Tag: Serial

Searching for locations: The Castello di Brolio, Gaiole in Chianti, Tuscany – The Old Castle

The castle is located in the southern Chianti Classico countryside and has been there for over ten centuries, and owned by the Ricasoli family since 1141.

Like any good castle, it has strong defences, and I was looking for a moat and drawbridge, but it looks like the moat has become a lawn.


The very high walls in places no doubt were built to keep the enemy out

The castle has been destroyed and rebuilt many times over the last 900 years.  It was part of the Florentine defenses, and withstood, and succumbed to many battles with Siena, which is only 20 km away.  More recently, it still bears the scars of artillery fire and bombing in WW2.

The room at the top of this tower would have an excellent view of the countryside.

Here you can see the old and the new, the red brick part of the rebuilding in the 1800’s in the style of an English Manor

We did not get to see where that archway led.

Nor what was behind door number one at the top of these stairs.  Rest assured, many, many years ago someone wearing armor would have made the climb.   It would not pass current occupational health and safety these days with a number of stairs before a landing.

Cappella di San Jacopo.  Its foundations were laid in 1348.

Renovated in 1867-1869, it has a gabled façade preceded by a double stone staircase.  The interior, with a crypt where the members of the Ricasoli family are buried, has a nave divided into three spans with cross vaults.

The 1,200 hectares of the property include 240 hectares of vineyards and 26 of olive groves, in the commune of Gaiole.

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

The 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 modeled 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 image 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 May 2020.  It even has a cover.

 

PIWalthJones1

A to Z Challenge – U is for: Uncanny good luck shines upon me…

U2020
I never did take advice very seriously.  Especially when they were issued by old man Taggard, a man of some mystery that we all, adults and children alike wanted to know about.

Everyone in the street knew him as he had lived in the almost derelict mansion at the end of the cul-de-sac forever, way longer than anyone else in the neighborhood had.  In fact, it was rumored he had owned all the land around and sold it off bit by bit over time, the reason why there were so many houses of varying age in the estate.

Ours was one of the older houses, a few doors up from it.  We were close enough to observe Taggard’s habit, like sitting gon the porch on an old swing chair in the afternoons, to the late-night wanderings in the street.  Some said he was accompanied by the ghost of his long-dead wife, which led to stories being told of the house he lived in being haunted.

As children, we had been brought up on a diet of TV shows such as ‘The Munsters’ and ‘The Addams Family’, and had invented our own make-believe show called ‘The Taggard Mansion’, the house with ghosts, and the neighborhood center for strange goings-on.

And as children were wont to do, we had to ‘investigate’.

There was a ‘gang’ even though we didn’t refer to it as such, about seven of us who lived in nearby houses, and all of whom had very active imaginations.  We also met in the cubby house out the back of our house to plan forays to find out whether the rumors were true.  The thing is we never got very far as he seemed to know when we were sneaking in and scared us off, so for years, the rumors remained just that, rumors.

But as grown-ups, and by that I mean, middle teens, our plans became bolder and more sophisticated, based on a whole new breed of TV shows, where the seemingly impossible was no longer that.  And Andy Boswell, my older brothers best friend, his father was a private detective, or so he told us, and he had managed to ‘secure’ some of his father’s tools of the trade; a camera on the end of a wire that could connect to a cell phone, a listening device that could hear through walls, and in-ear communicators.  We could now, if we were close enough, see under doors, and hear if anyone was in.  We could all keep in touch, though I couldn’t see how this would help.

But a plan was formulated.  All seven of us had a role to play.  My brother Ron and Delilah, his girlfriend, were taking point, whatever that meant, Andy and I were going to take point, while Jack, Jill, and Kim were going to run distraction.  The theory was, they’d make enough noise to keep the old man occupied chasing them.  No one had been inside the house, ever.  Andy and I were going to be the first.

Andy had drawn up a plan and it was up on the wall.  He had charted the house, and had a very accurate picture of the house’s footprint, where doors and windows were, likely entrance points, including a hatchway down into what he assumed was a basement, though he preferred to call it the dungeon, and a layout of the grounds.  Apparently under the undergrowth were paths and gardens, even a large fountain that once graced the grounds of the three-story mansion made of sandstone, and built sometime during the middle of the 1800s.

Andy had done some research, mostly from old newspapers, and also discovered that the old man had once been married, they had a half dozen children, three of whom had died, the others scattered around the world.  It explained why no one ever visited the place.

The distraction team would be going in through the front gate, easy enough because it had come off its hinges and just needed a shove to open.  The old man usually emerged from the house via the driveway, or what was once a drive that cars could enter one side of the property, stop under a huge canopy, and emerge on to the road further along.  But it’s overgrown stare, the width of the pathway was now about six feet.  The fact it was once an amazing feature was the roadside lights, now all but disappearing behind the undergrowth.

