The Sacred Knife, page 9
As was his custom, he skimmed through the list, as he had long ago learned that works of art were better investments than cash in a bank—especially if you were immortal. Their value never diminished and often increased and was not subject to the whims of the monetary policies of the day.
An item on the last page of the list caught his attention. From its description, it could only be the Sagrado Cuchillo; somewhere in Paris was the object of his search.
With the liberation of Paris, Mueller had been forced to flee before he could track down the knife. He had been unable to return to Paris for a number of years as he was a known Gestapo agent, and too many people knew his face. Eventually he did return, only to discover that the knife had been sold to a buyer in the UK, using Carver Enterprises as the intermediator.
Now, he was here in London where he waited patiently, hovering outside the building where the offices of Carver Enterprises: Dealers in Art and Antiquities were located on the first floor. He wanted to be certain that everyone had indeed left for the day. The ancient knife, believed to have had its origins in the Mayan culture of the Americas, had been shipped to them from a private dealer in Paris.
Targeting the Carver family was something he had planned when he realized that at least one of them was a Pegasi. His demonic side had the ability to know if a human was a Pegasi or an indigenous human, and as he had stalked them discreetly, his inner demon sensed at least one of them was a Pegasi.
Killing the Carvers enabled him to eliminate a threat.
When he had touched the man to break his neck, he got an unusually strong signal, and he had been surprised at its strength. The woman was already dead, so it was not possible to determine if she was Pegasi or not, but Avery’s demon had also reacted to the boy, even though the child was close to death.
The child also had the Pegasi blood.
Killing the family also temporarily sated his Rewera inspired bloodlust. Possessed by a demon, Avery had a natural thirst for blood that he sometimes had trouble controlling, and there were times when he allowed that urge to reign freely. This was not one of those times; he had to curb his urge to kill until after he had the knife.
A news update stated the boy had survived, although he remained in serious condition, according to the hospital spokesperson. The boy was too young now to be a threat to him, but when he became an adult, it might be a different matter.
He would ensure the boy would never grow up.
Eliminating the family also led to their business being closed until the estate was settled, thus providing him with the opportunity to break in and retrieve the knife. His sources in Paris confirmed that it had been delivered several days ago.
As a small family-run business, Carver Enterprises only had one part-time employee: an art student who conducted research for the Carvers and helped with the administration. Apparently, the girl had been devastated by the news and was inconsolable. He briefly considered visiting the girl to help her through her sorrow—but quickly dismissed the urge. As tempted as he was, he knew any violation of the girl who worked for the Carvers would be seen as more than a coincidence. This was not the time to take unnecessary risks.
Satisfied that there were no employees lingering after hours to catch up on work, Avery quickly crossed the street. He didn’t anticipate that there would be anyone there at this late hour, but over the decades he learned patience and not to take needless chances.
He had acquired a key to the back door of the building as well as the override alarm code, courtesy of one of the maintenance staff in need of money to pay off a gambling debt. While that enabled him to enter the building, there was still the issue of the additional alarm that would assuredly be engaged for the offices of Carver Enterprises: Dealers in Art and Antiquities.
He quickly entered the building, pulling the door closed behind him but leaving it unlocked in case he had to leave quickly. The corridor was only partially illuminated as an after-hours cost-saving measure, but his supernatural abilities enabled him to see in the dark better than most humans.
The door leading to the Carver’s offices was the last door on the left. When he reached it, he took a small box out of his pocket, removing a smaller box that had two wires with alligator clips on their ends. As he anticipated, the offices had their own alarm system, but it was actually simple to bypass. Apparently, they relied more on the building’s alarm system for the main security.
Removing the panel was easy, and once the wires were exposed, he used a small pocketknife to strip the plastic from two wires before clamping the clips onto the bare wire. Once the clips were secure, he then cut both wires above the clips, effectively bypassing the alarm.
With the alarm nullified, he took out a glasscutter from his box of tools and scored the bottom right corner of the door’s glass panel. With a sharp tap, the corner of the pane fell inwards, and Avery reached in and unlocked the door. Entering swiftly, he found himself in an outer office.
A door led to an adjacent room that, upon inspection, was a storeroom for various pieces of art. Despite the number of articles contained in it, the room was tidy and uncluttered. Avery knew that the Carvers were basically a clearinghouse and not a gallery, so they had no need for long-term storage.
There was a computer on a desk, and Avery pulled a small device from his pocket and inserted it into one of the USB ports. He turned on the computer and waited while a series of numbers and letters scrolled across the screen faster than even he could read.
After a few seconds, a message declared “Access Granted.” He quickly located the inventory database and started reviewing the information. He had to admit that he was impressed with the manner in which the research assistant had organized the files.
There it was—the file he wanted. It read: Sat April 12 — 15:30: received item from H. Giroux, Paris. One knife, obsidian blade, bronze handle. Could be either Mayan or Aztec in origin. Value unknown until appraised. Location: Res as per C’s instructions.
