Episode 48 - To break or not to break

Aside from a bleeding nose and a cut above his right eye, bleeding profusely as such wounds did, Harry thought he looked worse than he felt.

Five minutes had passed.  Was it only five minutes.  As a distraction, he had been counting the seconds.

He hadn’t cracked yet.

It was the same question, over and over, “What else did you overhear, other than time, date and a place?”

And Harry's answer was the same, without embellishment, “Nothing.”

The smaller man stood back to look at his handiwork.  The taller man had stood and watched, perhaps appreciating, or perhaps learning from his colleague.

A nod from the smaller man to the taller, and he moved to the wall and took what looked to be a hand control off the wall.   He pushed one of the buttons and Harry heard the rattling of metal chains.   He looked up.  It was chains and bindings coming down from the roof.

This session, Harry thought, was about to move to the next level.

The chains stopped just above his head.  Both men untied him from the chair and the taller put Harry’s hands in the restraints.  After checking they would not open unexpectedly, he went back to the control and the chains went up, pulling Harry's arms apart, then lifting him slightly off the floor.

Harry felt an agonizing pain as it traveled through both shoulders.

The smaller man went to the back of the room and came back with a bucket, then threw icy cold water over Harry.  Stretched out un-naturally, the water caused involuntary movement as it wrenched at his shoulder joints.

He tried to stifle a groan and failed.

The smaller man put the bucket down and looked up at him.  To Harry, the man was little more than a blur, the water mingled with the blood distorting his vision.

“Now, Harry, if you tell me the truth, this will be all over.”

A thought struck him.  Even if there was something else to tell him that might or might not be the truth, would they believe him?  Hadn’t he read somewhere that if you gave up the truth too quickly they would think he was lying just to save himself, and make the punishment worse.

It was not going to get any better.

“I told you the truth, all I heard was a time and a place.”

He shrugged.  “Don’t say you weren't given every opportunity.”

As Harry thought.  Truth or not, it was not going to stop.

Three punches later, the first two knocking the wind out of him and making it impossible to breathe, on the third Harry heard the cracking of a rib.

So had his assailant, bringing an evil smile to his face.

This was not going to end well.

© Charles Heath 2016- 2019

Episode 47 - A real interrogation

Harry was expecting to see Brightwater.  It made sense that he would kill off the Jones brothers, take the money and Al’s wife with him, and clean up the mess so there were no witnesses.

Or perhaps it might be Edwina, the mystery woman.

His mind was wandering, a result of more drugs they’d given him before they left the cell.  A truth drug perhaps?

It was a man he had not met before, and one, he had to admit, who looked rather menacing.  He stopped about ten feet in front of Harry, and stood at ease, hands in pockets.  Except for his expression, he could be any other sales executive in a five thousand dollar Italian suit.  He was mid to late forties, no grey hair, so perhaps not a salesman but a 'businessman'.

Two men had accompanied him into the room and while one held Harry, the other re-bound his hands and legs to the chair so it was more difficult, if not impossible, to move.  Job done, they left the room.

“You’ve been a hard man to find, Mr Walthenson.”

Harry considered remaining silent, but there was that little devil in him, the one that frequently got him into trouble.  “You’ve just been looking in all the wrong places.”

“Nor did anyone realise you would be listening into a conversation you shouldn’t.  And, just think, this would not be happening if you had not turned up at the location.”

Yes, Harry agreed, that was true, but he couldn’t turn back the clock.  No use pointing out the obvious.  Play dumb, he thought, and see how that goes.

Just the make sure we’re on the same page, when was this alleged conversation I was supposed to have overheard?”

“The other day, Central Station.”

Something told him to deny he was there might be detrimental to his health.

“Well, I was in Central Station, waiting for my uncle.  I was also on the phone to a client.  I can’t see how listening to anything but the person on the end of the phone was possible, especially in a very noisy place like that.”

The man in front of him shifted his weight from one foot to the other, an old sports injury perhaps.  He looked the athletic type.

“Normally I'd believe you, but how do you explain turning up at the address.”

Now that, he thought, was going to be impossible to deny, or equally explain.  Time to create a diversion.  “Who are you?”

