The Parchment (The Memory of Blood)

by Sylvie Brisset

  "Miss Jones gave instructions concerning you. You will understand, however, I ask for ID."

  Porky fumbled in his pockets and provided the requested document. While the bank employee tapped on the keyboard of his computer, Porky, chewing a toothpick, observed him. Perfect discretion, the banker showed no feeling. Narrow! That's the word Porky looked for. The clerk was smaller than average and his suit seemed to have been made for someone even more puny than him. He was saving his gestures as if afraid of making the sewing burst. Although young, less than forty, his hair was thinning, and his forehead was high. The kind of man that you do not notice, even when you find yourself alone with him in a waiting room.

  The banker printed a document and asked Porky to sign it before going at the cashdesk.

  Without even reading the document, Porky complied, but did not move from his chair when the employee got up, considering the interview as ended.

  "Do you need anything else, sir?"

  "I have concerns for your client. Tell me, when was the last transaction on her account?"

  "I'm sorry sir, but I can not give such information. Not without a court order or my client agreement."

  "Your client gave you instructions, didn't she?"

  "Indeed. She asked us to pay you the money you would ask with a weekly limit of course, until instructed otherwise."

  "Did she tell you why?"

  "Our customers do not have to justify the use of their funds".

  "Of course. Listen, I do not ask you to lift bank secrecy but I have reason to believe that her life is in danger. Could you tell me when was the last transaction?" Seeing that Mr. Little was preparing to raise objections, he hurried to add, "I ask you neither the amount nor the beneficiary of the transaction. I leave that to the official police. Only when was the last transaction. I guess this lady uses her credit card on a regular basis."

  "We may not be her only bank," the banker objected.

  But Porky continued his speech without considering the protest.

  "I guess she does want you to help me in an investigation aiming at her protection."

  Mr. Little hesitated. The family of the young woman was among his best customers. With a sigh, he entered a few instructions from the keyboard.

  "The last transaction dates three days ago."

  "Early in the morning?"

  Mr. Little nodded without saying a word, as if by this absence of word, he respected the bank’s secrecy.

  "Thank you."

  Porky got up and went with Mr. Little to the cashdesk.

  The last transaction of Michaela Jones dated from the time she had sent him a message informing him of her departure. If she left, she should have used her card for the restaurant, hotel. If not for other purchases. Unless of course, she had another bank account. But he doubted it, at least not for current expenditure. The last transaction was probably for a transportation ticket. But why nothing else since that date?

  While wondering, he went to the home of Michaela, which was close to her company. No concierge to question, the building was not of the expected class, given the wealth of her family. Miss Jones wanted to gain independence and clearly show what she was capable of. She had probably been embarking on a dangerous and personal investigation.

  Nobody answered his ring. The door was locked. But with a closer look at the lock and scratches, he found that it had recently been forced. More and more worried, he called an acquaintance at the Central Police.

  "Hi Eve!"

  "Porky! What brings you? I suppose a service."

  "Yes."

  "With all the restaurants that you've already promised me, I could have dinner for free for at least a month."

  "Come on, don't be mean. This will be a great restaurant."

  "Ok, but tonight, or I give you nothing."

  Porky looked up to heaven, sighing quietly.

  "Agreed. You reserve at the restaurant of your choice."

  "I'll call you within fifteen minutes to give you information about the booking. So what's your problem today?"

  "Can you tell me if Michaela Jones took a plane in the last two or three days, from airports in the region."

  "Can you imagine how many Jones exist?"

  "Jones of family Stone."

  "Stone! Okay, I should be able to find her passport number."

  "I also need to know where an email I received was sent. And access the mailbox of the issuer."

  "It will take some time. But I should be able to find that. To access the mailbox from the transmitter, you know very well that it is forbidden without the judge's order and an ongoing investigation."

  "It was worth trying."

  "I suppose so," she answered.

  "You can put me through Barnet?"

  "He is out for a homicide. You can contact him on his mobile. See you tonight. Get yourself all dressed up to the nines tonight!"

  "See you."

  Porky sighed. There was no worse informer than police. No way to negotiate. Fortunately he had cashed the advance of Michaela, otherwise he would have been in real trouble.

  Eve had nimble fingers. He had not yet arrived at his office when she gave him the address where was the computer that enabled the sending of the message. Miss Jones was booked on a flight to Paris, but she had not presented herself for boarding.

  This time, he was certain the young woman was in trouble, big trouble. He needed Barnet’s help. After several attempts, he managed to reach him on his cell phone.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I think Miss Jones is in serious danger, if it’s not already too late."

  "Jones? You mean the family Stone?" Barnet asked.

  "Yeah."

  Porky explained the situation briefly.

  "I cannot do anything without a complaint. You know it very well. And I have work over the head, without asking for more," Barnet answered.

  "Listen, I know from where the message was sent. If I can get my hands on the computer, could a guy in the scientific check what can be drawn from the machine? For now this is my one track."

