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 installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Charlene after talking to Boggs

…

Charlene was standing in the elevator lobby, with the look of a person who was waiting.

Perhaps she was expecting Boggs to make a run for it, but that was hardly likely since there was a deputy outside the door to his room, a new addition after Charlene had been asked to leave.

“Have you got a few minutes?”  It was a question where the only answer was yes, or else.

I was not going to push the ‘or else’ button.

“Of course.”

She led the way to a room that looked to me like a consulting room for doctors, ushered me through then closed the door.  She sat behind the desk and left me to sit in an uncomfortable patient’s chair.

While she consulted her notebook, I took the time to think back to school days and the motley group that had been in my graduation year, of which Charlene was one.  She too had chosen to stay, despite the lack of post-graduation opportunities, and it was no surprise she ended up in the police, having once had the ambition of becoming an investigative journalist.  It was no surprise then she was now a detective in training.

She left the notebook open on a blank page and gave me her attention.  “So, what have you been doing with yourself since school?”

An odd question to ask, but in her mind, I suspect it was an opening gambit to set the interviewee’s mind at rest, a veritable calm before the storm. 

Odd also because she knew what happened as well as anyone, her father, the Sherriff, Being an occasional visitor at my mother’s house, an obligation he felt after my father passed.

Other than that, we had run into each other from time to time since leaving school but she had never shown any interest on any of those occasions. 

“Relevance?”

“Just curious.”

“I’m sure your father may have mentioned our family circumstances, so if you’re looking for information on Boggs, come out and say so, don’t try to feign interest in my welfare.”

Perhaps that was a little harsh, and certainly not how I wanted it to sound, but she had written an op-ed in the town newspaper reviling her contemporary’s lack of enthusiasm to get a job, and rather become the problem, not the solution to the counties economic woes.

She looked taken aback, not expecting such a response.  Her expression changed, more resolute.  “Boggs is looking at an array of charges.  What was he doing there?  You’re his friend, I’m sure he confides in you.”

“Hoe little you know what bring a friend means, but for the record, we were once, but like he said, my cavorting with Nadia put an end to that.”

“Before that, then.”

“You know as well as I do what the Boggs’s are about, father and son alike.”

“He was looking for fabled treasure.”

“Scaling a rock face?  I hardly think so.  He does rock climbing, caving, and a variety of things I have no interest in.  The Grove shoreline has some of the best rock climbing in the state.  The question you should be asking is how did such an experienced climber finish up half-dead on the beach.”

I wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

“What were you doing on the beach when you discovered him?”

“Cavorting with Nadia.”

It sounded salacious, and I wished on that moment it had been.  It provided the distraction I needed and made me consider her next gambit because I think I knew why we were in that room.

After a moment or two of silence, I added, “No chance of pinning a trespass charge on me then.”

She took a deep breath, a sigh from a person who knew she was not making any headway, or however she thought this conversation was going to go, it had been blown off course.

“Look, I’m not the enemy here.  I’m just trying to do my job and find out what happened.  We have no problem with Boggs’s conducting a treasure hunt, so long as he doesn’t break the law.  Old man Cossatino said Boggs was trespassing, which technically, he was.  Do you know why Boggs would think the treasure is located on The Grove?”

“It’s not.”

Time to diffuse this line of questioning.

“You know this or you’re just guessing?”

“There is no treasure, just the Cossatino’s promoting a myth.  Pirates may have sailed by, but I’m sure this wasn’t the place to leave their booty.  There’s plenty of once uninhabited islands in the Caribbean they could have used.”

“In other words, you really have no idea?”

“I’m a realist, and I’ve told Boggs he should be one too.”

“I hope that will include telling him that trespass is a crime, and if he keeps doing it, we will be forced to arrest and charge him.”

“I’ll tell him anything you want me to.”

“Just that.”

A thought popped into my head, one I probably should have thought of earlier, or perhaps it was because an opportunity presented itself.

