The Returned Dead. Rafe Kronos

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СКАЧАТЬ him to be fully committed to my investigations.

      I needed his full commitment because I knew that once I started digging I might unearth things he might not want brought to light – it often turns out like that. That’s when the client decides that employing you is a bad idea. The next thing you find out is he won’t pay your bill. I didn’t want that, especially not now.

      “Well, will you do it for me? Will you investigate?” he repeated.

      “Well, if I take your case – if -- you must understand I’ll need your full backing. That means you must be ready to accept whatever I do as I investigate and accept whatever I find. There’s no saying what I might uncover; it might turn out to be very painful for you. Think about it. Are you willing to accept that? I need to be quite sure before we go any further.”

      He leaned forward, eager to convince me. “I understand all that and I assure you I’ve already thought about it. I still want you to go ahead. That’s why I am here. I thought I’d just made that clear.”

      “And I have to warn you I’m expensive. My fees are high.”

      He gave a little shrug, “Money? No problem, I can afford it. But I have to get this settled, it’s tearing me apart. I really must know what’s happened to me; I’m willing to pay almost anything for that.”

      “Are you absolutely sure? Absolutely sure you want me to go poking around in your life? I’ll need to ask you a mass of questions and you may find some of them embarrassing, even offensive. Just think: my inquiries could blow up in your face. You tell me you’re married, you’re rich and, of course, there’s seems to be good evidence that you’re dead, or one of you is. Are you really sure you want me to dig into everything? The whole thing’s…” I was tempted to say totally unbelievable but I settled for “very complicated. Are you absolutely sure you want me to find out more? Why not leave it alone? Why not just stick with your Baxendale life? It sounds like a pretty good life to me. After all, that’s where you are now and, as you say, Rankin’s dead, officially dead and gone. Why not leave it alone? Why not leave Rankin dead and concentrate on your Baxendale life?”

      I found I was holding my breath as I waited for his answer.

      “No, I can’t, that’s impossible, quite impossible. Now that I’ve remembered I’m Rankin I must have certainty. I must, I just want it settled. I really do.”

      “You’re absolutely sure? Once I start there can be no going back. You’re ready to accept that? You really are?”

      “Yes, I am. Yes, definitely.”

      It was exactly what I wanted to hear.

      “Right, Mr Baxendale, then let me tell you my terms. My fees are £1,500 a day and in addition you meet all relevant expenses incurred by me and my staff. I’ll work seven days a week on your case and you’ll get an itemised bill every week. I’ll send it to your home or wherever you want or you can collect it from here if you prefer. I’ll also submit a written report every seven days in the same way or, if you have a secure system, I can send it to you by email. If I discover anything significant I’ll let you know immediately by phone. I’ll give you my mobile phone number and you can reach me at any time, day or night. Is all that acceptable?”

      “Yes, yes, thank you.” He seemed genuinely grateful.

      “Right, I have copies of my standard contract here and if you are quite certain you agree with what I’ve just said, you can sign a copy for each of us before you go. I will need half a day to tidy up a few things I’m currently handling and then I’ll begin working for you full time on an exclusive basis. I’ll also be supported by other members of my team. Are you quite sure you are happy with that arrangement?”

      He sat very still for several seconds and then he reached down beside his chair and picked up his briefcase. For a moment I thought he was going to walk out but instead he opened it. He took out a bulky brown envelope. He stood up, stepped forward and held the envelope upside down over my desk. I watched as the contents cascaded out with a gentle swishing sound.

      Now I knew why his bag had been so heavy.

      “There’s fifteen thousand in fifties and hundreds,” he said. “That should get you started. Let me know when you need more.”

      I glimpsed a grin twitch across his face.

      “I thought you might somehow prefer it in notes. After all I am -- I was -- in the motor trade. Now bring me the bloody contract and I’ll sign it.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      We signed two copies of the contract after I’d insert his name: Roderick Baxendale for this purpose. That name seemed best to me especially since R. Baxendale had just shown that he was happy to hand over a big bag of money. I doubted if the dead Jack Rankin could do that.

      My newly accepted client tucked his copy away in his briefcase. I put mine in the safe with the fifteen grand he’d spilled on my desk. He didn’t ask for a receipt so I didn’t offer him one. I didn’t bother to count the notes; I didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust him. I didn’t, of course, no more than I trusted any new client, but there was no point in showing it.

      The press cutting he’d filched from the library also went into the safe. He didn’t object to me keeping it even though I half expected him to. Perhaps telling his tale had given him confidence to manage without its reassurance.

      Then I started extracting the information I needed to start my inquiries: the details of his old house, his current address, the house in Neston, about twenty miles away, the whereabouts of his old business, the full names and dates of birth of himself, Felicity, Debby, the names and addresses of the cleaning lady and the other two people who’d identified the body and so on. It turned into a very long list but the more facts I had the more things I could test. In any case, he was owed a lot of investigating in return for the fifteen grand – the initial fifteen grand, I told myself.

      He answered all my questions without hesitation. That worried me. His story couldn’t be true yet here he was, giving me fact after fact which I could use to punch great holes right through it. He was being far too compliant, far too eager to help. Alarm bells rang loud and clear. What the hell was going on?

      When I had finished making my notes I asked, “So what made you come to me rather than to another inquiry agent?”

      “I read about what you did in that Dutchman case.”

      The complex Dutchman case had brought me a fair amount of publicity. I’d hoped it would attract more high value clients. It seemed to be working.

      “The Van Maanen business was all about the identities he stole.” I said. And also the large sums of money he’d lifted, I added silently. ‘Never forget the money’ is a useful motto and I wasn’t going to forget it when my new client seemed to have such a lot of the stuff.

      “But don’t you think my case is a bit like the Dutchman’s case? he asked. “I need you to sort out my identity or identities – and find out why I’m dead and not dead.” He was speaking almost cheerfully, clearly relieved that I had taken the job.

      We talked a little СКАЧАТЬ