“Location: Res?” That puzzled Avery, as the location for other items on the inventory consisted of a letter-number combination. Glancing around the room, he quickly understood that the letter-number combinations identified a specific shelf. He moved between the shelves, but could not find any that were identified as “Res.”
He sat back down at the table, stared at the computer, and noticed a small notebook. He picked it up and glanced through it, recognizing that it was a handwritten copy of the information on the computer. He found the entry for the knife, which was almost identical to the computer log—with one minor difference. There was an additional note: Put in res safe before leaving. Mr. and Mrs. C will study tomorrow.
He went back to the outer office and spotted a safe in one corner. He swore silently. It would be an easy matter to break into the safe, but he did not have what he needed in his small box of tricks. He was reviewing his options when the telephone suddenly rang, startling him. Who would be calling at this hour?
That’s when he saw the red flashing light above the door leading to the storage room. Then he understood why the Carvers didn’t have a more elaborate security alarm system for their door; they would be concerned about temperature and humidity control in the storage room.
Many of the pieces of art they kept in the storeroom were very old and would be very susceptible to heat and humidity. His presence in the storeroom without adjusting the controls had triggered a different alarm system. The telephone call would be from the company monitoring the alarm, and after not receiving an answer they would immediately send someone to check it out.
It was time for him to go. He grabbed the notebook and quickly exited the building, moving swiftly he was soon lost in the shadows.
Chapter 14
The funeral was held several days after the police interview. Jason had resisted suggestions that he attend but was eventually convinced to be there.
Richard sensed Jason’s reluctance was the realization that the funeral would represent the final separation from his parents; something the boy still had difficulty accepting. Dr. Patterson—along with Dr. Wainwright, the hospital’s resident child psychologist—agreed that as difficult as it was, Jason should go. Aside from the damaged knee, the boy’s physical recovery was proceeding well, but Wainwright expressed concerns with Jason’s unwillingness to talk.
Confined to a wheelchair and with his head still bandaged, Jason was wheeled by his uncle to the front pew reserved for family. The boy did not want to be there, but he had no other choice; therefore, he was sullen and withdrawn. He was also still very unhappy with his parents’ choice of guardian.
The night before, he had had that recurring dream again.
His parents were with him, and they were saying goodbye because he couldn’t go with them. In his dream, he didn’t know where they were going, just that he was unable to go too.
Then the picture faded and was replaced by another image—one that terrified him. He was trapped in a wrecked car. A dark figure, a man, moved towards him, giving him hope he would be rescued. Then the figure got blacker, and a mouth with red fiery teeth formed as it moved steadily towards him. He tried to get out but couldn’t, and the black monster came closer and closer until it finally pounced, its teeth tearing into his flesh. Then Jason would awaken, screaming and thrashing.
Tomorrow he was scheduled for an operation on his knee. The pending operation scared him, but he hoped it would take away the constant agony. He overheard the nurses talking when they thought he was asleep. The other doctor who visited him with Dr. Patterson wanted to amputate his leg. He heard the nurses talking about how his uncle had refused to grant permission, insisting they were not going to amputate his nephew’s leg.
Jason also didn’t want them to cut his leg off, and silently thanked his uncle over and over. However, his uncle’s decision made it more difficult to dislike him.
He was struggling to understand his feelings. He was sad, angry, lonely, scared—all these emotions churned inside him. Hating his uncle gave him focus.
Richard manoeuvred the chair as close to the pew as possible to protect Jason’s right leg, which thrust straight out from the chair. Richard stepped aside to allow Susan’s parents and the attorney, David Wilson, to enter the pew before he sat on the end next to Jason.
Richard struggled to hold his emotions in check as the coffins bearing the bodies of his brother and sister-in-law were solemnly rolled to the front of the church. He was never one to openly display his feelings, but upon realizing that he would never see his brother again, memories sprang to his mind like little daggers, stabbing his heart.
Susan’s mother was sobbing quietly, leaning against her husband who had his arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulder.
Richard glanced down at Jason and observed that the boy was also struggling to maintain his composure. Jason was tense, his jaw clenched tightly shut, staring straight ahead except for furtive glances at the caskets. Richard would have believed the boy was feeling no emotions at all, if not for the occasional tear that ran unheeded down his cheeks.
Richard was surprised at the number of people attending the service. Wilson explained that most were from the art community, as Wayne and Susan were well-respected and successful art dealers. There was also a substantial turnout of teachers and students from Jason’s school, Richard observed, an indication that his nephew was also quite popular.
Richard scanned the crowd, a habit born of necessity in his line of work in order to stay alive. He noticed a man standing at the edge of the crowd. What set him apart from the other mourners was his dress. He wore casual clothing, jeans, and a hoodie with the hood drawn up so that his face was partially obscured.
He immediately forgot about the man when another figure caught his eye: Detective Sergeant Eve Hunter. He was not surprised she was there, as he was aware that it was not uncommon for investigators to attend the funeral of victims. What did surprise him was the pleasure he felt upon seeing her.