“Who I am is irrelevant.  Let’s just say I work for a man who works for a man who works for a man who’s not very happy with you.”

Convoluted and confusing.

“A friend of a friend or a friend, say?”

He smiled, like the cat that swallowed the canary.  “I believe you’re a private detective?”

“New, first year, but I have a case.  I’m supposed to be working on it, not sitting here chatting to disgruntled friends of friends of friends.  Can we wrap this up?  I don’t know anything about your business.  Just an address.  I was curious.”

OK, what happened to playing dumb?  I just admitted being there.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Mr Walthenson.  It might yet be the death of you.  And, sadly, if you know nothing as you say you do,  I need to be sure you’re telling the truth.”

The same two men, who’d previously tied him up, came back through the far door, one carrying a small case.

“My colleagues here will ask you a few questions.  I suggest you tell them the truth.  If you don’t, I cannot assure you will not walk out of here.”

“I’ve told you the truth,” Harry said, with more than a little fear in his tone.

“I’m sure you think you have, but, like I said, we have to be sure Mr Walthenson.”

He turned and left the room.  The two men took off their jackets and the taller of the two opened the case.

The smaller of the two pulled gloves on his hands all the while looking at Harry with a grin.  When he was finished he said, “Now, Harry, let’s begin.”

Two punches, not very hard, a left and a right.

This was Harry’s first interrogation.  Try not, he told himself, to break in the first few minutes.

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

Episode 46 - Fade to White

Harry woke to a dry mouth and a thumping headache.

He was not in his office but lying on the bare cold and damp concrete floor in what was either a garage, outhouse, or basement.  It was very cold, and he was very thirsty.  Worse still, when he moved he realized his hands and feet were tied.

Harry had gone full circle, a thought that crossed his mind as he dragged himself off the floor and into a sitting position up against the nearest wall.  It was not comfortable, or was it he had been kicked a few times while on the ground?

It was not only his head that was hurting.

Harry realized now he had made a mistake.

A big mistake.

His mother once told him never to eavesdrop.  He knew it was wrong, but he did it anyway.   Listening to a one-sided conversation he was not meant to hear.

A time and a place.

Now, sitting in that uncomfortable position trying to figure out exactly where it was hurting, a dim glow from a low wattage globe hanging over his head, and contrary to the fact the room was cold, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry's fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied,, it made it impossible to clear it away.  The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament.  He cursed then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence, but it was to no avail.

But why had it been so significant to the people who had taken him?  When he’d checked the address before the date in question, he found it to be an empty block of land.  What was significant about that address?

He had looked it up on the internet, but aside from the fact it was in an old part of the docks not used anymore, it held no other claim to fame.  There was a small piece about it being part of a large scale improvement of the area, but that had been languishing for years over a dispute over who actually owned the land.

Nothing out of the ordinary about that, since it was reputed to be worth a lot of money.

But, obviously there was something, and maybe he would soon find out.

He heard the sound of a metal door opening then close with a thud, the sound of muted voices, then silence.

From what he could remember, during a very brief period of lucidity as they were taking him from the room to be interrogated, he was in a wing of rooms that looked like prison cells but without the guards.

They’d drugged him, of course, the reason why he had the dry mouth and thumping headache, mainly to keep him from recognizing anything, or try to escape.

He waited.

Surely whoever it was would come and see him.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen.  Was this another form of torture?

It was twenty or maybe more minutes before he heard footsteps approaching.

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

Episode 2a - Life was so much simpler then

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of bankers, dry, dusty men who had been in the business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, 'Why don't you start a bank?" when asked what he could do for the great man.

He didn't think Washington meant it literally, but the Walthensen's then as now was not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry himself.

He was, His father once said, the exception to every rule.  Harry guessed he was talking about the fact Harry wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty banker.  Just the clothes were enough to turn him off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There's a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you're interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, 'Harold Walthenson, Private Detective'.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn't see his business plan as something sinister.  Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She'd seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, Harry didn't smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no 'real' cases, nothing but missing cats, and other miscellaneous items.  What he really wanted was a missing person.  Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor.  The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him.  No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry's end was going to be.

