Author's Torment

by Thomas Atwood

  “Mr. Guyer, was last night the first time you’ve had Mr. Moseby to the house since you bought it?” I asked.

  “Yes. Up until now, the executor of the estate was the only person I’d had contact with.”

  Formulating my thoughts carefully, I slid my hands into my pockets again. “Is it possible Mr. Moseby decided to take the possessions he wanted with him last night?”

  Mr. Guyer appeared astounded by the suggestion. “Oh come now, Mr. Clergy, why would he sneak into the mansion after he left?”

  “Merely a suggestion. I’m sure when he arrives this whole mess will end right here.”

  “That might be, Mr. Clergy,” Mr. Guyer started, “but my safe was one of the possessions taken, and only two of us knew what was in it.”

  “You and Lawrence.” I nodded casually toward each as I named them.

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Daxley responded quietly.

  As a matter of fact, Lawrence Daxley had been a great deal too quiet.

  “To be fair, Mr. Guyer,” I began with humor, “most people assume a safe has valuables in it. You said it stayed fairly out in the open. Almost any Joe Swindler can crack a safe these days. That’s why they encourage you to hide them where they can’t easily be found.”

  I’d rattled his pride a little. Mr. Guyer scowled and pointed at me. “Now don’t get cocky with me, Mr. Clergy. I know perfectly well how to keep a safe.”

  “Begging your pardon.” I swallowed a laugh. “I’ll examine the windows and doors for signs of a break in while we wait for Mr. Moseby. If you gentlemen don’t mind.”

  Mr. Daxley led me outside of the home where I took in the number of doors and windows available to a burglar. Not terribly many of them, especially when it came to taking large, fragile objects safely from the house.

  I counted five doors to the outside, one out the back, one off the kitchen, the front door, a door off a drawing room that overlooked the gardens, the final door led down to the cellar. There were numerous windows all along the house, accessible at ground level, but none of them seemed to be tampered with.

  Just as I was coming in the back doors, I heard a car pull up.

  Mr. Moseby had arrived. He was wringing his hands and out of breath. He was a tall, lean man. Strict business men are always clean-cut and pristine. Hair swept neatly to the side and pressed down with grease, an immaculate gray-blue business suit, and shoes that reflected the sunlight as though they were mirrors.

  I never understood why anybody liked spit-shined shoes. I personally like a bit of wear in my loafers. Gives the appearance they’re comfortable.

  In his hurried state, Mr. Moseby shook Mr. Guyer by the hand. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it sooner; we were in a meeting with General Motors when my secretary handed me the message.”

  “That is quite alright, Mr. Moseby. This is Mr. Clergy. He’s the detective we’ve put on the case,” Mr. Guyer introduced.

  “Detective?” Mr. Moseby seemed to exclaim, and his widened eyes turned to mine. “Do you really think it was that necessary?”

  His surprised expression stayed with me as I offered a warm smile, extending my hand. “Mr. Moseby, Mr. Guyer has been showing me around the estate. Quite a nice place. He says most of the possessions taken were yours.”

  If his eyes could get any larger, I’m certain they did.

  “My possessions? Mr. Clergy, the house and all its contents were sold to Mr. Guyer the moment he bought the house. If I wanted anything from it, I would have already had my estate manager take them from the home.”

  “Mr. Guyer also had a safe stolen,” I added, pressing Mr. Moseby for any reactions I could. “I was told it had a great deal of valuables in it.”

  “Mr. Guyer, I’m dreadfully sorry to hear that. I hope nothing important was lost in the safe?” Mr. Moseby turned to Mr. Guyer with concern.

  Mr. Guyer offered a tentative smile, which I’m sure was forced, thanking Mr. Moseby for his concerns.

  After garnering what I could regarding the missing items, I heard the grandfather clock in the lobby chime and knew I had important appointments waiting for me. Seeing little else I could gain from the situation at the moment, I bid them good day and left.

  There was something about Mr. Daxley’s countenance that I wasn’t keen on. If a man is parted with his money, there are several obvious signs in his body language that express his concern. Daxley showed very few of those signs.

