The de Vere Deception (David Thorne Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

            “But let’s get back to what you’re interested in. Our plans are to proceed with the partial demolition and renovation before opposing forces can muster a substantial challenge or injunction. Your official role would be that you are doing research and are there to observe the demolition of portions of the castle, and do likewise during the initial additions to the castle.”

            Thorne asked, “Are you saying you would want me to be involved in the demolition
and
construction . . . I thought . . . “

            Bada held his hands up, palms forward, and said, “No—no. That will only be for the public—for news releases—that sort of thing.”

            The other men in the room moved closer to the conversation.

            Bada said, “As Freddie started to say before, the most important portion of your task will be to conduct a search—a search for items we will discuss later—as you observe the demolition.”

            Thorne said, “I’m afraid I would like to know just what is it I will be looking for in this castle while I observe the demolition.”

            Raskin ignored Thorne’s comment. “The observation of the demolition will afford you an opportunity to conduct this general search for—for certain items. As you can readily see, it won’t be a simple task of just observing the demolition. It will also require diplomacy, tact and for want of a better word, a certain amount of guile on your part.”

            Throughout the presentation by Raskin and Bada, Thorne had tried to be patient. At Raskin’s use of the word guile, he straightened perceptibly. He was blunt. “You’re hesitant to tell me what I’m to be looking for in the castle. Now, you indicate you may want me to lie. You’re going to have to give me more answers before we continue.”

            Raskin laughed nervously. “I suppose guile isn’t the best word. Perhaps diplomacy—perhaps reserve—would have been better choices.”

            Bada said, “No, Sir. We don’t expect you to lie—and—“ He paused and looked around the room at the others. “I suppose we should reveal to you what we’re looking for in the castle. Your search will be to find documents—Edward de Vere’s documents. We believe they may well prove him to be the true author of Shakespeare’s works.”

Chapter 10

“All right,” said Thorne. “That’s clear enough.”

            Bada said, “Good. Now, to discuss how we want to proceed. In addition to the businessmen and citizens, you will also encounter town officials and bureaucrats on a daily basis. We simply cannot adopt a confrontational style. Our approach should be to assuage their concerns. We need to appear conciliatory and convivial in all our dealings with everyone—the businessmen, the citizens, and the town officials. However, the less contact with them, the better.”

            Blackstone said, “You need to be particularly cautious in your contacts with Neville Forestal, the town’s architectural representative. He’s rigid and uncompromising in his beliefs about William Shaksper of Stratford being the true author.

            Freddie took the opportunity to speak. “I’ve known Neville since we were students in grammar school and he and I have not gotten on well at times, but I keep trying—for the benefit of the project.”

            Kirk-Halstrom stood and crossed to the large table. “Mr. Thorne, if we could change the subject. I should think you would be better served wearing English clothes if you decide to take the assignment. You know, fit in more. I would be glad to offer you the services of my tailor at Anderson and Shepherd in Savile Row.”

            Thorne smiled and couldn’t restrain himself from replying to the patronizing arrogance of the man. He said, “Savile Row—that’s pricey, isn’t it? Just how much sartorial splendor would be required of me?”

            Kirk-Halstrom stuttered, “Well—I—I just wanted to help . . .” Thorne’s firm response forced him into silence. He dropped his eyes and returned to his fingernails.

            Raskin laughed in an attempt to relieve the tension. “I think Lionel brings up a good point. I would think one could get perfectly serviceable clothing at Harrods, and we would provide you with an allowance for such. You’ll be staying close by Harrods at the May Fair in London for a few days before you travel up to Stratford. Use your own judgment.”

            Thorne considered the discussion of clothing ridiculous and let it go. “Provided we get together and agree on me coming on board, how soon would you want me in London?”