The mall, and Alex.

“I have a tip for you, one that might help the case of the dead professor on Rico’s boat.  First of all, Rico didn’t do it.”

“He has form and he’s done something similar before.”

“Kill a professor?”

“Shakedown a mark with violence.  Only this time he went too far.”

I shook my head.  “He didn’t do it.  No, that more in Alex Benderby’s department.”

“Alex.  You must be kidding.  He just acts tough.”

I shrugged.  “Being naive about Alex will get you into trouble.  Alex is anything but harmless, and I can attest to that, school days and beyond. But, here’s some advice you might want to act on before the evidence is destroyed.  There’s a room in the mall on the second level where the mall cops hung out.  Back of the second one along there’s a safe.  At the back of the top desk drawers, there is a post-it note with the combination.  I think that’s where you will find a diary that the professor had before it was taken off him.”

“How do you know about this.”

“I overhead a conversation, remember I work for the Benderby’s and in Alex’s domain, the warehouse.”

“You know what they say about eavesdroppers…”

I shook my head again.  “Did the professor’s autopsy and the analysis of the boat show he was killed there?”

That question was met with a furrowed brow, but there was enough expression change to tell me he wasn’t killed on the boat. 

“You know I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

“Don’t have to.  You’re going to need to work on your poker face.  I think that Alex lured the professor down here with the pirate’s diary perhaps offering a large sum of money as an incentive to share, and when he wouldn’t play nice, they encouraged him to change his mind.  I suspect they tried too hard, and the old professor had a heart attack.  Alex never was the patient type.”

“It makes a good story.” 

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t try.  I’ll have a go at trying to dissuade Boggs from anything illegal, but you know what the lure of fabulous riches can do.  Is the case of Boggs’s father still open?”

“If you mean, is it a cold case, yes, but there’s very little to go on.  The evening before he disappeared, he proclaimed he’d found the final resting place of the treasure trove, though he didn’t exactly say where.  At the time he was working for Cossatino, making treasure maps for the gullible.  Later, outside the hotel in the car park, he was confronted by one of those gullible people, who demanded his money back, a scuffle then fight broke out.  By the time the fight was broken up by a passing patrol, we believe that Boggs had sustained severe injuries, serious enough that it’s possible he died of them after blacking out or falling to his death.   They dredged the river from the hotel to the sea, but it may have been too late, and he’d been swept of to sea on the tide.  The other guy was charged, held in connection with Boggs’s disappearance, but ultimately released through lack of evidence or a body.  There may never be a resolution, nor Boggs ever being found, a sad state of affairs for the family.”

It was a sad tale, but one with some information I’d not heard before, and I didn’t think Boggs knew, or I’d he did, had failed to tell me.  The fight in the car park, and the fact it could have led to his death.  I guess that didn’t fit well with the treasure hunter myth that Boggs junior had built up about his father.

Being killed by a disgruntled punter was not exactly fit the Boggs ethos.

“Not exactly a fitting end, was it?”

“Defrauding people is not exactly going to make you friends, especially when the maps are fake, and they’re all different, purportedly made by the same pirate.  He knew what he was doing, and ultimately paid for it.”

Cold, but true.

“Then let’s hope Boggs doesn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.  I hope you consider investigating the mall room because I think you’re going to find something there, even if it doesn’t directly point the finger at Alex.”

“I’ll tell the sheriff, it’s ultimately his decision, not mine.”

“Good.  Now, if you have finished, I have a job to go to.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

I wandered back to my villa.

It was in darkness.  I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door, so I could see to unlock it.

I looked up and saw that the globe was broken.

Instant alert.

I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there.  I went to the backup, and it wasn’t there either.  Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.

Who?

There were four hiding spots, and all were empty.  Someone had removed the weapons.  That could only mean one possibility.

I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.

But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbour and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.

Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.

There were three entrances to the villa: the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch.  One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage.  It was built in the late 1700s by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief.  It had a hidden underground room, which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.

