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Give the Boys a Great Big Hand
"Hey Jake," Ford called to him as he walked into the squad room. "Check this out."
"Whatcha reading?" Jake asked, seeing that Ford was pointing at a book on his desk.
"It's a called 'Personnae Magi,'" Ford said, flipping the book around so that Jake could see the faded, cloth cover. "It's a listing of magicians from ancient Greece until the 1700s. Here, read this section."
Jake took the book from Ford and started reading the passage he indicated.
"The Comte Saint-Germain was a most notable figure in his age," Jake read. "He was not only tied to the Austrian and German Illuminatae and possible founder of the Masonic Order, but also a founding member of the French secret society, 'Livre de la Terre.'"
"Catchy name," Ford said, interrupting. "It means 'Book of the Earth.' It also means 'Deliver the Earth,' which is a great play on words for a magical society. Sorry, continue."
"Not only was Comte Saint-Germain rumored to have discovered the fountain of youth and was believed to be immortal, it was also whispered that he knew the alchemical secret for changing base metals into gold and could repair broken and flawed diamonds." Jake turned the book back to face ford. "So? Another mythical figure from history with ties to magic. You tell me about them all the time."
"No no," Ford said, taking the book from him. "First of all, nobody knows where this book came from. I talked to a couple dealers and they'd never even heard of it. There's no publisher listed in the cover, although it's clearly been printed in a shop. Basil thinks it might be about two hundred years old."
"Basil?" Jake asked.
"Yeah, Mr. Humphries," Ford said, flipping through some pages. "He's Mim's antique dealer."
"Ah," Jake nodded.
"Here's the really interesting part," Ford said, holding up a finger and reading from the book. "Saint-Germain was raised as the son of Francois Racoczi II, making him the prince of Transylvania by title. But, it was believed he was born to a gypsy peasant woman and adopted by Racoczi."
"Ooh," Jake said, in his Count Floyd voice. "Transylvania, scary."
"That's not the interesting part," Ford said.
"I hope it comes soon," Jake said. "I need to use the little boy's room."
"Ok, ok, I'm getting to it. Saint-Germain was introduced to French society in the 1750s by Madame de Pompadour, and quickly became a staple in all the most popular salons. It was the Madame who introduced Saint-Germain to one of his most influential friends, Louis XV. As a frequenter of both Paris and Versailles, Saint-Germain soon became one of King Louis' most trusted advisors. He was given the title of the Marquis de Montferrat, and acted as a foreign minister to Holland and Austria. His success, however, was his downfall in France, and Louis' court, in particular Duc de Choiseul, soon turned on Saint-Germain, forcing him to flee to England. Two years later, he relocated to Russia, where he helped put Catherine the Great on the throne, in 1762. As a reward, Catherine granted him a minister's title and land in the area of Zvolenskaya. Minister Zvolenska became even more powerful in Russia, and returned to France as an honored emmissary under Louis XVI at the request of Marie Antionette."
"Now," Ford said, "here's the really creepy part."
He put the book down the desk and turned it around so that Jake could see it. The page showed a print of a painting. The man in the painting, although done up in antique French fashion with a powdered wig sitting on his head, was still recognizable.
"Looks just like Zvolen," Jake said.
"I'm pretty sure it is Zvolen," Ford said. "Think about it. You have a guy who's charming, seemingly eternal, and somehow manages to survive dozens of attempts on his life from Louis' court. Who else could do that but a vampire?"
"That's interesting," Jake agreed. "Shame he's not around anymore so you could ask him."
"Yeah, I'm sure Rich would know if he was still alive."
"Where did you get that book?"
"It was in Mim's warehouse," Ford said.
"Oh, you got to go through her stuff?"
"No," Ford sighed. "Shame too. I found out who owned it before her."
"Oh yeah?" Jake asked.
"Yeah. Harry Rosencranz."
"Who?"
"Hyram Rosencranz?" Ford asked.
"Sorry," Jake said, shrugging.
"Aw, Jake m'boy. We need to further your occult education," Ford said. "Harry Rosencranz was the rarities broker who handled the sale of the 'Petit Rouge' in '73."
"Ok, you lost me again," Jake said.
"It's a painting that Van Gogh collaborated on with Toulouse-Lautrec, how did you get a degree and manage to avoid Art History?" Ford asked.
"Sports scholarship," Jake replied, holding his fists in front of his face.
"Anyway, Rosencranz was an antiques dealer in Germany. He moved to the states in 1932, changed his name from Hyram to Harry, and set up antiques shops all over the place. The first chain antiques dealer."
"Hence all the junk in the warehouse."