Andy had found a photograph in the paper of it, and it had looked magnificent, as had the gardens, the overhanging canopy, and all the lights.  To think such magnificence was now lost.  And having seen it for what it once was, it was not hard to imagine any number of scenarios, my favorite, rescuing a damsel in distress from the tower.  Yes, it even had a tower, two, in fact, at each end of the house.  My brother always said I had an overactive imagination.

Andy and I would be going in by the less used car exit, and heading for the left side of the building where Andy said was several floor to ceiling windows that looked to him like French doors.  Of course, none of us knew what French doors were, and my brother cut Andy short when he tried to explain.

Failing that, there was a door at the rear that seemed to be open, and we’d try that next.  We would get into position, advise the distraction team, and the operation would be a go.  The only debate was what time of the day were we going to do it.  My brother preferred late in the afternoon.  Andy said it was better at dawn, or soon after if we were looking for maximum confusion of the target.

Dawn, confusion, tactics, target, Andy was in his element.  He was going to be a spy when he grew up.  My brother said he would never grow up, but then, my brother said I was a dreamer and would never amount to anything.  We ignored his advice, well, we pretty much ignored everything he said.

We were going in at dawn.

At 5 a.m. on Saturday morning, we gathered at the cubby house ready for action.  We all took a communicator and put it in our ears, and then had fun saying stupid stuff, and hearing it through the earpieces.  It was weird but added an exciting element to the adventure.  I know my heart was beating faster in anticipation.  Andy was pretending to be cool and failing.  I suspected my brother and Delilah had other plans when we left them alone in the cubby house.  The distraction team was ready to go.

Shortly after the sun came up, it was cool and the air still.  It was going to be a hot day, and that first hour, everything was almost perfect.  It seemed a waste to do anything but let the early morning serenity settle over us.  Not today.  Andy and I went to our position, slowly feeling our way through the bushes, taking bearings from the light poles, and every now and then seeing the guttering and what looked to be a concrete path.  Beyond that was once a garden, and I tried, more than once, to imagine what it was like.

In my ear I could hear the others in the distraction team setting up at the start of the driveway, ready to go.  We reached our position, about twenty feet from the so-called French windows, the view into the house blocked by curtains, but beyond that, what we could see was darkness inside the house.  Taking in the whole side of the house, there were no lights on behind any of the windows.  If we didn’t know better, we could have assumed the house was empty.

I heard Andy say, “Ready.  Start making noise.”

A minute later we could both hear the distraction team in the distance and through the communicators.  It took two minutes before we heard the old man, yelling, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  Their job done, getting him out of the house, all they had to do was retreat.

Time for Andy and I to go.

Working on the basis that no one else was at the house, and the fact we had no evidence there was, we were not overly worried about making a stealthy approach.  I could hear in my earpiece, the gasping of those in the distraction team having just made it outside the gate, and to tell us the old man had stopped at the gate.  I doubt he had been running, but his yelling was just as effective.

That had stopped, and a sort of silence fell over the area.

We were now at the French doors, and Andy produced another tool that he’d forgotten to tell us about, a lock pick.  The fact it didn’t take long to unlock the door told me he was either very talented, or the lock was old and presented no problems.  Either way, he opened the door and ushered me in.

I brushed the curtains aside for him to follow, then moved in as he followed, closing the door behind him.

I’d taken five steps before I heard a woman’s voice say.  “Uncanny good luck shines upon me.  My knights in shining armor.  You’ve come to rescue me, no?”

 

© Charles Heath 2020

In a word: Wall

There’s nothing like ‘hitting the wall’.  It’s a rather quaint expression used when you have used up all your energy and there’s nothing left.  A lot of sportspeople are very familiar with this expression.

But it doesn’t have anything to do with hitting a real wall, you know the sort, made out of plaster, or bricks, or timber.  Some people hit the wall in this case too, and soon find out what it’s like to have a broken hand.

There’s wall street, you know the one, it has a bull in it, and it’s in New York, down that end of the city where the Twin Towers used to be.  It’s rumoured lots of ‘jiggery-pokery’ goes on there.

Try stonewalling, you know, give answers to questions that don’t answer the questions, or find something else to do and put off being questioned.  I’m not sure, however, that’s how Stonewall Jackson got his name.

We can climb the walls, metaphorically speaking, but it is something we don’t actually do when we’re bored.

And, I’m sure everyone has heard of the Great Wall of China.  Even those who travel in space have seen it, from a long, long way away.  I’ve tried walking along it, and up it, yes, parts of it go up the sides of mountains, and it’s challenging.  Maybe you should try it sometime.

