by Abbey, S. C.
“Bert. I visit you every month or two.” Harvey chuckled at the dramatic response. “Why do you always seem so surprise when I turn up? Besides, what’s with the new butler?”
“I couldn’t stand the previous one’s cooking.” Moore replied matter-of-factly as if it were the most important thing in the world to him. “I swear, he’s been trying to starve me with those awful things he calls salads. Who eats those? It is not as if I fancy a career in modelling.”
Harvey smiled at the childlike antics of Bertram Moore. “Considering your upbeat attitude, I take it that this one cooks just fine.”
“He is a keeper, this one, I tell you.” Moore replied excitedly. “Wait till you try his steak and mushroom pies.”
“I would love to do that but first you’ve got to let me in unless you are sending those pies out.” Harvey said as he waved his hands about his neck and slapped on it. “I think I just got stung by a bee out here.”
“Of course my dear boy. But first some riddles. How would I otherwise know if you were you?” said Moore.
Harvey resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the intercom system. He pondered the usefulness of protesting but decided otherwise. “Go, on. Hit me with your best shot.”
“First riddle. I run marathons, making many turns, yet I never move one foot. What am I?” asked Moore.
Harvey thought for a second and a smile came up on his face. “Easy. A clock.”
“Very good my boy. Now for the second riddle. Never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will. And yet I am the confidence of all, to live and breathe on this terrestrial ball. What am I?” asked Moore, positively beaming without control now.
A frown came to Harvey’s face as he contemplated the riddle. It could be anything. “God?” Harvey replied weakly. “No, the sun.”
“Try harder my boy, I’ve got all day.” Laughed Bertram Moore.
Harvey closed his eyes in contemplation. A full minute passed and then finally he opened them. “I know! It’s the future.”
“Fantastic. I knew you would come through! Splendid.” Moore said. He continued after swallowing some drink. “Last question. Who was the last king of the House of York who died in the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485?”
“That’s not a riddle!” Exclaimed Harvey.
“My house, my rules. Besides, this is so simple, it is a giveaway.” Said Moore.
“Fine. You never did play fair anyway.” Harvey replied. A regular person would have been easily baffled by this question but Harvey Nolan was not any regular person. “Richard III of England. 22th August 1485.”
“Your audience has been granted.” Moore said dramatically. “You may now enter the Palace of Long Island.” The red light to the intercom entry system beeped its final blink before switching back to green again. The massive gates shuddered and began to swing outward.
Harvey waited for the gates to stop moving before turning on his ignition again. He wind up his window to shield himself from the approaching winter and stepped on the accelerator pedal as his car jerked forward and enter the grounds of Burrwood Manor. The driveway up to the hills where Manor was situated was a steep and slow one. As he reached deeper into the estate, the familiar sight of manicured lawns, reflective pools and fountains designed by the Olmsted Brothers came into his view. He always felt a moment of serenity staring at the perfectly trimmed round bushes and stone Greek statues that stood among them. He did not however approve of the reflective pools and fountains. Detrimental childhood memory.
Harvey circled the fountain in front of the mansion which acted as a roundabout drop-off and killed the ignition. He exited the car and walked toward the stone mansion, climbing the chairs to the front door. A red umbrella sat in a blue and white porcelain Chinese umbrella vase on the far end of the left side of the front door. Looks like he was not the only visitor this morning.
Chapter 23
HARVEY LIFTED THE handle of the iron door knocker and knocked on the excessively hefty timber door two times. His fingers traced the well-acquainted owl shaped green door knocker, the owl’s perfectly round eyes stared back at him unblinkingly. The look of it has not changed through the years. He could remember the days when he was still too short to reach for it and Uncle Bertram would carry him so that he could use all his strength to swing the handle of the door knocker against the door when they got home so that the butler would answer the door.
Just as it had worked the very first time he had tried twenty years ago, the cumbersome door creaked open to a different face this time.
