourself questions like: was there anyone in or near the alley when you walked down it; was there anything in the alley, a cardboard box even; was there anyone in this coffee shop last night? If so, I want you to try and describe them as accurately as possible. Did anyone walk in or walk out while you were here? Did you talk to anyone besides Joanna Holmes? When you came out of the alley or out of the café on your way back to the museum, do you remember any cars parked nearby, people walking down the street, anything unusual? What garbage was circling in the wind under the loading dock? I need all those details and more. I hate to give you homework, but I think it would help us sort through the murderer's options and opportunities a lot easier. I want you to
think about the last week or so and ask yourself if there were any recent changes, or emerging patterns, or patterns that may now end after this morning. If something strikes you, I want you to call me immediately. Don't waste any time. And I don't want you contacting any of the other people that are in any way connected to this case. That means don't talk to Joanna Holmes or any of the other security guards. Screen your calls at home. If it's not your mother, don't answer it. I'll be talking with as many of these people as possible in the next day or two. And for your own sake, I recommend that you stay away from the press. I'm surprised they're not on you already. Just go home and relax the day away, after you fill in all the gaps of the time line from when you arrived at work until now. We really need your help, Mr. Peck, and it might save your job. I have a lot of other things going on right now, and I don't want to call you up again and have to go over details that don't jive with the other information that I'm going to get. Can I make myself any clearer, Mr. Peck?”

  The guard spoke to the back of Martin's head as they walked towards the cash register, “No, I understand. Do you need to get back into the building, Detective?”

  “Yeah, I want to look around some more and make sure the crew doesn't miss anything. The museum doesn't open for another hour or so, and I want this cleaned up before the press starts getting sensational.”

  Kimberly stood at the register, “All finished?”

  “Yes, how much do we owe you, please?” asked Martin.

  “That'll be $4.24,” replied Kimberly.

  Martin flipped open his wallet, showed Kimberly his badge, and explained, “Kimberly, I'm Detective Hanna. I need to speak with the people who were working last night and early this morning, including the janitor and garbage man if they were here. Are you the owner or manager?”

  “Yes, I'm both. I can copy our employee phone list and circle the ones who worked last night through this shift.”

  “That would be great. I would really appreciate it,” responded Martin with a smile. He dropped seven dollars on the counter and waved off the change.

  “Thank you. I'll be right back.” Kimberly disappeared through an office doorway.

  Martin looked at Mr. Peck and said flatly, “Personally, I'd fire you.”

  A copier sounded in the backroom office. Kimberly reemerged carrying a piece of paper with five names circled. She walked back to the counter and handed the paper to Martin, “Here you go. The circled names worked last night through early this morning, two waitresses, a cook, a dishwasher, and me.”

  “No cleanup staff?”

  “The dishwasher does the floors either when it's slow or at the end of his shift. If it's real busy, I do it when I can.”

  “Thanks again for your help, Kimberly.”

  “See you later, Kimberly,” said Mr. Peck.

  Kimberly waved, “See ya, Douglas.” She watched through the window as Martin, Douglas, and Cale disappeared out of view of the window, heading towards the alley.

  Martin commented, “I think the museum should invest in a good coffeemaker and get good coffee for you guys; then you won't have to turn off any exterior alarms or disrupt as much of the security system.”

  “Actually, there's a coffeemaker in the break room, but it sucks, and it's usually cold,” said Mr. Peck.

  —

  3

  —

  Martin and Cale returned from their morning at the museum and drifted off in their respective departments.

  Matt spotted Martin at his desk, brought him a thick manila folder, dropped it on his desk, and explained, “Here's the material gathered so far from the museum. Mr. Peck, the security guard, called and said he would have his second report in as soon as possible, and he'd drop it off with Mr. Madison.” Matt glanced at the existing pile of manila folders on Martin's desk all neatly stacked and tied together with twine and continued, “I'm supposed to go pick up the camera footage from last night and the previous night from the museum sometime this afternoon or tomorrow morning.” Matt turned and walked towards the stairwell down to the lab.

  “Matt, let's grab a soda in the break room. Come on, my buy,” invited Martin.

  Matt followed single file behind Martin. Martin pulled out his wallet as they walked and deposited a dollar in the soda machine. Martin spoke while he handed Matt a Seven-Up, “You saw all those folders on my desk; how many cases have you been approved to work on?”

  “Half yours, but mine are all lab-related parts of cases, not actual cases. I'm not a detective yet. I'm more of a gopher.”

  “You will be—very soon—but I tell you, I'm losing my effectiveness with so many. I can't always keep the shit straight,” Martin complained. A second can tumbled down in the machine. “I just wanted to say that I appreciate your help streamlining this morning for me. It really helps.”

  “No problem, anytime I can. I enjoy it, and it's good experience for me.” Matt took a sip from his soda and asked, “Have you spoken to the captain about the caseload?”