            Bada glanced around the room. “I think we would leave within a fortnight, maybe as early as ten to twelve days from now.” He leaned back and dropped his folded hands into his lap. “I think we’re at the point where we want to finalize our agreement. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’d like you to work with us. Why don’t you think for a moment or so and see what your thoughts are, and what comments and other questions you might have.”

            Thorne was silent as the others talked among themselves. He mulled over what had been presented to him. It wasn’t going to be a simple job.

            First, he didn’t like having five clients to answer to, and continued to evaluate his impressions of each man. He liked the enthusiastic young Freddie, but was still unsure of the brusque Blackstone. However, it appeared Bada and Raskin would be running the show, and while he still had reservations—particularly about Raskin—he thought he could work with both men.

            At the first meeting at the hotel, he developed an immediate dislike for the arrogant and snobbish Kirk-Halstrom. The man seemed erratic and went back and forth from being unbearable to offering a glimmer of a friendlier side to his personality. There was something about him that Thorne couldn’t put his finger on.

            Secondly, they still had not discussed why they needed an American for the job. They could have easily found an investigator in England with the same qualifications.  He admitted to himself that the thought of the lucrative fee trumped all other considerations.

            He said, “Mr. Raskin, said in his e-mail an American was needed for the job. Can you please clarify why that is necessary?”

            Bada said, “Of course. Our cover story will be you and I are good friends and you’re on a social visit. The apparent reason for you being there—as we will present it— is because you were a college chum when I attended university in the States. Because of your architectural background, you are curious about the construction on the castle, and merely assisting me in observing the demolition. Obviously, it would be a good idea for you to refer to me as Gil, and I to you as David.

            “You will be my houseguest at the manor, and on-site a great deal of the time during demolition and construction. While you’re making sketches and taking notes for a book you’ll be writing about English castles, you’ll also be looking for places the documents may be hidden. We’ll see to it that a small article appears in the local paper describing your visit. It‘s important you be comfortable in discussing castles and stone construction, as I’m sure you are.”

            Raskin pressed a button on the intercom. “Stewart, please ask the ladies in, and we’ll retire to the dining room.” He turned to Thorne. “I do hope you can join us for dinner.”

            “Thank you, but I had an early dinner and I have other plans.”

            The room was momentarily silent. Thorne reflected on what had been discussed, and also what had happened so far. The pay was unbelievable—a three-month assignment with all expenses paid—interesting work—but most definitely a complex and stressful situation. Although the attack by the foul-breathed young man at the Biltmore was a cause for concern, Thorne made up his mind that he would tell them he was interested. He would just have to be on alert, and more cautious of any other encounters.

            The wives of Raskin, Blackstone, and Kirk-Halstrom came in and introduced themselves.

Raskin and Blackstone went to their wives, gave them perfunctory pecks on their cheeks, and walked with them to the dining room.

            Thorne was surprised to see Kirk-Halstrom approach his short, overweight wife with a broad smile, and pulling her close to him, kissing her on the lips. The small, plain, middle-aged woman carried a white Pomeranian in her arms, and when she handed it to Kirk Halstrom, the dog eagerly began to lick him on his mouth. He only laughed and pretended to gently scold the little animal. This was not the same man Thorne had met the day before.

            It was then that Thorne noticed a bulge in Kirk-Halstrom’s shirt pocket that appeared to be made by a bottle of medication, and it hit him Thorne remembered the quiet urging by Raskin the day before at the hotel about Kirk-Halstrom taking his medication, and the pieces came together.

            He had seen this before—this extreme change in moods. The medication was not for heart problems or diabetes. There was a strong possibility Kirk-Halstrom was bi-polar.

            In years past, being bi-polar was considered a social stigma, but with medication the physical nature of the condition of violent mood swings could now be managed. It was discovered many prominent people had suffered from being bi-polar. Before medication was discovered, Winston Churchill, Charles Dickens, Sir Isaac Newton, Mark Twain, Florence Nightingale, Alexander Hamilton, and many more had lived with the condition without ever understanding what was wrong.

