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Great Writing - Home > Extended > The Case of the Missing Husband ch9
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Extended Work
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| The Case of the Missing Husband ch9 | |
| By Snodlander | ||||
| 01 May 2007 | ||||
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In which Littlejohn buys a clipboard and Malone sneezes Mrs Debray didn’t want anyone to know about her husband’s disappearance. That meant I couldn’t just waltz into his office and announce myself as a PI. Fortunately I had the charm and looks to talk my way past any secretary. And just in case, I was a good liar. We drove back to Jefferson and Twenty-Third. The church had a small yard out front for cars. We parked there for a minute while I crossed to the florist and bought a bunch of flowers. They were big and expensive, and I made sure I got a receipt. Thank you, Mrs Debray. Then the grocery store sold me a clipboard. “Gee, I didn’t know you cared,” Malone said, as I dropped into the passenger seat of the pink eyesore. “I don’t,” I replied. What? I didn’t. “You know where this is?” I showed her the address of Debray’s office downtown on the pocketbook’s display. She nodded. “Then hit it, James, and don’t spare the horsepower.” We arrived just before five. Perfect. Any office worker there would be anxious not to prolong the encounter beyond half-past. Malone parked the car in an alley alongside the building. “You know what to do?” She sighed. “Yes. You only made me repeat it a zillion times.” “OK. And just what I told you. No ad-libbing. And for E.T.’s sake, no acting. Keep it simple.” She saluted. “Yes, boss.” “Cute. Two minutes, no more, no less. But wait for the call before you enter the office.” “I got it, already.” I took the clipboard and left the car. Debray’s office was in a reasonable office building, on the 20th floor. He must have chosen it for the view. I walked into the reception, which was twice as big as my entire office. A bored woman at the desk looked up from her screen. I bet she was playing Solitaire too. Her nameplate declared her to be Emma Cohen. “May I help you?” “Johnson Electricals. Mr Debray asked us to issue his EAW while he was out of the office. Should be clear in 15 minutes.” “Issue his what?” “EAW. Electricity at Work.” I had thought up the abbreviation in the elevator. I was quite proud of it. “City Hall regs state every commercial electrical device must be inspected and certified safe every five years. Mr Debray asked if we could fit it in this week while he was sick. Less intrusion. Shouldn’t take long, an office this size. Shall I start in his office, or out here?” “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about this. You’ll have to come back when Mr Debray is here.” “Sorry, lady. Your certificate expires in…” I checked the blank paper on the clipboard. Clipboards are a magic device. Even in this electronic age, maybe precisely because it was an electronic age, nobody argued with a clipboard. “…Eleven days. We’re snowed under at the moment. It’ll be at least five weeks before I can get back to this part of town, and City Hall are shit hot on this at the moment, pardon my language. They’ll close you down if I don’t certify your computers and everything safe. I’ll give Mr Debray a call” I took out my pocket book and thumbed at the keyboard. It looked like I was dialling Debray’s number. I was making a call, right enough, but a text call to Malone with Miss Cohen’s name. She looked indecisive. I could work on that. “Mr Debray isn’t to be disturbed this week.” “If he makes a fuss, we’ll blame me. I didn’t know he wasn’t to be disturbed.” I held the silent phone to my ear. I shrugged. “Voicemail. Listen. Fifteen minutes if I hurry. Trust me, lady, you need this certificate.” The door opened behind me, and in walked Malone under the huge bouquet. “Biss Cohen?” I had told her not to act up, but her voice sounded like she was suffering from the most unconvincing cold ever. Why would she want to disguise her voice? “What’s this?” Cohen asked. Malone placed the flowers on the table. Jesus, but she looked awful. Her eyes were red-raw and watery. Then she gave the loudest, most frightening sneeze I had ever heard. “Flowers for Biss Cohen. Doh card.” “But who sent them?” “Sorry, compady policy. I just deliver dem.” I made a show of looking at