Perhaps a few others, just to finish with, like

I got hit by a wall of water – yep, watch out for them tidal waves

There’s a wall between us, nope, not gonna talk to you

His stomach wall is failing, which means he’s in very bad shape, and

He couldn’t get through the wall of players, oh, well, maybe we’ll win the FA cup final next year!

A to Z Challenge – T is for: There’s a moment when it all comes together…

T2020

Kyle had been surprised to get an email from Janine, the wife of his brother Daniel. When Daniel had arrived on his doorstep, he wasn’t exactly a mess, but he had been struggling to understand why his wife of over twenty years would betray him as she had.

To Kyle, though, it wasn’t exactly a revelation. He had known the moment he saw her, just before the wedding, what type of woman she was. Definitely not monogamous. After all, he had seen her off and on during the six months he had been working in Washington, not only with Michael, but with several other men of varying degrees of importance, and not once as just good friends.

And, after he left, to get away from a toxic environment, and an equally toxic relationship with a woman he accidentally discovered was lying to him about not being married, he had learned that Janine had been having not one affair but several and that one, in particular, had exploded, forcing her to disappear back home or have her affair with Michael exposed to the world. It appeared Michael’s career had been more important than her reputation.

The fact she married Daniel as a face-saving exercise had not sat well with him and his last meeting with her was a very bitter row, and neither had spoken to the other since. Now that email came out of left field, leaving him wondering why she would send him an email, and how, in fact, she knew what his email was. Clearly, she still had particular ‘friends’.

He had left that email sitting unread in the inbox for two days, each morning the mouse pointer hovering over in, with the intention of reading it, and then, at the last second, passing over it.

There was nothing she could say to him that would justify what she’d done, and, he had told Daniel that in his opinion, he was better off without her.

On the morning of the third day, his curiosity got the better of him

There was no attempt at justifying what she’d done. Just advice that she would be arriving in London in two days’ time, and to ask if Daniel would see her so they could talk about their situation.

Terse, bordering on brusque, Kyle was equally amused and disappointed.

He sent an email back, terse, if not equally brusque, telling her not to bother, that Daniel had already assumed she would try and patch things up, and he was not interested.

She simply replied she had to come to London and gave him the flight number and the estimated time of arrival.
Kyle made two decisions, both of which he was going to regret. The first, he didn’t tell Daniel that Janine was coming over, and the second, he would go to the airport and tell her in person she was wasting her time.

Thus, standing outside in the arrivals area, he waited. The plane was late, nothing unusual there, and calculated he had time for a coffee and a scan of the paper before she appeared. When she did, about an hour after the plane touched down, the thought he might not recognize her was instantly dispelled. Last time he had seen her, she had been drop-dead gorgeous, and time had done nothing to dent that beauty. She had only one small case, so she had traveled light, also unexpected.

There was no smile, just a frown, as though the delay in arrival was just another annoyance among many. He could see her quickly scan those who were waiting for other arrivals, and picked him out almost instantly. He watched her approach, then stop in front of him. There was not going to be hugs or any sort of greeting.

“Janine.”

“It’s been a long time, Kyle. I must say I wasn’t expecting you to come to the airport.”

“I wasn’t, but I didn’t think a phone call would suffice. You’re wasting your time.”

“Is that Daniel speaking, or you. If I recall, you never did like me very much.”

“I thought I made my position very clear.  It seems I wasn’t wrong.”

“Twenty years, Kyle.”

“A leopard doesn’t change its spots, whether it’s twenty days, twenty months or twenty years. Aside from that, you say you’ve done it once, but in living that lie, what else have you lied about because as far as I can tell, nothing you say can be believed.”

“It was once, and it was a mistake.”

“And there you have it. I don’t believe you, and neither does Daniel. And before you tell me I’ve poisoned him against you, don’t. You did that all yourself.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes. I’m done. Don’t bother us again.”
Kyle was not sure what Janine had expected of him or what she hoped to accomplish. Why hadn’t she simply contacted Daniel direct? If she could get Kyle’s email address, surely she could get Daniel’s phone number, unless Daniel had replaced his existing phone with a burner. Now that he thought about it, Daniel’s call to tell him he was coming to see him was from ‘No caller ID’, clearly an indication he had no intention of talking to her.

Now that she was here in London, perhaps it was time to tell Daniel. The last thing he wanted was for Daniel to think his brother was also not telling him the truth, especially if she did have a way of contacting him.

He pulled out his phone and called.

“Where are you?” When Daniel answered, it didn’t sound like he was at home.

