The four members of the high council – maybe

…

There was a man in a red suit, a man in a blue suit, a woman in a green suit and another woman in a grey suit.

Grey suit spoke first, “Are all you people from the earth as tiresome as you are Captain?”

She was either the lowest rank or the highest.

“We are an interesting bunch when you get to know us, which, despite this turn of events, I hope we do.  We have a predilection for interfering in matters where we see injustices.”

“Be that as it may, I would like to remind you, that what might pass as acceptable behaviour on your planet, might not be on ours.  You should be aware that in your travels, everyone you may or may not meet has their own specific rules, customs, and regulations which can and will be a lot different to yours.”

“I accept that, and in fact, in the briefing we had before leaving earth, it was impressed upon us that very premise.  And I understand that we may be seen to be interfering in matters that are not our concern.  But, and there’s always a but, that’s how we humans think and rationalise the many situations we often find ourselves in, we don’t like injustices.”

“Does what might appear an injustice to one, not be one to another?  There is ample evidence in your history that points to those overlooking so-called injustices for the greater good?”

“That may be true in the past, but we like to think we have evolved into a better civilization.  But we are not perfect, as you point out.  However, this instance does not qualify as an instance for the greater good, it is simply the selfish whim of a single person.  We have people who are supposed to set an example too and don’t, because they don’t believe the rules apply to them, and I would like to believe that you, too, would not tolerate this sort of behaviour in your leaders.  Your people have been living on our planet for some time, I gather, so you should know that.”

Blue suit had been looking rather severely at me.  “It was a mistake to let you people develop space travel capability.  Our efforts to delay it haven’t been as successful as we had anticipated.  You are not ready.”

That someone or something had been manipulating our progress would probably not come as a surprise to some back home.  My knowledge of the steps we took to get where I was now pointed to several disasters that set the whole program back nearly twenty years, if not more.

I wonder how the Admiral would react when I told him.  If I told him.

“It was inevitable, like everything we do.  Unfortunately for you, we thrive on adversity.”

“You are not the only warlike race in the galaxy you know.  You may want to hold off meeting them for as long as you can, but they know where you are, so there’s more than one inevitability.”

“By uttering those words, does that make you look more like the aggressors than us?  The thing is, we’re out her for better or for worse, and I think you know what has transpired here is an injustice, but the ramifications are unpalatable.  We have an expression; absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Blue suit looked as though he was going to explode.  “It is no use talking to these primitives.”

Grey suit glared at him.  “It is your house that is not in order, and we have tolerated it for long enough.”  She looked at her fellow members and received nods.  Blue suit disappeared, most likely transported back to the planet.

Grey suit:  “You are, using another of your sayings on earth, “treading on very thin ice.”

Green suit took up the narrative.  “We believe you would not adhere to a request to turn around and go back home, so, before you alert the galaxy that you are now participants in intergalactic exploration, take heed of this warning.  Not all species are friendly.  Most are bound by customs and rules which are nothing like yours, and it is possible you will commit the most heinous of crimes by just acting normally.

In this instance, you may have uncovered a problem that we were not aware of, and lucky for you, is a minor transgression in accordance with our customs.  We are no longer those people and will rectify the issue.  The prisoner in question will be allowed to remain on your vessel to do with as you wish.  If you are to continue your travels, I suggest you do so with caution.”

Grey suit again, “We acknowledge you are not going to go away.  So, as the first gesture of friendship between our worlds, we would like you to return the Princess to her home world, and before you do, we will provide you with an advisor to help you navigate the protocols of her world.  We will also grant two members of your crew an audience with our scribes who will give you knowledge of our worlds and people, and that of others in this galaxy.  The other ship does not get this privilege and must leave immediately.  If they do not, they will be destroyed.  There will be no negotiation on this matter.  Do you agree?”

It was probably the best we could hope for under the circumstances.

“Yes.”

Grey suit to their captain.  “I’ll leave you to work on the details.”

With that, the remaining three were gone.

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

A meeting with Nadia’s father

…

I’d met Nadia’s father once, but had seen him often on the streets.

He was a man to be feared, and never went anywhere without two of his foot soldiers beside him.  Perhaps that was the downside of being a crime boss, you could not be out by yourself.

Benderby was the same, but he was better at disguising them as almost normal people.  Cossatino’s henchmen looked exactly what they were, armed gorillas in cheap suits.

Vince was like his father, but with younger versions, the hangers-on from school days.  It crossed my mind more than once how Nadia had separated him from his minders, but I imagine she was more resourceful than he was.

We said little on the way back to the car, there was little to say.  I might have disagreed with her course of action, in fact, they needed to be taught a lesson, but I knew in doing so, it put a target on her back.

And, if anything happened to Vince, she have her father to answer to.  In that, I don’t think that bothered her, because, unlike Vince, she could stand up to him.  It would have taken more courage than I had for her to up and leave the way she had.

Of course, it didn’t take a lot to see why.  As far as her father and Vince were concerned, she was dispensible, if or when a situation warranted it.  Like working with Boggs and I had no doubt prompted Vince’s reaction.