It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were in the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely.  It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.

The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa, behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground.  I moved aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side.  After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks.  It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that.  I’d left torches at either end so I could see.

I closed the door after me and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch.  I traversed the short passage, which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end.  I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door.  It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.

I stepped into the darkness and closed the door.

I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.

Silence, an eerie silence.

I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting.  There wasn’t.  It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.

I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was.  Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.

That raised the question of who told them where I was.

If I were the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan.  The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental.  But I was not that man.

Or was I?

I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness.  My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void.  Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly.  A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.

Still nothing.

I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job.  I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked, and where there would be no escape.

Coming in the front door.  If I were not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk in.  One shot would be all that was required.

Contract complete.

I sidled quietly up the passage, staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door.  There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting.  It was an ideal spot to wait.

Crunch.

I stepped on some nutshells.

Not my nutshells.

I felt it before I heard it.  The bullet with my name on it.

And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea.  I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.

I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me, and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.

Two assassins.

I’d not expected that.

The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part.  The second was still breathing.

I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives.  Armed to the teeth!

I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian.  I was expecting a Russian.

I slapped his face, waking him up.  Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down.  The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally.  He was not long for this earth.

“Who employed you?”

He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile.  “Not today, my friend.  You have made a very bad enemy.”  He coughed, and blood poured out of his mouth.  “There will be more …”

Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.

I would have to leave.  Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess.  I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.

Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally.  I was trying not to connect the dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.

A half-hour passed, and I hadn’t moved.  Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.

Until I heard a knock on my front door.

Two thoughts: it was either the police, alerted by the neighbours, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?

I stood and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm.  I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.

If it were the police, this was going to be a difficult situation.  Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.

No police, just Maria.  I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.

“You left your phone behind on the table.  I thought you might be looking for it.”  She held it out in front of her.

When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”

I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my arm and realised it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.

“You need to go away now.”

Should I tell her the truth?  It was probably too late, and if she were any sort of law-abiding citizen, she would go straight to the police.

She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity.  “What happened?”

I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible.  I went with the truth.  “My past caught up with me.”

“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss.  It doesn’t look good.”

“I can fix it.  You need to leave.  It is not safe to be here with me.”

The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened.  She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.

I opened the door and let her in.  It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences.  Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge.  She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.

I expected her to scream.  She didn’t.

She gave me a good, hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous.  Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about.  She would have to go to the police.

“What happened here?”

“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me.  I used to work for the Government, but no longer.  I suspect these men were here to repay a debt.  I was lucky.”

“Not so much, looking at your arm.”

She came closer and inspected it.

“Sit down.”

She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

I nodded.  “Upstairs.”  I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs.  Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.

She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back.  I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed, though I was not sure why it might interest her.

She helped me remove my shirt and then cleaned the wound.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet.  It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.

When she’d finished, she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”

No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.

“Alisha?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you.  She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”

“That was wrong of her to do that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.  Will you call her?”

“Yes.  I can’t stay here now.  You should go now.  Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”

She smiled.  “As you say, I was never here.”

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2022

Here’s the thing…

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

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

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

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

…

Cavorting with a snake?

…

I had no idea that Boggs resented me that much for spending time with Nadia, though I could see how he could assume she was the enemy.

But he knew me, or I thought he did.

That cavorting with a snake statement elicited an instant response from Charlene, a wide-eyed look of total surprise.  I wondered for a moment what her interpretation of cavorting was, certainly not the same as mine.

Something else that was very clear, he hated Nadia.  And I was close to the top of that same hate list, by association.

“I would hardly call it cavorting, Boggs, rather just hanging out.  It’s not what either of you thinks.” I gave Charlene a glare to emphasize my disappointment.

Despite it, it was clear her interpretation was still leaning the wrong way, but the surprise has passed, “I didn’t know Nadia had returned from Florence.”  Charlene obviously kept track of Nadia, because I hadn’t known exactly where she had been staying in Italy.