"It's not junk," Ford said. "Rosencranz may have made his money on antiques, but he's more famous for his collection of unique objects."
"Unique objects?" Jake asked.
"Yeah, copies of the 'Liber M', hand-written leafs from Crowley, the Necronomicon in the original Arabic, and a complete copy of the Axiomata. The guy had everything. He was one of a handful of private collectors to have a Crystal Skull. His was blood-red jasper."
"So that's all the stuff that was in the warehouse?"
"Oh, no," Ford said. "All the interesting stuff was auctioned off by his heirs. That is, after they destroyed some of the more valuable pieces. Phantastic Phil was there, said it was a sin what they did to some of the artifacts."
"Sounds like an interesting fellow."
"He was," Ford said. "He was. He used his money to help bring Jews from Germany in the forties."
"Oh, right," Jake said, snapping his fingers. "I knew there was something I was supposed to tell you."
"What was that?"
"Grynbaum isn't Jewish."
"With a name like Grynbaum?"
"Well," Jake said. "He's Jewish by birth, but he's a Seventh Day Adventist."
"Damn," Ford said. "There goes my antisemitism angle. I wonder if Lorna found anything."
"Why don't you call?"
"Better yet," Ford said. "We'll go and visit."
"No no no," Jake said. "I don't do so well down there, you know that. They have body parts and stuff just lying around in there."
"So sit in the lobby," Ford said.
"Can't you go without me?"
"You're my partner," Ford replied. "You should be there. Besides, I'll buy you lunch afterwards."
"You're all heart," Jake said, recalling the last time he'd been to Lorna's "office."
"We'll get the new McL33t Burger," Ford said. "It'll roxxor your tastebuds."
"Bruising on the inside abdominal wall is consistent with blunt force trauma from the rear," Lorna said into the micro-cassette recorder. Then, rolling the body over, she added, "and is in line with abrasions visible on the skin of the back."
"I'm ready here," her assistant, David Brule said, standing at the head of the body. He had already incised the skin of the forehead and pulled it back to expose the skull.
"Good," Lorna said. "While I excise the brain I want you to aspirate the abdomen. Tell toxicology there's no rush on the results since it's hard to conclude alcohol was a factor when the guy's wife hit him with her Audi in front of twenty witnesses. I haven't bagged the organs yet, they're still on the scale."
"Gotcha."
"That reminds me," Ford said, standing in the doorway. "Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?"
"Chris, you know you're not supposed to be in here," Lorna said.
"Technically I'm not in there," Ford replied. "David, am I in there?"
"Technically?" David asked. "No."
"What do you want?" Lorna asked.
"I came by to see what damning piece of evidence you found on Grynbaum's body that will turn the case around."
"This is a business call?" David asked, stopping what he was doing.
"Where's Jake?" Lorna added, sharing David's alarm.
"In the lobby keeping the soda machine company," Ford said.
"Good," Lorna replied, pulling down her mask. They relaxed. "I don't want him in here yacking all over my floor again."
"Hey, I apologized for that already," Ford said. "How was I supposed to know you had a ped versus m.v. when I brought him?"
"Regardless," Lorna said. "I can't help you with Grynbaum. He died exactly as it looked."
"Any idea what made the cuts?"
"Something with three points," Lorna replied. "Like a bird's foot."
"Interesting," Ford said, rubbing his chin. "So it looks like an animal attack?"
"Not really," Lorna said. "There were actually three strikes made in opening the stomach and two pulls to empty out the contents. All five show exactly the same configuration. Whatever made them was solid, like a piece of stone or metal."
"But punctures, not sharp cuts?"
"That's right. The tips were triangular, but not edged."
"You're not helping me here," Ford said. "You..."
"I know," Lorna said, cutting him off. "I'm supposed to tell you that the wounds were made with a buckknife with the killer's name etched on the side and an imprint of the name was left on the intestines."
"Hey," Ford said, whistling appreciatively. "You're good."
"No," Lorna replied. "You say almost the same thing every time you come to see me."
"I guess it's time for some new material," Ford mused. "I'll check out some Ed McBain at the library on my way home. Are you working late?"
"Probably," Lorna said.
"Ok," Ford smiled. "I'll tape the news for you."
"Thanks."
"I know how much you're into the Chandra Levy thing," Ford said. "Besides, I want to hear about that training accident with US stealth fighters in Melbourne."
With a quick kiss on her cheek, Ford turned and left.
"It's a good thing you didn't go in there," Lorna and David overheard him tell Jake in the hallway. "There were intestines and organs all over the place. And David was vacuuming out some guy's stomach."
Jake started coughing.
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