Page 11 of The Burnt (The Declan Hunt Mysteries #3)

Charlie wandered into Declan’s office and relaxed back into his chair, imagining what it would be like to have his very own space.

He had just put his feet up on the desk when the door alarm chirped.

Charlie quickly stood and stepped out into the main room.

The door opened and a distinguished older man entered.

He was in his late sixties, and dressed in a yellow puffy parka.

He was about Charlie’s height, was very well groomed and had misty grey eyes a shade darker than his hair.

His appearance gave him an air of authority.

“May I help you?” Charlie asked.

“Some oxygen, if you’ve got it. Those stairs just about did me in.”

“Please,” Charlie said, “have a seat.” He gestured toward the couch, then realised that the coffee table and floor still had piles of paper on them. “Sorry, we’re just in the middle of reorganising the files. Perhaps you would be more comfortable in the office.”

“That would be fine.”

Charlie led the man into Declan’s office, taking a seat behind the desk.

The man unzipped his coat and put it over the back of the other chair.

“Now,” the man said as he sat down, “I have to apologise for not making an appointment, but I was in town for a doctor’s visit and I thought, ‘What the hell, give it a shot and see if anyone’s at home.’”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, “but if you’re here to see Declan Hunt, he’s not in at the moment.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Oh. How foolish of me. I am so sorry. I should have realised that you’re not, I mean you don’t look…”

“Rugged enough?” Charlie offered.

The man rose and reached for his coat.

“Wait. Maybe I can help. I’m Mr Hunt’s assistant, Charlie Watts.” Charlie extended his hand. The gentleman shook it.

Charlie continued, “Is it safe to assume that you’re in the market for a private investigator?”

The man nodded. “I am indeed.”

“Well, I often handle intake interviews for the firm,” Charlie said. “If you feel comfortable enough, and since you’re here, you can tell me about your concerns and I can produce a summary report for Declan. I’ll see that he gets it when he returns.”

The man settled back into his chair.

“Yes. Foolish of me not to make an appointment. I just thought… Well, Mr Hunt came highly recommended, so I don’t imagine he would have hired a fool as an assistant. Where shall I begin?”

“Let’s start with your name, address and a contact number. I’ll fill out a preliminary non-disclosure agreement. That way, you can be assured that whatever you say is confidential from this meeting onward, whether we take your case or not.”

The man smiled. “I like the way you work. All right, let’s do this. My name is Simon Griffin. I live at—oh here…” He pulled out his wallet and produced a business card. “My address in Banff, and my home and cell numbers are all there for you.”

Charlie had never met anyone who actually lived in Banff.

He must have money .

Charlie wrote out the pertinent information on the non-disclosure agreement, signed it then had Mr Griffin sign. After making a copy, Charlie pulled out his notepad and began, “Now, Mr Griffin, how can I help you?”

“I want you to find my son, Milo.”

Charlie frowned. Wasn’t Milo the name Archie Whitcher said just before he died?

Simon must have noticed the change in his expression. “Is everything all right?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes. So when is the last time you saw your son?”

“It would have been about ten years ago, just shortly after my birthday, which is January the third.”

“Ten years ago? And you’re only looking for him now?” Charlie asked.

It was Simon’s turn to frown. “When Milo disappeared, I contacted the police. There was a full investigation by the RCMP, but it amounted to nothing. Then my assistant Tom conducted his own search with every resource I could provide. I even offered a reward, but it seemed Milo had simply disappeared. The police decided he was just another teen runaway. But I think he’s come back. ”

Charlie looked up from his notes. “And why do you think that?”

“Because of this.”

Simon produced a piece of paper which he placed on the desk.

I’m watching you and I know what you did.

Milo

Charlie let out a low whistle. “And when did you receive this note?”

“It was at the house a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry to ask this, but why did you wait so long?”

Simon paused. “I was pondering if I should take it to the police, but decided I needed someone who could handle this with a bit more discretion. I don’t want my name in the papers.”

Charlie nodded. “And do you have any idea what this means? ‘I know what you did.’”

Simon shook his head and looked down at his hands.

“I have no idea. You have to understand that Milo was a teenager when he disappeared. And we didn’t always see eye to eye on things.

In fact, the last time I saw him, we’d had quite a bad argument, which is why the authorities initially thought he’d run away. ”

“What was the argument about?” Charlie asked.

“I have a vault in my office at home where I keep things of great value. Milo knew he wasn’t supposed to go in there without my permission, but he had, and possibly had even removed something from inside.

When I confronted him, he denied it. I was very angry and told him that if he didn’t behave, I might have to kick him out and he would be forced to live with his mother.

He said he had a much better idea. He was thinking that maybe it was time for him to move out on his own. ”

“How old was he at the time?” Charlie asked.

“Fifteen! I didn’t think he was serious.”

“And after he disappeared,” Charlie continued, “did you try and get in touch with his mother?”

“Of course I did, but that was another dead end. She hardly knew him at all. She left him with me when he was a baby and never came back. You see, Michelle was an actress and always put her career first.” The colour rose in Simon’s face and he gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white.

“When I contacted her, she claimed she hadn’t seen Milo.

