Rita Brown - Whiskers in the Dark

“Jan. It’s Harry Haristeen.”

“How odd. Geoff and I were just talking about you. You have the unenviable distinction of seeing two corpses at Aldie. Geoff saw one. That was enough.”

“He thought she was asleep, passed out.”

“Here, you talk to him.”

A deep voice came on at the other end of the line. “Harry.”

“Mr. Ogden.”

“You have, of course, spoken to the sheriff, as have I.”

“Yes. Let me get to the point. I don’t believe Clare’s death was natural and I believe it was connected to Jason’s. I have no idea why these two people were murdered, but may I ask you some questions about the foreign service, about our State Department? I don’t think I’m using the correct terminology.”

“Doesn’t matter. Go on.”

“When you were general counsel in Istanbul, Jason Holzknect worked in Ankara, the capitol, right?”

“Yes. This was a good assignment for a young man, only his second assignment. His fluency in Turkish made him valuable.”

“So I assume he was low down on the totem pole?”

“Well”—a pause followed this—“yes, but to be assigned to the capitol of an ally is a plum posting.”

“What would his duties entail?”

“He would speak directly to his counterparts in the Turkish government. He could call and chat with probably another young person, and the two could set up meetings for their bosses. He would also be expected to read the newspapers, any official bulletins from the Turkish government. He could speak to any other ambassador’s assistant fluent in Turkish.”

“But he had no real power?”

“No, but over time if his assessments of government proclamations, of economic development, officials in the Turkish government, proved correct, he would rise, and he did.”

“What about the Kurds? Would he have contact with them?”

“No, but he would keep us apprised of the government’s position on them as well as their relations with bordering states because people in those governments would be dealing with Turkey and someone in each office would be fluent in Turkish.”

“Most of the bordering states would speak Arabic?”

“No. Southeast of Turkey sits Iraq and Iran. Iranians speak Persian. Due south it’s Syria, a complete and terrible mess. Due west, Greece and Bulgaria. North sits Russia, the traditional enemy. Across the Black Sea is Sevastopol, ever famous because of the Crimean War. Georgia and Russia as well as Greece have a long, long history with Turkey. No one forgets the Ottoman Empire. There are many languages.”

“Would that mean because of all those languages, then, that Turkish would be understood by a fair enough number in those adjoining states, the governments?”

A long pause followed this. “Any government department in a bordering state would have people fluent in Turkish and others fluent in the languages surrounding them. It’s much more complex than here: for one thing, thousands of years of history especially between Greece and Turkey, then called Anatolia.”

“I would assume there is wariness?”

“That’s putting it politely.” Geoff half laughed.

“And Turkey is or was, in better times, our ally.”

“Technically it still is. Turkey is a key to peace. Always has been, and when the Ottoman Empire was called the Sick Man of Europe and other powers began to nibble at it, politics were destabilized. Atatürk changed all that.”

“So we need Turkey?”

“I think we do.”

“Me, too.” Jan called from the background.

“Let me switch gears for a minute. Clare Lazo was in the Navy, fluent in Russian.”

“I only know Clare from beagling, but occasionally we would talk about our careers. She was in Naval Intelligence on a ship in the Gulf of Finland. I take that as her most significant assignment. I’m sure there were others. Sitting there with Russian subs gliding underneath you, I’d say Clare had a lot on her mind.”

“She was discharged with honor when she didn’t re-up. Forty-five, I think.”

“I don’t know her age but she had a good career.”

“Did you ever wonder how she and Jason met?”

“No. All I know is they bought the dealership together and made bundles.”

“I’m racking my brain. I think she told me she met Jason while she was in the service. He was, I don’t know—why does Paris stick in my mind?”

“With luck we all got to Paris for at least a furlong.” Geoff laughed.

“You’ve been good to give me so much of your time.”

“Harry, I don’t know why two people are dead at Aldie, two well-respected people and well-respected beaglers. But let me give you a piece of advice. Let this go and keep your mouth shut.”

When Harry hung up the phone, she knew that Geoff and Jan also shared her suspicion and they knew far more about the world than she did. Why now and why Aldie? The other thing she felt more than she knew was that the murders had something to do with the fact that both victims excelled in two different, important languages.

Mrs. Murphy leaned on Tucker. “She’s got that look on her face.”

“Means we’re in for it.” Tucker groaned.

Pewter woke up. “You two were talking about me, weren’t you?”

36

October 27, 1787

Saturday

Royal Oak’s fences, sturdy, painted, set off the lay of the land. Maryland tended toward gentle rolls just west of Baltimore and dropping south. A beautiful state, those pastures seemed perfect for horses. At least they were at Royal Oak.

Ralston and William worked sunup to sundown and they worked hard. Ard kept an eye on them, finally putting both young men up on two made horses. No point risking the horse or the man on a green one.

William, the better rider, preened while Ralston, good, fumed.

Making his daily report to the Boss, Ard said, “Mr. Finney, we could use more crimped oats. Room up top and they’ll stay good up there.”

“All right. Hay?”

“Plenty and good, too.” Ard knew how to please Cinian Finney. “Those squares you cut open over each stall, so we can pour down the oats or throw down hay, saves so much time.”

A small smile crossed the craggy face. “Time is money.”

“The two new hires are working out. Ralston does whatever he is asked and he’s quiet with a horse. We can use him with young horses. The other one, William, I don’t say that he could finish a horse, but he’d be a decent jockey. Arrogant, but a year or two of running will take care of that.”

A bigger smile covered the Boss’s face.

Ard nodded. “Those boys out there can get rough.”

“He’s tall. He’ll hold his own.”

“Light and slender. I’ll work with him,” Ard promised.

“The girl must be doing well, too, or Miss Frances would have been up here, rolling pin in hand.”

They both laughed at that.

Ard left, the mist rising, for it was quite early, passing Sulli on her way to the kitchen. He noticed she had a black eye.

A bell rang. Ard stopped as Mr. Finney was summoning him back. The bell’s notes, a handbell, carried. The big bell by the back of the house was only used in times of import, even crisis. That bell could be heard for miles on the days that sound carried well.

Ard trotted back up as Mr. Finney stood at the back door.

“Step inside. It’s colder than I thought.”

Ard did and the two men stood there for a moment as Ard could hear Mr. Finney’s wife in the kitchen ordering the house cook about.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you trust these two?”

“They haven’t given me a reason not to, sir.”