It’s not like you can pull over to the side of the road…
…
In space, it’s a little difficult to just suddenly stop.
But, given several hundred thousand kilometers, anything is possible.
Especially when there’s a request to divert to Venus.
You can’t always tell when the ship drops out of cruise speed to what could be considered a dead stop, not that a dead stop is necessarily achievable.
I was down in the mess hall when the call came from the officer of the deck for me to return. I was halfway through a half decent cup of coffee, and had just had the donut delivered.
Both now had to be sacrificed.
I looked out the window into the inky blackness of space and it was difficult to say if we were in idle mode. There was, however, another ship just off the port bow, a old cargo ship that had seen better days, and we both looked like we were drifting together.
I suspect that meant we were keeping station, much the same as we would if we were visiting a planet.
I took the elevator and arrived on the bridge where the captain was in earnest conversation with the chief engineer and chief scientist.
He looked up when he saw me approach.
“Ah, number one, there’s a team waiting down on the transport deck. The Aloysius 5 has some vital equipment and personnel on board for repairs at the mining colony on Venus, and we’ve been diverted to pick them up and take them there post haste.”
“Is the other ship out of commission?”
“A temporary issue with the drive. We’re sending an engineering team over to help with the repairs and will check their progress on the way back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Should be simple, I thought. Take one of the shuttle craft over, load up, drop the engineers, get back, head for Venus, about 5 hours from our current position. Much the same as a pleasant drive in the country.
And I needed more shuttle time.
In the elevator I was joined by one of the security staff, a gung-ho type lieutenant named Andrews. A man always looking for trouble, the sort who would shoot first and ask questions later.
Maybe it was not going to be a pleasant outing after all.
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 installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
The shrill ring tone of my phone woke me. And, for a moment I was in a state of panic because I’d woken in unfamiliar surroundings. Until my eyes cleared and I realized I was still at Nadia’s. And it was morning. What the…. The phone was still ringing, and Nadia, lying on the bed beside me rolled over and said, sleepily, “Are you going to answer that?” I picked up the phone off the bedside table and pressed the green button. I already knew it was Boggs. “Don’t you know what time it is?” It was nine, a respectable hour of the morning to call. It was just that I was tired. “Where are you?” I could lie, or I could tell the truth. I don’t think I should say at home because I suspect that was where Boggs was now. And my mother would be there, wondering what happened to me. “Out and about. Nice day for some exercise. Why?” “Your mother is not happy you didn’t come home. And I’m surprised. Where were you?” Good question. One that needed time to consider, time I didn’t have. “Surveillance. I’ve been watching Alex and his friends. It’s been a long night. What do you want?” “I was going to head down towards Kentville, check on the other river. We need to drive down there.” “Well, right now I’m busy, so it will have to wait until tomorrow morning. Sorry. I have a job to do, and then I have to get home before I go to work.” “What was Alex up to?” “Not over the phone. I’ll tell you when I see you. Come back home about lunchtime.” I could tell by the silence he wasn’t happy. “OK.” He hung up. I glared at the phone and put it back on the table, then turned to look at Nadia. First thing I noted, we were both still in the clothes we were wearing the previous night. “What happened?” “Nothing.” A momentary look of disappointment crossed her face. “You were tired and I told you to stay.” “Nothing can happen, or I’ll become Vince fodder.” “I wouldn’t tell him.” “He’d find out. He has walls as spies.” I looked around the room looking for potential spy cameras or bug locations. “He wouldn’t dare.” I climbed off the bed and smoothed out my clothes. It didn’t make much difference to the crumpled look. “At least it looks like I’ve been on an all-night surveillance assignment.” “What are you going to tell Boggs.” “Nothing. There’s nothing concrete to tell him yet, just that Alex is, like the rest of us, running around in circles. Nadia remained on the bed, and even though she looked as messy as I did, hers was a far more alluring messy. I could feel the pangs of a forbidden desire. Time to go. “Come back tonight. We can go on a voyage of discovery, see the mall as you’ve never seen it before.” “Sounds like a Discovery Channel documentary advert.” She sat up then stood and teased the knots out of her hair. It was the first time I’d seen it out. It gave her a whole new, softer look. “Is that a look of desire I see in your eyes, Smidge?” And the whole moment was shot to pieces. “Don’t call me that. I’ll see you tonight, though I’m not sure why.” I let myself out, after carefully checking to see if the way out was clear. The last thing I wanted, or needed, was to tangle with Vince. Or ending up letting the dream become reality.
It was the message left on my cell phone from Detective Inspector that sometimes threw work my way, usually difficult cases that didn’t have the usual clues leading to a resolution.
I’d been lucky in an old case I’d been researching for a mystery novel and discovered a pattern that, in the end, led to the discovery and resolution of seven other cases spanning thirty years.
It got me into Detective Inspector Clarissa Menzies’ world of criminal investigations, which benefited my research and writing, as well as provided her with another perspective on some of her cases.
