Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 7

…

Detective Bryson talks to Richard Hollingsworth

…

The first order of business, once Bryson arrived back in the office, was to call Richard Hollingsworth. At 6:30 pm where he was, it would be about that in the morning. Bright and early, just the time to catch people off guard.

He dialled the number.

It took twelve rings, almost to the point where the answering service kicked in, but a sleepy Hollingsworth answered, “Yes?”

“Richard Hollingsworth?”

“Who is this, and do you realise what time it is?”

“My name is Detective Bryson from the NYPD. I’m calling to advise you if you do not already know, that your employer, James Bergman died as a result of a gunshot wound yesterday. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Gunshot wound? Dead? This is not a prank, is it?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Crank calls at the office. Bergman wasn’t exactly a well-loved person. And, to be candid, I’m not surprised.”

A sentiment held by nearly all those who worked with him or were close to him. This Bergman seems to be a bad piece of work with a lot of enemies.

“May I ask a few routine questions so we can get an idea about the man and his business?”

“It’s early, but I’m awake now. Go ahead.”

“What is your role in the company?”

“He makes the deals with the suppliers, and I go and fill the orders in person, and arrange for the shipping. Can’t trust these people to do anything correctly, or economically.”

“The office PA says you are in Manila?”

“Yes. Been here for a week, and it’s driving me up the wall. I’m due to return in two days’ time. I’m not sure what I’ll be returning to.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The company is all but bankrupt. Stacy, my sister, has been taking funds from the accounts and basically left very little for operating expenses. No doubt you are aware she is divorcing him. It’s very acrimonious. What she’s been doing had to be illegal.”

A note, Stacy has been embezzling funds, with the hope of destroying the business?

Can you think of anyone who would want to kill him?

“Just about every husband on the planet. And a few business rivals.”

That sounded like what he had heard from the PA and he had to wonder f she hadn’t called him the moment he walked out of the office so they could get their stories straight.

“Do you know what he was doing the last few days?”

“No. He doesn’t tell me anything unless it impacts what I’m doing.”

“Was he due to go on a break or holiday?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Have you spoken to Ann in the office yet? She had access to his diary, though he doesn’t always write stuff down because I think he conducts some of his personal business during the day.”

“When you say personal business, you mean liaisons with women?”

“Not for me to say, but one time when I rang him, he was definitely not at work?”

“Would you know the name of his current girlfriend?”

“Ask my sister. She put a tribe of private detectives on his tail to see what he’s up to and she has reams of reports and dozens of photographs. She’s obsessed with taking him down, one way or another.”

“Would she kill him?”

A brief moment of silence. If he has to think about it, Bryson thought, then he must think she might be capable.

“Yes, but she wouldn’t use a gun. After all isn’t a woman’s method of murder, poison. she’d definitely poison him. But, in this instance, no. She needs him alive to suffer the humiliation she was planning to put him through. Him and his latest unknown woman. Like I said, ask her. She knows everything.”

“One last item. You say the company is bankrupt.”

“All but. He was in the process of getting Chapter 11. You might want to talk to his lawyer. Ann will have it. Is that all?”

“For the time being. Thank you.”

…

“Remember that time…” – A short story

I don’t remember 40th birthday parties being all that interesting.

It was going to be a momentous year as each of our friends celebrated theirs. We were of a group that had formed strong friendships at school, and they had lasted over the next 25 years, even when some had ventured further afield, and others had stayed at home.

I was one of those who had remained in place, as had my wife, and several of the neighbors. I never had dreams of venturing any further than the next state, and except for a couple of years on transfer for the company I worked for, I had lived all my life in the city I was born.

The same could not be said for Janine, my wife, who once had a vision for herself, a career in law in either New York or Washington, and had ventured there after graduating law school, stayed a year and then returned in circumstances that she had never talked about. She had accepted my proposal, we had married, and that was that.

Fifteen years on, there had always been that gap, that part of the story I’d never asked about and one I felt she would never talk about, and it was a small chink in what I wanted to believe was an almost perfect marriage.