Still, I wondered if he might have thought going to her place would give him a more glamorous life with that B-grade film producer husband of hers.

No, wait—that was the previous one. This one was a writer.

That’s it, a writer. And not even a literary one.

This one churned out pop-lit trash at the rate a normal person would throw out their garbage, which was pretty much the same thing. ”

This wasn’t going the way Charlie had hoped. What would Declan do?

“Would you like a glass of water?” He glanced around the room and saw the bottle of scotch on the credenza. “Or perhaps something stronger?”

Simon loosened the grip on his chair. “Perhaps something stronger would help.”

“How about a scotch?”

Simon nodded his approval.

Charlie poured a healthy two fingers into a crystal glass and handed it to Simon

“Thank you,” he said, taking the glass from Charlie and taking a sip. He smacked his lips. “Twelve-year-old Laphroaig, if I’m right.”

Charlie nodded. “It was a birthday gift from our accountant.”

“And to think, mine only sends me a card. I’ll have to get your man’s name.”

The drink seemed to do the trick.

“So we were talking about your ex-wife,” Charlie prompted.

Simon took a deep breath. “Yes. In spite of what she said, I had her under surveillance for a month just to be sure, but no sign of Milo.”

“What is Milo’s mother’s full name?” Charlie asked.

“Michelle Coleman. She worked mostly in film in the States. I don’t think she’s working much anymore. As beauty fades, so does the career.”

“Do you have an address or phone number for her?”

“Yes. I can get you that once I get home.”

Charlie reviewed his notes. “And is there anyone else he was close to back then? Anyone I could try and track down?”

Simon sat up straighter in his chair. “There was a boy he was seeing. He was a bit younger than Milo and I’m pretty sure they were more than friends.

As I’ve told you, it was a long time ago, so I don’t remember much about him, but I recall he looked like he was from the wrong side of the tracks.

Milo was careful not to bring him around the house but I saw them exchanging a kiss outside of a coffee shop in Banff one day.

When I asked Milo about it, he said I must have seen somebody else. ”

“Did you know the boy’s name?”

“No.”

“Did you make any attempt to find the other boy?”

“The police looked into it, but said it was another dead end.”

Simon paused as he looked at the picture of Freddy Whitcher on Declan’s desk.

“Is that Mr Hunt’s son?”

Charlie shook his head. “No. He doesn’t have any children. Now, I have one more question for you, Mr Griffin.”

Simon’s gaze returned to Charlie.

“Did your son have access to money? A bank account, credit card, that sort of thing?”

“I insisted that he have a bank account. Young people have to know how to take care of their money. I had him on an allowance that I deposited in the bank for him every month.”

“And was any money withdrawn before or after his disappearance?”

Mr Griffin sat in silence before answering. “After he vanished, I had a look at his bank statement. He’d been withdrawing five hundred dollars a month for the ten months before he disappeared.”

“And nothing since?”

“I left the account open for a while, hoping it would show some activity, but it never did. I closed it long ago.”

Charlie said, “Five thousand dollars is a lot for a kid to carry around.”

Simon shifted in his chair. “That’s not all. A few weeks after Milo disappeared, five thousand dollars was missing from petty cash reserves that I keep in the vault. I suspect it was Milo. So he actually had ten thousand dollars in cash at hand.”

“And no one else had access to the vault?”

“Only my assistant, Tom. And before you suggest it could have been him, I assure you, to him, that amount means nothing.”

Charlie looked over his notes. There was a lot to consider. “I think I have everything I need to get started, Mr Griffin. But before I do, is there anything else you’d like to add?”

“I’d like to get to the bottom of this, and if Milo is still around, I’d definitely like to see him.”

Charlie nodded. “I’ll go through this with Declan the moment he gets in and get back to you tomorrow. By the way, may I make a copy of this note for the file?”

“Not a problem.”

Charlie stood. Mr Griffin eased himself out of the chair, sat down his empty glass on the desk, and followed Charlie out of the office. Charlie scanned the note, handed the original back to Mr Griffin, then walked him to the door.

“Thank you so much for coming in today, Mr Griffin. As I said, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

He shook Mr Griffin’s hand.

“Thank you, too, Mr Watts. I look forward to hearing from you. And if I’m not in, just leave a message with my housekeeper, Jasmine. She’ll make sure I get it.”

* * * *

Simon returned to his 2001 navy-blue Bentley Arnage. It was the one possession he valued above all others. The Paddock could burn to the ground and he could move on, but anyone who put so much as a scratch on his car would feel his wrath.

Simon had left the car in a parking lot two blocks away. He had warned the twenty-something-year-old parking lot attendant to watch over it and given him fifty dollars. If he came back and the car had been properly taken care of, there would be another fifty in it for him.

When he arrived back at the lot, the young man was standing guard over the car. “No one touched it, sir.”

“Good man,” Simon said, patting him on the shoulder. He handed him the other fifty, and a twenty on top of it for doing such a good job.

Simon sat in the driver’s seat and thought about the interaction he’d had with the young Mr Watts. Although Simon hadn’t lied, he’d been particular about the facts he had revealed. But that wasn’t what made him uneasy. It was that photograph—the one of the young boy. What was it doing in that room?