I met her at the hospital and was surprised that it was outside a psychiatric ward.
“A little background first. The person you’re about to meet, Angela O’Brien, found herself in a relationship with a criminal, James Dyson, who was portraying himself as a businessman. Things were fine until she discovered who he was, and then, finding herself in too deep asked us to help find a way out. Unfortunately, the best of intentions didn’t quite go the way we planned it.”
“Don’t tell me. You recruited her to get the information you could use against him; you couldn’t resist having someone that close and not try to use it.”
Her expression told me that was exactly what happened. “It was not what I wanted, but to get our help, they wanted something in return.”
“Let me guess. Once she realised who he was and how dangerous he was, she changed. He noticed the change, and when she tried to get the information, he caught her.”
“She was lucky. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and didn’t get to see or take anything. He was just overly suspicious, realising that sooner or later, she would find out.”
“I’m assuming she is in the psych ward, which means…”
“The Barnsdale warehouse fire. He was using it as a processing centre for stolen goods inside the legitimate organisation trading in second-hand goods and claimed, out of spite, she burned the place to the ground. We found her there, covered in incriminating evidence, unconscious from a beam that fell on her as a result of the fire. The thing is, she has no memory of the night, how she got there, or anything. He’s made all the running in this case, accusing her of arson and demanding we charge her. The only problem is that there was another body in that fire, one of his associates, and we think he murdered him, and the way it’s going, if she can’t remember anything, she will end up paying for his crime. All she can remember is the word Kaleidoscope.”
“How will my talking to her make a difference if her memory is gone?”
“You will no doubt have a completely different perspective on the whole affair, especially since I’m not going to tell you anymore. Treat her as a suspect in one of your stories and ask questions. All you need to know is that it was a crime scene, a man was murdered, the fire is covering that up, and she has been set up to take the fall. It might end up being your next novel.”
“Will you be staying?”
“No. I’ll tell her you are helping us with the case and you have some questions.”
For a victim found in a burnt-out building, she seemed remarkably untouched. Except for bandages on her head and some red welts on her hands, there was little other evidence of her ordeal. She was middle-aged and had the appearance of a woman who had devoted herself to the job, forsaking marriage and children. Larissa hadn’t told me her circumstances, but I suspect she may have worked in his organisation, and he had targeted her. Or the circumstances might be totally different.
Clarissa introduced me and then left. I sat down, aware she was giving me the once over, her expression conveying curiosity and wariness.
“The detective says you might be able to help me remember. Are you a doctor?”
“No, but I do have a degree in psychology, not that I ever wanted to be a psychologist. It sometimes helps analyse people, more to put me at ease in their company than anything else.”
“You’re going to analyse me then?”
“Do you want me to?”
“If it discovers how I could have made such a stupid mistake, yes. I mean, I’m sure I knew there was something about him, but I just ignored it until it was too late.”
“We are either willing to compromise in order to get what we want or not, and finish up becoming old and bitter. The fact that it turns out to be the wrong one, it’s just a mistake we learn from and generally move on from. Rarely does it end up like your current situation. But, in your favour, the Inspector doesn’t believe you are either a murderer or an arsonist, despite the circumstantial evidence. However, it would help if you remembered something, anything from that night. So, tell me the last thing you remember?”
“Getting ready to go out.”
“Was this when you realised, he was on to the fact you knew who he was.”
“It wouldn’t be hard, try as I might, I couldn’t get over the horror and knowing I’d been with such a terrible man.”
“Did he change in any way towards you?”
“Not that I could tell, but then he was a good actor.”
“Do you know where he was taking you?”
“No.”
“Was there a place you’d normally go?”
“Yes. A small restaurant owned by a friend of his. When things were good, we’d all dine together and talk about the future. He had been talking about spending a few months in Sorrento, Italy. He had relations there, he said. It would have been nice.”
I’d been there once. The place was nice, but the circumstances were not. I’d gone there to try and patch up a relationship, but it only made matters worse.
“It would be reasonable to assume he knew you were gathering information and was distancing you from his friends.”
“Do you remember him coming to get you?”
“No.” Then she closed her eyes and had the look of a person trying to squeeze those memories out of their hiding place. After a minute, and then two, with various pained expressions on her face, and then she opened her eyes and looked at me. “He looked worried, even frightened. I can see his face, whether it was that night or not, he was standing in the doorway. It might have been when he found out I had been to the police, it might not. Now that I come to think of it, he did mention once to his friend at the restaurant, that a certain other person was trying to move in on his business.”
“Which might mean that someone else burned down the warehouse and you were there by coincidence.”
“Perhaps. We often dropped in after hours and looked at the new stock that came in that day. I had no idea at the time that any of it was stolen goods, but a lot of it was high quality and worth a lot of money. It seems that he was filling orders; someone would come in and ask for a particular item, and he would go find it. Or, as I know now, steal it. Some of the people who worked for him didn’t look like nice people, and when I asked about them, he simply said he was doing civic duty, giving ex-prisoners a second chance. Oh, another thing I remember, he had a register where everything that passed through the warehouse was kept, including where it came from, who bought it, and how much. I saw it once; showed it to me and then put it away in a large safe. I knew the combination; I’d seen him open it. All I can remember now is that I was going to steal it. Somehow.”
