The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 10

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 back on the treasure hunt.

I’d kept out of Nadia’s way since then, and the few occasions our paths had crossed, she had studiously ignored me. After graduating she disappeared, and seeing here with Alex, just now, was the first time in years.She had grown into the sort of woman you’d see in the social pages of the newspapers and magazines, sometimes for all the wrong reasons, and I wondered if that was how Alex had leveraged her co-operation.

But, there were bigger problems to overcome before I had a chance or find out her back-story.

Alex was going after Rico for the map, a map he didn’t have, a map that Rico was going to need and Boggs was going to suffer the consequences.

Or not, if I could do something about it.

I had a stroke of luck when I got back to the warehouse office where McDonald was waiting, not necessarily for me, but most likely Alex.“Ah, Sam,” he said when he saw me walk through the door, “Come into the office. We need to have a chat.”

That sounded ominous. I wondered if it had anything to do with my absence for what seemed a long time when I’d been watching Alex and Nadia.

“We have a new opening on the afternoon shift, and I thought you might consider it because it pays a little more, with a shift allowance. The hours are 4pm to Midnight. What do you think?”

On the way back to the warehouse I’d been thinking about how I was going to help Boggs and keep the job because the hours I was working made it impossible to do anything during the day, other than spy on Alex.

Taking this afternoon job, I could work, and, in the mornings, help Boggs in his quest.

“When would this start?”

“Tomorrow. You would not have to come in till 4pm.

“Sounds good then, I’ll take it.”

He seemed more relieved that I had accepted. It made me think for a moment whether this was Alex’s idea, and he had an ulterior notice. If he did I guess I would soon find out.

An hour later I was on my way home.I had a lot of items to talk about when I saw Boggs and a possible mission.

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 23

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

The story continues.

Chapters 23 through 28 are done and we are on the home stretch.

There are seven days and hopefully seven more chapters.

I have finally decided on how it’s going to end, and he’s not going to finish up with the one he thought he would.

And another twist that no one will see coming, even though there are hints.

I have in mind how this will play out in one of the last three chapters, and there is a devastating truth that comes with it, one that is going to be hard to understand for one of the two main protagonists.

Such is as it should be.

And then, there’s the James Bond-type ending.

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 34

Evan and Juliet

I reviewed the CCTV tapes and worked out who the countess’s bodyguards were in the hotel, and remarkably traced them leaving the hotel by the back entrance, passing only one camera, one I suspect they didn’t know was there.  The reason, it did not belong to the hotel but the owner of the building behind the hotel.

They did not leave with the countess, so the question was, why?

I called the office and asked them to do facial recognition on the two, and then trace their movements, and if they left the country by conventional means.

There was no sign of anyone leaving before or after them.  Not for two hours on either side of their departure time.  It was another lead, which might lead nowhere.

I called Cecilia to ask her how her investigation into Vittoria was going.  She didn’t answer, so I sent her a text message arranging to have coffee at a French Pastry café near where I believed I would find Juliet.

I was still working out how I was going to bump into her.

The auditorium was off the Strand near Charing Cross station not far from the Victoria Embankment Gardens, and of course, a French Pastry café in Charing Cross Road I found quite by accident when looking for Foyles Bookshop.

I was still working on that plan when I stopped to have a coffee and a Mille Feuille.

The best idea is just to go and see if she is there and talk to her.  I doubt that she would believe that I just happened to be in the same place at the same time, and perhaps if I just told her the truth…

Whatever approach I made; it was going to be a surprise.

I stood outside the building for a few minutes, thinking if I waited, she might just turn up but she didn’t.  If anything, she would be inside, setting up for the following day.

Enough prevaricating, I couldn’t wait any longer.  I crossed the road and went in.  I hoped that it catered for visitors.  At the front desk, I asked whether the organiser of the session that was running in one of the lecture rooms was available, I was attending and had some questions, and she directed me to the hall.

When I entered the room I saw her standing on the dais, fiddling with a control that was in the process of displaying slides on the screen behind her.  She looked different to when I last saw her, and I couldn’t help but notice she had a presence about her, even if she was flustered.

