The Midnight Eye Files Collection

by William Meikle

  He was telling the truth, I saw it in his eyes, and this time when he ushered me towards the door I let him do it.

  “So, you’re not going to sell me anything, then?” I said.

  “I don’t think that would be worthwhile. I doubt if you could afford anything in the shop. I doubt if you could even afford my shoes.”

  “They wouldn’t fit me “ I said, but he’d already forced me out the door and shut it behind me.

  I had a similar response at four more dealers. If any of them had been offered the amulet, they were too good at lying for me to tell. At least I had spread the word that someone was looking for it, but I felt in a foul mood by the time I turned up at Durban and Lamberts.

  Theirs was a new shop, in the regenerated Merchant City to the east of the town center. When I was a student, this area had been a soot-blackened warren of crumbling tenements and public houses that only little old men with lost faces ever frequented. Now it was young, bright and thrusting, full of wine bars, Italian clothes shops and places that would sell you a sandwich if you could afford to take out a mortgage. I preferred it when it had a soul.

  I’d heard of the antique dealers, of course. It was the store where rock stars and footballers bought the things that defined their lifestyle. They had scored a coup last year when they shipped a Byzantine necklace over to California for the Oscars, and got the latest skinny starlet to wear it. I had never been inside this one, either. It wasn’t that it was too rich for me—I just couldn’t see myself ever wanting anything that they sold.

  It was like walking into a 1970’s sci-fi movie. I almost wished I’d brought some sunglasses. The walls were white, a brilliant, scintillating white. There were maybe ten items on display, all on cubical white pedestals, all encased in a pale blue glass that looked like it cost more than the antiques themselves. I stopped and looked at the first one.

  It had once been a piece of crystal, almost a foot cubed, glowing in silver, purple and black. An artist, someone with exceptional talent, had carved it into a cathedral, one with its roof open to the skies. Tiny robed figures worshipped around an altar. There was a figure above the altar, something that didn’t look quite human, but as I bent for a closer look, I felt a hand on my shoulder pulling me back.

  “Fourteenth century, Italian “ a deep voice said, “And way too expensive for you.”

  I turned to face the voice, and had to look up. He was at least six-four, and big with it. There were wrinkles around his eyes, and he was nearly bald. I had him pegged for at least sixty but his eyes were pale blue and clear, and his grip was strong on my collarbone.

  He wore a thick gray tweed suit, the kind I always associated with old colonels, heavy brogues, monocles and gun dogs. His shirt was white and pressed to a smooth sheen, and the pin in the center of his Italian silk tie held a stone as big as my little fingernail. I caught a whiff of expensive cologne as I peeled his hand away, having to fight to do it. I knew who this was; I’d seen him on television at the Oscar ceremony.

  “Mr. Durban, I presume “ I said.

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I’ve recently won the lottery “ I said, “And....”

  He stopped me and raised his hand.

  “Save me the music hall act “ he said. “Your name is Derek Adams, and you’re looking for the Johnson Amulet.”

  Now it was my turn to smile. I nearly managed it.

  “You know me?” I said.

  “No, but we antique dealers are a close-knit bunch. When somebody does the rounds accusing us of illegal activities, we tend to let each other know.”

  “Let me guess. Edward Macey?”

  “A credit to his father “ Durban said.

  “His shoes are too small for him “ I said, but it didn’t raise a smile.

  “When you asked him about the amulet, he remembered me. I have somewhat of a passion for the piece “ Durban said. “It’s been my life-long desire to hold it in my hand.”

  “And do you have it?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, no. It was very remiss of Mr. Dunlop to lose it, though, and I’m sure he’ll pay dearly to see it again.”

  He had the smile back again, like a cat playing with a mouse. This man was guilty of something, and it looked like he didn’t care that I knew.

  “So you know where it is?” I asked.

  “That’s for me to know “ he said. “Now I must ask you to leave. There is nothing in this shop that someone in your profession can afford.”

  “So your circle of dealers keep telling me “ I said. “But remember that I’m working for Arthur Dunlop. I may have more money than you think.”

  “I’d make the most of it “ Dunbar said. “I’ve heard that Mr. Dunlop is very ill. You might find that your fee won’t be forthcoming for very much longer.”

  I nearly told him that my client was actually Mrs. Dunlop, but I decided never to tell this man more than I had to.

  “So you have no knowledge at all of the fate of the amulet?”

  “None that I would tell you “ he said.

  So we were even then—neither telling the other anything. There was nothing more to be gained here—not at the moment.

  On my way out I nodded towards the crystal cathedral

  “It’s worth more than a grand, then?” I said.

  “More than a million “ he replied.

  I nodded, and made sure I nudged the blue glass heavily in passing. I enjoyed the sudden look of panic in his eyes as I left the building.

  For a time I loitered outside the shop and made a show of taking my time in lighting a cigarette. Durban stood at the window and watched me, a sardonic grin on his face.

  He was playing with me. I knew it, and he knew it. I didn’t know whether he had the amulet or not, but he certainly knew more about it than anybody else I’d talked to, including the fact it was missing. I walked across the road, took a window seat in the cafe opposite and settled in for a wait.