“You had a plan?”
“No, it was going to be based on opportunity. But it was dragging out, because he never let me out of his sight, not after I think he realised what I was doing.”
“Any other places he would take you?”
“Little cafes, another restaurant run by another friend, not as good as the other, and several nightclubs. He would sit with other business owners, he called them, and the women, well in most cases girls that look like they still went to school, were shunted to one side. We didn’t want to hear about boring commerce. I didn’t want to listen to girls who could easily be my children, and they thought it strange he would date me, after his last girl, about 20 they said, had more class than I ever would. When I asked where she was, they didn’t know.”
“You told Clarissa this?”
“Yes. After seeing all of them for the first time, I had to wonder why he was dating me. If I was cynical, I’d say it was to make me a patsy. My guess is the guy they found dead in the ruins was the guy trying to buy him out.”
“What were the nightclub names, do you remember?”
She did, in part, but it was enough. If that was a usual haunt, maybe they’d gone to one first. It was a lead worth following.
When I suggested Clarissa and I go to a few nightclubs, I was not sure what her first thought was, but I hastily added that Angela may have visited one before she ended up in the warehouse inferno, she looked relieved. Perhaps she thought I might be trying to get a date with her, an idea that had passed through my mind, but I knew that would be impossible. Work, for the moment, was her priority, and trying to move up the ranks.
The first two had little to offer, and showing each of the bartenders Angela’s photo did not rouse any signs of recognition. I could tell, even if they were lying.
The third and last were bigger, brighter, and full of people. Clarissa recognised a few, from the other side of the law, as well as a few colleagues mixing with people they should not. It was called Axiom and had continuous blinking coloured lights, like, Clarissa suddenly said, a Kaleidoscope.
“Did you know she was referring to Axiom when she mentioned the word Kaleidoscope?” She had to yell about the white noise all around us, and the thumping music in the background.
“It was a long shot at best. When she mentioned he had taken her to places like this, it gave me the idea.”
Clarissa brought out the photo and went, one by one, to each of the bartenders showing the photo of Angela. Three recognised her, but it was east to see they were lying about it. The fourth said she had been in the night of the fire, with the man, and there had nearly been a ‘set to’ as she called it, resulting in the other man being thrown out.
That was when I discovered Clarissa had had dealings with the owners before, and she picked one out, sitting over the back of the club, surrounded by young women, and went straight over to him. He tried to distance himself from the girls, some of which looked underaged but failed.
“Phillip,” she said. “You do not appear to have learned anything since I was last here, have you?”
He glared at her, then stood. “What do you want, Clarissa?”
“CCTV for the night of the 3rd. There was a scuffle and an ejection. Show me, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“You know I can’t do that. Privacy and all?”
“Then how about I arrest three of these girls and take them down to the station and find out how old they are?” She pulled out her cell phone and brought up the station house number.
“You look, then you go?”
“Of course.”
He took us out the back to a small room with a lanky young man named Wally lounging in a comfortable chair, watching half a dozen screens. He was, according to Phillip, watching for drug transactions. He ran a clean club wherever possible. Any perpetrators and buyers were instantly removed.
He told Wally to bring up the feed from the night in question, and the scuffle in question occurred about an hour and a half before the first report of the warehouse fire. Dyson was there, pushing and shoving back, he didn’t start the altercation, and then the bouncers moved in. Two takeaways from the footage, the other man was someone both of us had seen before, and Angela appeared to be very drunk. Only it looked more like she had been drugged.
Ten minutes later, both were caught on CCTV, leaving by the front entrance, Dyson supporting her as if she had too much to drink. Clarissa got copies of the footage for both events. Then we left.
Clarissa had what she believed was enough probable cause to bring Dyson in for an interview.
I was allowed to observe from a room where I could see him but he couldn’t see me, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know others were nearby. He loomed over at the window and it was an eerie feeling.
He was in a jovial mood because he obviously thought that he had left no evidence behind. He hadn’t mentioned an altercation at Axiom with the business rival, now identified as Roger Davies’ and the dead man in the burnt warehouse.
Perhaps Dyson was hoping the body may have been incinerated, but it wasn’t.
Clarissa and her partner came in a sat down. She had a small file with her, perhaps deceptively so to make him think their evidence if any wasn’t enough to worry about.
His lawyer sat silently, like a man who didn’t want to be there. Did he know the truth?
“Mr Dyson, let’s go through your movements on the might of the warehouse fire.”
She glared at him, or perhaps it was a half grimace. He was, she had said privately to me, an obnoxious little toad.
“‘We’ve done this. If we’re going to rehash what non-evidence you’ve got…” he stood. “Then we’ve got better things to do.”
