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?”
“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?”
“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