Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 13

…

Just who is this Alexander Bergman?

…

Bryson was fully aware that you can only get answers to the questions according to what you know about a victim. It’s why no one told him about Bergman having any military service or anything that might be relevant outside his usual business, and affairs.

A conversation between Worthey and Bergman’s daughter raised the possibility of military service, most likely in the Army, and equally likely somewhere in the Middle East, but a follow-up conversation between Worthey and her over the phone produced no further results.

It did yield one more interesting fact, that the daughter was from an earlier rather brief marriage and that Sandra had remained with the mother and had known nothing about her father until the mother had died and left his details in a letter to be given to her.

Her acquaintance with him had been relatively brief, six months at most, and in that time, she had failed to find out anything about him other than he was selfish and inconsiderate, and that it was no surprise her mother had not told her about him.

She was surprised to learn that he had made her a beneficiary of his will, not that it would amount to much.

Bryson then moved on to his most recent spouse, Stacy. She had been number four. The most she could say about the other three was that the first was a mistake, the second lasted exactly six weeks, and the third was to an older woman, a rich widow, Stacy said, who died in suspicious circumstances.

It was where Stacy said, Bergman got the funds to set up his business.

Stacy had first met Bergman in a night club where she was a dancer, no, not an exotic dancer, and he had been with wife number three at the time. She should have realized that Bergman was not trustworthy when he asked to date her on the pretext that he and his current wife were estranged and were in the process of divorcing.

She hadn’t realized at the time that her death might have been suspicious, just that she had conveniently died so she and Bergman were free to marry.

She knew nothing about any military service, he did not mention it. He said he had once worked for an international aid organization and had often travelled and remained overseas for months at a time, but those visits had been curtailed once he married her. However, he frequently made flying visits to both suppliers and clients, but these, she was assured, were all in America.

She had never seen him with a passport, had seen his travel arrangements from time to time in the form of itineraries, and on several occasions had asked her to go with him, but she had declined. She did not travel well in aeroplanes.

Wendy Anderson proved to be a more difficult case to get information out of.

It was clear from the outset she knew a lot more than she admitted to. The call on the telephone started badly and ended abruptly. He sent Worthey and several officers to arrest her and bring her back to the station.

Once in the interview room, a lawyer by her side, Bryson told her, “At the moment I’m half inclined to charge you with obstruction. I asked a simple question, do you know whether Alexander Berman was in the military/ It isn’t a difficult question.”

“It is as if what he did was something he was not supposed to mention or talk about.”

“He obviously told you.”

“I can keep a secret. I made a solemn promise never to repeat to anyone what he told me.”

“He’s now dead, that hardly seems relevant. What is relevant is the fact that whatever it is he did might have some direct effect on why he’s dead.”

“It wasn’t that spectacular. If you’re looking for a murderer look no further than James.”

‘So you keep saying, but the facts say otherwise. I assume you knew he had four wives, the most recent Stacy, and that he has a daughter, Sandra.”

“Did he?”

“You mean in all of the thirty-odd years you have known him he never mentioned it? Or the fact he was briefly married to one Annabelle Bentley, shortly after he graduated from University?”

Bryson was observing Wendy Anderson very carefully and when he mentioned the daughter, she showed genuine surprise. That wasn’t the same when he asked her about military service.

“If he did have a daughter, I’m sure it was a surprise to him as well. Perhaps they had parted, and she was pregnant and forgot or deliberately didn’t tell him.

It was a logical assumption, Bryson thought.

“And as far as I was aware, Alex was in the National Guard for a brief period, arising from his time in a cadet corps when he was much younger, something his father made him do. I had no idea if he carried that forward, and he never mentioned it.”

“How do you explain the obvious absences?”

“The charity work involved staying overseas for long periods. From time to time I would visit him in various locations. Not one was he in uniform, or anywhere near military action. If he was, he hid it well.”

Or she just wasn’t all that observant.

“You have other matters you wish to ask me about?: she asked.

Perhaps it was time to throw the car among the pigeons.