She shrugged.
“Then try telling us the truth, Mr Dyson. I rarely asked questions in a third interview when I don’t already know the answer, so I suggest you sit down.”
“You’ve got nothing…”
She pushed a button on her phone and the screen directly in his line of sight started with the altercation at Axiom.
“Sit down Mr Dyson, and while you’re doing so try not to conjure up any more lies.”
So I had an argument with some loudmouth fool.”
“The loud-mouthed foil that ended up in your warehouse, very dead, Mr Dyson.”
“Angela’s Co-conspirator perhaps I don’t know maybe they conspired together to burn the place down.”
His eyes didn’t leave the screen though because I was sure he knew what was coming next.
“About that Mr Dyson. How did the woman you see, quite obviously the so-called arsonist, completely out of it, and remain so even after she left the club? Not someone who couldn’t strike a match let alone perform the perfect set-up that would need the skills of a seasoned well-trained arsonist. Oh, and something else you need to consider. She was drug tested when she was brought in. A complete panel. The doctor in the hospital she was taken was overzealous in doing her job. Didn’t know until an hour ago. Rohypnol Mr Dyson. Now, let’s forget the histrionics, and blame others for your problem. From the top, let’s go through your movements on the day of the fire.”
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman that piqued his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
“You haven’t been truthful with me, have you?”
That was Dobbin’s opening shot once we were in the car and out in traffic. It was as if he was worried someone would be listening in on our conversation.
“Says the spider to the fly. Isn’t it the nature of this business not to play all your cards at once?”
“You’ve been in this business all of five minutes. You don’t get the right to play cards.”
“I’m still alive, no thanks to anyone but my own skill.”
I could see the disdain in his expression, and the annoyance in his eyes. Perhaps he was a man used to getting his own way. I was expecting a retort, but he said nothing.
“How many different organizations do you work for, or is it none, and you just have fake IDs to get you in the door?”
“Need to know. Have you found O’Connell yet?”
“He’s dead. I saw him killed in an alley. I’m sure Maury and Severin had him shot, no coincidence they turned up just after he hit the ground. I searched the body, there was nothing on it. Before he was shot, he told me to speak to you. I did. Anything else I’m doing is for my own protection. Assigning Jan to befriend me, then play me would have been a good plan if I hadn’t found out. I know she found O’Connell’s other residence, but I’m willing to bet she found as much as I did nothing. Your people do that to Maury?”
“In a manner of speaking. He wasn’t going to talk, and we couldn’t let him back on the street.”
“And knowing that I would go back to the hotel, what were you hoping for, that I would get arrested for his murder?”
“We were hoping you would glean information from her handler, or the police. Seems both are either tight-lipped, or they know nothing. Her handler is an incompetent fool.”
“Where is she?”
“Waiting for you at her apartment. I want the pair of you to find O’Connell. He either has the information, or he knows where it is. They found the charred remains of a body in the cafe where the explosion was, a freelance reporter, who, according to his editor, had the story of the century. No other details, though.”
“That either means military or industrial secrets. Why would the reporter want to meet with O’Connell?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Well, you’re wrong if you think O’Connell had the USB. He didn’t get inside the cafe before it blew up, I know, I was there, and witness the whole event. You know the drill, he goes past, checking to see if the target is in place, then makes sure the location is clear, then goes back and facilitates the handover. He only just got past the front when the bomb went off. I’m sure you’ve seen the CCTV footage.”
Yes, his expression told me he had.
“So how do you come to the conclusion he still has it?”
Never cite logical arguments to a man who lives in a fantasy world.
“Law of averages tells me there is a copy, and O’Connell would have made sure there was a backup plan, and location.”
It then struck me, after having talked to O’Connell, and knowing Dobbin knew O’Connell was still alive because he had rescued him from the alley and Severin’s cleaners. It was not just a matter of getting him to admit it, and the fact O’Connell had done a runner on him.
“You seem convinced O’Connell is still alive.”
He glared at me. Truth or dare?
“Because he is. The trouble is, he’s gone to ground and I can’t raise him. He was supposed to wait a few days in a safe place while we hunted down Severin and Maury. We had one, but not the other. I doubt he’ll surface before he gets word that Severin has been neutralized. Every hour that information is still out there, is the chance it will fall into the wrong hands, so we need him and the information found.”
“You think he’s gone rogue.”
“I don’t think anything.
The car stopped outside O’Connell’s apartment block.
“Place nice with Jan, and find him and the information.
I got out of the car and watched it rejoin the traffic.
Before heading to the front entrance, my phone rang. Odd, because only two people knew my number, and it was neither of those two.
Curiosity overcame reluctance to answer. “Yes.”
“I’m texting a meeting point. Be there at six.” The line went dead before I could say anything. Four hours.
No doubting the voice. Severin. And he sounded scared.
I wondered if he knew what had happened to his partner in crime.
The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.
My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.
Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.
So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.
So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.
I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.
And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.