  The other thing that concerned me, I couldn’t quite get my finger on it, but Mr. Moseby was alarmed. More than what seemed necessary for the situation.

  I decided to check up on Mr. Lawrence Daxley first.

  Lawrence lived with his wife, Charlotte, in a penthouse downtown. Not a crowded joint, the building was early 1900’s, with all the elegance riches could buy. Such luxuries including a lobby with a chandelier, a guard wearing a tuxedo, gold plating welded to anything that could hold it, and the garish brilliance of crystal sending patterns of light splashing around the room.

  As I was about to ask the receptionist which floor Mr. Daxley resided on, I happened to notice him out the corner of my eye.

  He was dressed in a dark gray suit with a matching fedora. The fedora was pulled down low in the front, shadowing out his face, and the collar of his black raincoat was popped up around his neck.

  Curiosity kills the cat, but in my line of work, it’s almost as necessary as water. Excuse me, I need another drink.

  I followed him back out of the building, hoping he wouldn’t duck into a car before I had a chance to follow. Luckily, he was walking down the sidewalk and seemed content to do so. His demeanor reminded me of a shadow, moving unseen and unnoticed into the darkening twilight.

  We walked in sync to his footsteps. Though his soles were louder, clacking on the pavement. Mine, being loafers, had soft soles. I don’t like loud shoes, see? They’re not practical in situations like that. You start following after a guy you need to shadow, your shoes clack, clack with each passing step, they’re sure to hear you.

  You might become more conscious of how you walk next time you put on a pair of nice shoes. I didn’t always know this trick, mind you. Some things you’re forced to learn over time.

  It began raining before he finally stopped in front of a familiar outpost of mine where the brawling can get intense and the bartender spends long hours wishing for another job.

  I watched him go in, then waited a few moments before following behind him.

  He was sitting alone, already lighting a cigarette as a waiter brought him a drink.

  Kind of fast. I thought to myself as I sat myself at a table across the room. There was a perfect view of his table through a fancy barrier separating the booths. Ordering a bourbon on the rocks, I lit a cigarette and waited. There is a lot of waiting involved in this type of work.

  The bar wasn’t overly crowded, being early into the evening hours. The bartender kept pouring drinks for figures hunched over the counter, likely hiding away from dames and work. I could hear one of them blabbing his life story to the bartender, who curtly nodded and washed glasses, worked on paperwork, and fixed drinks.

  Daxley sat alone for some time. With his distraught look and nervous anticipation, I really wished I’d had his point of view in these moments.

  Lawrence Daxley tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, lighting a second cigarette. Any moment they would arrive for the money, he would hand it over and leave, just like that. He glanced around at the shadows, considering how deep he’d gotten himself into this racket. Gambling is all fun and games until one partners with sharks.

  After this, I swear I’ll stop. Charlotte deserves to be happy and secure. I’m not going to let this keep happening. I’ll go clean and give up gambling. Mother left me a fortune, and when my uncle leaves me his entire estate, I’ll never want again in my life.

  A figure shifted in the darkness. Dax knew this was the moment. He took a deep breath, tapping the table three times.

  The silhouette moved t
oward him. The light from the low tables showed his hands tucked casually in his pockets, and he sauntered over to Dax. In seconds, he was standing at the edge of the table.

  “Hey, Stranger,” the man said in a cool, even tone. “Mind if I sit down with you?”

  Dax noticed a bulge in the man’s coat pocket, pointing slightly in his direction. He’d expected there to be a gun; he hadn’t expected the way it felt being on the other side of it.

  “My boss wants me to collect.” The man didn’t bring his arms up to the table when he sat down. He leaned back against the booth, keeping his shoulders straight and likely his hand on his gun.

  A waiter approached the table. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Sure, put it on his tab. I’ll have a Bloody Mary with a shake of tabasco.”

  Dax’s heartbeat resounded in his ears as he tried to keep face.

  “So. Do you have his money?”

  “Yeah,” Dax said casually. “I have it.”

  “All of it?”

