Immortal Bones - A Supernatural Thriller - Detective Saussure Mysteries - Book 1 Page 3
I needed my good friend Quiet Charlie. As a former police officer, I have some contacts inside the banks, and he is one of them. With his unassuming bank clerk appearance, he had the ability to sneak into vaults and arks, sniff through hundreds of files or even state documents. Charles Anderson could check any accounts under the name of Hugh Hurlingthon. As I talked to him, I realized nobility titles are often stored in banks and, most importantly, if it wasn’t a family account, he could tell me exactly when the account had been opened.
Charlie would call me later. Now I needed to go through all the papers. Not an easy task, but if I had any chance to help that man, all the answers had to be there: in a mountain of old paper that smelled funny. Great.
I separated the documents into different piles: medical records, newspaper clippings (mostly related to the family investments. Nothing too fancy nor too detailed. I was not sure how much information I could get out of them, but if I got desperate...), information about friends (especially the Maniccionis. Maybe I could contact them), the nannies, his college experience, letters...Now, that was a good place to find something. If the old man was crazy, maybe it would show in his letters. Although, as I sifted through them, I realized they were not all from him or to him. Even better.
The piles went on and on. All around my desk. On the couch. Over the coffee table. I needed to come up with a system, or some form to edit that incredible amount of information. If Lord Hurlingthon’s situation was some sort of hoax, he sure had put a lot a work into it. I was submerged in a sea of letters when Quiet Charlie finally called back. I tripped over everything I had just organized to get to the phone.
“Hello?”
“Saussure, I have what you need.”
“Shoot.”
“You sound so tempting.”
“You woke up on the funny side of the bed today, Charlie? Hilarious.”
“What’s in it for me? What will I get in return?”
“I won’t tell your wife you’re sleeping with that petite blonde assistant from the bank. By the way, she isn’t twenty-two like she told you. She’s twenty-eight.”
Stunned silence was the answer I was going for, and the one I received. Truth can be so effective sometimes. Since Quiet Charlie was stuck in his embarrassing silence, I decided to push him a little.
“Atta boy. Now, spit it out.”
“The...” It took Quiet Charlie a moment to let the numbness go. “The nobility titles checked out, as well as the money. They’re loaded. They have five more estates like the one you described before. I’m sure they won’t have problems paying your exclusive fee.”
“Don’t get smart on me now. What else?”
“No will. I don’t know who will inherit all their properties and cash.”
“How much?”
“You weren’t taught to count so high at school.”
“So, over ten?”
“Definitely. And it’s a family account. It’s been open forever.”
“Thanks, Charlie. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. She’s got great legs, you know? Especially when you get all the way to the top.”
He was called Quiet Charlie for a reason: the quick comebacks were not his specialty. However, he could also find out anything about you if he wished to do so. It was important to keep him on his toes.
“Good boy. Go fetch a cookie now.” I hung up on Quiet Charlie without waiting for any type of answer.
The money was there. At least the old man seemed to be who he said he was. Next step.
I searched the medical pile for Dr. Pierce’s contact information and called the number next to his name. I got a receptionist who informed me Dr. Pierce was busy at the moment. She asked how she could be of help. I told her I needed to talk to Dr. Pierce about one of his patients: Lord Hugh Hurlingthon. She was silent for a beat and then asked me to wait.
“Hello?” A male voice.
“Dr. Pierce? My name is Richard Saussure. I would like to make an appointment to talk about Lord Hurlingthon.”
“Are you the new detective?”
That caught me off-guard. Had he told the doctor about me?
“Yes, I am.”
“Good. I’ll clear my agenda for tomorrow. Please be here at nine o’clock. And bring all the files.”
“Alright… Thank you.”
This doctor was a little too used to the drill for my taste. How many detectives had contacted him already? Was he part of this absurd role play, too? I was going to need a new doctor, someone I could trust.
It was past five, so I could only do one thing. I took my raincoat and the birth certificates, along with my car keys, and headed for the door. It was time to pay a visit to Truthful Willy, my favorite conman.
I had met Truthful Willy eleven years before, also while on duty. My partner and I were working on a murder case related to a money laundering operation, and we needed someone to corroborate the bills. We heard of Truthful Willy and, quite frankly, even if he didn’t walk on the right side of the street, I never found anyone better. And I’m not squeaky-clean either. Truthful Willy was the man who provided me with a solid lead to find the man who had murdered my wife, Kara. He was also the man who kept his mouth shut when I took him out. We had a bond based on inner justice.
I shut up about him.
He shut up about me.
“Marco!” I shouted when I reached his house, just outside town, in the countryside. I drove for two hours to get there.
“Polo!” Truthful Willy yelled back while stepping out of his home. “Saussure, what are you doing here? Who opened Hell’s door?”
“Hi, Willy. I need your help. Are you expensive as usual?”
“Well, I have special deals for old friends, you know that. Come inside, will you? It’s getting cold.”
I grabbed the papers and entered the conman’s humble abode.
Truthful Willy wasn’t the usual criminal. An Oxford graduate, he came from a family so old you could trace it back to kings, queens and witches. And he was in his seventies.
I once asked him why he got into the business, since he clearly didn’t need it. He said it was the thrill of the chase. Of course, I then replied, “You like being on the run?” and he responded: “No, not that kind of chase. The chase for the perfect drawing.” Truthful Willy actually had an entire philosophy on the originality of art. But then again, every criminal has one. I have one, and I am a murderer. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be able to sleep. Ah, my friend Willy: a conman with a heart.
And let it be on the record that he did not do badly. He owned a house with a bit of land in the country, and I believe he had another house on the beach. Bastard. All I had was a rundown apartment and a cracked up car. Bastard, indeed.
Truthful Willy met me with two glasses of bourbon and we sat by the fire. It was nice to be near warmth after a day of close encounters with the coldness of death.
“I’m all ears,” Truthful Willy said.
“I have these birth certificates and I need to know if they’re fake.”
“Alright. Anything else you’d want me to know?”
“Not really. I’m not sure what I’m dealing with exactly.”
I handed over the certificates and Truthful Willy inspected them for a while. He touched, looked, smelled and weighed every sheet of paper. He held them in front of a lamp and then he used the fire for the same procedure.
“Initially I would say that, if they are fake, it is an excellent job. How much certainty do you need?”
“150%”
“That’s what I thought. Come, let’s go into my studio. Oh, but first, let me tell Eli
se to make you a snack or something. This will take a while.”