“I went for a walk, and now I’m sitting in a small park. It’s the weirdest thing.”

“No so much. The houses around you don’t have front or back yards, so they just share one. Look, I’ve been keeping something from you, and I shouldn’t have. Janine emailed me a week ago and said she was coming over. I told her not to, but she came anyway, and I’ve just seen her at the airport. I told her you were not interested in talking to her. I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn.”

Silence. Perhaps he should have told Daniel when he got the email.

“Why would she bother?”

Not the reaction he expected. “Perhaps she thought you could patch things up. The way you spoke when you got here, I didn’t think you would be interested, at least, not for a while.”

“I don’t know what to think, to be honest. I miss her, I hate her, I hate what she did, perhaps it was my fault.”

“No, don’t go down that path. You did nothing wrong, and you didn’t deserve what happened. She made the mistake, not you. She still insisted it only happened once, and it was a mistake.”

“She seemed very happy at the time, even when she saw him off, so I’m not quite sure how she could suddenly be so contrite. No, you were right Kyle. I don’t want to see her, at least not for a while longer.”

“OK. At least you finally got out of the dungeon and getting some fresh air, or as fresh it can be. That’s a good first step. I’ll be home in an hour or so, and we can go out to lunch.”

It was a good sign, Kyle thought as he put away the phone. Perhaps they could talk further, see if he could find out what the real problem was with Daniel. There was something else weighing on his mind, something that was going to be hard to get him to talk about.
Three days later, and three emails to Kyle later, Daniel decided he would go to meet Janine, but on neutral territory, The Orangery at Kensington Palace, for afternoon tea.

It was a custom that Daniel knew would be lost on her, but he appreciated the nuances. In fact, in the time he’d been staying with Kyle, they’d been to Fortnum and Mason, Selfridges, and Harrods to sample their version. The best do far: Fortnum and Mason.

Kyle had offered to go with him to act as a buffer, but Daniel told him he could handle it. Since telling him of her arrival, Daniel had time to consider his position. And to promise himself he wouldn’t get angry.

He got there early, and had a pot of tea sitting on the table. He was having a blend that the Queen allegedly had, and it was quite good.

He saw her arrive at the doorway, scan the interior, find him, and then walk over. He didn’t get up. The gentleman had taken a holiday.

She sat, then said, “Hello Daniel.”

Before answering, he poured her a cup of tea, then said, “It’s the Queen’s special brew.” No hello back, just a neutral look in her direction. That everlasting beauty of hers radiated in the room, and more than one man had given her a subtle look as she crossed the room. It reminded him of how being envious, like that, had played a part in what he felt towards her. It should not matter, but it did.

She sipped it and made a face. Whether it was awful or too hot, he wasn’t going to ask.

“You didn’t have to come over here to see me. A phone call would have surfaced,” he sais, after another sip of his tea.

“I don’t have your new number.”

“You didn’t have Kyle’s email address, but that didn’t stop you. I suspect you have it, just not sure what my reaction would be if you rang it. You see, when you start lying, where does it stop?”

“I have never lied to you, Daniel. Not once in twenty years.”

“Perhaps then it’s not in the lies, but what you haven’t told me.” If she was going to entertain a battle of words or wills, this time he would fire back. Acquiescing because of the fear of offending or losing her was no longer a fear but a reality. He couldn’t make it worse.

“Then perhaps I should tell you what I haven’t said. I first met Michael in Washington. He dazzled me, far more than at University. I knew he was married, and still, I did what I did. Back then I didn’t care. Not until we became front-page news. Push came to shove, and I lost my job and my reputation. I came home, tail firmly between my legs, realized that if I wanted any sort of future it would have to be with someone like you. We didn’t meet by accident Daniel. We met because I wanted to see if what I had thought of you before I left, was still true. With Michael around, it was always hard for me to, well, be with someone else, or think about anyone else. But you always remained in the back of my mind, and, when I found out you were not going out with anyone, well, not seriously, I thought, what if…”

“… your second choice would still blindly accept you because he would think it was too good to be true?” I tried not to put any rancor into it and failed. Her change in expression told me she’d noticed it.

“No Daniel, you were never my second choice. You had always been my first choice, but I was too stupid. or too ambitious, to see what was right there in front of me. It took a huge humiliation to do that.”

Daniel was not sure if this was a confession, or a carefully stage-managed speech complete with the contrite inflections in her voice. If it was true, it might have been a revelation, but with his trust so broken, he was not sure what to think.

“Why fuck him then, in our house, in our bed?”

Blunt, perhaps, but he was not interested in being polite. He didn’t do anything wrong.

