Mann Hunt, page 14
“Ian didn’t have an enemy in the world, as far as I knew.”
Apparently there was someone.
Declan smiled, then stood.
“Thank you so much for stopping by. I really appreciate it. Can I get your number in case I have any other questions?”
Michael passed him a business card with his name, number and a customised realtor logo, then they shook hands and Michael departed.
Declan stayed in the reception room after Michael had gone. He stood there until the three beeps from the alarm system let him know that Michael had left the building, then turned to Charlie.
“He’s hiding something. I can just taste it.”
Charlie said, “Did you notice his feet? They looked to be around a size ten.”
Declan replied, “It isn’t an uncommon shoe size.” Declan crossed his arms. “You know what’s bothering me? What kind of guy refers to his lover by her full first name?”
“What do you mean?” Charlie asked.
“He always referred to her as Katherine. Never Kath, or Kat, or anything like that. What’s he up to? And why did he come here unannounced? He really seemed to want to ensure that his rehearsed story was heard. I’m going out for a minute.”
Declan ran down the stairs, turned out onto the street and saw Michael halfway down the block. He rushed after him, hoping he wouldn’t be seen, but Michael never looked back. Michael reached for his phone and Declan was close enough to make out his voice.
“Katherine… That went well. I don’t think he’s as smart as you think. He believed everything I said… Look, I’ve gotta go. We’ll talk more later.” He ended the call and put the phone back into his jacket, then took something out of his pants’ pocket. As Michael rounded the corner, Declan saw him slide a stick of gum into his mouth then slip the wrapper back into his pocket.
Chapter Nineteen
Charlie sighed, headed into the kitchenette to prepare a quick caffeine fix, then returned to his desk. He took his first sip of coffee and felt the immediate rush as it entered his system. Outside, a loud rumble shook the windows. There was a brief revving of an engine, then silence.
I bet Gwen put a quick end to that.
The alarm beeped, warning that someone was entering the building.
What now?
Charlie heard the slow plod of footsteps up the stairs as he took another sip of coffee. The door opened.
“Mr Attwal!” Charlie said with surprise.
“Mr Watts. It is so good to see you again, my friend.”
They shook hands. Mr Attwal’s left hand was still bandaged. Charlie tried not to stare.
“Yes. I am afraid that will not be growing back. But the doctors feel that they can do a good job of constructing me a new ear, although for now you cannot see the damage under my pagri,” Mr Attwal said, touching his turban.
“Please, have a seat. I’m afraid Declan’s out right now. Can I get you a tea or coffee?”
“Oh, no. Do not go worrying yourself. I will only be here for a minute. I wanted to give you both a gift. A small way of saying thank you for the great gift you gave me.”
“Honestly, Mr Attwal, I know I speak for both of us when I say that a gift is not expected.”
“That is very kind, but it is something that would give me great pleasure to do.” The accountant reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny box, and handed it to Charlie. “Now, I must be going. My son is downstairs waiting for me. I have to get busy and find some new clients. I lost the Monarch account when I lost this,” he said, raising his left hand, “and I just found out that another client of mine has been found in a river. Maybe I should hire Mr Hunt to find me some more clients, eh?” He laughed, shook Charlie’s hand again and left, calling out, “Until we meet again my friend.”
What an interesting man.
Charlie reflected on what Mr Attwal had said. It gave him an idea. He went to his computer and did a quick search. “Perfect.” He continued to look through folders and files.
Ten minutes later, Charlie took a sip of his coffee and looked at the box that Mr Attwal had left. He opened it. Inside was a note.
A real detective needs a real detective’s ride. Your car is an embarrassment. Your gift awaits you on the street.
Beneath the note was an envelope containing a set of car keys.
Charlie walked over to the window and looked down. Sitting at the curb was undoubtedly the source of the noise he’d heard earlier—the cherry-red, 1970 Dodge Challenger from Abel’s Wrecking Yard. Declan was standing beside it. Charlie ran down the stairs.
“It’s gorgeous.” Charlie said. “Mr Attwal gave it to us!”
“I guess the police are done with it,” Declan replied.
“The car looks great. He must have paid someone to clean it up.”
“Too bad, ‘cause I have absolutely no use for a car like this.”
“What?” Charlie cried out. “But it’s…perfect. It’s so…red. And shiny.”
“Exactly. It’s too noticeable for me to drive.”
Charlie turned to Declan, disappointed that he didn’t want the car. Declan held the keys out to him. “But it might be good to have a second car for you to use. Just in case Francine isn’t up to the job.”
Charlie couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Come on upstairs. I’ll get the paperwork started on the insurance,” Declan said.
Charlie had a company car! How amazing was that? And not only a company car, but a company muscle car. Soon Declan was on the phone arranging for the vehicle to be covered by the company insurance.
Declan poked his head out of the office. “The car is good to go by tomorrow. Why don’t you drive Francine home tonight and Uber in tomorrow. For now, I’ll let you pull the new one around back and we’ll leave it there for the night.”