There was motivation. I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample. I was going to give them the re-worked short story. Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’
Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.
But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself. We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.
One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.
It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected. I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.
I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.
Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.
The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party. I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble. No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.
Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?
But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.
I never really understood why I had an affinity for libraries until I stepped into the one in my grandfather’s house.
The last time I’d seen it was when I turned ten, and we visited him the day after my grandmother had died. I remembered that day very clearly for two reasons. First, my grandfather said I was too young to go, so I was left with the housekeeper and allowed to go into a large room with thousands upon thousands of books. By myself.
So many, in fact, I was so immersed in them that I hadn’t realised my parents had come back and it was time to go. Not until I heard raised voices coming from outside the window. My father and grandfather were in a full bare-knuckle fighting stance, with my mother standing between them.
That second reason, it was also the day my father stopped talking to and visiting my grandfather. I had seen him once, in all the time leading up to my grandmother’s funeral, and never again. The only references to him I found were in the newspapers, along with words like patron, philanthropist, politician, and patriot. My father said he was evil, but he never told me why.
There was a lot of fallout from that day of the funeral. Not only had my father stopped talking to his father, but also his two sisters and brother, all of who were a mystery to me. Later I learned that I belonged to a very dysfunctional family and that my father was the sanest of the four siblings. Of course, that was my mother’s assessment, but I also learned later, my father marrying her had got him disinherited.
But to be honest, at 10 it didn’t seem a big deal. I didn’t know them, and having said no more than a dozen words to my grandfather, it was not as if I knew him enough to miss him. I did remember that library though, and that huge house by the lake. My father never said he’d grown up there, just that his life had been spent in boarding schools and the military. Enough of a life though, to give me a university degree, yes, you guessed it, in Library Science and Information Management.
That I knew so little about him made it all the more difficult to write a eulogy. For him, and my mother who had basically died a few days after him. I wanted to believe she just didn’t want to live on without him, but that was too fanciful. She had been worn down by what I now believed was a very bitter man. That bitterness had caused me to stop visiting home about a year before when relations between us sunk to an all-time low. I spoke to my mother by phone every week, but it was not the same, not being able to see me, and that I hadn’t made it back before she died was a sin I would spend a long time atoning for.
Nor did I have any siblings to turn to for help. That ship had sailed after I was born when my mother discovered she could have no more children.
But, here’s the thing. I had not heard that either of my parents had died until I got a call from my parents’ Pastor of their church. Had he not called, I would not have known. My initial reaction was not to go, that was how deep the scars were from our fractured relationship, but the pastor insisted that I would not get closure if I didn’t.
I still believed it was a huge mistake as I was getting on the plane. I told Wendy, a girl whom I had just become more than friends with that I would have to go, it surprised her because I had told her that I was more or less like her, an orphan. I had met her after the final altercation, and I didn’t think it necessary to bore her with my parents’ odd behaviour.
By the time the plane arrived, I was past the misgivings and telling myself just to get it done and go home. One day, two at the most and it would be all over, filed under, don’t come back to haunt me again.
Shock number one: A girl, about my age or slightly younger, dressed in what might have passed as mourning clothes, was standing in the arrivals section where people held signs of names of people they were to pick up. She had mine, or maybe not. It could be someone else. I went over to her, cautiously.
She smiled when she saw. “My God; Lindsay, you look just like your father.”
How could she possibly know who I was, or what he looked like? None of his family had ever made themselves known or came to see us.
“How…”
“Your photographs. My dad is your uncle by the way, and I’m your something or other, someone explained it to me but it was too much. Your mother sent thousands of photographs and letters to your uncle and aunts and we know about you. It’s just a pity we couldn’t meet until the old bastard died. Now, it’s like we’re old friends. I’m Allie by the way. Wow!”
Wow, indeed. My mother the traitor! She always seemed to have a conspiratorial look about her and now I knew why.
“Travelling light,” she said, seeing my backpack.
“Wasn’t intending to stay.”
“Can’t do that now Lindsay. You have a lifetime of catching up to do. I hope you have a spare week up your sleeve.”
I followed her out of the terminal to the car park.
“Where do you want to go first? By the way, I’m your chauffeur for the duration of your stay, and you tell me, that’s where we go.”
“Haven’t you got better things to do?”
“No. I had to beat up my sister and brother to get this privilege. This is not a chore Lindsay. And I get first dibs to talk to you about everything.”
She had a strange way of talking, so I let most of it go over my head. “Perhaps the funeral parlour, I think the pastor said they were in one of them near the church. Not their church, either.”
“I try not to get involved in heavy family stuff. But I think you’ll find my father had something to do with that. Blood is thicker than water, he says. He says a lot of stuff I don’t understand. Your dad like that?”
We reached the car, she unlocked it and we got in. A RAM 2500. Better than anything we could afford.
“Your car?”
“Mine, hell no. This is Dad’s special truck, only comes out on hunting weekends and special occasions like weddings. Damned if I know why he let me drive given my track record.” She shrugged. “Perhaps it’s another of his tests.”