“Because I was a fool. We’ve been drifting apart the last few months, and I know there’s been stuff on your mind, but once, we used to talk about it. I had no idea what was happening at your work, and that’s on me, I guess I got too wrapped up in my own self-importance to notice. You can’t tell me that we were not falling apart.”

Be that as it may, it hardly seemed to Daniel to be an excuse for what she did. “You could have said something.” It was a lame reply. It was descending into he said she said, and not addressing the real problems.

“You could have talked to me. I don’t believe you were blind to what was happening.”

She was right, I hadn’t missed what was happening. But there was that small matter of pointing out what she had become, something I had been loath to do. Perhaps it was the time to say my piece and damn the consequences.

“Be that as it may, you said it yourself, you were too wrapped up in your own self-importance. You changed, and I didn’t like you’d become. You wanted the money, the mansion, the lifestyle, the New York penthouse weekender, and you’re welcome to it. That’s not who or what I am.” There, it’s done. Ten years too late.

Silence. No answer perhaps, or was it a case of the defense lawyer about to launch into a killer closing argument. He recognized the signs, the moment he’d taken one step too many.

“Yes, you’re right. And if that was the case, I’d not bothered to come over here, and try to convince you otherwise. You’ve heard of the expression, keeping up with the Jones’? Me, it was trying to keep up, and/or going one better. Ursula.” she shook her head. “I only realized what was happening when I told you about the penthouse. Your expression was the epitome of disapproval. Something else I’m guilty of Daniel, and something I’m not very proud of.”

There was just the right amount of contrition, and in a sorrowful tone. She had been the top student in her drama class at school and played some very convincing roles in the school’s productions. And, he’d noticed over the years, some of the roles she had played, with him, but mostly in front of others. At times Daniel felt like this was a performance.

She took a deep breath. Time, he thought for the closing argument, the one that would sway the jury. He’s seen her do it countless times before.

“So, I’ve said my piece, and I will say, I had anticipated your reaction. I’ve said I’m sorry, and I mean it. I’ve said it was a mistake, and it was. Like you, I’ve decided that I can’t stay in what used to be our home, for exactly the same reasons as yours. It will always remind me of the most shameful behavior. I told Ken to sell it, and everything in it. I told him to sell the cars, in fact, to liquidate all our assets. I’m not going home. I came here to be with you. I wasn’t lying when I told you, you were my first choice, and over time, my only choice to be with until the day I die. That will never change no matter what you decided today, tomorrow, or next week. I loved you then, I love you now, and I will always love you. I want you to think about this: there’s a moment when it all comes together when you instinctive know that you’ve found the right person. That wasn’t Michael, it was you, Daniel. I knew the moment I first saw you, and then, that first day after I returned, that there was no one else. I’ve made mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. I’ve hurt you but I would like the opportunity to make it up to you.”

She took a sheet of paper out of her handbag and slid it across the table. Daniel unfolded it. A for sale notice on a property in Tuscany, a town that seemed vaguely familiar to him, Arezzo. Or near there.

“It’s a disaster. But I thought you and I could live there, fix it up, and get to know each other, properly this time, without any of those people I know you dislike. Just us, and a quiet leisurely life. I’m going there tomorrow. I hope you will come and join me.”

She stood. Closing argument completed; standing ovation from the gallery. Not.

“Thank you for listening to me. It’s more, I know than you think I deserve.”

Then she was gone. No one but Daniel watched her leave. It was not the in the manner of a woman who had thought she’d won.

Daniel spent the next four hours wandering around Kensington Gardens. He tried to tell himself that it was water off a duck’s back, but it wasn’t. It was that phrase, there’s a moment when it all comes together when you instinctive know that you’ve found the right person. He knew the first time he’s seen her, at school, a long, long time ago. She was right. He felt it again sitting in front of her. He wanted to be mad at her, he wanted to be angry for what she had done, but in the end, it didn’t really matter.

He would never be able to explain it, to himself, to his brother, to any of those at home that he could live quite easily without seeing any of them ever again. They belonged together.

And the thought of a few weeks, or months, or even years, in Tuscany held a great deal of appeal.

But, best not to go straight away. Perhaps give it a week. He’d look for a travel agent on the way back to Kyle’s place.

 

© Charles Heath 2020

A to Z Challenge – S is for: Surely there’s a better way…

S2020

Surely there’s a better way…

When you have secrets, sometimes it’s very hard to hide them from others.

It was something Henry had to do since the day he could speak. The fact that his parents had been murdered because of their profession, something his grandfather told him was akin to ‘working for the government’. The fact that he was from a very wealthy and influential family. The fact he was heir to a fortune. The fact he was anything other than just another boy, who grew up to be just another man.

