Episode 61 – Like a breath of fresh air

“How did you find me?”

A logical question since very few people knew where he was, let alone the fact he was still alive.

“I’m an investigator, and a good one.  When I called you and your phone told me it was disconnected from its service provider I guess something awful might have happened.  I thought about going to the police, but then I thought, why bother them when I could look for you myself.  It took a while, and I have to admit I was getting more and more apprehensive.  But, I finally tracked you down, and you have to tell me all about it.”

“I don’t know much myself.”

“Then what you do, save it.  Lunch is on me, something a lot better than hospital food.  I’m glad you’re not dead, Harry.  See you soon.”

Leaving him with a silent phone and a feeling that Felicity may have been more upset about his going missing than anyone else.

And perhaps his feelings towards her might be more than what he thought they might be.

It was not the fact Felicity had breezed into his room like a breath of fresh air, followed by rays of sunshine, nor the fact of just seeing her had stirred something within him, it was the kiss.  A light peck on the lips, not a cheek or forehead, not like one a sister or mother might.

Had he missed a nuance in their relationship before this moment, or had the near-death experience removed any memories of what they had.

Did they have something?

She brought a picnic basket with her, pulled the table over to the bed, and one of the chairs so that she could sit beside him.  The basket stayed on the table.

It would be the story for the food.

She took his hand in hers, leaned over and said, “Now spill.”

He told her the story, as much as he could remember of it, being in the office, everything going black, waking up in a small room with some very nasty men who wanted answers to questions he knew nothing about.

And, the more he pleaded ignorance, the harder they went at it.

“Torture, hey?”

When he thought about it, she was right.  Whether he’d endured it and won was a moot point because, in the end, he was to be killed.  Only a miracle had same him from it happening.

“I have no idea, but it was pretty intense, right up till they got the order to dispose of the body.”

He could see she was intrigued.  Nothing like that had happened to her, but when she said it, he told her that it was not something she would want to wish upon herself.

“So, what were they asking about?”

“A warehouse down at the docks, nothing special.  I had a look and there was nothing there.”

“Perhaps I should take a look.  Fresh eyes and all that?”

“You should not be so eager to get in on that case.  I’m not sure I want to.  The people we’re dealing with here are very, very nasty people who would not hesitate to kill an innocent person.  I’m leaving this one with Sykes.”

“You’re joking.  He doesn’t look like he could fight his way out of a wet paper bag.”

“Appearances can be deceptive.”

She rolled her eyes, then laid out the food.  Champagne, ham, cheese, and more champagne.  I managed to have one glass before the nurse came and admonished the both of us.

Before she left she stood beside the bed, a frown on her face, or perhaps she was trying to be serious.

“I’m going to look into this matter.  I seriously doubt the police will give it the time or the respect it deserves.”

“With all due respect, I don’t think you should.  Look what happened to me.”

“Granted it may have its dangers but they are not going to get away with what they did to you.”

A thought came to me, one that would solve my immediate problem, and make sure Corinne didn’t get any ideas.

“I’d rather you took over the Jones’ cases for the time being and talk to Sykes about progress.  And perhaps take care of another problem I seemed to have just acquired.  Keeping my little sister out of trouble.  She means well, but she can get herself into trouble very quickly.”

“So, you have a sister?”

“Corinne.  We get along, but not so well since I left home.  I suspect she’s at a loose end and is going to badger Sykes.  If anything, can you go save her from herself?   Oh, and can you call Ellen, my personal assistant, and let her know I'm still alive, she'll be wondering what happened to me.”

"You have a personal assistant, do you?  That sounds very interesting."

"The daughter of a friend of my mothers who doesn't have anything better to do.  You'll like her when you see her.  And, if you need to know anything about the Jones cases, it’ll be in my notes at the office."

“That replica set out of the Maltese Falcon?”

“You’ve been there?”

“Told you, I went looking for you.  Uncovered all your dirty secrets.  I’ll look into both, and talk to you on the phone.  Soon.”

Just before she left she gave him another kiss, this time it lingered, allowing the scent of her perfume to wash over him.

There was, he thought after she had disappeared up the passage, definitely something between them.  He just couldn’t remember what.

