~ A Treacherous Past ~

by

A. W. Lambert

As Stern left the Rogers’ house it started to rain. Not heavy, just a light drizzle, but enough for him to be uncomfortably damp by the time he arrived back at the office. It hadn’t improved his mood.

Cherry looked up expectantly as he entered.

Stern removed the damp coat. “Make some coffee and bring it in, will you?” he instructed curtly as heading for his office. “We’ve got work to do.” He was stopped short by Cherry’s raised hand.

“What?”

She inclined her head toward his office and held up two fingers.

He got the picture. “Hold the coffee,” he said.

One of the men was standing with his back to the window, his hands held, military style, behind him. He was, Stern guessed, in his mid to late forties. He was tall and upright, probably six-one, six-two, and slender with fair, neatly cut hair. He wore a full-length camel hair topcoat, unbuttoned to reveal a smart grey suit and tie neatly knotted about an immaculate white shirt.

The other man was a thick-necked bull of a man with dark eyes and a shadowed jowl that, Stern guessed, was present however often he shaved. He was younger, probably no more than 35, with dark hair close-cropped to little more than a shadow across his head. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket over an open-necked shirt. It was difficult to see how tall he was because he was lounging in Stern’s old chair picking at his teeth with a matchstick.

Stern closed the door behind him. He said nothing.

Window man smiled. It was a half-hearted attempt, in truth little more than an obligatory twitch of the lips. “Mr. Stern, I presume,” he said.

Stern nodded, his eyes flicking from one to the other, assessing the situation, instantly ranking window man as the senior. “That’s me.”

“We would like to talk about certain enquiries you’ve recently been making.”

“Oh, yeah? And who are you?”

“Let’s just say we are government officials.”

Stern could feel the adrenalin kicking in. He nodded, tight-lipped. “But I take it you have names?”

Window man shook his head. “At this time I don’t think our names are relevant, Mr. Stern. For you to know them would be of little benefit.”

The adrenalin pumped a further notch. “I disagree,” Stern growled. “Because, you see, I have to know how to address your friend here when I tell him to get his fat backside out of my chair.”

The man in the chair sat bolt upright, his face paling. He looked toward window man who after tense seconds nodded his instruction. The man reluctantly eased himself out of the chair, his lips twisted in obvious annoyance.

Stern made his way around the desk and sat. He nodded toward the two visitors’ chairs permanently placed in front of the desk. “Now gentlemen,” he said leaning back. “You may have a seat or you may stand, whichever you choose.”

Window man skirted the desk and sat down. His partner crossed the office and stood sullenly, arms folded, his back to the door.

Seated man, now confirmed as the senior of the two, studied Stern across the desk for some moments. “There is little need for aggression, Mr. Stern,” he said finally. “We are here only to collect some information and offer advice. We are aware of your distinguished past and your reputation. You have nothing to prove to us.”

Arrogant bastard. Stern could feel his heart racing, the anger pounding in his brain. He hoped his voice didn’t reflect it. “Oh, I know I’ve nothing to prove,” he said quietly. “I’m also well aware that, to you people, neither my distinguished past, such as it is, or my reputation count for squat. But as a common citizen of this so called democratic country, I demand the respect to which I am entitled. Coming in here, commandeering my private space and refusing to identify yourselves is little short of trespass. It is also devoid of all respect and is the type of action that engenders the aggression you appear to object to.”

The atmosphere that followed was charged, but Stern held his ground, his eyes, unblinking, boring into the man on the other side of the desk. Finally, saying nothing, the man reached inside his jacket and produced a plastic card. He held it up for Stern to see. “I take it you have seen one of these before, Stern.”

Stern noted the dropping of the “Mister”, but it mattered not. He had made his point. And, yes, he had seen similar cards in the past, particularly during his time in Northern Ireland. He nodded, but said nothing.

“My name is Wallace and my colleague here,” he nodded toward the man still lounging miserably at the door, “is Granger.” He inclined his head; this time the smile was almost genuine. But only almost. “You’ve made your point, Mr. Stern. Now, can we start this conversation again?”

Stern took a deep breath, feeling his heart slow, but only a tad. “Sure,” he said.

