SARA’S  SECRET

By Richard Piekut

CHAPTER 1

Kevin Dunks was waiting for the luggage to appear, together with all the other passengers, who had arrived on New York’s bustling airport.
The other passengers were growing impatient, as the luggage had not appeared. They checked the time, and he saw on their faces the stress, which accompanies a scheduled life. Meetings, appointments, reports and families. He considered that he was in many ways fortunate and wondered what his meeting, later in the day, would bring.
No one had come to meet him at the airport. He hadn’t expected anyone to and he preferred finding his own way around cities. It allowed him to see what he wanted to see.
He had however come to New York, to work and he knew that the first few hours of leisure would end after his meeting. Kevin was a private detective and knew that clients didn’t fly him all the way to New York, unless there was an intricate case, which no one else had managed to solve.

Kevin appeared younger than his forty years and dressed casually but tastefully. And looked at ease and successful.
Success hadn’t come easy though. He had worked hard to reach the independence, which he now enjoyed as a private detective.
Born in a working-class family, he had not had the luxury of a formal education.
He had joined the police force at an early age, attracted by the stable salary and a strong sense of wanting to correct the wrongs in society.
He had soon learnt that, in all countries, the police force was unavoidably an extension of the government in power and in many ways reinforced much of the corruption and wrong of those in power.
Kevin had been an outstanding policeman though, and he had risen in status. He had a talent for solving intricate crimes and was an outstanding judge of character He had worked more and more with private investigations and had eventually left the police department, having worked at Scotland Yard for seven years. Then he had started working as a private detective, enjoying the right to choose his cases and solve those, which he considered financially and morally worthwhile.

His success as a detective had spread worldwide and he had over the last few years been involved in international cases, which the likes of Interpol had been unable to solve.

He had earned the respect of many police departments as well as numerous clients and at age forty, he had earned sufficient money to retire if he so wished.
Being unable to resist the thrill of solving cases with far-reaching consequences, he continued to work, selecting only cases, which presented a challenge to himself.
His experience and reputation enabled him to command a high salary, but now and then, he investigated matters, which he considered worthwhile, for persons who were unable to afford his high rates. Despite his luxurious life, he had not forgotten the factory town where he had grown up and the social problems, which ruined the futures of working class youths

The luggage appeared on the conveyor-belt and his suitcase was amongst the first.
He grabbed it and then walked towards the exit and hailed a taxi to take him to the Ritz hotel, where his client had reserved a room for him.
He reached the hotel by eleven-thirty and had a shower, changed into a light suit and then took himself to the restaurant for lunch and a drink, before his meeting with the client.
He seated himself at the window where he had a good view of the city. He ordered a cognac and felt good about being in New York again. It certainly was a change from London anyway. The waitress weaved her way through the tables, carrying his cognac and other drinks.
It was midday and despite the sweltering heat, passers-by rushed along the crowded city pavements wearing the taut masks, which people wear in all cities on weekdays.

Kevin was waiting for a phone-call and wondered when they would contact him. He wasn’t too bothered, but he would have to stay around the hotel until they called.
He didn’t need to do anything he didn’t feel like doing, he told himself. He would hear them out and decide. He had not yet committed himself to anything. Unknown persons had reserved a room for him, for unknown reasons. He figured that they were pretty desperate and was curious to meet them.

Geoffrey Mac Douglas had called the night before, as a go-between for some prominent businessman. The anonymity of it interested him, and being at a loose end, he had accepted the invitation to come to New York.
Confidential information assignments always triggered his curiosity and since Mac Douglas was a good associate who believed in work integrity, he had decided to give it a chance.
Sipping his cognac, he wondered about the assignment and concluded that it concerned a matter of some urgency. He considered how he could turn the situation to his advantage, out of habit. He had enough money to do what ever he felt like doing; it was no longer the only motive.
A couple seated themselves at the table opposite him. They glanced through the menu, ordered and then sat in silent, suppressed boredom and watched other couples on lunch-dates, talking animatedly or gazing into each other’s eyes.
The woman glanced up and caught Kevin’s eyes before glancing away hastily, ashamed of revealing her interest. Women often found themselves looking at Kevin. There was decisiveness in his appearance: nothing about him was unnecessarily complicated; one sensed that he was a man who knew what he wanted without any doubts. It made people wary and interested.
His crew-cut black hair was a contrast to his green eyes and he was elegantly dressed in white.
The waitress returned and informed him that there was a telephone call for him. Would he receive it in the restaurant? No he would take it in his room.
He strolled to the elevator and wondered if it was Mac Douglas.
An unfamiliar voice spoke when he answered.
“Can we meet within the next ten minutes?” the voice asked, and then ” be at the hotel entrance in ten minutes, a limousine will collect you.”
Kevin didn’t like the tone of the strange voice but just then his thoughts were interrupted by a noise in his keyhole.
“Can you hold a minute,” he said and reached for his pistol in its holster in the drawer.
Opening the door carefully, he looked out into the corridor. A retarded – looking youth passed by, blinking and grinning, before stepping into the elevator, still smiling.
He tried his key in the keyhole and noticed that there was something in the keyhole, but there was no time, the limousine would arrive soon. The phone was silent when he picked it up again, so he grabbed his jacket and left. He would have to ask reception to see to the keyhole.
The corridor was silent and he walked soundlessly on the soft carpeting towards the elevator.

At reception, he left the keys and asked the apathetic-looking receptionist to have his keyhole checked.
“You believe that someone is trying to break into your room?” she asked in a bored tone.
He ignored the tone.
“Yes, and I would appreciate it if the matter was sorted out before I return.”
The limousine appeared at the entrance and he left leaving the receptionist bewildered but in no doubt about his mental stability. She had come across sufficient hotel-guests to recognize that this was one who knew what he wanted and was used to getting it.
She called hotel security and arranged for his keyhole to be checked.

There was a tense silence in the limousine. Kevin waited for the stranger to start the usual polite banter.
It was a first meeting and Kevin was not sure of what to say so he kept quiet. Madame Butterfly was on the television and he recognized the second act.
“Surprised by the call? Asked the stranger.
“There are often surprises in my profession,” replied Kevin “Money and power breed peculiar problems.”
“Doulakis,” said the stranger and extended his hand. “The assignment we need you for needs to be cleared up in a month’s time. It involves finding a person.”
Kevin waited for him to continue.
“I need facts,” he said after Doulakis didn’t volunteer any further information.
“Mac Douglas is the only reason I have agreed to come.”
He sensed something strange in the constant lack of information and considered that he didn’t need this job. Like a well-known actor, he was at last free to choose his roles. A favour for an old, trustworthy associate was the only reason he had agreed to come.
He didn’t like Doulakis, he decided. He didn’t like the atmosphere of mistrust and his managerial behaviour was tiresome. He was tired of pretentious power mongers who thought they could control and decide by virtue of their money. Doulakis’ gestures and speech were familiar. He had an urge to take the mighty Doulakis down a peg or two, not too strong an urge, but it was there nevertheless.