But there was one small caveat she had requested; that she had no desire to have children, or to be a mother, something she said she would be terrible at. It didn’t bother me, one way or another, though as each of the others had children, there was a small part of me that was, for a while, envious.

Michael Urston was one of my close friends, who lived across town and was also a lawyer and a man of ambition. He’s taken his law degree to Washington and converted it into a path to public office and had attained the lofty position of Mayor for several years of our fair city, and then paradoxically didn’t run for re-election for reasons I never thought stood up.

But it had been his decision, part of the plan to retire at forty, and he’d achieved it. Ursula, his wife, was prickly at the best of times and had always considered herself above all of us. I guess being a prom queen had that effect on some people. She liked to be the centre of attention, and for some reason, she and Janine always managed to rub up against their respective wrong sides.

Something else I knew; he had a thing for Janine, as had several others in our group, and I could see, sometimes the looks that passed between them, and I was not sure how I felt about it. There was never any indication of either talking it further, but there was a bond between them that sometimes I envied, especially lately when it seemed, to me, that we were drifting apart.

But tonight, it was going to be Janine’s fortieth birthday party, and there were going to be a dozen friends coming. At the last minute, Janine had changed the venue to a restaurant rather than at our home, and that I suspected was because we lived in a magnificent house that all the others envied, and I was sure it was out of deference to them. Buying the house had been her idea, and down through the years, as we moved into larger residences, she had been trying to shed the memories of where she had come from.

Neither of us had been from a wealthy family, and I had no wealthy family connections. I was from generations of motor mechanics, which was my first occupation in the family business, and Janine’s family were farmers, something she had no intention of becoming, hence the desire to become a lawyer. And I didn’t think either of us had airs and graces despite what we owned or how we fitted into the local society.

Fred DeVilliers and Susan, his girlfriend of many years, who didn’t believe they needed a piece of paper to sanctify their relationship, were best friends also, though I knew Janine and Susan were not quite as friendly as it appeared. That I noticed some years ago when both were having a heated discussion, one they thought no one was around to hear. Their bone of contention had something to do with Michael, and I didn’t get to discover what it was.

As for the others, they joined in the conversation, ate the food, drank the wine, and then went home again. Like me, they were not interested in politics, religion, or miscreant children’s stories. Our get-together was children-free, and often about reminiscences of older and more carefree times.

Oh, and just to stir the pot a little, this day, I had tendered my resignation as CEO of the company. It was a matter of principle, the board had decided to downsize and shift a proportion of manufacturing offshore, a decision I knew I would have to implement if I stayed there. When I vehemently disagreed, I was given the option to leave on mutually agreeable terms. It was not something I could spring on Janine, but, equally, it was not something I was going to be able to hide from her. Not for very long anyway.

She was running late at her office, and I agreed to meet her at the restaurant a half-hour before the other guests were due to arrive. It was nothing unusual for one or other of us to be running late.

As it happened, I left the office, and the building, an hour after resigning. The company didn’t want me hanging around and granted me the two weeks I’d normally have to work off before leaving, for security reasons. I quit, therefore I had to leave, in case I had some desire to sabotage the company in some way. I wouldn’t but it was standard practice, and it didn’t go unnoticed that I was escorted by security to my office to clear the desk, and then to my car. They also gave me the car as a parting gesture.

After leaving the office I went home.

I took what amounted to over twenty-odd years of service in a cardboard box to my home office and dropped it in the corner. Not much to show for it, other than a decent salary, annual bonuses when we made a profit, and quite a few shares, not that they were worth much now because the board hesitated to embrace recent technologies.

About two hours later I heard a car pull up out the front on the driveway, and two doors closed. A look out the window that overlooked the driveway showed it was Janine and Michael, who as they approached the door were in animated conversation.

I thought about letting them know I was home, but then a voice inside my head asked how many men have come home during the day to surprise their wives and found her in bed with another man, or, in these rather liberated days, in bed with another woman?

And that thing between them, would it be now I would discover what it was?

It made me feel rather horrible to think I could suspect her of cheating, but it momentarily took away the sting of the resignation.