“We have managed to get access to the text messages on one of Bergman’s cell phones, and there is a considerable exchange of sometimes very explicit tests between yourself and the deceased, as well as some attached photographs which suggest that your relationship is not what you are portraying it as. That phone is currently missing. Now, I will ask you once again, what was the nature of your relationship with the deceased.”

An almost priceless expression on her face, surely she had some idea if anything happened to her boyfriend the police would be looking at his phone records.

“And you were not the only woman he was conducting this type of relationship with. We have, so far, found three others, equally as intense, shall we say. The nature of the text messages and the tenor of one of the last he sent you, which I’m sure you are aware of, where he said he would have no hesitation in showing your husband those photographs, gives you a clear motive. And, if you say your husband has a gun, I’m assuming you know where it is, and how to gain access to it, if you follow my meaning.”

It was very clear by her expression she did. “I did not kill him. He did not tell me what he was about to do, though I did ask him to destroy those photographs. Equally, if Bergman intended to use those photographs to get my husband to sign the divorce papers, for whatever reason, then would that equally give James motive?”

It would, or it might have been a case of good riddance, but Bryson could not allow his snap judgement of wither to interfere in an unbiased investigation.

Yes, the expression had changed again, he thought, having realised what she’d said. It was apparent to him she was truly angry at a husband, but for different reasons, none of which were attached to Bergman, but she had been handed a perfect opportunity to set him up for the murder.

And one thing was certain about her. She was making it noticeably clear to him that she wanted her husband to take the fall for the murder.

“Just so you know, we believe there is another phone, the one that he received a message to meet him at the Zoo carpark at 10pm. There was evidence in the car and on his person of perfume, Mrs Anderson, not unlike what you are wearing now.”

…

Searching for locations: The Erqi Memorial Tower, Zhengzhou, China

A convoluted explanation on the reasons for this memorial came down to it being about the deaths of those involved in the 1923 Erqi strike, though we’re not really sure what the strike was about.

So, after a little research, this is what I found:

The current Erqi Tower was built in 1971 and was, historically, the tallest building in the city. It is a memorial to the Erqi strike and in memory of Lin Xiangqian and other railway workers who went on strike for their rights, which happened on February 7, 1923.

It has 14 floors and is 63 meters high. One of the features of this building is the view from the top, accessed by a spiral staircase, or an elevator, when it’s working (it was not at the time of our visit).

There seems to be an affinity with the number 27 with this building, in that

It’s the 27th memorial to be built
to commemorate the 27th workers’ strike
located in the 27th plaza of Zhengzhou City.

We drive to the middle of the city where we once again find traveling in kamikaze traffic more entertaining than the tourist points

When we get to the drop-off spot, it’s a 10-minute walk to the center square where the tower is located on one side. Getting there we had to pass a choke point of blaring music and people hawking goods, each echoing off the opposite wall to the point where it was deafening. Too much of it would be torture.

But, back to the tower…

It has 14 levels, but no one seemed interested in climbing the 14 or 16 levels to get to the top. The elevator was broken, and after the great wall episode, most of us are heartily sick of stairs.

The center square was quite large but paved in places with white tiles that oddly reflected the heat rather than absorb it. In the sun it was very warm.

Around the outside of two-thirds of the square, and crossing the roads, was an elevated walkway, which if you go from the first shops and around to the other end, you finish up, on the ground level, at Starbucks.

This is the Chinese version and once you get past the language barrier, the mixology range of cold fruity drinks are to die for, especially after all that walking. Mine was a predominantly peach flavor, with some jelly and apricot at the bottom. I was expecting sliced peaches but I prefer and liked the apricot half.

A drink and fruit together was a surprise.

Then it was the walk back to the meeting point and then into the hotel to use the happy house before rejoining the kamikaze traffic.

We are taken then to the train station for the 2:29 to our next destination, Suzhou, the Venice of the East.

Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 12

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Bryson and Worthey confer

…

Detective Worthey arrived at the Bergman residence at the same time as the first team of crime scene investigators.

He had come directly from interviewing Sandra Worsley, Bergman’s daughter.

