2 weeks prior
The intercom on my desk buzzed. "Hey, Jacob, your two o'clock appointment is here". My secretary, Kurt's, voice came over the tinny-sounding speaker. I looked up from typing a background check report and into the eyes of my wife. Well, her picture on my desk, at any rate, taken at our wedding.
"Okay, send him right in", I answered. Kurt worked part-time for me, and the rest of the time was a college student, studying psychology the last I had heard. I had no doubt the 'I-work-with-a-private-investigator' line went over big at the bars he sometimes would frequent on a Friday night. Hey, I'm all about helping the younger generation. And besides, Kurt's near-pathological organization skills proved invaluable. I stood up and stepped around my desk, opening the door to an office decorated in what I hoped was a professional but reassuring style- a large ficus plant by the window, a few watercolor prints on the walls and nailhead and leather chairs all lent an air of competent professionalism. Opening the door, I was met by a face with a square jaw and broad features who regarded me with a solemn and intelligent gaze from steel-gray eyes. His hair was close cut and dark, just starting to gray at the temples. I noticed he wore a dark blue pinstripe suit. Who the hell wears pinstripes anymore? I thought. The rest of my visitor resembled his face- square and broad.
"Mr... Cruz?" he said, his voice a surprising tenor that didn't quite seem to match the air of quiet and undisputed authority he gave off. He extended a thick-fingered hand to me, the one not holding a black briefcase. This guy was either old money or working for the mob, I thought.
"Yes, the same," I said, taking his hand. Two firm pumps, and he released it.
"I'm Charles Brighton", he added, with a tone that this was all the introduction and identification that would be required. "I have some business to discuss with you."
"Of course, Mr. Brighton. Have a seat." I said, indicating a chair. He sat, putting the briefcase to one side of the chair, then resting his hands on the arms of the chair, seemingly ill at ease- perhaps in such plebeian settings. I walked around the desk, and drew a blank legal pad towards me.
"What can I help you with?" I asked, sitting down and hunting on my desk for a pen. Kurt's organization had not yet migrated to my desk today.
"I need you to find someone for me, and if possible, return her home to me. If you are not able to do this second, very well, yet I am assured you can do the first with considerable efficacy." said Brighton, continuing to study me from his steel-colored eyes.
I wondered at this last. Possibly a wayward spouse, grown bored with the charmed life, and running off with the gardener. Sometimes the literary cliches held true in this line of work.
"Okay, who is this person, first off?" I asked. I had written 'Missing Person' on the pad in front of me, though there was no indication that this person was missing, or for that matter, who she was.
"My daughter. Sarah." said Brighton, at the same time swinging the briefcase up to his knees and opening it with that distinctive sound that means only one thing- let's get down to business. He removed a slim manila folder and passed it across the desk to me. I paused a moment before opening it and let him continue.
"I have reason to believe she has become involved with a cult."
Crap, I thought. Cults were a tricky business. "I see. You realize, Mr. Brighton, that cults can be a somewhat delicate affair. If your daughter has joined a group like that of her own free will, it may be difficult to prove otherwise."
Brighton offered a grim smile with no trace of humor in it. "To explain, Mr. Cruz, the organization my daughter has become involved in may be less than legitimate, and more than it appears to be. If necessary, I want you to expose them. Of course, I'm prepared to compensate you for any expenses you may incur in this undertaking."
My initial impression of old money returned. I pushed my glasses up on my nose and continued.
"I'll do what I can, and investigate this group. However, it's possible that there may be nothing to find. If that's the case, and you believe your daughter has been brainwashed, I recommend trying legal channels to remove her from the group."
Again, Brighton offered his humorless smile. "This is actually one of the reasons I came to you first. Between us, I know how an official investigation can be influenced, shall we say, to a desired outcome. I believe an uninterested third party, or failing that, one with my interests, is the way to go."
I didn't like where this was going. My job was to find out information, not be a hatchet man. "I'll do my best, of course. Now, your daughter..."
"Sarah." he said, indicating the folder on my desk.
