by Brian Meeks
Another woman brought some iced tea and showed Celine to her seat.
Celine smiled. “You have such a beautiful house. I’ve been exploring a little. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Just as a good detective would, I’d say.”
Henry could see that the remark pushed one of Celine’s buttons and decided he best rain on her parade. “And did the junior detective learn anything of value?”
“Well, no, but…”
“But?”
“I’ll keep looking.”
CHAPTER 24
Associate 2 and 3 passed the guards and walked down the stairs. The first flight was like any other stairwell. A metal door with the words ‘Custodial Only’ waited at the bottom. Associate 2 removed a key from a chain around his neck. The lock opened with a soft click. The door opened noiselessly and with little effort. Neither associate reached for the light switch that wasn’t there. They walked into the darkness for one hundred yards.
Each man had been to this office before though not often. It didn’t matter as all the offices had identical entrance configurations. The walls were smooth, clean, and cool to the touch. After 100 yards, the floor had a one-inch drop, indicating the ramp was upon them. The steady and gentle slope ended after 40 meters and this meant there were only three more steps until the hallway abruptly turned right. Three more steps, and a left turn. The last stretch of hallway, exactly 40 meters, would end with a heavy metal door. In the pitch black the men heard only the sounds of their feet on the floor. Their soft beats said they were almost there, the door opened an inch and a sliver of light showed them the way.
New associates would run a gloved hand along the wall as they traversed the hall. Associate 2 was not new and took pride in being able to traverse the blackness clean. Associate 3 had, by Associate 2’s count, touched the wall three times. The outer office was grey. Simple chairs adorned one wall, and a white desk was placed along the adjoining wall. Behind the desk was a door. The desk had a chair but no occupant, though there was a phone with a red light. Both associates sat along the wall and waited. Associate 3 stared at the phone.
It rang once, the light winked on and off, and they stood and went through the door. The next room was empty and contained three more doors. The door on the right was open a crack and behind it another series of halls. 2 led the way. It took another five minutes of winding through the halls and making the correct turns before they found themselves at a big, open, oval door. The director was waiting.
“Gentlemen, please take a seat.”
They sat and waited for him to speak.
The director never spoke without choosing his words carefully. His tone would be measured and precise. There would be a point and, beyond that point, another meaning. It was never clear when the lesson ended and the instructions began, yet, somehow, the task always was handled.
“In Morocco the cities rise out of the desert sand as sculptures. The hues of red, brown and yellow shift before your eyes as the sun takes its final bow of the day.” The director paused to open a drawer in his desk. He eased a diamond-tipped needle onto the vinyl, and the sound Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies” softly filled the room. “Tchaikovsky came to my father’s village and stayed the evening. Of all of his songs, this one is my favorite. It always reminds me of Morocco. There is such magic and beauty in Marrakech. Did you know it’s known as the ‘Red City’?”
Though it was a direct question, both men knew that it was to be answered with no more than a nod. Their heads said no, softly. Neither man had met the director before. Even Associate 2, with his many years of service, was off balance with awe.
The director was known for having a profound knowledge of the world. During their training, the ‘old master’ tried to impress upon them the genius that was the director. On the first day of class, he had said to them, “You may never meet him, but if you do…if you should sit with the director…know two things. One, he will talk at length, ask questions that hint at rhetorical, and expect you to know when it’s your turn to talk. I cannot teach you how to know when, but I pray you don’t get it wrong. Two, he is a genius and his well runs so deep that to call it ‘bottomless’ would be to understate the truth of the matter in a way that even the British could scarcely comprehend.”
Not only was this opening speech to new recruits legendary, but it also was so often retold that both associates could recite it verbatim, and they were, as he walked around the room giving the history of his father’s village, replaying it in their heads.
“…but enough about my father and his life. Let me ask you a question. Where do you think we got the name for our organization?”
This subject was almost as legendary as the ‘old master’s’ opening remarks themselves. The ‘Enclave’ was a secret society that both men had been recruited into. They had, as had all who came before them, pledged fidelity to the symbol, the name, and goal of the ‘Enclave’ but were never told the history of the name. Students would ask and beg, but those few who knew would never share the secret. That wisdom could only be imparted by the director.
So as not to give a clue as to who he might like to answer, he stood with his back to the two men.
Associate 2 said, “An enclave is any small or distinct group enclosed or isolated within a larger separate group, the Vatican City is an enclave. Our members are each unto themselves enclaves in every government, society, and major city in the world. The motto ‘From Within Our Reach Is Infinite’ speaks to the influence the Enclave holds over the greater society.”
Associate 3 was glad he hadn’t answered.
The director turned around and looked at associate 2, “That’s the best answer I have heard in many years. I almost wish it were correct. Now bring me up to speed on the problem we’re having with the favor we did for our friend Mr. Palmeroy.”
For twenty minutes they recited every detail up to their meeting with the director.
