One.
I never knew Ian Wilkenson, high-flying businessman who drowned two months ago, during an all-night yacht party involving liquor, women of questionable virtue, and lots of suspicious chemical substances. Apparently, Mr. Wilkenson decided to 'take a walk' and fell over the railing. Nobody knew he was gone until a police patrol boat found the body floating near the yacht around dawn.
Nor have I ever been acquainted with Charles Rowe and Phillip Barker, noted venture capitalists who personal plane brought them to a fiery conclusion on a Bermuda Airstrip a week later.
John Rother and Paul Werrow are likewise two more I've never met. They were Barristers, involved in Law like Walter Pinley-Steward, hard-as-nails Barrister, Businessman and Moderately ranked Noble with considerable range, so opportunistic that he'd gut his mother for every last shilling she had, (if she had any), and to whom I must state is my great misfortune to know.
Rother, I understand, like to drive anything fast. A blown tire at high speed on a narrow Italian mountain road sent him flying into a deep ravine then onward to his Maker at the earlier this month. Werrow however, who was still bright and vibrant at the advanced age of sixty-four, came to a less than spectacular end after a fall down a long flight if stairs at his home two weeks ago.
A broken neck, that's what the Doctors found.
"But he had the grace of a bloody ballet dancer!" Pinley-Steward, all some nearly three-hundred pounds of bigoted pig in a fashionable tweed business suit, wails from his chair to Father, as Kimball Wildman and I listen in secretly from the partially open door to the study. "I've personally seen him take worse, and walk away beautifully!"
My Father, Lord Jonathan Drummond, the Forty-third of the Family to bear the family title, very youthful looking for a man in his seventies, leans against his grand oriental desk in his casual clothes, rubbing his eyes in the way that indicates a major migraine is on the way. Semi-retired to the Noble life from years as a field agent for MI6 in Asia, he's occasionally called in to 'deal' with the 'special problems' of the Notable and Nobility when they arise. While I know he prefers the quiet life of advising Her Majesties' Secret Service on matters and current events, Father does his best to get to the bottom of these special matters sent to him.
But, in peeking around the door with Kim, it's easy to see that he wishes Pinley-Steward would take his problem elsewhere.
"Each and everyone, hunted down and murdered!" the 'well-respected' Barrister continues pleading. "It's bloody diabolical!!"
"Wilkenson fell overboard." Father dully reminds him.
I know he wants to say it; Leave me you god-forsaken excuse for a man!! But he maintains a very high regard for himself, and will never bow down to Pinley-Steward's level. But, by duty, he has to be concerned over the man's safety, no matter how many times that vile bigot made life for his family miserable with spread rumors and constant backstabbing—beginning when Father broke his arranged marriage for the woman who'd become my Mother.
I really hope he doesn't give in to him. What Kim's thinking, I cannot guess. He's acting as my guard from sudden surprises from the rear; I know he's listening in as well. There's a definite look of deep concern on his scared face.
"All of them, gone with-in this very year!"
"But there's no viable connection to each of their deaths to hang such a belief on." Father tiredly explained. "Each incident was fully investigated, and concluded—"
"By inbreeds who couldn't find their own asses with help!!" Pinley-Steward fitfully erupted back in Father's face. "None of them with any christen sensibilities to speak of!!"
Pinley-Steward in full angry bluster is quite a ferocious sight, especially to those of thin skin whom it's directed at. Father however has been around the world too many times to even begin wilting from such an onslaught, especially from Pinley-Steward. His face darkens with every bit of anger welling up form within him.
And too late, Pinley-Steward realizes he's gone too far.
"It's because of arrogant fools like you that most of this world's currently in the sorry state it's in." Father cut loose with an eruption of his own. "Personally, I loathe you for what you and others have personally tried to do to my family over the years! And why should I ever bother considering you worth my time and effort?"
Now Pinley-Steward's pleading for forgiveness, squealing actually, like a skewered pig. It was hard enough not to start laughing at a man who richly deserved what he was getting. But Father preferred his consultations private, neither Kim nor I were invited to listen in.
Still, it was fun listening to that bigot get his come-uppance from the very man he's tried so often to ruin.
But, sadly, Father finally gives in.
"Alright! I'll look into the matter!" He irritatedly barked back.
Now Pinley-Steward was blubbering thank-you's at such a state, I wondered if wasn't about to kiss father's feet in or wet himself in gratitude.
Of course, Father would have stopped that. He never liked his shoes soiled.
Then Kim leaned over, whispering into my ear, "Shows about over."
It was time for a quick exit, and we made it to a near-by doorway before they left the Parlor.