It sounded like a family trait because my father used to do the same. I left her to the driving and pondered this whole other life that went on around us, ignored simply because my father hated his family. Obviously, there was some deep-seated resentment generated at some point before he struck out on his own, and maybe I could find out. Certainly, it seemed I was not going to be able to escape as easily as I had first imagined.
What worried me was suddenly meeting a whole host of people I’d never seen before but apparently knew everything about me. I’d never have suspected my mother going behind my father’s back, but there was always that air of defiance in her, and in some of their arguments, they didn’t go nuclear, but she did stop talking to him or doing anything for him until he backed down.
A lesser woman would not have been much of anything up against him, which was why he married her.
Our first stop as requested was the funeral home. There I was shown into a special room where both were in their caskets. It was an open casket viewing, and while they had been restored to some of their former glory, my mother was almost unrecognisable. I had the room to myself, and thankfully Allie didn’t come in because there were tears, even though I told myself there would not be.
My father, of course, never changed and looked the same forbidding person he’d always been. I was sure somewhere within him there was kindness, but he never showed it to me. Even so, it was still a shock to know that he had passed.
After a half hour, I came back out into the daylight. Allie handed me a cup of coffee.
“I didn’t know if you wanted or needed something stronger, but we can drop into a bar on the way for some fortification if you like. The next stop, I’m afraid, is the church. Got a call to say the Bishop has arrived. Our family has some brownie points and got the Bishop to come and say a few words. I’m not a keep churchgoer either Lindsay.”
Were any of the younger generations? Those attempts of his to put the fear of God in me never worked, probably because they tried too hard. A more gentler and persuasive method would have had better results, but the priest was all fire and brimstone. I don’t think I could remember one Sunday where the sermon had any levity in it.
“Perhaps if they tried to move into the 21st century, it might be better. I heard that my father’s church Pastor is coming too. He’s as old as the hills, and hopefully, he will not remember the errant and disappointing child I was.”
“Don’t count on it. They keep everything in a big ledger, and it’s opened the day you go to heaven or hell. Hell’s where I’m going, I’m sure of it.”
It was an amusing thought. “Perhaps you’ll see me there, too.”
The Pastor was there with the local church leaders, and the Bishop, all very severe-looking men. Granted it was a sombre occasion, but a little levity wouldn’t go astray. I noted, firstly, the look they gave me was one of surprise, though I had no idea why, and secondly, they hardly approved of the mourning outfit on my chauffeur. Granted it was low cut and the hem high, but it suited her, and in my mind rather a fashion statement, and appropriate. This was not the nineteenth century.
That led to shock number two. My father’s paster recognised me instantly, and the change of expression told me he remembered everyone one of my sins, some of which I still had to atone for. That was not the reason for the shock, the fact I had to write a eulogy and read it was. He had intimated such in the phone call but I had told him I preferred not to. Perhaps he had been hard of hearing.
He was warm in his greeting though. “Lindsay, so glad you could come, and, my, you have grown up into a fine young man.”
Grown-up, may, fine, that was debatable. “They haven’t retired you yet?” It was not meant to be antagonistic, but some memories of injustices never left you.
“There’s still a lot of God’s work to be done. I see you have lost none of your candour. Let us not dwell on the past, and consider only what lies ahead. Your father was a good man, despite your differences, and his disposition. I had urged him, in his last days, to reconcile with you, and I believe he was going to.”
“You knew a different man to me, Pastor. But as you say, let us not dwell upon what was. I think I said I preferred not to participate in the service.”
I saw the other Pastor and the Bishop approach. I thought I remembered the Bishop, but not as a Bishop but as a simple priest, many years before. The trouble was, they all looked the same to me.
“Marriot here tells me you are going to read your eulogy as part of the service. I believe it’s the right thing to so, a fitting end to a life devoted to service to his country and his church.”
He gave me no chance of reneging, and at any rate, there was no denying a Bishop’s request, not if I wanted the wrath of God to befall me.
“Until tomorrow, Pastor Marriot said and left with the other two men.
“I can see that went swimmingly,” Allie said when she came back over. It wasn’t hard to notice she was avoiding the Pastors and Bishop.
“An ambush.”
“Not getting out of the eulogy?”
“Apparently not.”
“Then write and read something wicked. There’s going to be a packed house, so the audience will be in your hands. The trouble is, people rarely bring up the bad stuff at funerals, and the lies they tell about people, it’s outrageous. We had an in-law who died in a police shootout when he tried to rob a gas station. Not one bad word. It’s probably why they didn’t ask me to say anything.”
The thought did cross my mind, but no, I had enough respect for the occasion that I would say a few words.
“Well, the fun’s over,” she said. “You now are about to meet all the people you never knew existed.”
The family had taken over a restaurant in a nearby town, and everyone had come to see the missing link. I felt like a character out of Charles Darwin’s evolution book.