  Dax nodded, reaching in his pocket for the envelope. He slid it across the table, and the man picked it up.

  “After this it’s over, yes? My debt is paid and he’ll leave me alone?”

  The man glanced at him briefly then back at the envelope as he counted the bills. “Sure. The money seems to all be here. As long as you keep your nose clean and stay away from the cops, you’re a free man.”

  Dax knew better than to allow the relief to wash over him just yet. The bartender brought the man’s drink, and he took two large sips of it before pushing the glass in Dax’s direction and standing up. “See you around, Daxley.”

  Dax closed his eyes, putting his fingertips together, counting the number of footsteps clacking their way to the door. The door opened and closed, and with the closing of the door, all of his tension eased as he let out a long exhale.

  I had a clear view of the entire transaction. It made absolute sense why a desperate young man might want to steal his uncle’s safe. What did not make sense is why Lawrence Daxley would have wanted to take everything else too.

  Tomorrow, I would have a chat with Mrs. Daxley to find out what Charlotte knew about it.

  The next morning, I did just that. Fortunately, Mr. Daxley was already at work by the time I arrived. Charlotte was nervous to see me.

  “Please, do come in, Mr. Clergy.” Charlotte angled her hand slightly in a gesture to invite me in.

  She was delicate and dainty in her movements. I knew she hadn’t been born into aristocracy; aristocracy had found her. It suited her, being a rich man’s wife. Her grace and persona elegantly complimented the wealth she was draped in.

  She moved gingerly about. “Would you like some coffee or tea, Mr. Clergy? I’m so sorry Lawrence isn’t here.”

  “Coffee, if you don’t mind.” I looked the room over, impressed by the furnishings.

  “Sure.” Her cute voice called out from the kitchen, “I have a fresh kettle on the stove.”

  She came back a moment later with a tray. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Thank you, Charlotte.”

  We sipped coffee in silence for a moment. I imagine she was a bit nervous. She seemed collected, carrying herself with dignity, but after what I saw last night, I’m sure there was worry tucked away behind that pretty face of hers.

  “Now you know I’ve always been a good friend of the family. I’ve spent several sleepless nights with your husband’s uncle solving petty cases with him, keeping his company out of the papers and out of legal trouble,” I said, getting right to the point of my visit.

  “He is grateful to you for that. We all are.” Her voice was soft, gentle, as though a deep sadness rested in her chest. “Lawrence has never been more grateful for you.”

  “I’m afraid I have some troubling questions I need to ask you.”

  Her bottom lip quivered. Oh that precious soul. Hurting her put a knife in my heart. She fixed her eyes on her cup of coffee, which she held in her lap, seeming to straighten her posture as though preparing herself for the weight of the world.

  “Where was Lawrence the night of the burglary?”

  “He was here, with me. He came home from the dinner party, and we went to bed.”

  “He was with you all night?”

  “Of course.” She looked up at me with her large, blue eyes. There was longing in them. Desperation that wanted me to believe her.

  I did believe her. “Charlotte, do you know that your husband conducted a transaction last night in a bar? Where did he get the money?”

  She gasped, inhaling sharply. The sudden drop of her shoulders influenced her hands and the coffee cup clinked in her lap. “Oh Mr. Clergy.” She began to cry. Crying was always a good sign. A confession was about to unfold. “I know Dax won’t mind if I tell you.” She spoke a moment later. “Mr. Clergy, something must be done. He’s gotten himself in too deep this time.”

  “Deep into what?” I inquired, giving her my complete and full attention.

  She gingerly placed her cup and saucer on the table, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. I handed her my handkerchief – being that it seems the right thing to do when a lady cries – and she sat playing with it, rubbing it between her fingers.

  “Dax has a problem with gambling.” Her eyes met mine with a sobering haze of shame. “It hasn’t been so much of an issue until now. This last time his debts were quite extravagant.”

  “So Dax stole his uncle’s possessions and paid off the sharks, correct?”

  “Well, no. Dax did steal, but all he took was his rightful allowance allotment.” She wiped her nose with the handkerchief. “That isn’t really stealing, is it Mr. Clergy? Not if the money was rightfully his?”