"You certainly won't regret this, John—not at all." Pinley-Steward happily gushed as he waddled along side Father. "I most certainly feel better about it already!"
Father certainly wasn't. The smile on his face was merely show. It lacked any reason to be as he walked Pinley-Steward along.
We emerged after they had long passed. I frowning while Kim had a very thoughtful look on his face.
"Interesting." He remarked.
That set me off.
"What!?" I exclaimed.
Kim's scared face (and I do mean really scarred, especially that horrible one that runs across his face just below his eyes and right through the bridge of his nose) was a picture of deep consideration.
"He genuinely believes his life is in danger." Kim thoughtfully replied, gazing off down the hall.
"He's an arrogant, self-centered bigot who just simply adores being the center of attention wherever he goes!" I hotly exclaimed back, wondering where his mind was at that particular moment. "And not to mention how many times he's slandered my family because—"
The sharp stare he gave me then halted my rant quite quick. It's his eyes, those whirling pools of gold flakes that when he turns those on you in such a manner it feels like they're boring right into your very soul.
"Then." He directly asked me, "Why would he risk his very reputation by lying to your Father?"
That, I admit, had me and good.
Reputation was everything to Pinley-Steward, and to tell an outright lie to my Father was asking to have his head served back to him on a silver platter. Forget about all his powerful friends and what they can do for him in a pinch, Pinley-Steward was risking all, and everything, and then some if this was all a lie. It still didn't change how I felt about him, in spite things being different. But Kim had his reasons for acting as he did on the matter. Trained since he could walk to be something of a 'super-detective', Kim was right sensitive towards anything out of the ordinary. As this, like his mixed extraterrestrial heritage, was clearly was out of the ordinary.
Tact however was something he still needed to work on. For as he caught up with my Father, as he stool watching Pinley-Stewards silver Rolls head off down the way, he asked, "Certain he'll be safe?"
"As long as his heart doesn't give out, or someone actually does kill him." Father tiredly sighed, then turned to Kim politely irritated. "I generally like keeping my business private, Doctor."
"My pardons," Kim apologized. "But the yelling gave it away."
"And the door to the Parlor wasn't properly closed, either." Father frowned, glancing between Kim and myself. "So you both know."
After drawing a tired breath, and apparently deciding that it wouldn't be worth arguing about, he tiredly turned to Kim and asked, "Do you think it's worthwhile?"
"There's no mistaking that he's frightened by this." Kim truthfully answered
"Really?" Father boredly responded.
"The one factor that's present in all of his friend's deaths is 'Accident'." Kim started explaining. "Even with-in the time frame, all those deaths occurring is quite unusual."
"They can be…considered such, yes." Father nodded slowly.
"So what is the connection that Walter Pinley-Steward feels exists that would make him die next in an accident?" Kim asked.
Now Father was surprised. Apparently he hadn't given that bit of consideration much thought.
"There's no real reason for him to be afraid." Kim went on, "Unless—"
"Unless there's something else involved." Father finished. "Something he didn't bother telling me about just now."
He now looked considering, as he thought about what Kim told him.
The he frowned back along the drive.
"Typical." Father commented off-handedly.
"It sounds more like something he did is catching up with him. "Kim unflinchingly replied.
"He's done a lot of 'things', so I don't find that a bit surprising." Father quickly added, then paused as if a thought occurred to him. "And he wants me to protect him from it."
Kim didn't respond. Not even a nod.
"Well then." Father glanced up at him, now smiling, "Let's see what we can find."
We started with the logical approach; the examination of the accident records.
It took awhile, and several contacts later, to find the autopsy report on the late Mr. Wilkenson in the possession of his personal physician. This is a term I'm using loosely, since apparently there was some question about where he received his license to practice from and weither or not he was just a glorified drug-dealer. But when convinced by the legitimacy of the request, the requested records were sent by Fax straight to Father's office.
Of course, the toxicology report wasn't amongst them. That had to come from where Mr. Wilkenson made his last stand, in Greece just off the coast near Athens.
The Greek Authorities weren't as balky as the personal doctor, and performed a more though job which their records showed. Especially where Kim wanted to know.
"Viagra?" Kim was puzzled by the report he had in his hand.
"Or something of the sort." Father helped. "He had…a reputation."
"And a daily consumer of numerous stimulants and pain killers." Kim added with a motion to the report. "He was downing twelve of them at once, with goodly doses of alcohol. His blood was a virtual toxic soup."
Not really too much to be alarmed about, though the pictures of Mr. Wilkenson's various wilted innards were highly unsettling for me to look at. Except Kim, of course.