“Mr. Nolan.” The man in an evening dress coat matched with formal striped trousers said. He looked awfully uncomfortable dressed like that in the broad daylight. Odd for a modern American household but this did not surprise Harvey. “I am Edward Thomas, the butler of this house. Master Moore is having breakfast in the Glasshouse. Would you care to follow me please? Thank you.”
Harvey stepped through the high arches of the doorway into the house he was first brought across the Atlantic to. The distinct smell of the mansion reminded him of his childhood as he was growing up in the house that brought him much needed distraction at a time of anguish. He missed the innocence and ignorance that he had lost over the years in the natural course of advancement into adulthood.
“Who’s the other person visiting this morning?” Harvey asked as strolled by the kitchen, delicious smells came assaulting his nose. “It seems awfully early for a visit. I don’t know of anyone Bertram would care to meet so early. Well, I don’t know of anyone Bertram would care to meet at all.”
Thomas cleared his throat in disapproval. “You are one to say.” Mumbled the butler quietly as they stepped into full view of their destination.
The Glasshouse was chiefly a huge transparent glass enclosed patio that stuck out from the back of the building. It served as an indoor dining area for the colder months of the year where the house’s occupants and their guest could dine in the warm sunlight without having to suffer the outdoor temperature. It also doubled up as a greenhouse for the many exotic tropical plants that laid nonchalantly around the space. A Massarelli two-tier Grecian Lady Water fountain stood in the middle of the room, backed by a miniature forest of ferns, herbs and palms. The concrete dining table stood on the other side of it.
Harvey spotted a man in silver white short hair who was a little tubby around his mid-section at the head of the table. He was dressed in a two button single breasted grey houndstooth sports jacket, his hands waving animatedly as he spoke to the female who was sitting on his right with her slim back facing Harvey. She spotted a pixie haircut. He felt a strange rush of blood to his chest cavity.
“Harvey, come. Have you eaten?” Bertram Moore said. “I believe you are late for breakfast. Look who do we have here with us today.”
The woman turned her attention to the new comer.
“Harvey?”
“Katie?” Harvey said, equally lost for words.
Katie and Harvey were graduate school classmates at Harvard University where they had attended the Juris Doctor program. They had met each other as year ones in one of the compulsory courses, one which they had both excelled in, Criminal Law. They had started off as academic rivals through the year as they took turns topping the class in whichever courses they took. That friendly hatred for each other had turned to admiration when they were forced to be in the same team for an assignment. Harvey could still remember the first time he kissed her after the tutorial room had emptied out. They had been discussing about a case study on the merits of primary assumption of risk in the law of Torts when Harvey could no longer resist tasting her lips. He had not even realized that he had been staring at the rosiness of it until he leaned in. He had pulled back as soon as he had broken free from the insanity, the look of fear in his eyes as he stared stupidly at Katie. Katie had looked confused and positively furious at the same time, all the while hadn’t broken eye contact with Harvey. Harvey never forgot what she said next. What took you so long? She
then returned the kiss.
“How long are you planning on standing there, Harvey?” Bertram said, tearing Harvey from the trance of his memory. “Come, sit beside me.”
“Thomas, would you be so kind to bring Harvey a plate of this?” Bertram continued as he turned his gaze back to Harvey and eyed the Law professor. “Harvey my boy, full English breakfast good for you? Extra eggs for this young man, you’re too thin I tell ya Harv.” The butler left the room without a reply.
Bertram overturned a clean white China tea cup in front of Harvey, it had gold rims about it. He poured a generous measure of tea into it and stopped at the precise moment. He then dropped a slice of lemon into the cup. The smell of bergamot could not escape Harvey’s nose.
“Still take lemon with your tea, do you?” Bertram said, “Katie and I were just discussing the history of black pudding.”
“Huh?” said Harvey, still in a daze.