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

Episode 60 – A mysterious package

In all the confusion of visitors and trying to self assess his situation, Harry had missed something.

It had nothing to do with the case, or maybe it did, but what it meant could either be a good thing or a very, very bad one.

He was looking at a brown envelope sitting on his bedside table.  It hadn’t been there before he had nodded off to sleep, and had magically, if that was the word, appeared while he was asleep.

The nurses who had come in first thing to check everything, and give him some pain killers had no idea where it came from or who had brought it, but seemed totally unconcerned about it.

Perhaps he should be equally calm about it, but a single what-if was swirling around in the back of his mind.  What if it was from his kidnappers?  How could they have found him?  Would they finish the job?

Or was it something else.

The envelope had something thin an narrow in it, so it wasn’t just a letter, perhaps written in cut-out letters, a laborious attempt at delivering an anonymous threat.

He lay there for at least a half hour, staring at it, his mind creating scenario after scenario about what it meant, why it was there.

Perhaps there was a more simple explanation.

Perhaps if he opened it, and looked inside.

He reached up and pulled it down onto the bed.  It was relatively heavy, and it felt like a mobile phone, and, when he opened the envelope, it was just that, a phone and nothing else.

He could virtually see his blood pressure rising on the monitor.

He pushed the 'on' button and the screen lit up, displaying a message, ‘press the phone key and call me’

Who was me?

It took another ten minutes before curiosity defeated wariness.

The number rang for a minute, then another before it was answered by a familiar female voice.

“You took your time.”

Felicity.

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

Episode 59 - The surprise visitor

Corinne had visited very few hospitals in her life, mainly because her father was a doctor and the few she had, when very young, had put her off ever going, even if she needed medical attention herself.

The one Harry had ended up in was big, bustling, and full of sick people.

It was also one her father would not go near, or so he had said once, one of the few conversations she had listened to over the table.  He had opinions about everything, particularly the medical profession, and how it never seemed to measure up to his standards/

Or, she realized one day, after Harry had left or was it banished, that it was Harry he was referring to.  She had tried to talk to her mother about it, but her mother was too wrapped up in her role as charity queen, or some such, she could never understand her compulsion to be a leader in everything rather than a drone.

That was what Corinne was, she thought to herself, a drone.

She didn’t want to be a doctor, she had tried her hand at nursing and hated it, she had tried being a charity queen, and couldn’t stand half the people she had to be nice to, and was now languishing in her father’s practice as a records clerk.

Of everyone in that house, she was the only one who ‘understood’ Harry.

“So,” she said, sitting in the seat beside the bed, “I leave you to your own devices for a few months and this is what happens to you?”

Harry had been surprised to see her, no, make that shocked.

And then immediately cursed Sykes under his breath.  He had gone and told his mother, and no doubt Corinne had also been there.

“Sykes tell you?”

“You mean the grubby policeman?”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.  I’m surprised he didn’t shoot you.”

“I think he was going to but changed his mind.”

“It would only be the paperwork that stopped him then.”

Banter.  Something she missed at home, something her mother and father detested, at the dinner table, or anywhere else.

“What happened?”

“I got hit by a bus.  You should see the bus.”

“Harry?”

“Ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.  It’s none of your business, especially when you’ll go back and tell everyone and cause un-necessary anguish.”

“If I promise not to?”

“This from the girl who always crossed her fingers behind her back when pretending to make a promise?”

“If I put my hands on the bed where you can see them?”

He gave her a long hard look, trying to figure out what her angle was.  She always had an angle.  Getting out of that house and away from the schemes and lies of his fellow siblings was the best thing he ever did.

“Why?  What’s in it for you?”

“I’m looking for something better than being a filing clerk for the rest of my life.  It seems your life has progressed remarkably from finding lost cats, and given what’s happened to you, I think you need someone to watch your back.”

She would be the one looking to stab him in the back, not watch it.

“No.”

“I’m going bonkers in that surgery.”

“No.”

“If I promise to do everything you say?”

He snorted.  That would never happen.  “No.”

“What would it take?”

“What do you mean?”

“What would it take to prove I’m willing to be your right-hand woman?”

“Nothing.  Never.  This is no job for someone like you.  You’re far more suited to working with mother and her charities.”