  Durban still stood by the window, but he was no longer looking at me. I saw him take a call on his cellular phone, then he moved away. But unless there was an entrance I didn’t know about, he was still in the shop.

  I’d already resolved that I would follow Durban when he left. I just hoped he didn’t work too late.

  A waitress arrived at my shoulder.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “What happened to ‘Can I help you sir?’” I said.

  She looked at me as if I was stupid.

  “What?” she said.

  She moved her gum from side to side. I noticed that she was actually a very pretty girl. Her long black hair hung heavy on her shoulders, her eyes were deep, chocolate brown, and a nametag over her left breast said ‘Eileen’.

  “What’s the other one called “ I said.

  “Right tit “ she said. “Which describes you perfectly.”

  I liked her.

  “I’ll have a coffee. Long, black, and none of that latte nonsense.”

  She actually smiled, and her face lit up. She dropped me a mock salute and moved away.

  I smoked another cigarette and watched the world pass outside. It was nearly lunchtime, and office workers were beginning to fill the streets. I almost envied them their sharp suits, their well-organized days. But then I thought of spending my time in a hermetically sealed office, working in a box among tens of other boxes. No, thank you. My life was disorganized, and I liked it that way. Besides, I got to have chance encounters like the one I was about to have with Eileen.

  She brought me my coffee, and I noted appreciatively that it was filled to the top of the mug, and piping hot.

  I thanked her, she nodded, and was about to turn away when I asked her to stay.

  “Do you know the owners of the shop across the road?” I asked.

  “What, Mr. Durban?” she said.

  “Aye. Any gossip? Any juicy stuff I should know? Does he like wee boys? Or does he eat babies.”

  She giggled, and I saw the teen
ager she had been—and not that long ago.

  “What are you? A reporter? And is there any money in it for me?”

  “I don’t have an expense account, if that’s what you mean. And I can’t get you your picture in the papers.”

  “Cop?” she asked.

  “Private dick “ I said in my best Bogart voice, and I got another laugh.

  “Come on. Nobody does that. It’s just old American television shows, isn’t it? What’s the matter—did you see too much of The Rockford Files when you were younger?”

  “No, really “ I said, and showed her the license in my wallet. She wasn’t to know that wee Jimmy had got it for me for a tenner. “And I lied a wee bit about the expenses—I might stretch to twenty quid if you know anything I can use.”

  “I don’t know anything. Well, not really “ she said. A voice called her name across the room and she turned away again. I caught her by the arm.

  “When do you get a break?” I said, and gave her my best smile.

  She returned it, but there was a hint of uncertainty there.

  “Three o’clock “ she said. “I get fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll be here “ I said. “I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  I left the coffee to cool slightly and went to the pay phone, making sure I could still see the entrance to the shop across the road.

  First of all, I phoned Jimmy.

  “Hello, wee man “ I said. “How’s tricks?”

  “A quiet day “ he said. “Although I might have to get the environmental health folk round. I think something’s died behind the walls in here. It stinks something terrible.”

  “Probably a kid that got caught in your security system while trying to break in.”

  He laughed.

  “Chance would be a fine thing. The wee buggers try it at least three times a week. These systems are costing me a fortune.”

  “Aye “ I said. “But think how much you’d lose if they didn’t work.”

  “Don’t even mention it “ the wee man said. “I have enough trouble sleeping at night as it is.”

  “I need some gen “ I said.

  “Always willing’ to oblige “ he said. “Just remember, I still want that photo.”

  “Durban “ I said. “Of Durban and Lamberts. Is he clean or dirty?”

  I got the cackle again.

  “Oh, he’s dirty enough “ Jimmy said. “But nothing too illegal. He’s more your ‘weekend wizard’ out in the stockbroker belt.”

  “What, witchcraft?” I said, incredulous. “I thought that died out in the sixties.”

  “Aye. Mostly it did “ Jimmy said. “But you know the kind of thing—robes, orgies, altars and the occasional dead cat. You’d think they’d be too old for it, but I know of several pillars of the community that are involved. I just wouldn’t like to have to watch it. Who wants to watch old folk having sex?”

  This time it was me who laughed.

  “And this from the man who was boasting to me about the videos he’d been taking of himself with young lassies.”

  “That’s different “ the little man said. “I don’t look at myself.”

  “You’re not turning puritan on me, are you?” I said.

  “Not while there’s still women around like yon Mrs. Dunlop “ he replied.

  “Just forget about her for a minute. Anything to report on Edward Macey?”

  “Nothing “ Jimmy said. “He’s squeaky clean. His daddy got him the job. I suspect he pulls the wings off flies in the quiet of his own home, but he’s too scared of losing his position in society to do anything even slightly dodgy. Now his daddy—he was another story.”

  “Bent?” I asked.

  “As a nine-bob note. He was into everything he could get his hands on.”

  “Could he be the fence for the amulet?” I said.

  “Not unless his health has improved. Last I heard he was in a nursing home in Skelmorlie. He had a stroke—a massive one.”

  “And there’s no chance the boy is involved?”

