~*~
I was back in my office for a few hours of light reading before going home. I dove into the pile of newspaper clippings. Some of them were in folders. There was also a scrapbook very carefully put together and a lot of papers here and there just lying around. I read the big ones first. Anything worth reading is always big.
But here, big meant money, as in “Their pockets are big and full of money”. It was all about investments, buying new lands or foreign deals to sell some product. Most of them were so old they didn’t even have pictures. The most recent ones did, but there was a lawyer representing the family. I wrote his name down. Maybe he knew something. Elliott Sanders. I looked him up in the phonebook and there were two numbers: home and office. I called the office, but it was too late. No one picks up the phone after six. Not even me.
The scrapbook was more interesting. It was about social gatherings, fundraising events, engagement announcements, weddings, births and deaths. They were a prominent family. If they blew their noses against the wind it made headlines. Adora and Frederick’s wedding. Hugh’s birth and his marriage to Greta. Emily’s birth and her unexpected death, and how the doctors were waiting for some kind of epidemic explosion of scarlet fever that never happened. Her strange case was the only one that year. Why did it have to be Emily? Lord Frederick’s death was also documented there, saying he left the entire fortune to his only son, Hugh.
I got nothing from the rest of the news. This was a dead end. Dead indeed. What now? Family friends could be a way to find something else.
This bothered me.
When exactly did I make the decision to cross the line and believe that man’s story? Was I going to trust him? This double direction the investigation was taking made my head spin. I needed a lead, fast. Something to help me find a path to follow. I was getting restless going in circles.
I picked up the phonebook and searched for the M. I was going to talk to every single Maliccioni on this earth if that was necessary for me to solve the case. An Italian name like that didn’t come up with a lot of listings. Only three. And they were all related, as I found out on my first call.
I introduced myself as Elliott Sanders and told them that, as the family attorney, I had found some discrepancies about the will and other legal papers that mentioned the Maliccioni family. I told them that I’d be very grateful if they could refer me to the eldest member alive to check some facts.
That’s how I ended up talking to Andrew Maliccioni, Albert’s great-great-grandson. Yes, he had some knowledge about the families being close friends at some point, mostly because they worked the same social circles, but nothing apart from that. He was not in contact with any member of the current family. They had sold the land that belonged to Anthony decades before and his family had nothing to do with the Hurlingthons’ affairs. Of course they didn’t. They were all dead. Well, most of them anyway. But he certainly acted as if he wasn’t part of this world.
“I appreciate your time and effort. Thank you.”
I hung up the phone in a state of quiet desperation. I never do loud desperation, I’m a former member of the police department. But I had no idea how I would manage to solve this case.
I picked up the phonebook again and looked for every single surname from the list of nannies and governesses Lord Hurlingthon have had. Over half of them were not even there. In that period of time, if women were working it was because they were single. And if they had descendants it was probably because they got married, which meant they had stopped using their maiden name. I got more than ten names. All things considered, it was a fairly good number.
This time, I posed as a scholar, a professor hired by the county to recreate the family trees of the most prominent families in the area, and somehow their name had come up in relation to the Hurlingthons. Most of them had no idea what I was babbling about. A couple knew they had an ancestor that had worked for the family, but that was all. Two of them wouldn’t even talk to me. The last one simply hung up as soon as I finished explaining my elaborate lie.
That was it. I needed a walk. Preferably, a walk to the nearest bar so I could clear my head by drowning some brain cells in cheap alcohol.
I had my hat and raincoat on when the phone rang.
“Saussure, you asshole!”
“Calm down, Annie. You kiss Carl with those filthy lips?”
“Why did you drag me into this?”
“I thought you were going to sleep.”
“I was having dinner and remembered your stupid box. And that idiotic story you came up with...”
“It’s not a lie, Annie. Someone hired me to find out why this man can’t die and you’re the best.”
“I know you like to make things up, Saussure. What’s this about?”
I hesitated for a moment. Did I really know what this was about? What was I trying to find out? Whether this man was telling the truth? Or, why he couldn’t die?
“Look, you don’t have to believe me. Just check the records. See if it is possible for this man to be alive, if he could survive everything regist–”
“Are you kidding, Richard? Seven skull fractures almost a century ago? Obviously he’s dead and someone has stolen his identity.”
Seven fractures. She had been reading the files. I had her hooked. Now, I needed to talk her into paying Lord Hurlingthon a visit.
“See, my problem is this, Annie: why would someone hire me to find out the reason behind the crime they are committing?”
Nothing on the other end of the line. In the big scheme of things, I was right. If that man wasn’t the real Hugh Hurlingthon, so far he had been doing a great job. If he was indeed stealing the Hurlingthons’ fortune, until then, he hadn’t been noticed at all. This also meant that a decrepit man had convinced an entire household to play along. No, that didn’t add up.
Annie finally came out of her silence.
“Have you talked to his physician? Dr. Pierce is a very reputable doctor. He could help you.”
“Yes, I did. Today.”
“And?”
“He’s a doctor that talks about God.”
Annie exploded. I had her for a moment, but letting her know that I had reached out to her just for my personal beliefs…Well, let’s just say it got on her last nerve.
“You and your stupid religious crap! Some people believe and some don’t! Leave it alone! I can’t believe I actually spent time reading this shi––”
I let her blew off some steam before trying to stop her. She was angry, tired, overworked and underpaid. I got it. And let’s be honest: I had asked for it. Annie has the language of a drunken sailor and the temperament of an angry truck driver. I swear, she made policemen blush. Her mouth is a latrine with a mind of its own. And when I told her I didn’t trust a certain doctor because he believed in a god I consider as real as a magic carpet and as useful as a garden gnome, well…
“Annie...Annie...Annie!” She finally stopped. “I need someone to tell me if this man is insane, and I need someone to tell me if he really is an invalid. I need a scientist.”
Silence again. That was good.
“Fine. But I’ll do it tomorrow, no strings attached. And you’ll pay me twice the usual.”
“No problem, take your time.” Her fee wasn’t coming out of my pocket, so I could promise her as much as she wanted. And I knew Annie. The scientist in her would not let her sleep. She would spend the night studying the files. “Whenever you’re ready, call me...and I’ll pick you up to go to his house.”
“Wait, what?!”
“Bye!” I hung up fast. I always did that to Annie, so I do understand why she hates me. I’m quite annoying. But infuriating her was half the fun of having to work together.
Regardless of having to turn myself into her sparring partner for our verbal battle, Dr. Annette Kensington had breathed new life into my veins. I knew she would not stop until we find the truth. Although…I was still in need of a beer.
VI