I opened it and found a picture of a young woman, with dark hair cut in a pageboy cut that framed pixyish features. Presumably the Sarah in question. Underneath was a piece of paper, which I scanned quickly. It detailed one Sarah Delia Brighton, and was similar to the background check I had been working on not long ago. "I believe she is involved with the Sunrise Church," he went on. "Perhaps you remember the stories the papers carried a while back?"
"I do. Sounded like they were trying to use science to justify a crackpot religion, to tell you the plain truth." I said. The Sunrise Church was what Grace would later identify as 'one of those resurrection cults', actually the original resurrection cult. Any good idea was bound to have imitators, it seemed. It was founded by some eccentric MD who had specialized in pharmaceutical research for one of the big drug companies. Right up until the point he had been fired amid a big media circus of a scandal, something about misappropriation of funds. He had also appeared before an ethics committee. Then, about a year later, no longer practicing medicine, he was back in the news, having founded some odd religious movement- something to do with bringing people back to life after "the spark of life has left the mortal frame" as he put it, or something like that. He was treated as an eccentric laughingstock by the papers, and the media had soon lost interest. Brighton's daughter, it seemed, had not.
"Indeed," said Brighton, "yet from the sparse letters I receive from her, this Dr. Strom claims to be on the verge of a breakthrough. How legitimate, or even existent, this 'breakthrough' is, is immaterial to me. What I want is my daughter brought home safely."
"Of course. And you believe the discrediting of this organization..."
"Cult, Mr. Cruz. Let's not mince words."
"Cult, then, is the only way to bring your daughter home? Perhaps if you were able to see her, it may save the time and expense of an investigation."
"My daughter, as you may already know, is my only child, and as such, heir to Brighton Industries. I came to you because first, I require discretion in this matter. Second, I need to protect my interests, both personal and business. This Strom represents a threat to both."
THAT Charles Brighton, I thought. Brighton Industries was a heavy hitter in the construction materials market, and Tabatha had mentioned they had landed a lucrative contract for the Transportation Commission's latest expansion project. I raised an eyebrow.
"I see. Well, Mr. Brighton, I'm prepared to provide you with all the information I can. If that means exposing illegitimate practices, so be it. Has Kurt informed you of my fees?"
"Yes. I'm prepared to compensate you your daily rate, plus expenses, plus a retainer. Check in the folder."
I did, and found a very hefty check. Clearly this was a hush-hush case, one that needed to stay out of the papers. "I see. No doubt you'll want this kept as quiet as possible, what with your upcoming Transportation Commission contracts?"
Brighton studied me a moment, then smiled. "I see we have an understanding, Mr. Cruz. When shall I expect your first report?"
Clearly, Brighton was not used to hearing no for an answer. "Give me two weeks, and I'll be able to get a good deal of background information on the Sunrise Church." I said.
"Very well. Enclosed in the folder is also my business card and private phone number. I'll be looking forward to hearing from you." he said, getting up and picking up his briefcase, moving towards the door.
I picked a business card up from my desk, and handed it to him. He tucked it into a breast pocket. I extended my hand, and we shook. "I'll get started immediately, Mr. Brighton. Here's hoping this case comes to a quick conclusion." I said.
"Indeed. Good day, Mr. Cruz." He stepped out of the office, scarcely glancing at Kurt on his way out, who watched him passing with an air of undisguised interest.
After the outer door had closed, Kurt turned to me. "Who's that guy? Looks like trouble to me." he said. Kurt was on the thin side, with brown hair and eyes, and a narrow but handsome face.
"Luckily, I don't rely on you for character judgements, dear boy. Just a client, that's all."
A frown crossed his face. "No sense prying, I guess."
"I'm afraid not. You know confidentiality is one of the services we provide." I said.
"But you tell your wife everything, don't you?" he persisted.
"True, but that's different. We have a nondisclosure agreement." I replied, with a slight smile.
Kurt sighed. "All right, well, I'll get to your desk this afternoon. Anything else you need out of the ordinary?"
"Just do water the plant, please." I said.
"No sweat, boss, " he answered. It was going to be an interesting assignment, digging into this cult. I turned back to my office and picked up the folder. Sarah Brighton looked out at me from her photograph without comment.
No comments:
Post a Comment