Then she must have sensed someone had entered the room and looked up.  She recognised me immediately.

“Evan?  Is that you?”

“It is.”

I walked down the steps and stopped just short of the dais.

“What are you doing here?”

Good question.  I was still not prepared for this moment.

“I read in the paper you were leading a discussion on your pet subject of car accident victim’s trauma, where it was, and I didn’t feel we ended things back in Venice very well.  I was surprised to learn you were in London, and I was at a loose end.”

She looked me up and down with a curious eye.

“Someone I don’t think that’s, exactly true Evan.  I was told, in a roundabout way, that you were responsible for getting my brother out of the fix he was in, and coincidentally solved my problem too.  He was a rather creepy little man who was acting strangely.  Please, sit down.”

She crossed to the front row of seats, chose one and sat.  I sat two seats away.

“Yes, he needs to work on his people skills.”

“Then you are not who you purport to be.  Are you still living in Venice?”

“No.  There is nothing to keep me there.  I have a place here.  For the time being.”

“Are you working?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Does it involve me?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I have been involved in several shall we say enterprises because of circumstances, all of which I have tried to put in the past.  I am not that person anymore, and thankfully some of the ghosts are just that.  You and I though, I’m not sure what we are?  Would you like to buy me dinner and talk about it?”

Was it an invitation I couldn’t refuse?

“Can you drag yourself away from this?”

“I have a computer guru. I’ll call him and ask him to make it work.  You can tell me what you’re up to, and why you need my help.  I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”

© Charles Heath 2023

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

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

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th 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 5th 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.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

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’.

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 23

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

The story continues.

Chapters 23 through 28 are done and we are on the home stretch.

There are seven days and hopefully seven more chapters.

I have finally decided on how it’s going to end, and he’s not going to finish up with the one he thought he would.

And another twist that no one will see coming, even though there are hints.

I have in mind how this will play out in one of the last three chapters, and there is a devastating truth that comes with it, one that is going to be hard to understand for one of the two main protagonists.

Such is as it should be.

And then, there’s the James Bond-type ending.

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 15

It’s the obvious items in the photograph that you see first, or that your eyes go to first.

The ocean, the beach, the buildings. You can see a shopping mall with MacDonald’s sign above it.

Yes, it’s late afternoon, and you can see long shadows of the buildings.

So, if I asked you what did you see in this photo, what would your reply be?

From a thriller writer or murder mystery writer’s point of view, it’s what you don’t necessarily see.

So, for the purposes of the story, the opening line for the world-weary detective, handing the photo to his partner, “What’s is it you can’t see in this photo?”

A partner that hadn’t been on the job very long, in from the suburbs, and had seen little more than break and enters car theft, and school kids hi-jinks.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“You want to be a detective, or be looking for old ladies cats?”

His partner takes the photo in hand and looks at it again.  There has to be a reason why the old man had given it to him, or perhaps there wasn’t and he was just playing with him again.

No, he thought, there has to be something…

And then he saw it, quite by accident.  A hand, a gun, and following the line of fire, at the end, what looked like someone in the bushes.

In a photo taken from a higher floor of the building over the road, looking down on what was supposed to be a rooftop recreational area.

Only there had been no report of a missing person or a gunshot wound in the last seven days.

“When was it taken?”

“Two days ago?”

“And no reports of a shooting, or a body?”

“No.  And yet the person who took this swears he saw a body, but by the time he came back, there was nothing.”

The detective handed his partner a second photo.  Time-stamped five minutes later.  With no gun and no body.

What will happen next?

“Betrayal” – the penultimate final draft – Day 22

I’m sure I’ve been down this road more than once, and with the same novel, but whereas the last edit, which was probably the second or third, finished up in the pile, then forgotten.

I’m doing an active update to all my works in progress, and sending them to the editor, after going through the manuscript once again, with a view to publishing.  Hopefully, before the year is out.

I’m still working on two back chapters which might become three,

But…

I’ve been steadily working on chapters 24 through 29 which were dependent on the framework set up in the two back chapters.

It actually has made it easier to see where the story is going and make changes in both parts as I go along.