  “Next to none. He’s chasing some society blonde—it would queer his pitch if there was anything dodgy going on.”

  Yet another dead-end. I had to start finding roads that went somewhere.

  “Remember the photo “ Jimmy said, and hung up on me.

  Next I phoned Doug.

  “Any joy on the case?” he asked.

  “Nothing yet. This town is like the three wise monkeys—nobody’s heard, seen, or said anything.”

  “So, when are we going for a beer?” he said.

  “Not until the case is over “ I said. “It’s getting a bit complicated. Have you still got Internet access at home?”

  “Yes. Do you need something?”

  “Anything you can get on Arthur or Artie Dunlop.”

  “The one that’s been in the papers? The gangland guy?” he said.

  “That’s the one “ I replied, and another thought came to me. A coincidence that might turn out to be something else entirely.

  “And while you’re at it, can you cross reference with Gilbert and Sullivan or The Mikado?” I asked.

  “Weird shit “ Doug said. “What do you hope to find?”

  “Anything, nothing, I don’t know. I just thought I’d keep you away from the porn for a wee while.”

  There was an embarrassed silence on the other end of the line before he spoke again.

  “Come on, Derek. You know I only use the web for research.”

  “Oh yeah “ I said. “Etruscan strippers, Aztec nudes... that kind of thing? I’ve heard there’s some good sites depicting Babylonian orgies that have great pictures of dusky maidens with big knockers.”

  He gave me a nervous giggle.

  “I could tell you where to find them, but then I’d have to kill you. I’ll see what I can do on your query. Ring me tomorrow “ he said abruptly, and hung up on me.

  I liked being around Doug. It was just too easy to wind him up. I’d have to stop it...sometime when it wasn’t quite as much fun.

  When I turned away from the phone there was a little old lady waiting behind me.

  “Have you finished, son?” she said. “Only I need to phone my boy...he had an appointment with the consultant in the Western General this morning about getting a wee problem with his waterworks sorted out and....”

  I stopped her. I knew the type—let her get started and you would be there for twenty minutes or more.

  “That’s okay, I’m finished “ I said.

  “Thanks, son “ she said. “I just hope it’s not one of those new-fangled phones. I can’t be doing with all this technology. It was much easier in the old days when...”

  “Excuse me “ I said, and brushed past her. “My coffee’s getting cold.”

  “Oh, I cannae abide cold coffee “ she said. “I remember the time when...”

  I turned away from her, but she’d already aimed her conversation at one of the waitresses, and kept going without even breaking flow. It would be some time yet before her son got a phone call—I thought he might be relieved at that.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and hoping that Durban wouldn’t leave the shop until I’d had a chance to speak to Eileen. The clock clicked, painfully slowly, around to three.

  I was on my fifth cup of coffee, and feeling over-heated and bloated when Eileen touched my arm and sat down opposite me.

  “You’re a savior “ I said. “Watch the antiques shop. If Durban comes out, give me a shout.”

  She spoke to me, but I didn’t hear. I was already on my way to the washroom. Only another man will understand the blessed relief that visit gave me. I was thankful that she was still looking out across the road when I got back.

  “Nothing to report, sir “ she said, and gave me another mock salute as I sat down.

  “Thanks “ I said. “You can stand down.”

  She reached over and took one of my Marlboros.

  “What are these? American?” sh
e asked.

  “Yes. They’re pretty strong if you’re not used to them.”

  She shrugged and lit up.

  “So why all the cloak and dagger?” she asked.

  “I’m on a case “ I said. “And Durban knows something about it. I’m keeping an eye on him for a while, and anything you can tell me would be useful.”

  “I don’t really know much “ she said. “And Mr. Durban’s friendly with my boss. I don’t want to get into any trouble.”

  “It’s just between you, me and the gatepost “ I said, and she looked at me again as if I was stupid. Maybe I was getting old—my patterns of speech didn’t seem to register with the young.

  “It’s just that he’s weird “ she continued. “And not just him—there’s all those old folks he sees every Thursday.”

  “Every Thursday? Like, two days time Thursday?”

  “Well, today’s Tuesday, isn’t it?” she said, and I got that look again. She was beginning to think I was a bit simple.

  “They turn up at the shop after closing time. They must be eighty, if they’re a day. There’s four or five of them, the women all with fur coats and the men with smart suits. He takes them away in that big flash car of his. One day he brought them in here. They wanted iced tea, cucumber sandwiches, that kind of thing. And they treated the waitresses as if they were servants. Then they left big tips. Weird, huh?”

  She was younger than I had first thought, probably no more than nineteen. I suppose I could excuse her some confusion at the foibles of the elderly, or the values of an older era.

  “And this happens every Thursday.”

  “I told you that, didn’t I?”

  She sucked on her cigarette like a baby with a dummy. She smoked like a beginner, in small puffs, with little being inhaled. I double-breathed a smoke ring to show her how it should be done.

  “Neat trick “ she said. “But we had an old guy in here last week that could blow rings out of his ears. Now that was impressive.”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  I thought better of trying it—it sounded like something you might need an operation to do properly.