“Katie believes that the blood dish had come with the Romans when they conquered different lands and people, while I think it was the Moors of North Africa who followed the Romans into the many cities and towns of Europe, and introduced them to the delights of the pudding with the widely available ingredients of the time.” Bertram claimed, “Some even say that the Spanish word for black pudding, Morcilla, came from the Moors.”
“Your justification seems too romantic to be true.” Katie laughed. “I stand uncorrected.”
Bertram shared Katie’s delight with a twinkle in his eye. His contagious laughter filled the Glasshouse. It carried on for a full minute before it faltered and made way for an angel’s passing. Two more minutes passed as Katie played with her scrambled eggs on her plate, pushing it around.
“What brings you here, Katie?” said Harvey as he finally found his voice.
“Oh, I was in town after being away for quite some time.” Katie replied. “So I thought I dropped by and visit my favorite professor.”
“Oh stop it, you. You need to visit more.” Bertram said as he mock-slapped Katie’s arm. He turned around to look at Harvey. “The both of you.”
“I do visit you more often than not, don’t I?” said Harvey as he chuckled. “Jesus, you are worse than the grandfather I never had. “
Bertram took on an unconvincing stern look. “You’ve clearly never met my grandfather, not that you would have wanted to, as far as I’m concerned. Everybody in the family hated him, profoundly. The only wonderful thing he left in this world was this house.” Bertram continued, his features softening. “More than wonderful I must say, spectacular. Maybe I don’t hate him that much after all, as long as he’s dead of course.”
“I always thought your father bought this house, in the 1940s. Or at least that was what you told me.” Said Katie.
“I did? Perhaps he did. Must have been the other house then. Who knows for sure, it’s been half a century after all.” Retorted Bertram.
“And you’re back for good this time?” Harvey asked Katie.
“Yeah, I guess.” Katie said in a softening voice. She quickly changed the subject.
“So what have you been up to, Professor Moore?” Katie asked, as Thomas appeared from behind. “The last time I’d seen you, you were exactly as you are now. Still dabbing in art and historical artefacts?”
“Excuse me Mr. Nolan, your breakfast. Is there anything more I can get for you?” interrupted the butler in a slightly nasal voice.
Bertram jerked his head up to look at the butler in a sudden. “Thomas. You shall address Harvey as Master Nolan, just as you do me. He is as much the master of this house as I am.”
“Yes sir, as you wish.” Replied Thomas in a deadpanned manner.
“Bert, there is no need for that–”
Bertram switched his attention to Katie. “And Katie for the love of god, stop calling me professor. I’m no longer a professor, the only professor in this room is sitting on my left.” Joked Bertram. “It’s Bertram to you, I insist. And so as you have reminded me, I happen to have just recently come by a rather peculiar Cuban artefact from the Los Buchillones excavations in the Caribbean. I’ve not quite figured out its exact purpose–”
“The Los Buchillones excavations?” Harvey asked, an avid history buff himself. His earlier statement forgotten. “Wasn’t it commissioned by the Cuban Ministry of Science, Technology and Environment for the country? I didn’t know they were up for auction.”
“Oh no they weren’t. Can’t have the bulk of them sitting in China, can we?” Bertram’s eyes widened in shock. “This was sent to me, compliments of the Castillo de la Real Fuerza Museum in Havana. For one, they can’t quite figure out what it is. And of course, the director of the museum owes me a very personal favor.”
“Jeez, I’m afraid I’m not listening to this.” Said Katie as she mockingly cover her ears.
Harvey cocked his head. “Still with the FBI, Katie?”
“Worse, Interpol.”
She continued. “Coincidentally, I am currently engaged in an investigation involving a drug war between the United States and the Sinaloa Cartel. Bertram, do you happen to know anyone in Mexico City, specifically, with the connections to the Cartel?”
“I’m a retired professor, what do you take me for?” Bertram said as he tried to look offended. “I could call up some favors. Perhaps Santos could help, I wonder how the wife and kids are doing. Strictly off the books though.”
Katie took out a folded photograph from her front pocket.