The door opened and they came inside. I could just see them from where I was standing, a spot where they would not see me, not unless they were looking. And my heart missed a beat, they were embracing very passionately, leaving me with no other conclusion than this was a middle-of-the-day tryst.

“Come,” she said, taking him by the hand. “I only have a couple of hours before I have to get back for a deposition.”

With that, they went up the stairs and disappeared into the bedroom, our room.

I sat down before I fell down, then having regained some composure, went over to the bar and poured myself a drink.

Two losses in one day. A job, and a wife. I guess it wasn’t exactly a revelation. I knew something was amiss, and I conveniently ignored all the signs. I thought about going up and walking in on them, but that, to me, seemed like a childish act. After a few more drinks, I decided to wait, see if they both left and then decide what to do.

The front door closing, and the car departing, woke me out of a reverie. I got up and looked out, expecting to see an empty foyer, but instead saw Janine, in a dressing gown, still holding the front door handle, as if transfixed. A beautiful memory of what had just happened, or a tinge of regret, and another secret to be kept in a head, I knew now, that held so many others.

I decided to make myself known, now rather than later.

“Do you come home often during the day,” I said, standing in the doorway where she could see me.

She jumped, perhaps in fright, or in guilt, it didn’t really matter.

She turned. “Daniel. What are you doing here?”

“I resigned this morning. A difference in opinion on how the company should proceed. I was escorted out and decided to come home. I should have gone to a bar.”

She knew that I knew, so it would be interesting to see what she had to say. I could see her forming the words in her head, much the same as she did in a court of law.

“It was the first time, Daniel, an impulse. I’m not going to make an excuse. It’s on me. I wanted to find out what it would be like.”

And that made me feel so much better. Not!

“Well, it’s a hell of a fortieth birthday gift, Jan, and one I guess I couldn’t give you. I trust you didn’t grant that wish to any of the other men who may desire you?” OK, that wasn’t exactly what I meant to say, but the words didn’t exactly match what I was thinking.

“You mean do I sleep with every man I have a desire to?” A rather harsh tone, bordering on angry. She was angry with me.

“You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

“I had sex with one other man, no one else since the day we were married. It was a mistake, and I’m sorry. If you hadn’t been here, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Washington,” I said, almost to myself, a light bulb lighting up in my head.

The memory of a distant conversation, on a holiday, when we visited Washington, Philadelphia and New York.

“What about Washington?” A change in her expression, was slight, but I could see it. She remembered it too.

“Remember that time, at one of those monuments, probably Jefferson’s, when you said something rather odd, and when I asked, you brushed it off as nothing important. You were looking out over the water and said it was one of your fondest memories after, and then stopped yourself. Michael had just married when he moved to Washington, and you were there too, for a year. I suspect now you and he had an affair, and it ended badly as affairs do and the woman has to leave. There’s always been that bond between you. Not the first time Jan. The affair never ended.”

“It did, Daniel. Like I said, this was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

I stepped out of the office and walked down the passage and came into the foyer. Two stories high, there had been a debate about whether to have a fountain in the space adjacent to the stairs or a statue. The statue won, and I lost.

Close up, I looked at the woman I’d loved from the moment I first saw her, and of the surprise when she agreed to marry me. I had no idea then I was her second choice.

“I’d say I’m on a roll. Lost my job, then lost my wife. Bad luck comes in threes, so I’m going to lose something else.” I looked around. “This house? I don’t think I could stay here, not now. It would just be a reminder of everything bad that’s happened to me today.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. I told you it was a mistake. I made my choice twenty-odd years ago and it hasn’t changed.”

She took a step towards me, and I took one back. The thought of being close to her now, after what she had just done, didn’t feel right.

“Look, before you do something silly, let’s sit down and talk about it.”

“No. There’s nothing really to talk about. I’m sure you can come up with a very convincing argument that will justify everything you’ve done, and why I’m being a fool, but the truth is, there are no words that can justify what you just did. Yes, I could forgive you, and believe me, I want to, but there’d always be some resentment and the fact I could never trust you again, even if you promise not to. What’s done is done. Have a great birthday, and party, and make up some excuse for me not being there, but I’m going away for a while. You have got everything you ever wanted Jan. Be grateful for that.”