© Charles Heath 2016-2018

Episode 1a - The wrong place, the wrong time

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he came to the conclusion that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn't important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what?  Doug the 'destroyer', Doug the 'dangerous', Doug the 'deadly'; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he'd made a mistake.  A very big. and costly, mistake.  Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn't help himself and instead of minding his own business, listened to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place.  The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and the nature of the conversation cryptic, but there was definitely criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether or not he should go.  Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime.  Instead, he had willing gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry's fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it.  The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament.  He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence.  It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It had obviously been the right place and the right time.

But he was definitely in the wrong place, at the wrong time.


© Charles Heath 2016-2019

We now go back to what was hinted at in episodes one and two

In episodes one and two we find a Harry who is lamenting the days when problems seemed so far away, and chasing after lost cats and dogs was not so bad after all.

Why?

Well in episode three our intrepid private investigator overhears a one-sided conversation while waiting for his 'absent-minded' uncle.

It was a conversation he was not meant to hear and probably wouldn't have if his uncle had been more prompt.

Alas, he did.

And it was to have catastrophic consequences and not only for him

Of course, it has nothing to do with the Jones' cases, but it's another event in the learning curve of our rookie private investigator and will lead him in a director he never thought he would take.

But, that's in the future.

All you need to know now is that things are about to get very, very difficult for Harry.

After reading this, then read Episodes 1a and 2a, as the prologue to what is about to happen over the next few episodes, starting at 46.


And, just as an aside,

I'm not sure, in the final draft of the novel that will come out of all these episodes, that the original two episodes may end up following episode 45, and remove the concept of a prologue for the story.

Episode 45 - Fade to Black

The sofa was lumpy for some reason, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, or let himself succumb to the sleep he needed, it wouldn’t come.

Faces kept appearing before him.

Jennifer Jones, the woman he met at Central Station, and the fact he was asked to find out if her husband Al was cheating on her with, quite aptly described, a red-headed floozy.  He was not so sure about the label ‘floozy’ though.  Now she wanted to find him, dead or alive.

The faces of Al Jones and Miriam Waters appeared next, at the bar, and he already knew what his wife has requested.  Harry’s not the first PI she had hired, so where were the others and what happened to their investigations?

That was a question he would ask Miriam Waters next time.

Next in the sea of faces was Joseph Jones, shot while out having a morning run.  He hired Harry to find out if his wife, the woman he now knew as Edwina Jones, aka Edwina Morrison, was having an affair with Al.  On the face of it, it seemed utterly ludicrous given her involvement with Brightwater

So that was also a question that technically still didn’t have a definitive answer.

Then there was the woman in red, not Cathy Jones, but Angela Morrison.  She was guilty of something, Harry just couldn’t put his finger on it.  But, now he knew Cathy Jones, daughter of Al, was dead, Angela Morrison was a material witness in that murder if it was a murder, and that Al might or might not be dead, and Angela mysteriously appeared to help him.  Why was she there and was she responsible for Al’s apparent death?  She certainly had the motive and the opportunity.  And maybe even the weapon.

Yes, the weapon.  He had to get back to Outtel and retrieve it.  Sykes could perform some ballistics on it and see if it was the weapon that killed Al, of course, it Al was dead and they found the body.

Angela was also responsible for trying to shake down Al, and Miriam, for the murder of Cathy, and Miriam had given her money.  From where?  Outtel?  Another question that needed an answer.

Things to do:

Find Miriam, presumably at Outtel and ask more questions.  Also, ask Miriam about the previous private investigators

Find Edwina Jones, and talk to her about both Al and Joseph, and her daughter

Go back to Outtel and get the gun to take to Sykes.

There were more tasks on the list but he was too tired to think about what they were.  It would come to him in the morning.

Harry closed his eyes.  For a moment he saw the woman in red.

Trouble, she was nothing but trouble.

He felt a sharp stab of pain in his upper leg.

Was it his imagination or was there someone in the room with him?

No, it was his imagination. It was his last thought as everything went black, and he lost consciousness.

© Charles Heath 2016