“The list of suspects is getting longer and longer,” Worthey said, after joining Bryson by his car, having a cigarette, the first in a number of months.

“Why am I not surprised.”

“I thought you gave up smoking.”

“I thought I did too, but this case. There’s something odd going on here, and I’m sure when I find out what it is, I’m not going to like it.”

“Odd, funny or odd, hairs on the back of the neck?”

“Why does an import/export trader have a rented house in an obscure location with a large basement and a dozen filing cabinets?”

“Can’t be too obscure if his scorned wife knows where it is.”

“She’s been having him followed by a private detective. Met him just before. There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

Bryson had dealt with a lot of Private Detectives in his time, and they usually fell into two categories, those that found missing pets, and the photographs of cheating spouses, and those that were proper investigators, ex police, ex FBI, even ex CIA. Davidson was in the latter category, and he wasn’t simply investigating a cheating husband.

“Will I add him to the ever-growing list?”

“No. I’ll look into him. I have a feeling it’s going to end up above our pay grade.”

That was the other thing Bryson noted. The dynamic between Stacy and Davidson. It was more than just Investigator and client. He was either a relative, or they were more than just friends. Looks and words exchanged between the two were ‘noticeable’ to a trained eye. How did it go with the daughter?”

“Sandra? A father’s favorite daughter. She did not speak badly of him. Certainly, does not like the wife, Stacey, and speaks kindly of Wendy Anderson. Appears she had known her for most of her life, in fact, I got the impression Wendy was her mother. She certainly has some of her physical characteristics.”

“Interesting. Another question we can put to James Anderson. I’m willing to bet he knows nothing about her. What does she do for a living?”

“Schoolteacher, up in Yonkers. Comes to stay with her father once every few months. She just happened to be here this week for a conference. They were supposed to have dinner at her favourite restaurant on the night he died, but he called to cancel, saying he had an unscheduled meeting with a friend who needed to see him.”

“A friend? Could be the person who shot him. He didn’t happen to give her a name?”

“No. We’re not that lucky, but she thought it might be a woman rather than a man.”

“Chances are she is totally unaware of his philandering, other women in his life, and the fact his business was going badly. Did you ask her if she knew what his business was?

“I did. She said he told her it was importing and exporting, but she thought that was a euphemism for something else, not necessarily illegal, but she did say he used to be in the army as a Quartermaster, she heard him mention it to another man in a conversation recently. He never told her what he did, but she assumed that was because he’d been in Iraq or somewhere like that. When she mentioned his service I did a quick check, and it hit a brick wall.”

“Classified?”

“Like there is no record of him being in the military.”

Bryson looked over at the entrance to the house and saw one of the crime scene investigators coming towards him.

He’d worked with him before, enough to be able to interpret the expression on his face as impending bad news.

“What have we?”

“The filing cabinets, John.”

“Weapons, contraband, or artifacts?”

“What look to be artifacts in several, weapons in another, what you might call the spoils of war. Nothing earth-shattering, but definitely worthy of the real owners getting slightly upset. Several of the items appear to match the descriptions of items that were supposedly destroyed by ISIS.”

“We’re dealing with black market artifacts then?”

“Quite possibly. I’m getting an expert to come in and tell us exactly what the items are. If you’re looking for a motive for his death, then these items would definitely fit that. There’s a lot of foreign weaponry too, the sort collectors pay a small fortune for.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll let you know more later.”

Worthey sighed as he watched the man return to the house. “Why couldn’t this be a simple case of a jealous husband shooting his wife’s secret lover?”

“Why indeed.”

…

Searching for locations: The Henan Museum, Zhengzhou, Henan Province, China

The Henan Museum is one of the oldest museums in China. In June 1927, General Feng Yuxiang proposed that a museum be built, and it was completed the next year. n 1961, along with the move of the provincial capital, Henan Museum moved from Kaifeng to Zhengzhou.

It currently holds about 130,000 individual pieces, more of which are mostly cultural relics, bronze vessels of the Shang and Zhou Dynasties, and pottery and porcelain wares of the various dynasties.