  "Pass drop the PC in the late afternoon. The captain will not be there. This will avoid problems. Manage by yourself with scientists."

  "Thank you. I'll pay you back for that."

  "I already heard that. See ya!

  Jeez, I owed so many favours? He was going to have to improve his social life if he did not want to lose the benefit of the police logistics.

  He was not sure how he would convince the owner of the computer to entrust it to him. But it had finally to be his lucky day. When he announced to Steve that his friend had disappeared, without taking the planned plane, and that the study of his computer was the only track available to him to find out what had happened, Steve did not hesitate one second.

  "She was tense. I have never seen her like that. It relieves me that someone else besides me is worried for her. She's a nice girl, and her family does not help. Apart from her grandfather, but now..."

  "Did she tell you anything about her projects?"

  "No. But something made her uneasy. It was obvious."

  "Dad. Did you send the letter to the lady?"

  Porky frowned at the boy's statement.

  "In the morning she asked me to post a letter for her. What I did."

  "Do you remember the address? Have you seen the contents?"

  "I do not know what it was. For the address, I have no trouble remembering it. It was that of her home."

  "She sent a letter to herself?"

  "Yes. Strange, isn't it?"

  Porky made no comment. But it was evident that the young woman was afraid of losing these documents. He should have checked the letterbox when he went to the apartment. He would return to the scene immediately but he was convinced that the envelope would not be there anymore.

  He took the computer, and greeted Steve, after promising to ask the woman to call him when he would have found her. But Porky increasingly doubted she was still alive.

  ***


  As he feared,it, the letterbox did not contain the envelope described by Steve. Porky went to the police station in charge of the computer.

  The computer specialist, Jack, had introduced him to the world of the Internet in exchange for tickets to football matches. He had some difficulties passing the door of the scientist, being in charge of the computer. Jack did not hear him. He watched a screen while humming, headphones in ears, startled when Porky put the PC in front of him.

  "Hey! You could watch where you put your crap. I'm working here!"

  "Sorry, but there is not a free place in all your paraphernalia."

  Indeed, the room was flooded with computer parts, leaving few available places.

  "You know how it is! It has been months since I requested a larger room. But it seems that we never have credits."

  Porky did not let him continue on this subject as he knew too well the story. He explained to Jack what he hoped to find.

  "That should be doable, but it takes time."

  "The computer has not been restarted."

  "Good news. But that does not mean that your user has not cleaned it before turning it off. But as she could not format the disk I should find tracks."

  "You can do this for me tonight?"

  "With you, it is always right now! This stuff takes time. And it depends on what I find. Call me, and I will tell you what I’ve found."

  "You bet? I'll pay you back for that."

  "Yes. You always say that."

  Porky grumbled to himself. Were they all leagued against him now or what?

  Anyway, he was to accompany Eve to the restaurant. So why not keep his promise while he waited to hear more about it.

  Letting Eve take care of booking had been one very, but very bad idea. She pouted, seeing him dressed in his old raincoat, worn jeans and deformed T-shirt. He understood why when they reached their destination.

  She had chosen a French restaurant that had just opened on Fifth Avenue. A doorman took the keys of his car. Another accompanied them to the door of the restaurant. In case they had lost their way from road to pavement, he supposed.

  The entrance to the restaurant was dominant in purple, with hangings on the walls, dark wood furniture and a profusion of flowers. Porky had never been to the opera, but wondered for a moment if his friend had not changed her plans and preferred going to the show. Access to the dining room was guarded by a headwaiter dressed as a penguin, standing at a lectern.

  Eve was radiant, and he did not want to spoil her fun by admitting how her choice made him ill at ease. For the occasion she wore a black dress and rhinestone jewelry shining under the neon lights. She was ready for the dance of the police! She even slipped a pin ornamented with pearls in her short hair.

  The penguin asked if they had a reservation, which Eve confirmed. After checking on his register, he motioned to a waiter to lead them to their table. But when Porky reached him, he stopped them.

  "I'm sorry sir, but the tie is compulsory."

  "I do not have one on me!"

  The penguin rummaged in a cabinet behind his desk, and held out the object of offence to Porky.

  "Here is one, with our compliments."

  Porky remained motionless. Eve had turned, and she seemed desperate, the red began to rise to her cheeks. The heads of the guests turned to the entrance, curious to follow the incident. In a sigh, Porky took the tie and knotted it awkwardly. Fearing that the penguin would want to make the knot himself, he hurried to close the flaps of his jacket.

  The headwaiter made a last grimace but let him enter the holy of holies, the dining room.

  There were about twenty tables in a high-ceilinged room, decorated with sculptures and plants in the corners. Judiciously placed mirrors added depth. All guests were in evening dress. Waiters navigated between tables, the others stood back at a respectful distance, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of a guest, or to anticipate their desires. They looked like starving men, looking forward to throw themselves on the remains.

  The table set for them was at the end of the room, which they had to cross. Porky did not hide his satisfaction when he finally sat down, ignoring the waiters.