With that, I turned and headed for the door that led to the garage. I wasn’t going to leave by the front door. I expected her to say something, but she didn’t. I expected a reaction, but there was none. What choice did I have?

In the car, I found myself heading for the airport. I couldn’t go to my parents, they were dead. My sister lived on the other side of the country, and all I would get from her if I told her what happened would be an I told you so, so it was down to my brother, who had moved to the UK to get away from everyone. I called him, and when he answered, I simply said, “I’m coming to see you for a while.”

And he replied, “It was Washington, wasn’t it?”

He’d know who she was, and who Michael was when he saw them together all those years ago. And tried to warn me before I married her.

What was it with politicians and women?

—–

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 35

There’s something on the long-range scanner

…

I didn’t make it back to the leafy suburban late-night stroll, as much as I wanted to have that relaxing moment, going back to the bridge.

It was quiet, if not a subdued atmosphere, in other words, normal for the hour. It was a skeleton crew, mostly volunteers, those without partners or couldn’t sleep.

Sleep was one of the first problems because there was no real differentiation between night and day, a sort of hangover from those who worked night shift back on earth, only it extended to everyone. I’d long since given up the notion of getting a good night’s sleep.

“Where are we?” I asked, after sitting in the chair and casting a glance over the bridge in semi-darkness, and the view of empty, inky black space outside the ship.

The answer to the question, I thought wryly, was ‘in space’, but I doubt any of those on duty would have the desire to use humour in such a situation.

“In direct line with Pluto’s orbit.”

Salaman, the navigating officer, was not a man with a sense of humour, a just the facts sort of person.

“Any chance if seeing the planet?”

“If we sit here for the next 68 years, maybe.”

OK, so Salaman did have some humour in him if a little dry.

“Engineering.” The Chief Engineer’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Good news, I hope?”

“Problem sorted. Another item to take up with the inspection crew when we get home. You’re free to resume.”

“Thank you.” Then to the helmsman, “Let’s take it slowly, quarter speed.”

“Quarter speed it is, sir.”

There was a barely noticeable movement, then it was as if nothing had happened. That was the disconcerting part, the fact we had no discernible way of knowing we were moving.

“Quarter speed, sir, all systems nominal.”

“Give it five minutes, then move to half, and so on “

“Yes, sir.”

I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. I often tried to remember what it was like back home, before the weather changed for the worse, before people changed, not necessarily for the worse, but not as friendly or happy we once were.

That was a long time ago, though, and I’d spent more of my life in space than on earth now and wasn’t sure how I was going to survive once I had to retire. That was, hopefully, a long time away.

“Sir, we have a long-range contact, not sure yet if it’s a meteor or a ship.” The navigator’s voice cut into my reverie.

Did she just add the ship to the report, hoping to make a boring night into something more interesting?

“Should we hold off going to full speed, Sir?”

Probably a good idea until we identified the problem. “OK.”

I stood, walked over to the window, and looked out, symbolically looking for the object. Long-range meant, beyond a million or so earth kilometres, barely discernible to the scanners let alone a human eye.

“It’s moving at about half light speed, coming towards us.”

That might be a stretch assuming that we could possibly be on an intercepting course.

“Change our heading five degrees and see if it changes too.”

There was a slight movement as we changed course. I remained by the window, watching and waiting. There were a few flecks in the blackness, and I wondered if this was the outer rim of a meteor shower. Were they too small for the sensors to pick up, or was the navigator concentrating on the one large object?

Five minutes passed, then ten.

“Object still on a collision course, sir.”

Which missed stating the obvious, that whatever was out there had also changed course. Whoever or whatever was out there wanted to meet us.

“Revert back to the original course. When will we have a clearer picture of this object?”

“Fifteen minutes, sir.”

I had read the specifications of the long-range sensors and scanners, the former mostly do we could avoid space debris that could damage the hull, though that would take a relatively large chunk.

It was our speed, and that of incoming objects that were the problem, and that’s why we had sn autopilot to help avoid these issues.