Eventually, we arrive at the museum and get off the bus adjacent to a scooter track and despite the efforts of the guide, there’s no stopping them from nearly running us over.

We arrive to find the museum has been moved to a different and somewhat smaller building nearby as the existing, and rather distinctively designed, building is being renovated.

While we are waiting for the tickets to enter, we are given another view of industrial life in that there is nothing that resembles proper health and safety on worksites in this country, and the workers are basically standing on what looks to be a flimsy bamboo ladder with nothing to stop them from falling off.

The museum itself has exhibits dating back a few thousand years and consist of bronze and ceramic items. One of the highlights was a tortoiseshell with reportedly the oldest know writing ever found.

Other than that it was a series of cooking utensils, a table, and ceramic pots, some in very good condition considering their age.

There were also small sculptures

an array of small figures

and a model of a settlement

20 minutes was long enough.

Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 11

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The visitors at the Bergman Residence

…

Bryson stood, just out of sight, and heard the door open and heard two voices, one of which was familiar.

Stacy Bergman. The other voice, male, was unfamiliar.

“Like I said,” she was saying, “the bastard had those photographs somewhere, and leaving this address lying around was his second mistake.”

“The first,” her companion asked?

“Cheating on me. But I should have realized he’s never given up that floozie from school, the one he said had got away. The one, he also said, he was not having an affair with.”

“What about the other six I found?”

“Well, what can I say. The man was a fool. You go upstairs, I’ll look around her, then we’ll both tackle the basement. What is that smell?”

“Treachery?”

That was greeted with silence, followed by steps trudging upstairs.

Bryson stepped out from behind the wall, gun pointed at Stacy Bergman, and said, “Conducting a little breaking and entering, are we?”

Predictably, she screamed.

Her companion came pounding back down the stairs and stopped when he saw Bryson with the gun. “You really don’t want to use that. We are not doing anything wrong here.”

“And you are?”

“Jim Davidson, Private Detective. I’m assisting Ms Hollingworth in an investigation into her husband’s activities.”

Stacy found her voice, “This is the detective I was telling you about. Be careful what you say.”

“Why would he have to be careful Mrs. Bergman? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“No.”

“You mentioned some photographs when you came in. What photographs were they?”

He watched her look change from surprise to puzzlement to wary as she realized what she had said, not knowing he had been there. Now, it was a race to come up with an excuse that didn’t match the reality. Bergman had something on her too.

A few seconds of silence, and then she said, “He was supposed to be importing some crockery from England and was supposed to show me the supplier photographs. It’s a present for a friend for her wedding, and like always, he doesn’t follow through.”

“How do you know about this place?”

“I know everything about him.”

“Via the private detective? How long have you had him investigating Bergman?” He glared at Davison, who in turn looked at Mrs Bergman.

Bryson looked at Mrs Bergman, and said, “If you are considering telling me a lie, mars Bergman, I will have my assistant get a warrant from a judge to view all of the PI’s documents relating to your case. As it is,” he looked at Davidson, “I’m going to add you to the list of suspects, and my assistant will be interviewing you, sooner rather than later.”

“I had nothing to do with his demise.”

“That remains to be seen.” Back to Mrs Bergman, “Now, a truthful answer.”

“About a year.”

“That’s a long and expensive activity for someone who doesn’t have the funds. You do realize we are aware of your husband’s finances?”

“Any further questions will be answered with a lawyer’s presence, Detective.”

“Fine. Don’t leave the city. Unless you can prove that you have legal access to this residence, other than the key you’re holding in your hand, you will be charged with breaking and entering, and if not, for violating a crime scene.”

Bryson saw two uniformed officers arrive and park their car behind Davison’s. When they reached the doorway he said, “Take these two and escort them from the building. After that, make sure no one else comes in until the CSI team arrives. Good day, Mrs. Bergman. I will let you know when you are to report for another interview.