His whole life, to this point, had been ‘managed’ so that no one, other than a selected few chosen by his grandfather, knew who he was, or what he represented. And more to the point, he had been told to just live his life like any other of his age.

Yes, he went to a private school, but it wasn’t an exclusive one, yes he went to university, but he had got into Oxford on his own merit, and, yes, he was smart, smart enough to create his own business, and make a handsome income from it. And no, he never drew upon the stipend he had been granted by his parents will, so it just gathered dust in the bank.

Henry was an only child, and to a certain extent, introverted. It was a shyness that his grandfather knew existed in his son, Henry’s father. It could be an asset or it could be a liability. With Henry’s father, it had been an asset, a means by which many had misunderstood him. It might even serve him well for the next phase of his life.

Today, Henry was meeting his grandfather at Speaker’s Corner at Hyde Park, and an unusual meeting place because in the past it had always been at his grandfather’s club. At his grandfather’s request, he had undertaken a three-year program, one that his father had, and his father before him, and a pre-requisite for a profession that would be explained to him.

And it was all because Henry said he was bored. The business he’d built could run without him, his attempts at relationships with various girls and women hadn’t quite achieved what he was looking for, even though he had no idea what he was looking for, and, quite frankly, he told his grandfather, he needed something more exciting.

It was, he’d been told, the way of the MacCallisters. Ever since the British tried to put down the Scots.

Henry was listening to a rather animated man preaching the word of the Lord, but he was not sure what Lord that was. Anything he quoted from the bible resembled nothing he had read and remembered. Perhaps the man was on drugs.

Two or three people stopped, listened for a minute or two, shook their heads, some even laughed, and moved on.

“It’s the last bastion of freedom of speech, though I can say this man is not about to gather an army of insurrectionists any time soon. Let’s walk.”

His grandfather was getting old, and walking was getting more and more difficult. More scotch was needed, he had told Henry, to ward of the evils of arthritis. And, he added, ‘I should have had a less devil may care attitude when he was younger.’

It was a slow amble to the serpentine, which, being a bright sunny day, if not a little chilly, was alive with people.

He waited until his grandfather spoke. One lesson he had learned, speak when you’re spoken to, and if you’ve got nothing to say, best to remain silent.

“I have found a job you might like to have a go at. Nothing difficult, mind you, but a perhaps, at times, hard work. I think you’d be good at it.”

“Is that meant to be a hint, and I have to guess?”

“I think you’re smart enough to know what it might be yourself, young Henry.”

I think I did too. Everything I’d been doing over the last three years led me to believe I’d been training to walk in my father’s footsteps. It was with the Army, and I had imagined my father had been a soldier, though I’d never seen him in a uniform. But my Grandfather had said he worked for the government, so I wondered if that might be some sort of policeman, or some sort of internal agent, like MI6. It had not been boring, and the exercises had been ‘interesting’, but no one had said what the end result of this training might be; in fact no one had said who they were.

“Something hush, hush as the saying goes.”

We had gone about fifty yards and reached a cross path. As we did, a youngish woman dressed in leather appeared and walked towards us.

“I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Henry. Her name is Marion, though I suggest you don’t call her that.”

She smiled. “Call me Mary. There’s only one person in the whole world that would dare call me that, and he’s standing here. Your grandfather has spoken a lot about you.”

Henry’s first impression; she had been to the training school he had. He could see it in her manner, and in the way she scanned the area, even though it didn’t look like she was. He’d been doing it himself, and he had seen her earlier. What made her stand out, she didn’t have a bag like all the other women.

“I hope it was good, not bad.”

“You have no bad traits?”

“Everyone had bad traits. You’ll just have to get to know me if you want to know what they are.”

“Well,” my grandfather said, “enough chit chat. Mary has a task, and she needs a little help. I thought you might want to join her.”

“Doing what?”

“She’ll explain it on the way. When it’s done, come and see me.” With that, a hug from Mary, and a handshake from his grandson, he turned and walked back the way they had come earlier.
“So,” Henry asked, “What’s the job?”

“I have to pick up a computer.”

“That doesn’t sound like something you would need help with.” In fact, if he was right in his assessment of her, he was the last person she needed, if at all. She looked to him as if she could handle anything.

“It’s one of those just in case situations.”

They walked a circuitous route back to Park Lane and crossed both roads, up Deanery Street, left where Tilney Street veered off, and then a short distance to Deanery Mews. Henry noted this was an area with a lot of expensive real estate, and scattered Embassies. If he was not mistaken, the Dorchester Hotel wasn’t far away.

Walking down the mews seemed to Henry to be walking into a trap. When he looked back towards Deanery Street he thought he saw two men position themselves, not quick enough to prevent him from getting a glimpse of them.