The scanners could see objects, magnify them, from a reasonable distance, so we could identify them if we had previous knowledge of them. Alien spaceships, if we were to encounter one, might make that identification difficult but not impossible. But, on the other hand, the specifications of every ship in space, that we knew about, of course, was in the database.

Anything else, it could be added.

Nothing more to see, I sat down again. We were still sitting at half speed, and from what I could see on my console, everything was fine.

Then the screen switched to the long-range scan of the object.

It was a ship.

The scanner was going through the known ships list, looking for a match, until it reached the end, bringing up “unknown”.

The navigator stated the obvious, “it’s a ship sir, but not one in our database. Do you think it might be the prototype the Russians were talking about making a dozen or so years ago?”

Everyone knew about the famous, if you won’t share we’ll build our own, bigger and better ship when the space alliance at the time baulked at bully tactics the Russians tried to use to take over running the alliance.

They had backed down in the face of a world united against them, but had they really?

“We’ll soon find out.”

…

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at: https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65^th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’. It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over. It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning. It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5^th anniversary that cost a month’s salary. On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to. She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room. Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me. Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight. She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together. It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement. Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it. Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it. And took the moment to look deeply into my soul. It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me. A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.” It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace. Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand. I guessed she was talking about the new job. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely. “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al. I tried it once and was admonished. But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not. It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil. As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them. I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand. And yet, apparently, Alison did. I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets. Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us. It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me. We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?” Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face. It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind. Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene. I knew what I wanted to say. I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison. This was not the time or the place. Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing. If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control. “It’s the little things. They all add up until one day …” I shrugged. “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real? Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me. I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points. It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted. “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead. Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose. Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend. “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation. I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show. I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him. “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up. You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken. He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed. Or perhaps it was deliberate. She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me. “Yes. Elaine said something or other about it. But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week. Perhaps I got it wrong. I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.” I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again. “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart. It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies. If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect. Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows. Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details. “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason. “Me? No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him. Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him. “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another. To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago. Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker. I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment. “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time. Too busy with work I expect. I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together. I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down. I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown. Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth. It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction. It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points. Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine. She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly. I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’. I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me. It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me. I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse. When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three. But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree. It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side. But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer. She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong. It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

Sunday In New York

In a word: Right

Am I right? Or is that correct?

In the moral sense, or in answering a question?

Do I have a right to …

As an entitlement?

Maybe

But right means generally to be correct, but the word itself can be used, like many others in a variety of ways

Such as, do we have any rights any more, since the government is slowly shutting down our freedoms, and, you guessed it, rights.

What about a right angle, we know this as being an angle of 90 degrees

How about I right a wrong, returning a bad situation to a good one?

Are you left-handed or right-handed?

Are you one of those people who can’t tell their left from their right?

And who was it that decided what was your left or your right, ever thought about that? I didn’t until just now. Good luck finding an answer on Google.

And how many times have you wished you were in the right place at the right time???

Then, of course, if English is a second language, how about confusing right with write.

Means something quite different, doesn’t it?

How about rite? Yes, I guess if we were in the habit of chopping chicken heads off and dancing around a fire, that might be its meaning,

But…

It too has a lot of different meanings

Are you confused yet?

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 5

…

Detective Bryson interviews Wendy Anderson

…

Worthey called Bryson, in the middle of a hamburger, with the owner of the cell phone number in Bergman’s wallet. A woman, no surprise there, perhaps his latest conquest. They settled on a time and Worthey texted the address, and said he would meet Bryson at the apartment, after lunch.

Bryson never really felt comfortable when talking to mistresses, perhaps more because of his beliefs than anything else, and it would be good to have Worthey there just in case he made some inappropriate comment. It wouldn’t be the first time.

In his mind, being married was monogamous and you didn’t play around, certainly not like the overprivileged people he had to deal with. The trouble was, they were not the only perpetrators, it just seemed more common.

And it was at the top of the list of motives for crime, especially murder.

Between the time between Worthey’s call and arriving at the apartment, the tech team had the phone company supply the text messages off the phone number his PA had supplied, and, it seemed, after a cursory glance at the swath of text messages on Bergman’s phone, there were several women he was involved with in various parts of the country, and overseas, but only one in New York.