There were about 35, my father’s brother and two sisters, their children, my contemporaries, some grandchildren, and one very old lady, the sister of my grandfather who presided over the gathering like a Queen. She was the first introduction, and from there, it was simply a sea of faces and names.
Inevitably I was asked why I had not tried to seek them out earlier, and that was complicated. My father never told me about his family, and that one memory of my grandfather was fleeting and without context. But the most sinister of reasons was the fact he had changed his surname, making it impossible to trace anyone. While I knew he had siblings, I could never find them. As for my mother, she said she would tell me the truth when he died. That, of course, could not happen, which landed me where I was right now. Even his priest did not know the truth until one of the family contacted him upon learning of my father’s death.
It was, quite simply, the most improbable of situations that most people could not believe possible.
The following day, over a hundred people arrived for the funeral, and it was a beautiful service on a perfect day. My few but heartfelt words were delivered in a broken voice, by a person who should not have but was, overcome with emotion.
Afterwards, when the bodies were lowered into their final resting place, in the family graveyard near my grandfather’s house, exactly as I had remembered it, I was sitting on the seat that overlooked the lake, wondering what it might have been like to like in such a house. Allie had taken me on a guided tour, the house now a museum of sorts, where the family occupied the upper floors and the museum the lower, including that incredible library.
She was sitting next to me, the rock that had got me through a fairly traumatising day.
Shock number three: She handed me an envelope with my name on it. “We had to wait until your father died before it could be delivered. It is a letter all of us in our generation, got when our grandfather died.”
“I’m surprised he considered me part of the family.”
“You were, and are, despite your father’s best efforts. He knew about you, and everything you have done, until the day he died. You can read it, or I can summarise it if you like.”
“You can tell me, I’m just too overwhelmed to read anything at the moment.”
“As you wish. In essence, you and 7 of us, own equal shares in the old building over there.” She nodded in its direction. “You have a suite of rooms set aside, as each of us has, and a job helping in running the museum. He particularly thought you would like to run the library and the research department. There are a lot of historical documents, and books that are considered invaluable to researchers who come here from all over the world. You might not want to, but the rest of us would love it if you did. And there’s a pot of gold, literally at the end of the rainbow. You can, if you so desire, become very, very wealthy. Or just take an annuity as I do. Too much money makes me anxious. Now, you can stay in your rooms tonight, for as long as you want, and tomorrow we will all sit around the table and just talk.”
Just then I saw her turn towards the driveway and heard a car arriving. She smiled. “We also thought it might be too overwhelming on your own so we asked Wendy to come. I hope you don’t mind?”
It was odd because she was on my mind at that exact moment she arrived, and exactly the person I wanted to see.
As I crossed the lawn and reached the car as she got out, and saw the house, there was a look of recognition, surprise and something else I couldn’t place.
“Is this where you grew up?” she asked.
“No. I’d only seen it once when I was ten when my parents came to attend my grandmother’s funeral. Why?”
“Because this is very, very familiar. I lived here with my mother until I was fifteen when she died and I was sent to live with my aunt in New York. I remember a day when a boy came, and stayed in the library, and refused to come and play with me. I was seven, I think, at the time. It means I’ve known you forever, even if I did hate you to pieces then. What a remarkable coincidence.”
“Serendipity,” Allie said. “Welcome home, the both of you.”
This is an old chateau at the foot of a skiing area on the north island of New Zealand. It was once predominately advertised as a guest house for hikers in the summer months.
However, with fertile imaginations, we can come up with a whole different scenario.
Like, for instance, a haunted house, owned by an old and some might say creepy family, a place where few are invited, and those that are, approach the front door with trepidation.
It could be the family estate, the sort of place grandparents live, and their children consider themselves lucky to have escaped and their children, in turn, hate going there.
Of course, the opposite to that is that everyone loves going there for the holidays when the whole family gets together.
Then, a murder occurs…
It might also be a hotel in an unusual backdrop, where fugitives come to hide, or just one person from the city, trying to get away from a bad partner, or someone working there seeking a fresh start.
The truth is, there are any number of possibilities.
It’s not like you can pull over to the side of the road…
…
In space, it’s a little difficult to just suddenly stop.
But, given several hundred thousand kilometers, anything is possible.
Especially when there’s a request to divert to Venus.
You can’t always tell when the ship drops out of cruise speed to what could be considered a dead stop, not that a dead stop is necessarily achievable.
I was down in the mess hall when the call came from the officer of the deck for me to return. I was halfway through a half decent cup of coffee, and had just had the donut delivered.
Both now had to be sacrificed.
I looked out the window into the inky blackness of space and it was difficult to say if we were in idle mode. There was, however, another ship just off the port bow, a old cargo ship that had seen better days, and we both looked like we were drifting together.
I suspect that meant we were keeping station, much the same as we would if we were visiting a planet.
I took the elevator and arrived on the bridge where the captain was in earnest conversation with the chief engineer and chief scientist.