  I pursed my lips. That was a tricky question. So Lawrence Daxley was a gambling man. He took risks for a living. I looked right into Charlotte’s big, blue eyes, her desperation drilling a hole into my heart. Such a beautiful dame had no business getting strung through this anxiety and danger.

  “Charlotte, I promise you I’ll see to this right away. Call your uncle for me and make sure he’ll be in when I get there. Be sure Dax is there too.” I stood, putting my cup and saucer on the coffee tray. “Thank you for the coffee, Charlotte. If there is ever anything else you need, be sure to give me a ring.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Clergy, I will.” Solemn reservation had overtaken her pretty face. Those sweet little lips of hers were tight, not frowning, just tight. Her brow was drawn in, and her eyes stared somewhere past the coffee pot. As though she’d noticed I was staring, she glanced up and smiled. “I’m so glad you came by.”

  I winked. “Me too. Thanks again, Charlotte.” Putting on my hat, I walked to the door and let myself out.

  By the time I arrived at Mr. Guyer’s estate, it was pouring down sheets and blankets of rain. Occasional flashes of lightening reverberated in thunder.

  The butler took my wet coat and hat, and I skipped ahead of him to the drawing room I’d been in before. To my brilliant advantage, nephew and uncle were there conducting business as usual.

  I rapped my hand on the door as I let myself in. “Hello there, Mr. Guyer. I just spoke with Charlotte. I need to see Mr. Daxley right away.”

  Mr. Guyer, considerably caught off guard, looked between Lawrence and myself. “Of course, Mr. Clergy. Lawrence, go see what the man wants. And be quick, we haven’t resolved the issue with the Thurston estate yet.”

  Mr. Daxley nodded his head to his uncle respectively. He then forced a smile at me, directing me to follow him into the next room.

  Once safely behind a closed door, his eyes changed. They were hostile, his entire posture hunched toward me like a wild animal that had been threatened.

  “Alright, Clergy, you’ve got me. What did my wife tell you?”

  “Give it up, Dax. I know what happened last night.”

  “Last night?” His expression dropping into anger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I saw you make an exchange last nig
ht in a bar. Charlotte confirmed it this morning.”

  “You went to see my wife? Alone?” His tone was threatening, and he balled one of his hands into a fist.

  I was shocked by the insinuation. “Your wife is worried sick about you. Stealing your own money, paying off loan sharks, getting yourself into trouble with gambling debts.”

  “I had to do it. It was the only way. My uncle would never have given me the money if he knew it was for gambling debts.”

  “Why not? You said yourself it’s your money.” I stayed cool and casual, watching the man play out his own grievances with himself.

  “That’s right, it is my money. And you have no business telling me what I can and can’t do with it,” he chided aggressively.

  “I have no intention of telling you how to spend your money. Your uncle hired me to find a thief,” I challenged.

  He straightened himself. “I didn’t take my uncle’s possessions. I only took what was rightfully mine. The money and Mother’s diamonds. All of which were in the safe.” He stuck his hands in his pockets with a smug sort of grin. I wanted to sock him right in the jaw.

  “Here’s what I want you to do.” I narrowed my eyes, sizing him up. “You’re going to march in there and tell him exactly what you told me. And if you don’t, I will. And I’ll include what Charlotte told me, too.”

  “Uncle knows well enough I’m a gambling man.”

  “You’ve gone too far, Daxley. I wish the thief had taken your money. Fortunately for you, you got to it first. That only leaves me one question: who took all of the knick-knacks in the middle of the night?”

  “I don’t know.”

  For the first time since this investigation started, I knew Daxley was telling the truth. In the long run, that was irrelevant. What mattered now was telling his uncle the money was safe, especially since the stolen allowance seemed to be the most pressing issue on Mr. Guyer’s plate.

  Well, he confessed to his uncle about the money stolen, and surprisingly, Mr. Guyer took the news rather well. Daxley was chided for his gambling debts, but when the chips fell, I think Mr. Guyer regards Daxley with the love for a son he never had.