“I know it’s a long shot, but would you be able to identify these two men in the black suits?” Hoped Katie.
“They have their backs facing us.” Bertram stated the obvious.
“I wouldn’t be asking you if they weren’t.” Laughed Katie.
“Doesn’t strike a chord.” The plump man said as he handed the photograph back to the Interpol agent.
Katie slipped the photograph safely in her pocket and raised her teacup to her mouth. Her phone rang before the cup could reached it. She abandoned her teacup without drinking its contents. Katie adjusted her posture as she struggled to remove her cellphone from her jean pocket. An accustomed name appeared on the screen of her smartphone.
“Please excuse me, I’ll have to take this.” Katie said as she stood up from her seat and place her cell against her ear.
“Katie, I found him.”
Chapter 24
“HOLD ON, ZOE.” Said Katie as she walked out the side door of the Glasshouse into the open lawn. She could smell the faint scent of Marigolds.
“You managed to find out the identities of the suited men?” asked Katie.
“Negative.” Zoe replied. “With just their back views and nothing else, all the might of the New York Interpol Analytical Department put together would not be able to find out who they are I’m afraid.”
A frown started to form on Katie’s otherwise delicate features. “What’s this about then, Zoe?”
“Remember the task you set me on to identify the main drug distributing gang in New York City? Who’s responsible for distributing Mexican cocaine in the streets?” Clued Zoe.
“Turned out, it isn’t exactly a street gang spreading the love. It is a floating candy store.” Zoe continued. “The group operates from a 30-foot yacht berthed at the Port Chester Yacht Club.”
“A private yacht club?”
“Yeah, it is a small and quiet yacht club located on Long Island Sound about 25 miles from New York City.” Zoe said. “The Sinaloa Cartel exports the drugs most commonly via drug mules, kidnapped woman they use to transport drugs in their bodies, and supplies them with the cocaine which they distribute to small-time street peddlers looking to make a quick buck.”
The frown on Katie’s face continued to deepen as she feared what came next.
“Sources tell us that they account for 45% of all cocaine in Vinegar Hill in Brooklyn where this particular group have a strong network of peddlers and a steady stream of demand.” Explained Zoe.
“45%! They must be god damn loaded from
this area alone.” Exclaimed Katie.
“That’s not including the deals they do in Downtown Brooklyn.”
“Shit–”
“That’s not the worse part.” Zoe sighed. “They primarily use college students to peddle their crack by enticing them with the fast money.”
“Son of a– have you briefed the Cobbett about this?” said Katie with her fists balled against her jean.
“He’s off the grids. Couldn’t contact him since last night.” Replied Zoe.
Katie paused with annoyance as she deliberated her options. “Do you have any idea who the yacht belongs to?”
“Unfortunately, no. The boat’s registered to an offshore company which after massive digging came up empty. No names, just addresses that do not exist.” Said Zoe as she clicked through the records she had.
“And the yacht club records?”
“Point to one David Smith, he could have at least chosen a better phony name. Social security number’s fabricated too. We do however have gotten a tip that there would be a meeting with some of his regular college kid peddlers today, I’ve got some names coming in as we speak.” Zoe replied. “I’ll send them to you as soon as I have them.”
“Thank you, Zoe.”
A long pause came after the dismissal. Both women did not end the call.
“How’s mum doing?” asked Katie slowly with a reluctance in her voice.
“She’s fine. She’s been asking about you lately, Katie.” Said Zoe. “You know she misses you.”
“I know. You know I love her too. Good to hear she’s okay.” Said Katie, not knowing what else to comment.
“You should find time to visit, at least for the holidays.” Replied Zoe.
“If I’m not too busy with work–“
“Your fight is with the old man, Katie. Don’t let mum suffer because of it. It wasn’t always easy for her being squeeze on both sides.” Admonished her sister.
“She’s make her stand, or the lack of it.” Argued Katie. Her anger returning from the recollection of a troubled memory. “I’m at peace with her decision and so should she.”