He looked up when he saw me approach.
“Ah, number one, there’s a team waiting down on the transport deck. The Aloysius 5 has some vital equipment and personnel on board for repairs at the mining colony on Venus, and we’ve been diverted to pick them up and take them there post haste.”
“Is the other ship out of commission?”
“A temporary issue with the drive. We’re sending an engineering team over to help with the repairs and will check their progress on the way back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Should be simple, I thought. Take one of the shuttle craft over, load up, drop the engineers, get back, head for Venus, about 5 hours from our current position. Much the same as a pleasant drive in the country.
And I needed more shuttle time.
In the elevator I was joined by one of the security staff, a gung-ho type lieutenant named Andrews. A man always looking for trouble, the sort who would shoot first and ask questions later.
Maybe it was not going to be a pleasant outing after all.
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 installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
Aside from working on what I was going to tell my mother, and Boggs for that matter, where I’d been all night, the last thing I could say was that I spent the night with Nadia.
It had a curious ring to it when I said to myself, I slept with Nadia. Most people would take it the wrong way, but, by a quirk of fate, it was true. I guess that little gem of truth would have to stay locked away in my head.
One the other hand, if I told my mother I was out doing reconnaissance work for Boggs, she would get very angry, messing around in Boggs’ fantasies. She had no time for people who didn’t want to get a job, and work hard for a living.
At least I’d gone up in her estimation when I started working for the Benderby’s.
But the reconnaissance line would work with Boggs, and all I had to do was come up with a plausible set of circumstances he would believe. At the moment, all I had was Alex going to the mall, and that I waited to see when he came out. The question I would pose, what was he doing in there for four or five hours.
All I had to do was hope Alex had been out of town and Boggs hadn’t seen him. Always a chance of coming unstuck. Perhaps I should just not volunteer anything.
As for my mother, I couldn’t say I was working overtime for Benderby. She was likely to call him and tell him off for making me work so hard.
I was still no further advanced on that point when I got to the library.
It was a familiar place for me, and I had spent a lot of my time there escaping the real world, and of course, being able to keep away from Alex and Vince.
The librarian, Gwen, had been there for a hundred years or more, or so they said, and she should have retired about 20 years ago.
Pity the poor mayor who got the job of telling her to leave. Three had tried, and three had failed. The current incumbent was smarter than that. He just hired an assistant and told her that she had no problems handing over the reins when she was ready.
That woman, Winifred Pankhurst, no relation to the suffragette, was quiet, polite but firm in doing her duties and dealing with the public. She and I had butted heads a few times, especially when Gwen wasn’t in, but today was not going to be one of those days.
I could see Gwen in her office, and headed straight there, under Winnie’s watchful eye. And no, I didn’t dare call her Winnie. Her name, she said, was Miss Pankhurst thank you very much.
Gwen looked up as I knocked on the door, and she smiled.
“Long time no see.”
It had been several weeks. The job and everything else had made it less of a priority to get there,
“New job, crazy hours. Never thought I’d become a working stiff.”
“About time. All that talent being wasted.”
I came in and sat down opposite her.
“How are you?”
“Getting old.”
For her to admit that was a worry. She was, last time I checked, somewhere between 93 and 95. She never quite told anyone her actual date of birth, not even the Mayor’s office who employed her. And she didn’t look a day over 80. Good, clean living she said.
“Isn’t that inevitable?”
“For some of us. Now, enough of being maudlin, what can I do for you?”
“What makes you think I want something?”
“That expression. A cat’s curiosity.”
She could still see through me. The only other people who could was my English teacher in the final year at school and my mother.
“What do you know about the Ormiston’s.”
A change in expression on her face told me it was not a surprise I was asking. Alex’s thug had been here earlier, had someone else?
“They’re popular this week. Young Elmer was in here a few days ago asking the same question. I suspect he was working for Alex Benderby.”
The way she said his name, it was with the usual venom used for him. She had a run in with Benderby a long time ago, and she’d never forgotten. Or ever will. That’s why Alex would never get anything from her about anything.
“He was.”
“Is this in relation to the treasure you and that lad Boggs are searching for?”
Of course, she’d know who and what was going on in this town. No one could keep a secret from her. Or her extensive network of old ladies in the knitting club.
“Boggs seems to think he had some idea of where it might be, though I’m not so sure. I just go along for the ride, it balances out the depressive life we have to live living here.”
“Oh, come now. It’s not all that bad.”
“Perhaps not, now that I have a job. What can you tell me, if there’s anything to tell?”
“Ormiston was as bad if not worse than the Boggs, father and son alike. He had the treasure bug too. Obsessed. In the end drove away his wife and family, eventually ran out of money after mounting six different search operations, and then, when that happened, sold the land to the Navy. Quite an extensive area, about 100 square miles or so, from the coast back to the fault line. Used to be a lake, once, now it’s just a dustbowl.”
A fault line? This was something Boggs didn’t know about, and it could be significant. But just how significant?