“You do realize that getting back out of here could be a problem.”

“It’s why I asked for help. Just in case.”

No visible sign of fear, or of what the consequences might be if this went south. Perhaps his grandfather had considered this a test. But what sort of test?

They reached the end, and, just around the corner, a van was parked with what Henry assumed was the driver, standing by the open driver’s door, smoking a cigarette.

Mary stopped about ten feet away from him. “Have you got the package?”

He reached inside the car and lifted up a computer case. There didn’t necessarily have to be a computer in it. I looked up and around. It was a good place for a meeting. No witnesses. But there were CCTV cameras. I wondered if they were working.

The man tossed the bag back in the car. “Have you got the money?”

She held up her phone. “Just need the bank account details.”

“OK. Just step over here and let’s get this done.”

She moved closer, and in a flash, he had grabbed her, holding her by the neck with a gun to her head. The two men Henry thought he’d seen at the top of the mews were now within sight, and both had guns trained on him. A trap, indeed.

“What do you want?” Henry asked.

“Tell your boss the price just doubled. Two million. You’ve got five minutes.”

I shook my head, not to clear the cobwebs, but to calm down and think rationally.

Talk first. “Surely there’s a better way to do this. You don’t need to hold a gun to her head.”

I held my hands out just to show I wasn’t a threat.

“No, probably not.” He released his grip and lowered the gun.

A very, very bad mistake.

 

© Charles Heath 2020

A to Z Challenge – R is for: Remember that time…

R2020
I don’t remember 40th birthday parties being all that interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

Michael Urston was one of my close friends, lived across town, was also a lawyer, and a man of ambition.  He’s taken his law degree to Washington and converted it into a path to public office, and had attained the lofty position of Mayor for a number of years of our fair city, and then paradoxically didn’t run for re-election for reasons I never thought stood up.  But it had been his decision, part of the plan to retire at forty, and he’d achieved it.  Ursula, his wife, was prickly at the best of times and had always considered herself above all of us.  I guess being a prom queen had that effect on some people.  She liked to be the center of attention, and for some reason, she and Janine always managed to rub up against their respective wrong sides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After leaving the office I went home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that made me feel so much better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was it with politicians and women?

 

© Charles Heath 2020

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

The 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 modeled 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 image 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 May 2020.  It even has a cover.

 

PIWalthJones1

A to Z Challenge – Q is for: Quick, before I change my mind…

Q2020

There’s a point where you suddenly realized you’ve been tricked into doing something you wouldn’t normally do, and, worse, by someone you thought was your friend.

That thought, along with others, floated around in my mind while considering my fate; in a small room in the basement of a house that belonged to, what I now knew to be a criminal.

Everyone knew of Joe Delaneo as a wealthy philanthropist, not the head of a gang that had barely registered on the crime scale, and definitely not on the police radar.

Their crimes were, but it was a matter of fact the police had no substantial leads, nor any idea who was purporting the crimes.

But I knew. Now.

However, the chances of escaping with this knowledge and passing it on were somewhere between impossible and needing a miracle.
I had time to reflect on how I got here.

Basic human failings. The desire to take people at face value. To accommodate people who seemingly sincerely tell you they care about you, and then spin you a story about how a certain person stole something of theirs, and they wanted it back. The was more to the story, but it was the implied gratitude that reels you in.

I believed it was my one and only chance with Marylou Brenner. I even believed the story of how she had tired of Max Brenden, a gifted quarterback destined for bigger things, because of his wandering eye, and dismissive attitude. I’d seen him with other girls, and seen how he treated them.

A shake of the head, and a realization of how big a fool I’d been. Perhaps they knew Joe Delaneo was a criminal or maybe not, they just got lucky, but the result was always going to be the same. Trouble for me and amusement for them.

Of course, I was not cat burglar, and no experience in breaking and entering, and setting off a silent alarm was inevitable, as was capture.

What, at first surprised me was the fact Delaneo hadn’t called the police to report me. That set off the first alarm bell. Then, another man, one with a scarred face, a man I’d not seen before, came to the room and asked me questions. Who sent me, what was I looking for. I told him the truth, and he didn’t believe me. He didn’t say anything more, just glared at me, then left. It was enough.

I’d seen the movies and TV shows and guessed what happened next. Torture, either waterboarding or electricity. A battle with pain that no normal person could withstand, and for a mere boy just starting university, my threshold would be all of 30 seconds. The anticipation would make that about 15 seconds by the time he arrived with the equipment and equally mean-looking assistants.

There was a bed in the room, and I sat on it. Sleep was the last thing on my mind.
I was woken by the rattle of a key on the lock and the squeaky hinges of the door opening.

