Manic Monday (The Jake Monday Chronicles #1)

by Robert Michael

  Part media expert, part security advisor, and mostly a hard-nosed manager in a soft-seeming British exterior, Clarence was his most trusted employee. Invaluable. Calculating.

  A small but valid concern that nagged Eilif was the possibility that Clarence would someday realize his value and use it as leverage. It was fine to surround oneself with qualified and capable people. It was also wise to be as paranoid as possible about those people and arrange plans of succession in the case that they must be removed. Despite his trustworthiness, Eilif wondered if perhaps it would be best to offer the man more compensation as sort of a delaying action for what Eilif considered the inevitable. He put it at the back of his mind.

  He had more pressing concerns at the moment.

  He had never seen the man before in his life. His wounds did not make Eilif flinch. But, his nose was atrocious. He had to look away. It made him a little ill at his stomach. Eilif had that problem with everyone he found to be distastefully ugly.

  Eilif was positive that he would be rid of these people in a short while. He was convinced that Clarence could handle the situation. He really just wanted to go upstairs to his secondary suite to change into a robe and some warm slippers, have some brandy and read the briefs his team had prepared for him on the shipment coming next week from South Africa.

  He resented standing there in his formal living room watching total strangers mangle his carpet.

  That was when she walked in. He could tell immediately that she was trouble.

  Detective Charlotte Bellevue was all professional. From her sensible blazer to the thin line of her mouth turned into a frown of distaste and judgment, Eilif could tell that things had just gotten worse.

  "Mr. Nicolaisen, I am Detective Bellevue of the Violent Crimes Unit here in Ventura.” Her blonde hair was cut just below the nape of her neck. She looked fit, intelligent, and mad.

  "How can I help you, Sergeant?"

  "Detective is fine, sir.” No nonsense. No small talk.

  Does she not truly know who I AM, he wondered, appalled at the disdain with which she spoke to him.

  "Sorry.” He was totally flabbergasted. He was also offended slightly that the department would not send their brass in a situation like this.

  "Mr. Nicolaisen, I will need you to join us down at the VPD to answer some questions."

  Eilif's eyebrows rose in surprise.

  "I was not aware that I was a suspect," he said as coolly as he could manage. He could sense things spiraling out of control and he could not imagine why.

  "The investigation is just underway. Nothing has been determined as to the suspect. However, some facts have arisen that we need to corroborate.” She seemed impassive, distant. Her eyes lied about the smile on her lips.

  "Facts." He meant it as a question.

  "Yes. Facts concerning your involvement with the Vasquez Cartel in Mexico. This man," she indicated the man with a sweep of a hand, "was connected to the cartel."

  "I see.” But, he did not. He was confused. "Will I need a lawyer, Miss…I am sorry, I forgot your name."

  "Detective Bellevue. And, yes, a lawyer will be appropriate."

  He looked down at his designer boots. His despair was deep. Not because he knew exactly why he felt a level of doom he had never experienced before, but precisely because he had no earthly idea what the future was going to hold. He suddenly felt that some cosmic rug had been pulled out from under the soles of his boots.

  He could not help himself. The detective seemed supremely helpful, but a little voice in his head told him not to trust her. Not for one minute.

  "Am I in trouble, officer?"

  She lifted an eyebrow and shrugged almost imperceptibly.

  "I suppose you might be, Mr. Nicholaisen. And I am a detective, not an officer."

  Eilif wanted Clarence to show up and get him out of this situation.

  "What are my options?"

  She actually smirked.

  "You can come willingly or I can come back with a warrant and we can do it the messy way. It is up to you, Mr. Nicholaisen. The difference is that if you go with me now, the trucks out there will only be able to assume you are coming with me to answer questions concerning the crime that took place in your residence here. If I get a warrant, the reason for your visit to the department will be a little more public. You understand the difference, don't you, Mr. Nicholaisen?"

  Eilif had noted the network trucks with their bristling antennae, ugly satellite dishes and loud generators. They were an eyesore, and the reporters annoying. He had been instructed by Clarence to say "no comment" to everything and let him handle it. That was where Clarence was now.

  "I will need to gather some things first," he said. He had to stall.

  "I appreciate that, but you will only need your identification, your passport, and your lawyer. That will suffice. After all, Mr. Nicholaisen, this only questioning. We are not pressing charges at this time."

  "Well, that is a relief. I am innocent."

  "Alright. Now, if you will come with me, please. I have a car parked out the side door to minimize your exposure."

  "That was thoughtful. Thank you.” He knew she was placating him. He hoped to win her over by being grateful and compliant. Clarence would surely recommend those strategies if he were here.

  Eilif followed the detective out into the bright California sunshine.

  It was the last time he would see the daylight for almost a week. After that, the only times he would glimpse the sun was between ducking into his car behind his lawyer, surrounded by police escort, reporters shouting questions, and the flashing of bulbs.