15-04-2019, 03:42 PM
A Little Night Music Ch. 17
"I saw the news today, oh boy! (Hang your head.)
A thousand pictures of the lies we live. (Hang your head.)
Small minds play at some big-time games,
and everybody else pays. (Hang your head.)
They're on the take, and they don't give breaks.
They like to take it away. (Hang your head.)"
-Devo, "Some Things Never Change"
Detective Inspector Luc Allaine of Interpol did not have many friends in the Munich office. Waking them up at 10 PM to go obtain warrants and search Schön
Klink's records did nothing to increase the number.
The labels on the pill bottles had identified the patient prescribed them as Gareth Finnegan. A few hours' digging through Schön Klink's records said that he had visited several of their facilities eighteen times in the past three years for a malignant and slowly-growing brain tumor. No known aliases had returned from Interpol's records under that name. However, the fingerprints on the bottles came back with the name Francis Morgan, an American contract killer who'd dropped off the radar fifteen years previously.
"There was a rash of high-profile knife murders at that time," he relayed to Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez over the telephone. "Businessmen, the leaders of a couple of political movements who'd been making too much progress for the liking of some, the odd organized crime figure. Morgan's name came up as a suspect in a number of them, but he was never caught. Then he dropped off radar."
Ramirez sat up in bed with a notepad, his wife in bed next to him with her back turned to his bedside reading lamp. He took in Luc's words, ignoring her grumbling about how it was now 3 AM; and the Generalissimo had finally gotten home, had a sandwich, and gone straight to bed less than an hour before.
There had been nothing left for him to do at the scene. Everyone had been safely evacuated from the Ministry of Science before the explosion destroyed the first three floors. Unfortunately, the fragments of the vial that Morgan dropped before the attack appeared to have gone up in the explosion. If there was anything left to analyze, it would be weeks before it would be found. Since they could learn nothing more from it, the two had written it off as "probably poison" and moved on.
"If he was coming to Munich for regular treatments," Ramirez said, trying to keep his voice low. "They would need to be able to contact him. The Finnegan address in his file would have to be genuine, or at least someone who would relay the information."
"Oui," Allaine replied, lighting a cigarette. "Gareth Finnegan has an address in Kerry County, a poultry farm about 10km along the coast from Tralee. Sending the information to you now. His file says that he's married and has twin teenage children; a boy and a girl. The love of a woman, children, and a place to call his own. This sounds like perfectly good motive for a smart young man to get out of the game."
"Not for you, of course, Old Man," Ramirez joked.
"Not when I have a good man who permits me to stay IN the game, non."
"How is Sam?"
"Bien. And I hear Violeta in the background. Sorry for waking you, Violeta."
Ramirez turned to his wife.
"Luc is sorry to wake you," he told her. She grumbled a reply about having "those old queens" come to dinner sometime to make up for it.
"So," Luc said, getting back on topic. "You'll be sending your people to kick in some Irish doors?"
"I think not. The wife and children are likely not part of this. La Contessa may want to talk to them personally."
"So, things are looking better for her?"
"Her condition has improved, and she is being moved to a regular recovery room. Some old friends have come to sit by her side; I think they may be helping."
"Ah," Luc exclaimed. "A woman who has everything, including real friends? Rare as Monsieur Morgan's dream. But something went wrong with his dream. After buying a farm and settling down, raising two children; simply that much travel back and forth to Munich would put a dent in any retirement fund he had remaining."
Hernando thought on that before replying.
"Si. Like the American television show. He has nothing left for her and the niños, he already has lost his hearing, and his body is betraying him."
"I saw the news today, oh boy! (Hang your head.)
A thousand pictures of the lies we live. (Hang your head.)
Small minds play at some big-time games,
and everybody else pays. (Hang your head.)
They're on the take, and they don't give breaks.
They like to take it away. (Hang your head.)"
-Devo, "Some Things Never Change"
Detective Inspector Luc Allaine of Interpol did not have many friends in the Munich office. Waking them up at 10 PM to go obtain warrants and search Schön
Klink's records did nothing to increase the number.
The labels on the pill bottles had identified the patient prescribed them as Gareth Finnegan. A few hours' digging through Schön Klink's records said that he had visited several of their facilities eighteen times in the past three years for a malignant and slowly-growing brain tumor. No known aliases had returned from Interpol's records under that name. However, the fingerprints on the bottles came back with the name Francis Morgan, an American contract killer who'd dropped off the radar fifteen years previously.
"There was a rash of high-profile knife murders at that time," he relayed to Generalissimo Hernando Ramirez over the telephone. "Businessmen, the leaders of a couple of political movements who'd been making too much progress for the liking of some, the odd organized crime figure. Morgan's name came up as a suspect in a number of them, but he was never caught. Then he dropped off radar."
Ramirez sat up in bed with a notepad, his wife in bed next to him with her back turned to his bedside reading lamp. He took in Luc's words, ignoring her grumbling about how it was now 3 AM; and the Generalissimo had finally gotten home, had a sandwich, and gone straight to bed less than an hour before.
There had been nothing left for him to do at the scene. Everyone had been safely evacuated from the Ministry of Science before the explosion destroyed the first three floors. Unfortunately, the fragments of the vial that Morgan dropped before the attack appeared to have gone up in the explosion. If there was anything left to analyze, it would be weeks before it would be found. Since they could learn nothing more from it, the two had written it off as "probably poison" and moved on.
"If he was coming to Munich for regular treatments," Ramirez said, trying to keep his voice low. "They would need to be able to contact him. The Finnegan address in his file would have to be genuine, or at least someone who would relay the information."
"Oui," Allaine replied, lighting a cigarette. "Gareth Finnegan has an address in Kerry County, a poultry farm about 10km along the coast from Tralee. Sending the information to you now. His file says that he's married and has twin teenage children; a boy and a girl. The love of a woman, children, and a place to call his own. This sounds like perfectly good motive for a smart young man to get out of the game."
"Not for you, of course, Old Man," Ramirez joked.
"Not when I have a good man who permits me to stay IN the game, non."
"How is Sam?"
"Bien. And I hear Violeta in the background. Sorry for waking you, Violeta."
Ramirez turned to his wife.
"Luc is sorry to wake you," he told her. She grumbled a reply about having "those old queens" come to dinner sometime to make up for it.
"So," Luc said, getting back on topic. "You'll be sending your people to kick in some Irish doors?"
"I think not. The wife and children are likely not part of this. La Contessa may want to talk to them personally."
"So, things are looking better for her?"
"Her condition has improved, and she is being moved to a regular recovery room. Some old friends have come to sit by her side; I think they may be helping."
"Ah," Luc exclaimed. "A woman who has everything, including real friends? Rare as Monsieur Morgan's dream. But something went wrong with his dream. After buying a farm and settling down, raising two children; simply that much travel back and forth to Munich would put a dent in any retirement fund he had remaining."
Hernando thought on that before replying.
"Si. Like the American television show. He has nothing left for her and the niños, he already has lost his hearing, and his body is betraying him."
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