And the fact that she had never stuck to one job for longer than a few days before the old habits returned, late nights partying with her indolent friends, hangovers the following morning, and any excuse not get a job, or having a job.  Records Clerk in her father’s practice was the best she was going to have.  At least their father was not going to dismiss her.

“Then give me an impossible task, and if I can’t complete it then I’ll abide by no.”

It was a game to her, Harry thought.  She didn’t understand it could be life and death, and that she could finish up like him, now, in hospital, lucky to be alive.

But there was an impossible task.

He smiled.

“You’ve got one, haven’t you?” she said.

“Yes.  Get all the case notes for the Jones’ murders off Detective Sykes, the so-called grubby policeman, and bring them to me here.  I’ll give you 48 hours.”

Her smile turned into a frown.  She’d asked for an impossible job, and he knew that Sykes would not share anything with him let alone give anything to her, particularly after what she had said about him.

She stood.  “OK.  Challenge accepted.  I hope he knows what you’re talking about.  Jones, you say?

“Two of them.  Murdered.  Case notes.  Go.”

 © Charles Heath 2016-2019

Harry's sister, Corinne - Trouble with a capital T

I'm not sure what prompted me to come up with the idea of giving Harry a sister, but it was borne out of a need perhaps to counter Angela having any influence over Harry if that's at all possible.

Whilst Harry may have these strange notions about being a Private Detective and the desire to help damsels in distress, thoughts provoked by his favorite book, The Maltese Falcon, and his efforts to bring them into real life, it seems his wish is almost granted on two fronts.

Jennifer Jones, the sophisticated wife of Al, and Angela Morrison, the enigmatic daughter of Edwina Jones, or now Morrison, having reverted back to her former name.

Angela, of course, is an unknown quantity who appears at a defining moment, seemingly to rescue him rather than the other way around, and uses this influence and rapport to guide Harry's investigation in a direction other than where he might want it to lead, having been beguiled by her to some extent.

That needed a foil, and in the original draft, Corinne had joined the cast for just that reason.

She is a rather interesting character in her own right, and battling parents with rather anachronistic beliefs, much the same as Harry had, but for different reasons. 

Harry left because he didn't want to follow in the family's footsteps and tradition and was cut off and cast out.  Since he didn't care about his so-called inheritance, it didn't bother him.  It's the reason why Sykes is rather astonished at his parent's cold-hearted attitude towards their son.

Corinne, as the only daughter, was seen by her parents as a means to consolidate the family's wealth and power, a tradition that everyone but them knew belonged in the 18th century, not in modern times.  She has no desire to marry for convenience, nor after spending so much time at University, did she want to waste that education on being a records clerk, or being a dutiful wife.

Cautiously, of course, because there is that small thing called inheritance, and she doesn't want to make her parents outright enemies just as Harry did, so everything she is about to do has to be kept on the down low.

But how long she stays in this latest draft remains to be seen.  She wants to become Harry's partner in the detecting business, where Harry would much prefer Felicity, but all that might be moot when Corinne makes the same mistake Harry made that led to him being left for dead in a wasteland.

Once again, even in the third draft of the story, I'm still flying by the seat of my pants, and almost anything can happen between now and the next few revised episodes. 

There's always a story behind the story

To be honest I didn't think I'd get this far.

Harry Walthenson was first thought of in the late 1990s when I was starting to dabble in serious writing.

I was telling one of the receptionists at the place where I worked I could write, and she asked me for an example of my work.

I came up with the idea of a serial, writing several paragraphs and leaving it with a sort of cliff hanger.

Each was about 500 to 1000 words long.

After abolishing it anonymously on the office email system, a new episode each morning.  It was quite amusing that after a few weeks there was a betting pool about who it was writing it.

It came to an abrupt end 52 episodes later when it was inadvertently sent to the GM and he ordered it stopped.

To this day no one knows it was me, but it received quite a few 'accolades'.

The manuscript with a dozen more episodes found it's way to the bottom of a drawer until about a year or so ago when I decided to resurrect it, with its own blog.

With the original version, I had sort of written myself into a corner. 

This, the second version, had given me more scope and freedom to write longer episodes and make some changes to the plot.

In this, the third, I've begun to see the plotline flaws and omissions and going through correcting them, as well as adding a few new characters.