  “I've mentioned it. I'm kind of hoping for some relief from Dixon.”

  “Yeah, I was surprised to see him this morning. I remember when he was pulled.” Matt wore a sheepish grin and spoke into his soda can, “I was kind of hoping to get his job.” He took a swig then asked, “What's up with Dixon anyway? Is he in or out?”

  “I don't actually know,” confessed Martin. “He hasn't been giving me the straightest answers on that subject. I think he'd make a great research slash detective. This case this morning is tailor-made for him, not me. I don't have the resources or the time to handle this plus all the other cases on my desk.”

  “Well, if he's truly your friend, he'll come to your aid,” assured Matt.

  Martin scoffed, “It's not a matter of friendship. It's a matter of how gun-shy he may have become in that cushy research job.” Martin turned and began walking back towards his desk with Matt following. Martin concluded, “I've got to talk with the captain and see what he thinks.”

  “Good luck. And thanks for the soda,” Matt drifted off towards the lab stairs.

  Victoria sat up straight in her chair just around the corner from the soda machine. Her newspaper fell away, slowly folding in half between her hands. Her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her, and her mind clamped on what she just overheard between Martin and Matt. She put the newspaper on a side table, abruptly stood, and headed for her office.

  Cale was at his desk surfing an obituary database. He looked up as Victoria entered the room.

  “Hey, Cale, got any chocolate?” asked Victoria.

  Cale opened his top left drawer without looking away from the screen and offered, “Chocolate chip cookies and some leftover Halloween candy, Reese's or Nestlé's Crunch baby bars.”

  Victoria reached into Cale's drawer and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie. She counted the chips on the top and bit into it as she looked over Cale's shoulder, scanning his computer. She recognized Martin's file split open on one side of his desk.

  “Thanks.” Victoria walked over to her own desk and sat down. She woke up her computer, went to records, and typed in, “Cale Dixon.” She entered the prompt and signed in her clearance code. She read out loud, “Cale Dixon, born 11/15/75 to Mr. William Dixon and Mrs. Rochelle Murdock Dixon. San Francisco Children's Hospital, California. Elementary School, Park School, Mill Valley Middle School, Tamalpias High School, Sonoma State University. You're a real hometown boy, aren't you? You worked for the New York Police Department, transferred to San Francisco, California. Your detective status was suspended. You were put on one-year suspension. Expires November 28, 2008. That's in ten days.” She ran her fingers slowly through her hair. “Cale, I'm looking at your file. It says here that your suspension is going to be over soon. Have you been thinking about what you're going to do?”

  Cale knit his eyebrows, trying to maintain focus on his computer screen, and asked, “Now what are you doing looking at my file?” He wrote down an address and a name, looked at his screen again, and wrote down a
nother name and address. He continued to scan his screen for more information.

  “I was just in the break room reading the paper and overheard Martin and Matt discussing their most recent case and how they want to handle it. Your name came up.”

  The phone rang.

  Victoria answered, “Research department. This is Victoria Short.”

  “Ms. Short, this is the captain. Could you come to my office in the near future?”

  Looking at Cale, Victoria responded, “Sure. I just have to finish up something here, and I'll be over in ten minutes or so. Okay?”

  “That would be fine. Thanks.” The captain hung up.

  Victoria hung up. “And that was the captain. He wants to see me.”

  Cale put down his pen and turned towards her, “All right, I'm listening.”

  Victoria announced, “Martin wants you to take a case off his hands. He feels the case will tie him up too much and that he's already stretched too thin to perform up to his own standards.”

  Cale looked at his computer, then at Martin's file on his desk, and said, “I hope it's this case because I have an idea what's going on here.”

  “Is that the file Martin gave you this morning on the way in to the office?”

  “Yep.”

  “It's not that case,” said Victoria confidently, shaking her head slightly. “Cale, the captain is going to ask me for your progress report and probably a personal evaluation. My question is; what do you want? Do you want to stay here in research and hide out, or do you want to hit the streets with fresh information and a research department behind you? I'm sure I can help sway the outcome if you have a preference.”

  Cale thought for a moment, then shrugged, and said, “I really don't know what I want. I like it here. I like what I'm doing, and I like working with you. I feel like I'm filling a void that needs to be filled.” Cale looked down at Martin's file and began picking at the edge of the manila folder.

  “So you're just going to let the dice roll and accept the outcome?” Annoyed, Victoria didn't wait for an answer. She got up, walked over to Cale's desk, and deliberately sat on Martin's folder, almost sitting on Cale's hand, which stopped him from fiddling with the file. “Would it bother you if I came up with a proposal on your behalf and worked it out with the captain? How about you help Martin out on a case, and then after you solve it, you have the option to return here? You'll always be welcome here.” She waited briefly for a response and then continued defensively, “I'm not going to the captain as your manager, just as your representative.”