“Sure thing. Will do. Now, there’s something I discovered while you were out. I was so excited about the car I almost forgot to mention it. When Mr Attwal was here, he joked that he was in the market for some more clients. He specifically mentioned losing the Monarch account, then he said that one of his other clients was”—he paused for effect—“found in a river.”
“What?”
Charlie added, “So, I went to the files that we removed from Mr Attwal’s laptop, and sure enough, there was a folder named Mann.”
“You are a genius! Wait—I thought we sent those files to Mr Attwal?”
“Those were copies. I still had the files on the cloud server, which, I guess I was supposed to have deleted…” Charlie nervously admitted.
“Again—genius!”
“I was able to pull up all of his financials. I also found a list of properties once owned by Ian Mann. Most were smaller buildings which he sold off long ago. But there is one building—the Consolidated Canada Fertiliser Building. Whatever it is now, it’s costing him a bundle in taxes and other fees.”
“What else do you know about the building?”
“I looked it up online,” Charlie said. “It’s four storeys and a quarter of a million square feet. It takes up almost an entire city block.”
“I wonder who owns the remainder of the block?” Declan stared out the window for a moment. “How much do you really know about accounting?”
“Nothing,” Charlie replied.
“Well then, I think it’s time to hire a new accountant. Do you happen to know any that are looking for clients?”
“Yeah. I have one in mind.”
Declan grinned. “I’m going to visit Mr Attwal. In the meantime, call up Sheldon Prescott. See how the CCTV footage is coming and, while you have him on the phone, ask him if Ian ever mentioned the Consolidated Canada Fertiliser Building. And see if you can get a number for Robert Williams. He said he was Ian’s best friend. Ask him if Ian ever said anything to him specifically about that building.”
Charlie wrote it all down, then scanned through the contact list on his phone as Declan waved goodbye, and left the office.
Charlie dialled the number. Someone picked up the phone on the other end.
“Hello? Sheldon Prescott speaking.”
“Mr Prescott,” Charlie said in his cheeriest voice. “Charlie Watts here, from Declan Hunt Investigations. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“No. Not at all.”
“I’m calling about the security footage. It would be great to have a look at it as soon as possible.”
“No problem, my boy. I just had an email from the security company. They were about to erase the files, but I caught them in time. They said they can do a digital file transfer directly to you, but the fellow I talked to needs clearance, and his boss is away until Monday.”
“I’ll look for them on Monday then.”
“While I have you on the phone, may I ask one more question about the night of the party?”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“When Ian was talking about the property he was being pressured to sell, did he mention the Consolidated Canada Fertiliser Building?”
“Yes, I believe that was the property,” Sheldon replied. “He said it was once the jewel in his real estate crown. From the sounds of it, the crown is looking a little shabby these days.”
“Thanks so much for the information. I look forward to seeing the CCTV footage.”
Before Charlie hung up, he got Sheldon to give him Robert William’s telephone number. He called Robert and confirmed what Sheldon had said regarding the building. He had little extra to add, other than to say that if Charlie had other questions, Robert would welcome him with open arms.
Charlie thanked him and disconnected. The phone rang immediately after he hung up. He knew the number.
“Hey, Declan. Sheldon Prescott’s security firm should be transferring the video files to us on Monday, and he and Robert have confirmed that the fertiliser building was the property of interest. I’m just going to start looking into who the potential buyer might be.”
“Can you do that online?”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Great,” Declan said. “Call me if you need anything. I just wanted to let you know that when I’m finished up with Mr Attwal, I have a meeting with Luke.”
“Oh.” Charlie couldn’t help but sound dejected. I wonder if the meeting is clothing-optional… Snap out of it!
“Thanks for letting me know,” Charlie said. He hung up the phone and busied himself searching for more information on the building. Another half hour on the computer proved futile. Then an idea hit him. He would simply ask.
He did a Google Street View search of the area around the factory. Prescott was right. It was a dump. The images showed it as a rundown, four-storey brick structure that took up three-quarters of the block. The rest of the block was occupied by smaller buildings of an even older vintage which wrapped around two sides of the factory. These seemed to be mainly independent clothing stores, a record shop, a cheque-cashing operation and, what Charlie was mostly interested in, a good number of vacant buildings.
Charlie checked himself out in the washroom mirror. He looked presentable enough to pose as a… What would his cover be? This was exciting. He’d never pretended to be anything other than himself. He could be a designer, or a painter—they would need a studio space. That might work, but what if someone asked questions like “Oh, you must know…” Then it came to him…
Charlie locked up. On his way down to the parking area behind the building, he took a minute to admire the red Challenger, rubbing his hand on the hood. He’d have to move her later. He made his way to the parking lot and hopped into Francine. Reliable Francine. Just like him.
Charlie turned the key. She made a weak sputtering sound, but didn’t start. “Don’t worry, girl. I’m not giving up on you,” he said, stroking the dashboard. He wished Declan felt like that about him. But why pick the reliable car when he could go with Luke, the shiny new red one?
Francine continued to moan and sputter. It was clear that the car was not going to start.
