Henry Wood: Time and Again: (17 page)

“Hey, Mike, I just got in.”

“This mess is heating up, Henry. Did you see the news about Mr. Brown?”

“I saw the morning paper. They didn’t print much in the way of details though.”

“Yeah, it was made to look like a robbery, but I’m not buying it.”

“Did you go to the scene?”

“I got a heads-up from one of the guys downtown. I went into the station after our meeting, just to ask a couple of the old timers if they knew anything about the guys on our list. I didn’t get much. When the call came in, my buddy gave me a ring.”

“So tell me what happened.”

“There wasn’t any sign of forced entry, so he must have let him in.”

“Him? You know it was a guy?”

“Well, I guess I can’t say for sure, but there were footprints in the blood. It looked like a man’s shoe. I guess it could have been a woman wearing it. I shouldn’t assume.”

“Don’t worry about it…first day on the job.”

Mike gave a snort. “It appears he was hit with a pipe or a bat, though I suspect the pipe is more likely, as Mr. Brown might not have opened the door to someone with a baseball bat. Again, it is an assumption, but I suspect it was something smaller he, or she, might carry under their coat.”

“That is good reasoning, Mike. I agree.”

“The thing is, Henry, we have another issue. The captain got word I was poking around. He knows why I took my vacation. He didn’t mind before, but now I show up with a list of names, and a few hours later, one of them is dead. He wants to see you down at the precinct…immediately. Correction, he wants to see us immediately.”

Henry thought for a moment and decided it would be best to get it out of the way. “I’ll be right down.”

Celine was enjoying a bagel when Henry finished with the call.

“I have to go down to talk with Mike’s boss. I don’t know when I'll be back. It may be a while.” Henry took two cards out of his wallet. “I may call later; if I do, this is a bail bondsman, and the other is my attorney.”

Celine did not like the sound of that. “What happened?” she said, sounding shocked.

“One of the guys we’ve been looking into got his head bashed in. I’m not sure when it happened. Depending on the time, I may or may not have an alibi, and if I don’t, I may need to have you make some calls.”

“I'll bust you out of the hoosegow myself.”

Henry smiled. “Just make the calls.” He was just about out the door. “Oh, I have one more guy who is going to do some poking around. His name is Bobby; he is just down the hall.”

“I’ve met Bobby. He is adorable…and chatty.”

“Good. I’ll tell him that he may use my office to make calls, if he wants to. I suspect many of his contacts are long distance.”

“I understand, Boss.”

Henry stopped in to see Bobby, told him the score, and asked if he wouldn’t mind hanging out in his office. Bobby was thrilled. He grabbed an armful of old books and scampered down the hall. Henry went to find a cab.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Henry wasn't anxious to meet the captain. He knew how it would go: there would be some yelling, a bit of intimidation, and a feeble attempt to get Henry to share what he knew. The captain would expect Henry to deny knowing anything. Mickey always said, "Don't let the good guys get in the way of stopping the bad guys." It had never made any sense to Henry, as their cases rarely were about “stopping the bad guys,” unless one counted a guy stepping out on his wife. Henry prepared for the worst.

Mike arrived just as Henry’s cab was letting him off at the curb.

“Hey, Mike. Sorry if I've gotten you in hot water.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Everyone wants to get the scumbag that ran down Mickey, even the captain.”

Henry and Mike walked through the precinct. They shook some hands and talked with a few of the guys. The general feeling among the men in blue was positive. Henry was doing God’s work.

They closed the door, and the captain motioned for them to take a seat. He started to talk, but stopped, pacing behind his desk. Then he took a full yelling breath and clinched his jaw…but no yelling came forth. He sat down and leaned forward on his desk. Henry and Mike didn’t say a thing.

“When I was a rookie, I wasn’t doing so well. I walked in on a guy holding up a liquor store and froze, and he ran out the back. I chased him, but slipped on some garbage in the alley, and knocked myself out. Two weeks later, the same guy…he got away again. I was the laughing stock of the precinct. My old man was a cop, died on the job in July 1919. I couldn’t get the thought that he was up in heaven, shaking his head in disgust, out of my mind. Even back in the day,
The Dublin Rogue
was a cop bar, and that's where I met Mickey. I was wallowing in self pity, drinking myself blind. He listened.”

Henry shot Mike a quick look. This wasn’t going as he expected.

The captain stood up again and looked out of the window. “Mickey went out the next day, figured out who the guy was, basically solved the case, and then gave me a call. I got the collar and restored my honor. Mickey never told anyone it was him. He never even mentioned it to me afterward. When I tried to thank him, he waved me off.”

Henry said,“He always looked out for me; I'm not surprised he helped out. He just did stuff like that. It’s who he was.”

The captain turned back from the window. “I want to be out there with you two, hunting the bastard down, but I can’t. I got to do it by the book. I got the entire precinct looking for this bum, as if he ran over one of our own…which…I guess he did. The problem is we got nothing but a few paint scratches. Then my man here, who you commandeered, shows up with a list of names, and a few hours later, one of them is dead.”

Henry saw what was coming, the accusation, and he was ready. “Captain, I didn’t—”

“Don’t be stupid, or think I'm. Mickey taught you better than that. I know you didn’t do it. What I don’t know is how Mr. Brown and Mickey are connected. I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit about ‘not knowing anything’ or—”

“Captain,” Henry opened his notebook, “let me bring you up to speed.” He tore out the two pages which he hadn’t decoded. Sliding them across the desk, he said, “I copied these from Mickey’s notebook, which I lifted off the body.” Henry paused for yelling.

The captain said, “Go on.”

“Mickey loved secret codes and took lots of notes. The problem is he had a fantastic memory and rarely needed to look at the notes again. This meant, he could write in code, and it could be extremely strange and bizarre, because he didn’t fear forgetting how to crack it again. I haven’t determined who his client was, not even close. I broke the code for the list of names, but still don't have a clue about these other two pages.”