After the graveside service, Wilson approached Richard. “Perhaps we should arrange for Jason to be taken back to the hospital,” Wilson said. “The funeral took a lot out of him, and he looks like he’s wiped out.”
Richard glanced over at his nephew, who was off by himself, trying to avoid an endless stream of well-meaning people saying how sorry they were for his loss. The strain was evident on the boy’s face. Walking up to him, Richard said, “If you’d like, we can arrange to bring you back to the hospital now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jason. “I’m tired, and my leg is really starting to ache.” His leg was a little sore, but not as bad as he let on. The truth was he was finding it more and more difficult to be civil to everyone and welcomed the chance to get away. He wanted to scream at them, his anger churning inside him. He didn’t want their condolences; he wanted his Mom and Dad. The only thing that prevented him from launching obscenities at them was the knowledge somewhere in his angered mind that his parents would not approve.
He glared at his uncle, who had turned to speak to Wilson. It’s Uncle Richard’s fault they’re dead! Even as he thought it, he knew it was illogical and that he was being unfair, but he couldn’t help it. His father and his uncle didn’t like each other, but now his father was dead and had been replaced by his uncle. It just wasn’t fair!
Eve Hunter came over, and nodding to Richard and Wilson, bent down so she was at eye level with Jason. “How are you holding up, honey?” she asked.
Jason gave a small shrug, “Alright, I guess. Have you found the other driver?”
Eve looked up at Richard briefly before replying, “No, not yet. But we will. We will not give up.”
She stood up and took Richard gently by the elbow, leading him away from Wilson and Jason. “Would you be able to drop by the station after you take Jason back to the hospital? There’s something I would like to show you.”
She glanced over to the boy and whispered, “You should know that someone broke into Carver Enterprises last night.”
“What?” exclaimed Richard. He looked over at Jason to make sure he hadn’t overheard.
“There’s more, but you really need to see it.” She too glanced back to the boy. “It’s probably best not to say anything to him at the moment—at least until after you see what we recovered from his mobile.” Then, speaking in barely a whisper, she added, “As of now, the death of your brother and his wife is being considered a homicide.”
Richard was speechless, his mind reeling with this declaration.
“My brother and his wife were murdered?” he said, incredulous.
“It would seem the collision was deliberate. The break-in could be chalked up to coincidence—perhaps someone was trying to take advantage of your family’s misfortune. But with what we saw on the phone, we’re convinced it wasn’t.” Eve looked him in the eye. “Would you know of anyone who might want to do harm to your brother?”
“Wayne?” Richard shook his head. “He was a decent guy, and I was not aware that he had any enemies. At least, up until we had our …” here he paused before continuing, “falling out. I don’t know much about his activities after that. You might want to speak with his solicitor.”
“I intend to,” said Eve. “What was the issue between you and your brother?”
Richard couldn’t control the brief look of annoyance that flashed across his face. She’s only doing her job, he reminded himself. “It was a family matter,” he said.
Eve didn’t let up. “So, even though you two were not talking, he still made you executor to the estate and his son’s guardian.” It was a statement rather than a question. She has done some homework, thought Richard.
“I think it would be more accurate to say he maintained me as the executor as those documents were signed before we were estranged. David did suggest to Wayne that he change the will to appoint someone else as executor and guardian, but he refused. You’ll have to ask David if he knows why, because I sure don’t.” This last statement was spoken more sharply than he intended.
Eve either didn’t notice his suppressed anger, or she chose to ignore it. “I understand that there is a sizeable estate.”
“Yes,” snapped Richard. “The details are in the will, but a brief synopsis is that aside from some monies to Susan’s parents and a scholarship fund, Jason inherits the bulk of the estate. It will be held in a trust fund, administered by David’s law firm, until he comes of age. As Jason’s guardian, I can draw on the fund as necessary to cover expenses related to his care.”
Eve was about to ask another question, but Richard held up his hand to stop her. “For your information, I have no intention of touching Jason’s inheritance. I’m sure you’ve already checked me out and know that I have more than enough money to care for my nephew.” Richard noticed the lack of surprise on Eve’s face when he accused her of investigating his background. Of course she did; it was what he would have done.
Richard closed his eyes and forced himself to get his anger under control. Eve was merely doing her job. “Wayne and I were close growing up,” he explained, “but we had a disagreement and went our separate ways.”
He looked around, as if searching for something before looking intently at Eve. “Now that he’s dead, there is no chance of reconciliation. I loved my brother, but the last words we had were spoken in anger. I can’t undo that. No matter how much I regret those words it’s too late to take them back. What I can do is respect his wishes and look after his son, doing everything in my power to protect him.”
Richard felt the anger draining out of him. He realized it wasn’t Eve he was angry at, but himself. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I know you’re just doing your job.”
Eve regarded Richard carefully. She saw a crack in the stoic exterior, glimpsing a more human side of Richard Carver, and frankly she liked it.