“I don’t think many people do.”

“Was there a reason?”

“She said her mother was sick and wanted to see her, but I think that was a ruse, and she’s not happy with any of them, which is why she’s not staying with them but just outside the town.”

“That woman is not her mother, but stepmother.  Old man Cossatino tossed her aside for a younger woman, and I’m not surprised.”

Interesting insight, she had not told me that it was her stepmother she was annoyed with, nor where her real mother was.

Boggs however was not interested in the details of Nadia’s parentage, nor Charlene’s opinions.

He turned his attention towards her, “Just what are you doing here.”

“I told you already…”

“Just leave, wait outside, do whatever you want, but leave me alone.”

She went to reiterate her reason for being there, but it was met with a very volatile, “get out now.”

I had expected him to round on me next, as he watched her reluctantly get up and slowly walk out of the room, phone in hand.  The sheriff was about to get a call.

His anger was apparent, but he didn’t say anything for a moment, as if mentally counting to ten before speaking.  Then, “Sit, you’re making me nervous standing there.”

A sigh of relief, I did as he asked.

“In view of this relationship with Nadia, does this mean you are working with Cossatino?”

“Actually I work in Benderby’s warehouse attached to the factory.  I think you know me better than to seek employment with the Cossatino’s, and no, it’s not any sort of relationship other than talking over coffee.”

“In her hotel room,” Boggs added.

So, he had been watching me too.  I should be flattered so many people were interested in whom I spent my time.

“At times, yes, but it’s not anything else, no matter what you might think.  I seriously doubt she thinks of me in that way.”

It was not what he wanted to hear, so he tuned out.    “It’s not the impression you give, but I get it.  She is a contradiction at times.”

I wondered what he meant by that.

It was time to change the conversation.  “Did you ever get to the library to read the documents in the Ormiston collection?”

Yes, it got the desired response.

“What collection?”

“All of the stuff at Ormiston’s house after he died.  His wife had asked the librarian to come and box it up, and it’s been sitting there all this time.  I think so far she’s the only one to read any of it, aside from me.”

“How did you pull that off.”

“You know I was always her protégé at school.  She said Alex had asked her about the documents, but she just told him she didn’t know about them, but that’s not going to hold them off for long.”

He thought about what I’d said, perhaps debating whether to trust me, but I could see curiosity taking over.

“Was there anything useful there?”

“One item scribbled in one of his search diaries.  Look for the big A.”

I watched him carefully when mentioning that piece of information, and it struck a chord, as much as he tried not to react.

“But you knew that already because we both know where that big A is.”

“Does Nadia?”

“No.  Despite what you might think, I’m still on your side, and still working towards finding the location of the treasure, but, I think you need to consider the possibility it’s long gone.  I’m sure the Cossatino’s have made a very extensive search of The Grove, over the years.”

“They don’t act like they’ve found it, or have any idea where it is.  You can see that from the many maps they’ve produced.  I’ve got at least twenty variations, and none of them lead to that spot on the shoreline.”

“There was a latitude and longitude reference hidden in one of the diary sleeves, and it matched the spot where I saw what looked like the big A.  It had another reference, one in the Caribbean, so it might have been taken from the pirate’s log, as the start and end of the run to stash their plunder.  How did you come across the location?”

“Something I remembered my father saying.  It came to me a week ago, when I was camping out and a storm hit.  He mentioned the letter A, a formation on a rockface he had climbed once at The Grove.  There are several, and it was at the last I saw something that resembled an A.”

“Since that shoreline looks as much the same along the whole cliff face, I suspect the pirate used it as a marker do he could find it again.  The fact it’s a little lopsided tells me there’s been some seismic activity that stretched from the inland mountains across the lake that no longer exists to the shoreline, here, and at the old marina.  That’s what you were looking fir, wasn’t it, a shift in the rocks?”