Her name: Wendy Anderson. And the text messages were salacious, bordering on pornographic. Except the last few where it seemed the relationship had turned nasty, and several compromising photographs were in play. It wasn’t blackmail yet, but it was reason enough to get his bank records. Bergman was not a scrupulous man.

As for phone calls the last between Bergman and Wendy Anderson was at 7:03 pm. But that was not the last communication, that was a text message at 9:05 pm, after leaving Anderson’s telling her that he was not signing the papers yet until she clarified her situation with Bergman. Anderson had asked him, and he had said nothing like they agreed.

There was a reply, that she was available if he wanted to see her to discuss the ‘other’ matter but he said he had another appointment at 10pm. The other matter was, no doubt, the photos.

A quick search on Wendy’s social media by Worthey turned up the fact she also in the middle of a messy divorce, and that her relationship with Bergman had been since school. It appeared that all three, Wendy’s husband, James, Bergman, and Wendy had all known each other forever, so the question had be bel when did things go south and why?

More digging through the blog entries discovered that Anderson’s only child had died in a car accident, and Wendy had blamed her husband, who had a blazing row with his son just before it happened.

Worthey looked up the details of the accident and found the son had been high on drugs, and no doubt the husband’s argument was about preventing him from driving. The blog, he noted, not once mentioned the son’s addiction. The blog also only mentioned Bergman in passing as a family friend, and supportive in her time of grieving.

Another layer to a complex interrogation, Worthey thought, and texted a brief analysis to Bryson so he had a heads up before meeting her.

Worthey met Bryson in the building foyer.

“Nothing is ever straightforward, is it?”

“Not with the rich and infamous, no. So, we have a couple who suffer the loss of a son, the wife blames the husband, Bergman’s on the scene sensing an opportunity, and she has an affair, you say the texts turned salacious about a month after the accident. Who initiated it?”

“Bergman.”

“They start an affair, and soon after divorce proceedings begin. We need to see who started it, so a lawyer’s name. Make a note. Ten gets you a dozen this Wendy Anderson tries to implicate her husband in the murder. Simple enough, they were a happy trio until the son’s death.”

“This Bergman character, we’re not finished digging up shit on him, are we?”

“No.” Bryson gave him the list he received from the PA. “Disgruntled businessmen and husbands. The suspect list gets longer. Ready?”

She, like the ex-Mrs Bergman, looked to have done well out of an upcoming divorce, living in a very expensive mid-town apartment.

It elicited a shake of the head from Bryson as he and Worthey waited outside the door, standing next to one of the building’s concierges. He’d never be able to afford such luxury and only served to cement his low opinion of the so-called rich and infamous.

The door opened, not by a maid, but the occupant herself. There was an element of grief about her that no amount of makeup could hide. A look, he thought, that could be genuine, but having dealt with a lot of so-called grieving widows, he’d reserve judgement. He knew most women thought tears were their best friend in situations like this.

A bit cynical, but from his point of view, it was true.

“Mrs Anderson, I presume.”

She nodded.

“Detectives Bryson and Worthey, NYPD. You spoke to Worthey earlier.”

“Yes. He said you would be calling to ask some questions about Alex?”

“May we come in?”

She stood to one side and let them pass then after closing the door followed him into a sitting room the walls adorned with not as many expensive paintings as Bergman’s current wife.

She directed him to a chair opposite where she sat. Worthey hovered.

“We believe given the circumstances and evidence so far that this will most likely become a murder case, so I need to ask you some routine questions. I will apologise in advance because some of these may be personal given your relationship with the deceased. You may not be aware that we discovered your phone number on the deceased.”

She had hardly moved or appeared to have registered what he had said, but that might be part of an act. Bryson’s experience in matters like these interviews, sometimes he got a reaction, and not necessarily what the interviewer wanted to convey. She seemed grief-stricken, but it seemed odd that a woman having an affair might be unless it was something more serious.

As far as he was concerned, she was high on the list of suspects.

“At this point, we are just ticking the boxes in the process of interviewing those who were acquainted with the deceased, and to ascertain their movements and relationships with the victim. So, firstly, what is the nature of your relationship with Alex Bergman.”