“Good. Now we understand that in your capacity as a private investigator you are investigating the disappearance of a Mr. Rogers?”

“Was.”

Wallace frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“I was investigating the disappearance of Mr. Rogers. Not anymore.”

Wallace sighed, frustration showing. “Yesterday you were involved in a certain incident in Norwich which involved a killing. And we know that prior to returning to your office only moments ago, you were visiting the Rogers household. Now that does not sound to me like the actions of someone who is no longer involved.”

From the corner of his eye, Stern saw the satisfied smirk on Granger’s face. It said “Gotcha!” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “It is true that yesterday I was involved in an incident in Norwich. While visiting a house, I found a young woman dead in the hall. The local police told me that her neck had been broken.” He eyeballed Wallace defiantly across the desk. “But what that has to do with Harry Rogers, I really don’t know.”

“We have reason to believe that you visited the house in Norwich as part of your investigation into the Rogers disappearance. Is that not true?”

“Reason? What reason?”

Wallace’s lips tightened. “Are you saying that your Norwich visit had nothing to do with Rogers?” The question was snapped out, his annoyance now becoming obvious.

Stern shrugged casually. “All I’m saying is that you have no reason to believe it was.”

“Don’t try and be too clever, Mr. Stern. It may not be wise.”

It was a struggle, but Stern kept his voice low, controlled. “I’m not trying to be clever or otherwise,” he said. “I have a number of clients and I make many visits around Norfolk. That includes Norwich. I also maintain a strict code of client confidentiality; I wouldn’t stay in business long if I didn’t. But, as it happens, whether yesterday’s visit was or was not to do with Rogers is no longer relevant. Your information is correct. I have just returned from the Rogers house. But what your snouts were not able to tell you was that Mrs. Rogers no longer requires my services.” He looked from Wallace to Granger. “So, gentlemen, I no longer have any reason, indeed no authority, to continue with the Rogers investigation.”

Wallace nodded thoughtfully, studying Stern closely. “Did Mrs. Rogers give any reason for dispensing with your services?” he asked finally.

Stern pushed himself up from the old chair. “Apparently, she has heard from her husband and is satisfied that he is well and will be returning home shortly. Now, gentlemen, if you have no other questions I have other business to attend to.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Wallace defiantly stayed put. “No, I’m not quite finished. Just a couple of things.”

Stern remained standing.

“Firstly, I must ask if there is anything about Rogers or his wife that you think we should know about. Anything you have uncovered during your investigations?”

Lips pursed, Stern feigned thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t say there is.”

Wallace eased himself out of the chair. “I see,” he said tightly. “In that case I would advise that, if at any time in the future, you remember anything that might be of interest to us, you inform us immediately.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a card, dropping it on the desk. “And that is not a request. As I am sure you are aware, withholding evidence from the authorities is a criminal offence.” He turned toward the door.

“And the other thing?”

“What?”

Stern relaxed onto the corner of his desk. “You said a couple of things.”

Wallace eyed him now with unmasked dislike. “Oh yes. Just a piece of advice. You are no longer who you once were. You no longer have any authority; you have no clout. Therefore, I suggest that in your current capacity, you stick to the family squabbles and other minor problems that your position allows you to deal with. Don’t try punching above your weight, Mr. Stern. Someone might get hurt.”

“Is that all?”

Wallace smiled a humourless smile. “That’s all.” He hesitated for a beat. “For the moment.” He nodded at Granger, who pulled open the door.

“Just one thing,” Stern said.

The two men stopped and turned.

“If you had anything to do with the trashing of my wife’s premises or the threats made against her, you should be aware of this,” he said, his words soft but dripping with menace. “What I get myself involved in is my problem and my problem alone. It has nothing to do with those close to me. You should be aware that if ever I can prove that you, or anyone associated with you, had anything to do with the destruction of my wife’s belongings, or the threats that followed, you will find out just how much clout I really have.”

Their eyes locked for what seemed an eternity, Wallace finally the one to break away. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Stern,” he said, turning and ushering Granger through the door before him. “But if I were you, I would think twice about making such threats. You have no idea what you are into here.”