Not far from the car was another, and as we approached, a man got out of the rear.  Two others got out from the front.  In the receding light, it was difficult to see who it was, but since the man had two minders it had to be either Benderby or Cossatino.

I looked at Nadia, and from her expression, she knew who it was.  She stopped just short of the car, and I joined her.

“It’s my father,” she said.

“How did he know where you’d be?”

“A tracker on my car.”

So, she had intended he find her, but was it her intention that he find Vince?  I doubted he would be interested in what happened to Alex.

She held up her hand, and said, “I wouldn’t come too close, Dad, not if your help wants to scrape what’s left of Vince off the side of the container.”

I looked closely at her hand, and it was her mobile phone.  Would that convince him she meant what she said?

“You’re not that clever Nadia.”

He took two steps, his two minders pulled out their guns and were aiming them at us.

I saw her finger move, and a second later there was a sharp bang coming from the direction of the mall.

“The next one will go off next to Vince.  Unlike what he did to Sam and I, he won’t have time to think about his death.  Tell your goons to put away their guns and get back in the car, or else.”

Cossatino stopped and motioned to his men to lower their weapons.  They did not put them away, nor did they look like they were going back to the car.

A test of wills.  Who would crack first?

I wondered if she had wired an explosive in the container.  I didn’t know much about electronics, but the steel walls of the container surely would have interfered with a cell phone signal.  I guess it didn’t have to be in the container.

“I get it,” he said.  “I should not have told Vince to take care of the problem.  I didn’t consider he would take it literally.  I’m sorry.  We don’t have to do this.”

“Just the fact you think I’m a problem is bad enough, but getting Vince to deal with it?”

“That was a mistake.  The solution was never to hurt you, or your friends.”

“He murdered Boggs, and for what?  There never was any treasure, was there?”

“Maybe once, but no.  The real treasure was the maps.  People will pay a small fortune for them if they believe there’s a chance of finding a trove.  We couldn’t have anyone upsetting the apple cart, but killing him wasn’t what I asked for.  Vince and that fool Alex took it too far, and that’s on me.”

“Literal or not, you’ve made it very clear I don’t fit into this family.  I never did, did I?  You only tolerated Alex because it was a way of uniting the Cossatino’s and the Benderby’s, not because you wanted me to be happy.”

“There will always be a place for you, Nadia.”

“Not while Vince is alive.  He won’t let it go, no matter what you tell him.”

“You leave Vince to me.”

“No.  I can’t trust you either.  So, here’s the deal.  Sam and I are going back to Italy.  I want no part of the family.  But if I see you, Vince, or anyone else I don’t like hanging around, then Isobel and the twins will pay it.”

“What are you talking about…”

At that precise moment, his phone rang, a rather odd ring tone, like one specially set for a particular person, and he answered it without hesitation.

A few seconds later, the call ended.

“You have my word nothing will happen to you, or Sam, as long as I’m alive.”  He motioned to his men to go back to the car.  “Have a nice life Nadia.”

He glared at her for a few seconds then followed his men to the car.  The car then drove off, leaving the two of us standing alone in the increasing twilight.

I had a hundred questions, but it didn’t seem to be the right time.  I went with the most obvious, “What just happened?”

“My father thought he could clean up the mess he made using me as the scapegoat.  Instead, he just confessed to, and confirmed Vince and Alex’s role in Boggs’s death.”  She held up her phone.  “Charlene was listening in to the confessions.  The sheriff should have the two boys by now, and…”

In the distance we could hear the sirens of the police cars and see the flashing lights.  Cossatino had driven into a trap.

“Isobel and the twins?”

“My father’s mistress.  He’s been seeing her since before my mother disappeared.  He cares more for them than me, even Vince if truth be told.  It’s his one weakness and guarantees our safety.  We are going to Italy?”

It might not have been the thought at the top of my list at that very moment, but it was almost a definite yes. There was nothing left here for me, and the last thing I wanted was Benderby as a proxy father.

The sirens had stooped, and the flashing lights become static.  Nadia looked tired, perhaps more than a little sad at the way everything had turned put.  I know I was.

As for what just happened, Nadia had surprised me.  I think for a moment back at the mall she really was going to leave them to die, which I might have considered no better than her brother or Alex’s actions, but she really wasn’t like any of them, and I put that down to her mother.

Something else I hadn’t realized was that she had a different mother, but a memory from a long distant past came back when she had mentioned her to her father, something my mother had said, more or less to say she couldn’t understand what a woman like Francesca could see in a man like him.

Perhaps she had simply up and left when she finally realized the monster she married, but it didn’t explain why she left her daughter behind.  Perhaps her father was guilty of that crime too.

“I think we both need a change, and I’ve never been out of the country.”  I took her hand in mine, then gave her a hug. 

She was shaking, whether it was the cold or the enormity of what just happened was debatable, but for the moment it was over. There would be new storms to face tomorrow, not the least of which would be to face my mother.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.  You need to get some rest.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

An excerpt from the book:

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

© Charles Heath 2019

…

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.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

…

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.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023