It was the best time to come when I was half asleep and disorientated. It took three seconds to realize where I was and five more to remember what had happened. By that time a fist had wrapped itself around the clothing on my shoulder and dragged me to my feet. I Neely collapsed, remembering at the last second that he would probably drag me to where we were going, and finish up in an unceremonious heap in front of whomever he was taking me to see.

Better to arrive on my own two feet. Begging might come later.

We went up a flight of stairs and along a long passage to the back of the house. I’d broken in via the back of the house and made it as far as Delaneo’s study before being caught. We passed a large room with library shelves, a dining room, and an empty room before we arrived back in the study.

In daylight it seemed bigger, but equally as forbidding. More shelves, more books, cabinets, luxurious chairs, a magnificent desk, and an alleged crime lord sitting behind it.

The fist released its grip on my clothes and the man it belonged to stepped back two paces. He had a gun, I saw it just before he grabbed me, as a detective in a shoulder holster. I saw it briefly last night, and it looked big and deadly.

“So, Jim, it is Jim isn’t it?”

Should I agree or pretend to be someone else? Where did he find out my name? I’d stick with the truth. “It is.”

“What were you after?”

“I don’t think it matters now that I’ve had time to think about it. I suspect the people who sent me on this goose chase are probably laughing their heads off about now.”

“So, this is a prank, and you’re the stooge?”

“As much as you probably don’t want to believe me, but if you think about it for one minute, you’ll see the truth of it. Hell, if I was this remarkable cat burglar you seem to think I am, the first thing I’d have done was disable the alarm, and then enter through the rear. The fact there was an unlatched window at the rear comes as no surprise. Everyone forgets something once in a while, and it has been seasonally hot.”

He looked at me with a rather strange expression. Was he horrified, or intrigued that I would talk to him so?

“Who are you, really?”

“Just a stupid fool trying to impress a girl. The wrong sort, but then people like me always seem to try and punch above his weight. I’ve learned my lesson I can tell you.” I took a deep breath, resigning myself to my fate. “Look, whatever you’re going to do, just get on with it.”

Delaneo’s expression changed, it wasn’t quite evil, but somewhere near it. He looked past me at the man standing behind me. “Impatient little bugger, isn’t he? ” I assumed the man behind me nodded because he didn’t speak.

“Take him away. I don’t want to see him again.”

I felt the man behind me move forward, and grab my shoulder again. He twisted me around to face the door, and we left the room, the man closing the door gently behind him. We walked up the passage towards the front door. Another man opened it. He took me as far as the edge of the patio and let go.

“Think yourself lucky this time. You come back, you’re luck will run out. Now go, quick, before I change my mind.”

I sighed inwardly in relief and went down the steps. He could have thrown me down, but he didn’t. I was, as he told me, quick to get to the gate and then, outside, I ran.
“You’ve got to stop throwing fools into the breach, Marylou.” Delaneo glared at her in much the same expression he had for all people under the age of 40. As a miscreant.

“They need to be tested.”

“Well, he didn’t turn to water if that’s what you want to know, not like that footballer chap of yours.”

“Oh, he’s not mine, not anymore. I have someone else in mind to take his place. Someone far more interesting.”

 

© Charles Heath 2020

Conversations with my cat – 95

20160909_062838-2

This is Chester.

He realizes we are now part of a different world driven by the events surrounding the COVID 19 virus.

The grandchildren are here while their parents are working, and they are going to school remotely, that is one is in the kitchen and one is in the dining room, remotely linked to their school, teachers, and classmates.

Chester finds this interesting because they are not trying to find him, so, he’s come out to see what they’re doing.

First, he jumps up on the dining table and sits next to the 13-year-old. She is hard at work. I hear him ask if there is anything he can help with given his vast knowledge of everything.

There’s a universal greeting from 30 others, and he tries to find where all the other people are. No, it’s not hide and seek, they’re all online she tries to tell him.

No, doesn’t get it. They must be in the room somewhere. And he’s suddenly miffed that he can’t find them, and then that his assistance is not required.

All too much to cope with, he comes out to join the 10-year-old sitting at the kitchen table. She had headphones on and doesn’t hear him.

This time he sits on the floor and looks up thinking, if they can’t see him, he’s not there. She ignores him. I don’t think mathematics is his strong point.

So, he wanders into the office, planning to annoy me.

I find some headphones and put them on. He gets the message, no interruptions today, everyone is hard at work.

A sigh, then he goes to his corner and lies down on his bed, yawns and closes his eyes.

I know he’s not asleep. He’s waiting for something to happen, ready to spring into action.

Unless, of course, it’s a mouse.