my watch. “Shall I start in Mr Debray’s office?” “What?” She looked from the flowers to me. “You bust have a secret adbirer,” said Malone. What had she done to herself? “Jeez! My husband will kill me.” “Only I don’t have much time, lady.” Malone sneezed again, and grabbed a chair. “I’b sorry, but do you have a glass of water?” “Shall I start or go?” Keep her spinning, till she’ll agree just to slow it down. “What? OK, yes, sure, only don’t make a mess. Are you alright honey?” I left the dying Malone to the tender mercies of stressed and puzzled Cohen and opened the doors to Debray’s inner sanctum. Money. That’s what it said as soon as you stepped into it. Wood panelling on the walls. Real paintings. A carpet that could hide lost tribes of pygmies. Books neatly stacked on shelves. His desk was clutter-free, but it was so big you’d need a truck from Macey’s to put enough stuff on it to clutter it. I closed the door and headed straight for his PC. You never know. Sometimes people don’t put passwords on their system, or use stupid ones. I tried a blank password, then ‘password’. No luck. A third attempt would probably lock it down, and I didn’t want to let anyone know I had tried. The drawers held normal office stuff. Pens, paperclips, stapler, notepad. I closed them, then opened the top one again. Notepad? Who used a notepad instead of his pocketbook or PC nowadays? I took it out. It had various pages filled with cryptic notes. The tops ones were filled with references to ‘AW’ and times and dates. AW. I wondered who or what that could be. I turned to the first blank page. The page prior to it had been torn out. I took a pencil and gently rubbed the lead over the page. I felt so lame. I had seen a PI do this once in an old movie. I squinted at the page. There was something there, alright, but I couldn’t quite read it. I tore the page out carefully and put it in my pocket. The filing cabinets were locked. The rest of the office was barren. I guessed he didn’t spend too much time here. He probably just used it to impress clients. Would they have been so impressed if they knew it was his wife’s money behind it all? I stepped back into the outer office. Malone was sitting on a chair, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. I had to admit she was convincing. “I’ll just do your desk, then I’ll leave you in peace.” “Oh, will you need to log into my PC?” Guilt was screaming all over her face. Oh, Miss Cohen! It wasn’t Solitaire you looked up guiltily from when I entered the office; it was porn, wasn’t it. “No, that’s fine, I just need to check the cabling.” Malone gave a revolting loud sniff, and Miss Cohen turned back to her sick patient. I surveyed the desk. Nothing conveniently lying about screaming ‘the secret location of my boss’. Very little lying about at all. Perhaps Mr Debray liked his staff as tidy as himself. I knelt down behind the desk, hoping it looked as though I was checking the cabling. I opened the left-hand drawer. Girly stuff: makeup, chocolate, magazine. I slid it closed silently and opened the other. No files or paper work, no memory keys or data chips. I stood up and nodded to Malone behind the secretary’s back. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I thought I was over my allergies. Thank you so much for your help. I have to get back before the shop closes. Bye.” Malone left the office. Miss Cohen turned to me. “You’d think if she was allergic to pollen, she’d choose a different job than at a florist’s, don’t you think?” I shrugged. “Times are hard.” If they weren’t so hard, I wouldn’t have lumbered myself with Malone. “You’re all clear. I’ll register it with City Hall and mail you the certificate.” Malone was at the elevator, waiting for it to arrive. We ignored each other, then entered an elevator full of office workers sneaking home ten minutes early. In the lobby I asked her, “OK. What did you do? Snort Crack?” She looked up at me miserably. “I sniffed the flowers. I thought they looked so lovely. No-one’s ever bought me flowers, not even as a way to trick me into something. I didn’t think my allergies would kick in at this time or year. I’m sorry, I nearly spoiled it.” I laughed. “Sweetcheeks, it was perfect. It just gave me a start, is all, seeing Typhoid Mary come into the office.” “Aww,” she said, as we made our way to the alley. “You do care after all.”
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