            Thorne’s thoughts about Kirk-Halstrom’s medical condition were interrupted when a door opened on the far end of the room, and the most beautiful woman Thorne had ever seen was brought into the room in a wheelchair.

“Hello,” was all she said as she offered her hand and looked past Thorne, waiting for him to speak. Her hand was small, soft and warm, but her handshake was firm.

Thorne immediately realized she not only suffered from a crippling condition, she was also blind. He stepped forward and said, “How do you do, I’m David Thorne. I’m a friend of Gil’s.”

            The young woman’s smile exuded warmth and sincerity. With her violet eyes and dark, almost black hair, she reminded him of a young Elizabeth Taylor at the age of twenty-one, and the embodiment of female beauty. Her response was warm and simple. In a lilting voice she said, “I’m Gweneth Bada—I’m Gilbert’s sister. It’s so nice to meet you.” She brightened and was direct. “Your hands are rough. You work with your hands don’t you? I don’t meet too many men who work with their hands, anymore.” As she was wheeled  into the dining room, she turned back in his direction,  smiled, and said goodbye before joining the others.

            There were other times when Thorne had met a woman and felt an unfathomable attraction to her. This was one of those times. He was immediately drawn to her. Her infirmities meant nothing to him, he felt a softness toward her, and was thoroughly taken with her—though he realized she was much too young for him.

            Bada held back before joining the others. “The group has agreed to the fee, and I will serve as solicitor—what you call an attorney here in the states—for the group’s contractual matters. Can you join Freddie and me for breakfast at the Camelback Inn tomorrow morning around nine? We’ll bring the plans and other documents you’ll need to examine.”

            “Yes, and I’ll bring my contract,” said Thorne. He immediately realized he was giving his tacit agreement to take the job. For better or worse, he was in.

Victor Roberts looked at the caller ID on his cell phone before answering. He recognized the number and said, “I saw the target’s pickup leaving Raskin’s house. It looks like he spent at least an hour in there. That would indicate we didn’t scare him off. It looks like he might take the job, Right.”

            “That would appear to be the case. We don’t want him going to Stratford.

Were you able to find and old car that can’t be traced?”

            “Yeah, I nicked an old junk car in South Phoenix. They won’t miss it for a couple of days.”

            “Do what you have to do. Make it look like an accident.”

Chapter 11

As Thorne drove back to his small house in Sunnyslope he was pre-occupied with thoughts of the upcoming job and the lucrative fee he was to receive—and the beautiful Gweneth Bada. He paid little attention to the old tan Chevrolet that followed in a line of cars half a block back.

Victor Roberts, the driver of the Chevrolet, was cautious as he turned off North Central and followed Thorne toward the mountains. They were out in the desert now and Thorne turned off the main road onto a narrow dirt road that circled up the side of a mountain. Roberts followed him and pulled up close to him. Roberts sped up and clipped the right edge of the truck’s tailgate.

            Thorne glanced out the side window at the one hundred foot drop off. He regained control and sped up kicking up dirt and gravel in the path of the Chevrolet.

            By the time Roberts regained his vision of the truck, it was two hundred yards up the road with dust boiling behind it.

            Roberts chuckled to himself. He took a notepad from his pocket with an address and a hand-drawn map showing the location of Thorne’s house. “Don’t be so jolly, Mate. I know where you live.”

            Thorne drove around the mountain, found a secluded canyon, and parked. He had a view of the road below and could see his pursuer headed back to the main road. He drove back down and took a circuitous route to his house. He was becoming alarmed at the attacks—this one was not just a warning, they were serious. Maybe he should reconsider taking the job.

Thorne wasn’t rested when he arose at six the next morning.

            Standing for a long time in the shower, he felt the relaxing hot needles of the shower on his back as he tried to clarify how he should proceed. This was normal for him now—this analyzing procedure. He blocked everything else from his mind when he was working—or he would be soon.