“If we knew who the client was, we could find out what was going on,.” Mike added, and the captain nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know if the client name is on the list, though I don’t think it was Mr. Brown, as I spoke with him.”

“You did? When?”

“Two days ago, at his office. Mickey had been trying to get in touch with Mr. Brown. He didn’t know why. I was able to figure one thing out: this whole thing revolves around some big underground art auction.” Henry left out the details about the Eye of God, as he wasn’t ready to lay all his cards on the table, but he showed most of them.

The captain sent the two pages to be looked at by a couple of detectives. Henry didn’t mind; he had the originals. The phone rang, and the captain told them to hold his calls. Henry laid out everything he had done since they told him Mickey was dead. Well, everything but his time with Katarina. The captain never said a word when Henry mentioned breaking into Mickey’s place. He never yelled or threatened. He just listened. When Henry was done, the captain gave him a long look.

“You remind me of Mickey. He finds a thread, pulls it, and sees what unravels. I’ll have somebody look into these three lads in leather. You may not have all the answers, but it seems you have been asking some of the right questions.” He started pacing again. “If Mickey died because of some snooty art sale…”

Henry and Mike sensed the meeting was over. The captain was going to have his men focus on the Brown murder and run down all his known acquaintances. They would try to dig up something on this underground art ring. Henry and Mike shook the captain’s hand and agreed to share any new leads.

Henry and Mike shared a cab back to the office. “That didn’t go how I expected,” Mike said as the cab pulled away.

“I know. It was strange. You said he was fuming.”

“He was, but then he starts into his story, and I guess something changed for the captain.”

Henry and Mike sat in silence for the rest of the ride. They hadn't noticed the cab behind them or the man who was now tasked with recording Henry’s every move. He was remarkably adept at being a shadow.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The door was answered by a woman with a thick accent. She didn't say much beyond hello. Dr. Schaeffer was waiting in his library and greeted Henry warmly.

"I'm pleased that you accepted our offer. I'm sure your help will be invaluable. May I offer you a drink?"

"No thanks, Doctor, but a glass of water would be nice."

Dr. Schaeffer poured a glass from the pitcher at the bar while motioning for Henry to take a seat. "Before I continue with the story of the Eye of God, or more aptly, the legend of it, let me outline the details of the job."

Henry took out his notebook and settled into the high back leather chair.

"As you know, I'm an art enthusiast. There are many of us, and we enjoy the competition of the auction. An afternoon of bidding at Christies or Sotheby’s is an extraordinarily pleasant diversion. Obtaining an object of beauty is one of my great pleasures in life. But that is only half of the story.” Dr. Schaeffer took a sip of his drink. “The other half requires some explanation.”

There was a light knock at the door, and Hans leaned in. “Dr. Schaeffer, if you don’t need anything else this afternoon…”

“That is fine, Hans. Henry and I have much to discuss. I'll speak with you tomorrow.”

***

Hans gave Henry a polite, albeit cold, nod and then closed the door. A moment later, the front door could be heard opening and shutting.

Hans walked across the street and down the block. He entered a bakery, where a man waited for him.“They will be there for hours. I propose we head up the street.”

“I could use a pint.”

Hans and Arthur, unbeknownst to their employers, were old friends. They also had their own agenda. They sat in the corner, away from prying ears, and spoke in hushed tones.

Arthur started. “Patrick would have a fit if he knew what was going on.”

Hans laughed. “The father is a prick, wearing his collar and acting pious all the time. But we know his skeletons, don’t we, my friend?”

Arthur and Hans clinked glasses. Arthur asked, “So, what do you know about this Henry guy?”

“He is not to be underestimated. He was Michael Thomas Moore’s apprentice and seems much cleverer; plus he has help, something Mr. Moore could have used.”

“So where are we?”

“The Falcon assures me that everything is on schedule, despite the Eye still being at sea. We are a few days from never having to work again. I must admit, I'll miss Dr. Schaeffer, but it will pass. How is the whale?”

“He is as disgusting as ever.” Arthur shook his head. “He is almost manic over the thought that the good father may call off the auction. His paranoia is beyond the pale, although, I guess it is reasonable in this case.”

They laughed again.

***

Dr. Schaeffer was just finishing up with his childhood and Henry was getting a little impatient, but then the story got interesting. “So there I was with a nice practice, and Hitler starts World War II. Before I knew what had happened, I was practicing my trade in the Luftwaffe.” He stood up and went to the bar, refreshed his drink, and continued. “There were many evil people, on both sides. I had devoted my life to the healing of the sick, and suddenly death and cruelty were everywhere. I suppose I shouldn’t complain; my parents were safe, for a while at least. I'm ashamed of what Hitler did in the name of the ‘Master Race.’ When I learned of the camps, I started to think of redemption.”

“Redemption?”

“Yes. One man can only do a little, but I was determined to devote my life, and considerable resources, to do as much as I could. I had only a few friends during the war, but they were well connected. We would gather, and they would tell stories of the plunder and looting of the Jews. The world’s finest pieces of art were being stolen, hidden, and sometimes burned. The pieces which did survive, hidden away in secret spots all across Europe, are still mostly there. I decided to devote my life to returning these paintings, sculptures, and other treasures to their families. Sadly, many of them are still lost, but I have managed to acquire and return seventeen pieces.”

“You're buying art and giving it back?”

“Yes. There are a number of Jewish organizations who are searching for the stolen treasures. They have been compiling lists of missing pieces since the war ended. I have made a friend with a rabbi, who researches each piece I buy. On those occasions when he has determined that the piece was stolen, he returns it anonymously to the rightful family.”