…

Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 10

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Detective Bryson goes to Bergman’s residence

…

The address in 84^th Avenue Jamaica, was between Jamaica Hills and Briarwood, and a little confusing because there was an 84^th Avenue, 84^th Drive, 84^th Road. It led Bryson to a single two-story house with a driveway up the side to a garage. It was not wide, but long, and painted a rather odd colour, and in need of updating. It

He parked the car in the side alley and pulled out the key ring that was found on the body, and went up to the front door. He stepped to the side and looked through the window, where there were several cracks in the Venetian blinds. It was too dark inside to see anything.

The seventh key he tried opened the outer glass door and the last the front door. There was no alarm, at least not one that was set. It was clear, once inside, that no one else was in the building. He switched on the light and was confronted with a rather untidy room with old furniture, and few modern comforts.

He put on the gloves he had brought, and picked his way carefully through the mess, trying not to disturb anything. After a cursory inspection, he would call in the CSI team.

It was a room that wasn’t used often, with no television, a setoff shelves with a few books tossed in, and items of clothing tossed on a settee. The room had a musty odour, as though it was not used, nor cleaned often. Moving towards the back there was a dining room, with a large table covered in documents, newspapers, connections for a computer, a printer, a USB hub, and leads leading to missing devices, one of which was possibly a phone. Other than the printer, there was no other hardware.

The kitchen showed signs of recent use, with dirty dishes and cutlery tossed hastily in the sink. A look in the refrigerator showed a few items, some looking very stale, and a block of cheese that had turned green. He didn’t check the milk, it looked off.

The papers on the table were haphazardly tossed, perhaps as a result of Bergman looking for something and not finding it. It didn’t have the feel of someone else looking for something.

Further on was a passage leading to the back of the house and another entrance. Back in the middle of the house were stairs going up and down. Visible from the outside was a basement, and Bryson shuddered, a bad experience in his childhood to do with basements came back to haunt him. It was going to take some effort to go down there.

Upstairs there were two very large bedrooms and a bathroom, the first bedroom showing signs of use, with clothes tossed on the bed, others tossed on the floor. The closet doors were open, and clothes were hanging, half hanging, or fallen on the floor. It looked like Bergman was in a hurry to find something that he believed was in the closet.

There was nothing in the other bedroom, nor anything of interest in the bathroom. Overall, Bergman was very untidy. The upstairs rooms had faded wallpaper, and in places, it was peeling off. The roof was stained, and the bathroom had mould.

The whole ground floor and upstairs needed repainting, and the bathrooms modernized. And the wallpaper replaced or removed. The carpet in the upstairs rooms was both stained and very dirty.

He went back downstairs and pulled out his torch, headed down the stairs to the basement. At the bottom, there was a door, locked, and the first time through all the keys, not one unlocked the door. He tried again and found that a little more elbow grease was required to turn the key in the lock.

Just to be on the safe side, not knowing what to expect, Bryson pulled out his gun and was ready, just in case there was a surprise. He opened the door and pushed it open slowly.

Darkness, And a very bad smell, like something had died down there.

He reached inside the wall and found the light switch, then turned on the lights.

The area he could see was surprisingly clean, and sparsely furnished, with a long table with boxed neatly set out. Along one of the walls was a set of filing cabinets. The floor was uncovered concrete, and the odour was most likely rising damp.

When he crossed the room to the table, he could see, in the other direction, a doorway that looked like an exit, and a free-standing safe, quite large, with the door open. He went over to look inside, but it was empty.

There was no clue as to what might have been in there, but Bryson suspected whatever there had been, Bergman had taken with him, the day he died, or before that, but recent.

The boxes on the table had power tools in them and were probably part of the stock in trade.

On one box was a folder which Bryson carefully opened and looked at the first page.

Shipping dockets. Some in the name of Phillip McGarry, and the rest in the name of Avondale Traders, Bergman’s company.

He tried the keys on the filing cabinets but none of them opened any of the cabinets. Each appeared to be full because Bryson tried moving them and it was very difficult. CSI would be able to get into them, and he would have to wait.

There was the noise of a car pulling into the alley beside the house and then stopping. A few seconds later, two doors slammed shut.

He raced up the stairs, closing the door behind him, and reached the top just as the visitors opened the front door.