“Fuck it!” He slammed his hand on the dashboard. “Sorry, girl,” he said.
Charlie ran back to the office and picked up the keys. In a flash he was standing beside the Red Beast—that would be its name. Beast for short. Red for when he needed to get personal. He slipped into the driver’s seat and slid the key into the ignition. He hesitated before turning the key, but when he did, the four-hundred-and-forty-cubic-inch V-8 roared to life. He’d never wielded this kind of power before, and it scared and thrilled him at the same time. It was then that he realised that the Red Beast had a standard transmission. Charlie hadn’t touched a standard since he’d learned to drive eight years ago, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He had the power, and with no hills between him and where he was headed, five kilometres of road to remember how to shift.
Chapter Twenty
Attwal Accounting Services occupied a storefront in a strip mall in the northwest part of the city. On one side was an electronics repair shop, on the other, a take-out gyros restaurant.
Declan walked through the front door and was greeted by an older woman in a brightly coloured sari.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes. My name is Declan Hunt. I have an appointment with Mr Attwal.”
She gave him a stern look and a slight sneer crept across her upper lip. She stood and walked around the corner.
“Palvinder,” she called out, then in a lowered voice, but just enough that Declan could still hear, “there is a man out there. He probably doesn’t have much money, and I don’t like the look of him. He says he has an appointment.”
Palvinder Attwal came around the corner, followed by his receptionist. He beamed. “Mr Hunt,” he cried out, as he grasped Declan’s hands in his. “Mother, this is Declan Hunt, the man who was good enough to save my life.”
“But not good enough to save your ear and finger.” She didn’t even try to hide her contempt.
“I only wish I could have found him earlier. I accept full blame for that,” Declan said.
“Bah,” the accountant said. “What is a finger good for but to point accusations, and an ear but to hear lies? Now,” he said to Declan, leading him towards his office, “come and tell me what is on your mind. Mother—chai and kaju katli.”
They sat down and Palvinder asked, “Now, my friend, what can I do for you?”
“First off, I want to thank you for the wonderful gift you gave us. My partner, Charlie, was speechless.”
“It was the least I could do for what you did for me. And that little car of yours…it is a bit of an embarrassment. I can’t have my hero driving around in that little shit-box. So after the police had finished with the red beauty, I convinced the wrecking yard fellow to sell it to me in exchange for a bit of help with his taxes. He was so pleased that he did the cleaning and detail work on the car for nothing!”
“Speaking of work, you mentioned to Charlie that you were in the market for a new client.”
“Yes,” Mr Attwal answered.
“As it so happens, I’m in the market for an accountant.”
“Then it must be me! No discounts, of course, for saving my life. This is a business deal.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect it.”
“Mother!” the accountant called out.
She entered carrying a tray with two ornate tea cups filled with chai and a small plate covered in triangular-shaped sweets. She set them down with a clatter and said, “I’m working on the contract right now. Don’t rush me.”
She quickly departed.
Declan smiled. “I’m going to like working with you, Mr Attwal.”
“Palvinder, please.”
“And please call me Declan. Now, I understand that one of your clients was Ian Mann.”
The accountant crossed his arms. “I’m not sure how you found out, but yes, he was one of my clients.”
“His wife hired me to find out what happened to him.”
“Interesting.” Palvinder nodded. “I thought the city had police to do that?”
Declan shrugged. “Sometimes it helps to have someone who is…free of blinders to look into a case.”
“And sometimes it is just easier to handle things on your own, without the constraints of the outside world.”
“Exactly,” Declan agreed.
“So,” Palvinder continued, “do you have any clues as to what happened to Ian?”
“Other than that he was murdered?”
Palvinder took a sip of his tea. “That is unfortunate.”
“It seems that he was involved in an unwanted attempt to get him to sell one of his properties. Do you know anything about that?” Declan asked.
“As his former accountant, all I can say is that I was encouraging him to offload unnecessary assets to a developer, a view he didn’t share.”
Declan leaned in. “You wouldn’t happen to know who that developer was?”
Palvinder picked up a sweet which he nibbled. “You are asking me to divulge private information of a valued client.”
“Yes.”
“Confidentiality is a sacred trust. An accountant is like a priest. You wouldn’t expect a priest to repeat what a man said in confession, would you?”
“It depends on whether it would help to solve a murder,” Declan replied.
Palvinder pondered that for a moment and took another sip of tea. “Well—it’s a good thing I’m not a priest. That, and the fact that the developer is no longer a client of mine. It was Monarch Development.”
Declan nodded. “And we know how far they’ll go to get what they want.”
“Precisely.” Palvinder offered Declan the plate of sweets and the detective picked up a single piece and tried it. A cashew flavour flooded his mouth.
“This is delicious.” Declan smiled as he continued, “Do you have the name of the person you were dealing with?”
Palvinder stared Declan in the eyes. “The Monarch account was highly unusual. All the transactions were done online and the first people I met from the company were my kidnappers, but I do not think they were in charge. That is all I know.”