“We are very good friends and have been since grade school. That was the extent of it. He tried to make more of it, but I was a married woman and didn’t think is was appropriate.”

OK, he thought, that’s the first lie. She blinked first, a slight hesitation before answering, which meant she was picking options as answers.

That was when he noticed her demeanour had changed, from a grieving friend to a steely-eyed, very wary woman. If he had to guess, she was hoping the phone details would not be discovered.

“OK. Now, in the last few days up until yesterday, how would you categorise the nature of your relationship with James Bergman?”

“He was strangely distant. We had me earlier in the day, yesterday, over his impending divorce, and the fact my husband was stalling signing the papers.

“So, you two were considering taking your relationship to the next level?”

“I was a consideration, but I’d been burned badly with my current marriage and wasn’t about to jump into another.”

“You had reservations about Bergman’s character?”

Suddenly her whole manner changed, and she went defensive. “What are you getting at, Detective?”

“It’s a simple question. Did you have reservations about Bergman’s character?”

She was quick to notice his expression. “Not particularly.”

Bryson decided on a change of tack, to keep her off balance. “When was the last time you saw Bergman?”

“Yesterday. We had lunch with another friend, Edward Davies, who is a lawyer. We were talking about my pending divorce. Alex had said he thought if he went to see my husband, he might be able to persuade him to sign the papers. They used to be friends.”

“Alex Bergman went to see your husband last night. Would you have any idea what time that might have been?”

“I last spoke to him about seven, just before he said he was leaving home. I saw on the news before that he was found dead near Queens Park. That’s not very far from where my husband is currently staying.”

True to form, Bryson thought. An attempt to lay the blame for Alex Bergman’s death at her ex-husband’s feet. If he was convicted of a crime, and especially murder, would benefit her greatly.

Mistaking his thoughtful expression for one that craved answers, she continued, “He has a gun, you know, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a fight, James followed him and shot him dead. He never really liked James, not even in grade school.”

“Are you saying that your husband believed there was something going on between you and Bergman?”

A second’s delay as she reworked the answer in her head, perhaps not quite expressing it the way she should have.

“I cannot speak as to what he was thinking, but his attitude towards me had changed recently, so maybe he thought there was, and his temper got the better of him.”

The hole she was digging for herself was getting deeper. Now he had a bad temper. What it did was add to Bryson’s mental notes to ask James Anderson. The gun, the temper, the wife, and did he know Bergman and Wendy were more seriously involved. Bergman had indicated it was not serious.

Perhaps it was time to introduce new evidence.

“What was your last communication with Bergman?” He deliberately didn’t use the word phone.

“About 7pm as I told you earlier.”

“Are you sure?”

Was that panic he saw in her eyes.

“I think it’s time I called my lawyer. This interview is over Detective. Let me know where and when you want to continue this. Unless you’re going to charge me?”

“This is just a preliminary enquiry. However, I suggest you seriously consider what you say because if you are not telling us the truth, or of matters that may help in your defence, you might find yourself in a very serios situation.” He stood. “I thank you for your cooperation so far. I’ll send a message with the place and time I will expect to see you to continue this interview.”

Outside Worthey said, “She doesn’t know we have Bergman’s phone records.”

“She’s hoping we haven’t, but I think she does now. It’s going to be very interesting to see what she comes up with before tomorrow when we get her in.”

At the very least, Bryson thought, she would have to tell them the true extent of her and Bergman’s relationship, the text messages with the veiled threats, and the photographs, which she referred to as the ‘other’; matter.

“Questions still to ask, where was she at the time of the murder, what’s the extent of her knowledge about the gun her husband has, I’m assuming she had access to it as well, and whether it’s legal, something else for you to look at. I’m going to see the husband, James, just in case she calls him.”

“They’re divorcing, why would she?”

“Desperate people do desperate things, Worthey. And she was beginning to look desperate.”

“You think she did it?”

“Motive, means and opportunity, circumstantial, but it’s possible. But in my experience, up close and personal with a gun is not a woman’s style, but she might be the exception.”