He listened without moving once. His listening was so intense that both men found it draining. When they had finished, he tilted his head to one side and gave a slight nod. “I understand. The next move is clear…”
Neither associate spoke. It wasn’t their turn to talk. It was likely there would be another. They sat and waited for the next move.
“…but I don’t need to go into that, I’m sure. Have either of you been to Morocco?”
A barely visible shaking of their heads whispered no.
“Me, either…but I have read of the sunsets and can almost feel the warmth on my face. It’s a big world with many wonders. Let’s not let this little misfortune muck it up.”
CHAPTER 25
Mike checked Henry’s apartment and found it to be sans friend. The worry was taking a hold of his mind and he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.
A street cop hollered from across the street. Mike stopped and waited as the man wove his way through the cars stacked up at the light. “Hey, Mike. You have any luck with the Robert Ward case?”
It was the question every cop in the city wanted an answer to. Mike didn’t like it being “no.” “Nothing yet, I’m afraid. The wife’s description was pretty generic, and when she came down to look through the mug shot book, she thought every guy in there was the perp.”
“I’ve found myself walking past that corner all day. If I had gotten to the Rogue just 15 minutes later I would have been able to stop the attack. I would have been right there when it happened.”
“Or it might have been you.”
“I wish it had been. I would have shown that bastard a thing or two. You think it was just a random attack?”
The mood was heavy, and Mike really wanted to keep walking and thinking. “I know you would have, buddy. We can’t say for sure. Would you do me a favor?”
He said, “You name it!”
“I need you to keep this to yourself. I don’t have any proof…it’s just a gut feeling. I think the killing at the diner and Robert’s are connected.”
“Really?” he said. He lowered his voice so that no passerby’s would hear. “You think we got a psycho on the loose?”
“It’s hard to say, but I don’t think we’ve seen the last killing. I’m worried that Henry is somehow involved.”
The cop’s shocked face made Mike chuckle. He continued, “I don’t think he had anything to do with the murders, but I think the guy responsible has it out for him. Henry was walking past the diner when the shot was fired, and he was there last night.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I know it’s pretty thin, but Henry called earlier, and I haven’t been able to track him down.” Mike wrote down the address and apartment number, tore the paper out of his notebook, and said as he handed it to the cop, “Keep an eye on his place. If you see him, tell him to call me…if you see anyone else who doesn’t look like they belong, you call me.”
“Will do, Mike.”
They shook hands.
Mike wasn’t ready to face the stack of folders on his desk yet, so he headed to some of Henry’s favorite haunts. It would take a couple of hours and let him think.
CHAPTER 26
The woman clearing away the dishes smiled at the thank you from Celine. Henry added, “Please tell them in the kitchen that the lunch was delicious.” She nodded and disappeared back inside.
Henry took a sip of his tea. It was still warm outside, but sitting in the shade, with the breeze, he was comfortable. Celine could tell her boss was starting to relax. Catherine excused herself.
Once she was out of earshot, Celine asked, “What do we do now?” Her eyes flashed with anticipation.
Henry found it impossible to be anything less than happy when warmed by the glow of Celine’s enthusiasm. “Well, I’m still not convinced that this is anything but a wild goose chase, but we should give this place a thorough snooping about, just in case.”
“It might be a wild goose pate chase, as it were, but it’s fun.”
“What do you think of Catherine?”
“She seems to be less than she shows.”
Henry thought her observation interesting. “Less than she shows. How so?”
“She showed us all the finery and treated us to a fabulous lunch, but, all the time, I kept thinking she seemed profoundly sad.”
Maybe it was a woman thing, but Henry hadn’t seen that at all. “That’s a good catch. Maybe I need to take you out with me more often.”
Celine grinned. “I’m sure Buttons would be fine running the office and answering phones.”
“He already thinks he runs the office, but he might think answering the phones to be beneath him.”
Celine laughed. “That reminds me, I really should call Carol at work and ask her to check his food dish and keep an eye on him this weekend.”
“Did you find anything out from the staff?”
“I really didn’t,” she said. “It’s tougher than I thought. I was good at making conversation, and they seemed to like me, but when I was about to ask if there was anything strange going on, I felt strange.”
“You’re good with people, but getting them to open up, well, it’s an art. You need to start with easy questions, something like, ‘Do they do these weekend gatherings often?,’ and then, no matter what they answer, keep pushing the conversation a little more. ‘Are they good people to work for?,’ ‘Is there ever any high society drama,’ or just simply, ‘Have you heard any good rumors?’”
“Won’t they just clam up?”
“Some will; others will start gushing like a fire hydrant. It’s a numbers game. You keep swinging until you connect.”
“I think I struck out this morning then.”
“Don’t worry about it. You were only in the first inning. You’ll have plenty more at bats.”
Celine smiled. “Why do you think we are here…really?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Mr. Palmeroy wants to talk and wants it to be discreet. He gets his wife to rope us into this weekend, then pulls me aside and says something like, ‘I’ve got this problem…’”
“We’re very discreet! He could have just come down to the office.”