“No.  Not really.  I thought there might be a cavern that was covered by a rockfall, but if there was seismic activity, all it did was clear a path for the lake water to drain into the sea.  But, now we agree on the most likely location of the treasure, it’s not going to be possible to get back there, not now the Cossatino’s can guess why I was there.”

“There is a way, but it involves Nadia.”

He shook his head.  “No.  She can’t be trusted.”

“Well, she’s your only ticket there.  You make up your mind what you want to do, but I’ll be at her hotel tomorrow night if you want our help.  Otherwise, I’ll go myself.”

“That’s not what we agreed.”

“We didn’t agree on anything.  You just asked me if I wanted to go on a treasure hunt.  I’ll be honest with you, I don’t want the treasure because it’s cursed.  It cost you your father, countless Ormiston’s, and that professor on Rico’s boat.  He was tortured by the way in a secret room at the mall.  Nadia and I found it, and Alex Benderby’s stash of treasure documents and maps.  They think a map is going to lead them there, but I think your father, as the Cossatino’s cartographer, spent more time leading everyone away from the real location, all the while searching for it himself with permission from the Cossatino’s.  The fact he said he’d found it was always going to get him killed.  And, if he did, then the Cossatino’s have it.  But, like I said, come or not, I’ll be going.”

And, not to give him the opportunity to argue, I left, leaving him with a rather bemused expression.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

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 to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end of 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’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

…

The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

…

As we all know, writing by the seat of your pants is almost the same as flying by the seat of your pants, a hazardous occupation.

As it happens, I like writing this way because like the reader, I don’t know what to expect next.

And equally, at times, you can write your self into a corner, much like painting, and then have to go back, make a few changes and//or repairs and then move forward.

It’s part of the writing process, only in this case, the changes occur before you’ve finished the novel if you finish.  Quite often a lot of writers get only so far, then the manuscript hits the bottom drawer, to be brought out on a distant rainy day.

Or your cat has mocked your writing ability one too many times.

Therefore, we’re winding back to Episode 16, and moving forward once again, from there.

…

O’Connor seemed to be more affluent than I because he was living in a flat located in an upmarket building.  Getting into the ground floor required a passkey, one I suspect might also be needed to get in the front door of his flat, but I’d worry about that later.

My first problem was that front door, and it was not until a tradesman exited that I took the opportunity to appear to arrive at the same time, pretending to find my card, and brushing past him as he was exiting.  He ignored me, his hands full, being in a hurry.

It took a day and a half of watching the building, waiting for an opportunity.  His flat was on the third floor and although there was an elevator, I took the stairs, hoping that I wouldn’t run into anyone.

Quickly and quietly, and thankfully without seeing another resident, I came out into the passageway, and it was about ten steps to his front door.  Number 37.  Not far away, in one direction, the end of the passage, and numbers 38, 39, and 40.  In the other, four more flats and the end of the corridor.  Windows at either end, perhaps an escape route.  I would not use the elevator if I had to leave in a hurry.

There were two elevators and one staircase.  Both elevators were stationary on the ground floor.

I knocked lightly on the door to number 37.

No answer.

I knocked a little harder on the door.  It was quite solid, and I had to wonder if the knocking sound penetrated the solid wood.

I checked the lock.  Simple to open.  We’d been given instruction by a master locksmith, and I’d brought my tools.

I waited a minute, checked to see if the elevators were still on the ground floor, then picked the lock and was inside within a minute.

Silence.

I felt along the wall for a light switch, usually by the door, and found it, and flicked it on.  The sudden light was almost blinding, but then my eyes adjusted.

Trashed, much the same as my flat.

But, with a difference.

A woman was stretched out on the floor, unmoving.  I could see, from where I was standing, she had been hit on the back of the head and could see the wound, and a trickle of blood through her hair.

Five steps to reach her, I reached down to check for a pulse.

Yes, she was alive.