It is the way of things when you write by the seat of your pants.

I will be bringing this the third draft to its conclusion soon, and then there will no doubt, after another short break, be another rewrite, and I'm thinking of writing some of it from different perspectives, not just from Harry's.

But, the story is still very much in the evolutionary stages, and we shall see what happens!

Episode 58 – Sister, you have a sister?

Sykes was of a mind to turn around, pound on the door, and when Harry’s mother finally confronted him, he would give her a piece of his mind.

How could she not be interested in what had happened to her son, or go visit him?  She had not even asked where he was.

He shook his head and walked slowly towards the elevator lobby.  When he got there, a girl was waiting to go down.  He barely glanced at her, but he could feel her giving him a long studied look.

“You don’t look like a policeman,” she said, just as the elevator pinged for their floor.

Seconds later the door opened and she stepped in.  He followed.  She pressed the button for the ground floor, and then the doors closed.

In that time he gave her a second look.  There was no doubting she was a relative of Harry’s.

“How should a policeman look?”

“Not shabby.  Do you live in your suit?”

OK, so he hadn’t had it pressed in a day or so, and had just worked a forty-eight-hour shift, but she was bordering on rude.  The trappings of the so-called privileged?

She had to be a Walthenson, taking a leaf right out of the mother’s playbook.

“Are you Corinne Walthenson?”

“What gave me away?”

“Your snotty attitude.”  OK, he could have handled that better, but she was getting under his skin.

She looked more amused than annoyed at his inference.  “He tell you that?  It’s what he calls me when he’s angry, ‘a snotty little brat’.”

“No.  Until he told me in the hospital he had a family I thought he was an orphan, and, judging, by the way you lot treat him, he’d be better off without one.”

The elevator stopped.  They’d reached the ground floor.  He intended to say more, but he was annoyed enough, and it wouldn’t do to lose his temper with these people.  He still had a few outstanding complaints about his behavior sitting in the Chiefs in tray.

She stepped out after him.  “Which hospital is he in?”

Sykes stopped and turned around.  “Do you really care?”

“As much as you might want to believe we don’t, we do.  Especially me.  He is my brother, and I’m concerned for him.”

He scribbled the name of the hospital on a sheet of his note pad and ripped it out with anger.  As he handed it to her, he hoped she ended up with a paper cut.

“Thanks.”

He glared at her, then the doorman as he opened the door for him, and left the building without looking back.

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

Episode 57 - A visit with a twist

Sykes stood out the front of the apartment after running the gauntlet of the doorman who needed his badge and some stern words to let him pass.  But, not before the doorman called up to let them know he was coming.

Time enough for them to put on their game faces, or just disappear.

He sighed, lamenting the fact rich people like the Walthensen’s played by their own rules.

He pushed the button next to the door and heard a muffled sound coming from within the apartment, and a moment later the door was opened by a maid.

“May I help you, sir?”  Foreign, but not from Mexico.  Perhaps European?

“My name is Detective Sykes.”

“Yes.  You are expected.  Please come in.”

He walked past her and noticed she looked out the door, perhaps to see if he had left a squad of uniformed policemen in the passage to cut off any escape.

He waited till she rejoined him and then led the way to a small room which he assumed was an office.  It was more suited to a doctor, so he wondered if it was Harry’s fathers.  He was expecting to see the doctor, but instead, it was Harry’s mother.

He could see instantly where Harry’s looks came from.

She was sitting behind the desk, businesslike.  She had motioned to a chair for him to sit, but he didn’t feel comfortable sitting.  Not in this room and not with her in it.

“You have called about my son, Harold?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a problem?”

“He’s in hospital, the result of being assaulted by some unknown assailants.”

“A rather vague description of events, don’t you think?  Is he alright?”

“Yes.  The doctors believe he will make a full recovery.”

“Good.”  She stood.  “Thank you, Detective?”

“Sykes.”

“Detective Sykes.  I’m sure the rest of the family will be glad to hear he is well.  Now, if there is nothing else?”

The maid was hovering at the door waiting to escort him out.

There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask her, at least one of which, ‘Aren’t you the least bit concerned?’, but didn’t.

He could see what Harry meant.

© Charles Heath 2016-2019