  The evening would be long! he thought. He watched Eve who sat gracefully while the server positioned the chair behind her knees. In addition I am entitled to the violin! The background music had nothing to do with television that he usually watched when having dinner, in the small bar where he had his habits.

  Porky looked at the silverware on the immaculate tablecloth. New problem! They were six in number. Furthermore, not less than three glasses!

  A waiter came to drop balls of bread on two saucers. Porky did not dare touch anything, fearing to take the part designed to Eve.

  When he got the menu, he wondered if they had not changed country.

  "Crottin fermier rôti?" he asked Eve. "Is this a joke? I don't speak French, but if I am not wrong it means roasted dung of farmer."

  "It's cheese."

  "Oh and this one! Farandole de légumes. Farandole of vegetables That means that the peas and carrots will hold hands around the plate? Oh wait! Foie de veau poêlé, tombée d’épinards. Fried veal liver, fall of spinach! That must hurt, I hope you have your umbrella! Anchoïade! I need the dictionary this time!"

  Eve hesitated between depression and giggles. Seeing that the butler meant to take their order, she took the menu from Porky’s hands.

  "You take like me. Okay? No question to the butler, please! We already attract enough attention."

  To make them wait a waiter brought them an "appetizer". Porky looked at his plate, curious. They must have made a mistake about the table. All he saw was a dish filled with samples from a doll's tea set. And the waiter seemed proud of himself by announcing components. Even the name went with the toy tea set, the mignonettes!

  Under Eve’s threatening look, he made no comment, but hoped the rest would be more substantial! The young woman seemed at ease and did not take offence at his lack of enthusiasm. He began to relax.

  He got impatient between the dishes that were slow in coming. He felt ridiculous that the waiter described what was on his plate when he brought it - Porky knew exactly what he had ordered, he was not senile! Whatever, given the time that they needed to serve the meal, it was possible that he had forgotten! Plus they had no ketchup!

  Porky remained stoic up to the coffee, but it was with relief that he picked up his phone, interrupting the monologue of Eve on the difficulties of being single. The topic of discussion became more and more slippery and he had only one urge: Flee!

  "Porkelevitch."

  "I am a computer whiz. But my skills will never be recognized at fair value."

  "I take it you did it."

  "You doubted it?"

  "No. Only the timing was unknown."

  "Do not come empty handed. I had no dinner with your business."

  "No problem. I'm coming!"

  Eve looked reprovingly at him on hearing his reply. But her expression quickly went to the wonderment then a fit of giggles, when Porky called the waiter for the bill, and asked him to wrap up half and put it in a doggy bag.

  ***

  Back at his office, Porky sat down comfortably with a can of beer and a sandwich. These famous restaurants have a beautiful decoration, an astronomical bill, but the meals were far to light for his taste.

  He watched on his PC screen the pages that the IT specialist had found in the unique message of the recently created email address.

  What connection could exist between an old Londoner Museum catalog, a page of a German newspaper dating back to the Second World War, a French scientific research site, and an old manuscript?

  The museum paintings represented were the works of famous…unknown. Their prices had to exceed his salary to be exposed in such an institution. But nothing to rave about either! Some Internet research confirmed his suspicions. Their value would probably lie in the characters represented. But if the authors were unknown, these models have b
een even more rarely mentioned. Men and women, dressed in period costumes, in rigid and serious attitude. Sceneries of library or garden. Nothing that held attention.

  Disappointed, he passed to the second document. He did not understand German and therefore could only guess the contents of the article. A photo presented men and women who were clearing a place after a bombing, helping survivors. An image of war as they were all alike, unfortunately.

  The manuscript had probably a market value considering its age, but it was incomprehensible. And a few unfortunate pages were probably quite cheap.

  The fourth document seemed more promising. It was an article on a French scientific laboratory. It seemed that a research group had made major discoveries on stem cells. Despite the popularization of the article, the significant number of technical terms did not allow him to exploit the information described. But it was not necessary to understand that such discoveries had a market value. But if it had been only about that, why the other documents?

  He stood for hours, nose on his screen, scrolling through the documents one after the other, in vain, starting to think that all this was just a huge hoax or had nothing to do with his case. But his instinct told him otherwise.

  He got up to watch the street life, which had started again. It was four o'clock in the morning. Partially melted snow formed dirty puddles along the curb. The few passersby hurried away from the road, for fear of being splashed during the passage of vehicles.

  He stretched, and decided it was time to go to bed. When he turned to his desk, he understood. The four documents were displayed side by side on the screen. At this distance, the only things clear to his tired eyes were the photos.

  He zoomed to the press article, did the same with the picture of the researcher, and scrolled through the paintings. Soon he found what he was looking for. On the three documents displayed on the screen, appeared the same person. Or, more exactly, the ancestors of the same person. And the guy could not deny his origins. The resemblance was striking.

  He found easily his name, Philippe Delatour.

  He seemed to be a leading researcher in his domain. But Porky found little personal information. Clearly, Delatour was not a very public person.