I shook her gently.  She didn’t react.  I shook her a little more roughly and she stirred, then, as expected, lashed out.

I caught her hands, saying, “I just found you.  I’m not your enemy.”

Of course, considering I was a stranger in what could be her flat without permission, I was not surprised she continued to struggle until I tried being reassuring.  Then she stopped and asked, “Who are you?”

“A friend of O’Connor.  I worked with him.  Something happened to him at work and he said if that happened, I was to come here.  He didn’t say anything about you, though.”

“I live here, in the flat next door.  I heard a noise and came to investigate.  That’s all I remember.”

I helped her up into a sitting position, and, holding her head in her hands, looked around.  “Did you do this?”

“No.  Just got here.  But it’s the same at my place.  The people who did this are looking for something.  By the look of it, they didn’t find it here either.”

“I’ll get a damp cloth for your head.  It doesn’t look serious but there might be a slight concussion that might need attention.”

She felt the back of her head, and, when she touched the wound, gasped, “It hurts though.”

I stood and went over to the kitchenette.  O’Connor was not much of a cook, the benches looked new, and there was nothing out.  I looked in a draw near the sink and found a cloth, still with the price tag on it.  So were several utensils in the drawer.  I ran it under the water, then went back to her, now off the floor and sitting on one of the two chairs.  I handed her the wet cloth and she put it against the injured part of her head.

I made a mental note, it didn’t look like O’Connor had been here long, if at all.  Something was not right here, and if that was the case, I should take care when saying anything to this woman.

“Who are you again?” she asked.

“I worked with him.  My name is irrelevant.  It’s unlikely that he mentioned me to you, or anyone.  It’s the nature of our work.”

“Why should I believe you?  You could be my attacker.”

“If that were the case, why would I still be here trying to be helpful.”

A good question that elicited a curious expression.

“What do you do, what did Oliver do?”

Alarm bells were going off.  Oliver was not O’Connor’s first name.

“Nothing very interesting, I can assure you, and definitely nothing that would warrant this happening.  If it had only been me, I would have not thought any more of it, but since we worked together, and this has also happened to him, it seems we are mixed up in something bad.”

“Where is he, by the way?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.  If you live next door and know him well enough to be here, he might have told you.”

“No.  He never spoke about work.”

She was trying to stand so I helped her up and held on when it looked like she was about to collapse.  Last time I had a knock to the head, I had dizziness for a minute of two.  Her knock had been a lot harder.”

“Are you alright?”  She didn’t look it.

“I will be, I’m sure.”

I let her go, and she took several steps, then gave me a rather hard look.  “Why are you here again?”

“Trying to find my friend.”

“How did you get in here?”

Rather than make her disorientated, the knock must have sharpened her senses.  Time to test a theory. 

“I think we should call the police now, and report the break-in.”

I pulled out my phone.

“Look, I don’t want to get mixed up in this.  You go, and I report this when I get back home.  And, if you find him, tell him Josephine is looking for him.”

As I thought.  She was not able to explain to the authorities why she was in this flat, as I’m sure she believed I couldn’t either.

She started walking towards the door.  My staying any longer would raise her suspicions about me, and any search I was going to do would have to wait.  I opened the door, she walked out, and I followed shutting the door after me.

I left her standing outside the door and headed for the stairs.  A last glance back showed her still where I left her.  I went down to the first landing, then stopped.  It was part of the training, to treat everyone as suspicious.

Then I heard her voice, as she passed the top of the staircase, on her way back to her flat.  “He was here, looking for the files.  No, he’s gone.”  A minute’s silence, then “On my way.”

Another minute, I heard the elevator car arrive on the third floor.

I quickly ran down the stairs to the ground floor and waited at the door until she came out of the elevator, heading for the door.

Then as she passed through the front door, I came out into the foyer just in time to see a car stop out the front, and a familiar face out through the rear window.

Nobbin.

© Charles Heath 2019-2022

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 realises 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

…