“Hey, cool down there, Celine. I have no idea what this is about. It was just a guess.”
“Sorry.”
“There is one thing, though…I don’t like being caught off guard. I’d like to try to figure out what is going on before they spring it on us.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Follow me.”
Henry got up. Celine was right behind him. They made their way back through the solarium and up the back stairs. The hallway was empty, but Celine began to tip toe. Henry gave her a nudge. “We don’t need to sneak. We’re guests.”
Celine giggled. “Oh, yes, I forgot.”
Henry had a pretty good idea of which room was the master bedroom and said, “Okay, now we need to be sneaky. You hang out here and admire the painting of the long-dead guy on the wall. If someone comes by, give me a heads up.”
Celine tilted her head back and forth, doing her best art-admiring pose, while Henry eased the door open. It creaked a little. He stuck his head in, expecting that if anyone were there, he could say he was lost. The room was empty.
Inside was a giant four poster bed with a heavy silk covering, mostly in pink. It was Henry’s first clue that this wasn’t the master bedroom. Henry checked the walk-in closet first. The dresses told the rest of the story; this was Catherine’s room. Mr. and Mrs. Palmeroy must have separate bedrooms. Maybe she doesn’t like to sleep in the first Mrs. Palmeroy’s bed.
It wasn’t the room he wanted, but he decided to give it a quick look over anyway. The curtains were drawn, so he pulled one slightly to the side to see the view. It was similar to what he saw from his and Celine’s room but from the other side of the house. The dressing table had everything one would expect: silver brushes, powder, an oval mirror, and a tiny silver frame with a picture of Catherine in her wedding gown.
It was strange; there weren’t any other pictures of friends or family. Maybe Celine was right about Catherine being sad.
Henry eased back into the hall. Celine continued to observe the painting but was now walking back and forth in front of it. “The eyes seem to follow you back and forth.”
“It wasn’t the right room.”
“I’m sure the painting is better in there. This one freaks me out.”
Henry found the right room, and Celine started her head waggle again. The room was much more as he had imagined. No pink. There was a dressing table, frozen in time, in the corner. Henry looked at it for a moment and opened a few drawers. The jewelry box had beautiful inlays. He was about to snap it closed again when he saw the single earring. It sat in its own little section. Henry picked it up and looked more closely. His stomach lurched at the sight of it although he didn’t know why.
Henry searched the rest of the drawers and compartments looking for the mate, but it was alone. The design was unique and stunning. He felt like he’d seen it before. Henry wasn’t one to notice such things, yet his gut told him it was important. His mind would have to work it out later. The stopwatch in his head said his time was up. He hurried back into the hall. Their creeping around was done for the moment, and Henry needed to think.
CHAPTER 27
The major lived in a stately penthouse downtown. He had a staff of three who kept the place ”military clean.” His donations to all the fashionable charities made him well liked and allowed him access to the power brokers who ran Manhattan. If he asked a favor of someone, they would gladly grant his request. He never asked. It was part of the reason he was so well liked. Nobody who knew him truly knew him.
He looked at his watch. The gold cover popped open. He saw not the time but the nearness of the next ”clue.” Soon the realization of what was coming would alight in Henry Wood's mind like a flare lighting up the countryside.
He lit a pipe and considered the image. Henry, alone in a field, all around shadows and th
e red glow of impending chaos floating down to earth. The fire fight is underway, he thought, soon he won't know which way to turn. The imagery brought an involuntary smile to the corners of his mouth.
One question was still unanswered, and it nipped at his sanity in both day and dream. Is it better to kill Henry or cripple him? The major liked philosophy and would debate himself for hours on end. The vision of standing over a broken and defeated Henry and, as he begged for his life, pulling the trigger and watching his eyes grow cold was an appealing one. But did it satisfy his need for revenge? Would Henry, in death, know the pain the major had suffered? It was possible that Henry would only think he had been unlucky. Henry would be gone and, if the blood lust remained, where would he be then?
An assistant knocked and asked if he wanted the daily reports. The major said he would look at them after dinner.
What if he were to beat his nemesis so severely that he would be confined to a wheelchair? Battered and broken with only his mind to consider his sentence. That might be better, that might be much better, but there was the matter of letting the one man who could identify his attacker live. The plan must be perfect for the revenge to be complete. Getting caught was not part of the plan.
His thoughts turned to the lieutenant and his role. He had followed orders and been loyal for so long that it was mildly upsetting he should need to be sacrificed. There was also the delicate matter of making sure that Henry knew it wasn't the lieutenant behind his torment. It would be far worse to have the battle won without Henry's realization than to get caught and be sent away forever.
So many pieces in the game, so many possible moves, and still he relished the game. The major was confident of victory but not of a perfect success. It would take a sharp mind and unwavering dedication to every aspect to win the day.