That now leaves me at Chapter 30, which is a major turning point for the story.

In the outline I had the two protagonists doing one thing, and now I’ve pulled the plug on them, and they are doing something else.

The problem was, to me, it was too predictable.

Still, now I’m at chapter 30, anything can happen.

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 32

Alessandro is still reticent

He paused by the front counter to talk to the manager who was running the desk now. Perhaps realising trouble was about to erupt in her hotel, trouble a hotel of this sort didn’t need.

She got a key from the office she came out of earlier and accompanied us to the mezzanine floor, unlocked a door to what was a small conference room and ushered us in.  She didn’t follow us in but closed the door behind us.  I did notice that Alessandro had two security staff follow us at a discreet distance.

In the time it took to get from the restaurant to the conference room, he had time to compose himself, and no doubt working on a story that I might believe.

He sat and gestured for me to do the same.  I thought about standing, it would nominally give me an advantage over him, but decided against it.

He gave me a hard stare, then said, “You tell me you are only called when the situation is serious.  Who are you?  I don’t believe for a moment you are a Detective Inspector.  They do not confront foreign natials at their table in a restaurant.”

“Believe it or not I am.  From time to time.  Who I am is irrelevant.  What is, is the whereabouts of your sister-in-law.  You were at the hotel when she arrived back from the Opera.  A matter of hours later she disappears.  Why were you here to see your sister-in-law?”

“If I tell you that is none of your business?”

“Let me tell you what I know about your business.  Firstly, you are associating with a woman by the name of Vittoria, who is allegedly responsible for two attempts in the countess’s life.  Secondly, the terms of the Count’s will pass the who of his possessions to you if the countess does not arrive at the law offices to sign the official inheritance documents.  Thirdly, you are on record saying quite vehemently that the countess should not, and will not if you have anything to do with it, inherit the family business.  Fourthly, had Vittoria told you that she had a daughter to the Count, and was blackmailing him until he died, culminating in the last attempt on the countess’s life.  Allegedly.”

Always, it was interesting to watch the expressions and responses of people when telling there a story that has a mixture of truth, supposition, and outright lies.  Alessandro was no different.  He started the story expressionless and was most likely going to stay that way.

The first response was when I mentioned Vittoria, with a look that wasn’t complete contempt, but a very deep dislike, though that might be for me mentioning her name.  I purposely didn’t say he was dating her, just associating, and it might also be at the mention of her name.

“Vittoria is, by the way, in London at the moment, and she is a person of interest in my investigation.  We know you have seen her several times in the last few days, so I will be talking to her at some point.”

The second response came when I mentioned the will, and that look was of surprise, whether he thought anyone know of the provisions other than family would be interesting.

“Am I under surveillance?”

“When reviewing the CCTV tapes during the time we estimate the countess went missing, and only via the CCTV in the hotel, in case the disappearance of the countess is not part of a wider attack on the Bernhardt family.  I notice you have your own security outside.”

“I would prefer they not accompany me everywhere, but it is necessary.”

“The countess’s security detail?  Are they still in the hotel.”

“Gone, with the countess, which is why I don’t think there is anything to worry about.”

“And if she doesn’t make it to the signing in five days?”

“Do you have any reason to believe she will not.”

“You have motive, and you had opportunity.  In my book that’s enough for me to have you arrested until you tell us what we need to know.  It’s the old story, if you have nothing to hide, you’d answer the question.  Stalling, dodging, and obfuscation only indicate guilt.  So, I will ask one more time.  What were do doing here after she returned to the hotel on the night of the opera, and where is she now?”

Another withering look in my direction, and he stood.

“I do not have to answer your questions.  Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

He headed towards the door.

“Fine.  You will not be leaving the hotel, and I suggest you call your legal representative.”  /I pulled out my phone and pressed speed dial.  When one of the two men below answered, I said, “Pick him up.  You know where to take him.”

© Charles Heath 2023

The story behind the story: A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers

To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.

But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.

That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.

It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years.  Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.

But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modelled Harry and his office on it.  Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.

Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life.  I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I imagine that back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister.  And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.

I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021.  It even has a cover.

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