"The organ damage is serious; his liver is practically gone and his kidneys have significant stone deposits."
Father was busy looking at the first page of the report. I don't blame him a bit for not looking at those pictures. I've had my personal fill of 'internal views' during numerous dissections in Biology Class, and wish no more of such thank you very kindly.
"Initial death was caused by drowning." Father read from his sheet. "Brought on by excessive amounts of alcohol and medications…"
"Given the potency of what he was taking, along with the state of his organs, it's a wonder he didn't die much sooner." Kim stated. "I'd give him less than a year with no hope of getting a transplant."
"He'd find a way." Father told him directly. "He was a fighter, he would have found one."
"Substandard, and probably the wrong blood-type." Kim frowned. "And left on the table, while whomever ran with the money…But, these stimulants…"
Kim had the toxicology report in one hand, and in the other a list of what his 'Doctor' had prescribed. He was looking from one to another with a careful eye to what each said, pausing just so at two points.
"Two stimulants found in his blood weren't prescribed by this doctor." Kim quietly said. "And from what I remember, they're performance enhancers banned by the Olympic Committee."
"Given the certain facts on who he was with and what he was doing on that yacht before he died." Father tiredly announced, "I'm not surprised."
Nor was it enough to claim 'murder', but in the meantime there was the information on the other accidents to dig through.
Misters Rowe and Barker had been in South Africa had been sizing up a fledgling electronics manufacturer for possible venture capital investment before heading off to Bermuda where Rother, Werrow, and Pinley-Steward were waiting to have their delayed wake for Wilkenson. The Slipstream Executive jet they were in was perfectly fine all the way up till thirty minutes before it was due to land. And did, at a forty degree slope relative to the runway destroying it, passengers, crew, and some ten meters of runway.
Crash investigators found no fault with anything on board the jet, but couldn't explain why the pilot couldn't or didn't answer the radio right up to the moment of impact. Bodies pulled from the wreckage, (more pictures), were too badly burned for any sort of test to determine anything beyond identification by dental records.
Very suspicious. But there was very little hope of considering it more than just a 'Strange Accident'.
Finally, there was Misters Rother and Werrow. Neither of them had any sort of oddness about their deaths; Rother was passing a small car at very high speed on a winding Italian mountain road when a tire blew, and Werrow was not only in perfect physical shape but had blood so clean you couldn't help but call it 'squeaky'.
He slipped on a small throw rug and went flying down a winding staircase to his death.
How dull…
"Well," Father finally said, motion his hands upwardly, "that's it."
Kim just looked at the reports on the table, hoping to find at least something odder to continue but not. He wasn't mad, just sort of dazed sitting there.
"They were friends, correct?" he asked in a disconnected way.
"Cambridge, during the late forties and early fifties." Father answered with some hesitation. "Getting those records will be a problem."
Actually, it would be very simple for Father to get them. The problem was Father being dodgy about the matter. He wanted it to end so he could get out of it and away from Pinley-Steward's 'problem'. I couldn't blame him, but Kim posed the problem of how to say 'no more' and still be polite about it.
"There's also the matter of finding anyone who'd remember them." Father continued. "And weither or not the incident you believe is at the heart of all this ever occurred."
"It doesn't strike me that he'd take these incidents and use them to lie to you." Kim frowned, motioning to all of the records we'd sorted through. "It would soil his reputation to no end."
Actually, that wouldn't be such a bad thing to occur. I know Mother would be very pleased if it did happen.
"I've seen behavior that was no different than Pinley-Steward's coming from people even I respect." Father countered, trying to being respectful towards Kim's feelings on the matter. "They get frightened at a few little measly things, and suddenly their whole world begins collapsing around them."
Then his Cellular phone started chiming in his jacket pocket.
"Then, I must pat them on their little hands and tell them all is well," Father smiled while getting the phone out of his pocket of his smoking jacket, "and there's nothing to be really afraid of."
Kim gazed a little crestfallen and deeply perplexed at the documents scattered before him. He turned to me and asked, "What do you think?"
Before answering, I glimpsed at Father frowning down on this phone's screen.
"Police?" He muttered wonderingly, and proceeded to answer.
"I think we should forget about it." I honestly told Kim.
Then Father took on a serious stance.
"Where!" his sudden demand startling us both as we watched Father quickly take a pin from his jacket, then rapidly write down on the nearest bit of paper a location on the near-by Motorway.
"Keep him calm, I'll be there." Father directly said, then snapped his cellular phone closed.
And turned to us.
"Someone's attacked Pinley-Steward on the Motorway, killing his driver!" He announced.
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