Chapter one

Washington D.C.; a city of crime, scandal and occasionally politics. A city where people pay good money for discretion. You can find plenty of work as a private eye, if you don't mind getting your hands dirty, rubbing shoulders with politicians with shark smiles and cheap hoods in expensive suits. It was Monday morning, and I was driving the forty miles to Maryland. I sighed as I got closer, and the traffic became denser. It could be worse though; it was a beautiful day, and I had the sounds of John Coltrane's Giant Steps playing in my car. Trees lined the road as far as the eye could see, their leaves signalling the coming of spring. It was a warm day and felt stuffy in the car, so I had the windows down to enjoy a cool breeze. As I drove past cafés, the strong aroma of coffee felt oppressive, invading my nostrils like it was storming a castle. People walked leisurely; Couples arm in arm, children carried on their fathers' shoulders, men and women in business attire enjoying a moment of repose. It was late morning, and people were starting to think about lunch. I turned onto Goldfinch Lane and heard the laughter of families gathered around the picnic tables that were dotted around. Some shaded by trees, others out in the open. Various birds were stalking the ground, optimistic that their exploration would be rewarded.

Usually, clients would come to me. Sit in my office, drink my coffee, use my ashtray and tell me their problem. But for people like Dr Philip Longmore, the rules were different. They don't need to leave the house for anything. Whether it's grocery shopping, a lawyer or a private detective, the world is brought to them. I didn't know much about Longmore. His name wasn't connected to any criminal activities or police investigations. Near as I could tell, he was a retired academic living a quiet life. I pulled into the drive of a modest looking house. It took less than 5 minutes to travel the length of the driveway. It was the only house on the block. In fact, the house was the block. Gravel crunched under the tyres as I turned off the road and through the front gates. A stone pyramid water feature sat in the middle of the drive. Water was gently cascading into a small pool that surrounded it. I couldn't tell you what the potted flowers were that decorated the perimeter of the house. Botany was never really an area I knew much about.

I parked my old Mustang next to a car that probably cost more than my apartment building. The heap I drove had seen better days. The wheel arches were rusted, and when I got out and heard a groan, I didn't know if it was me or the car. When I bought it second hand five years ago, the salesman used words like "classic" and "reliable" and avoided word like "mid-life crisis" and "gas hog". I liked the car, so allowed myself to buy into his well-rehearsed sales pitch. I took a last drag from my cigarette and looked for somewhere to drop it. I felt like I was making the place look untidy just by being there, so with a shrug I figured a butt on the ground wouldn't make much difference. The knocker on the door was held in the teeth of a lion's head made of bronze. Both shone brilliantly in the sun next to it was a doorbell. I rang it once and heard the classic two-tone chime from somewhere beyond the door. While I waited, I straightened my tie and smoothed my hair back.

The well-oiled door opened silently revealing a well-dressed man who towered over me. I wasn't exactly short, maybe an inch or two above the average. He wasn't just tall; he had a strong build to go with it. I would put him in his mid to late forties. His dark hair was peppered with grey, and his face was closely shaved. His skin was so smooth, he looked like a China doll, and he was unnaturally pale, making him look unwell. He looked me up and down. If he was trying to hide the contempt in his eyes, he wasn't trying very hard. I gave him my name and told him Dr Longmore was expecting me, and he stepped aside to allow me to enter with a silent nod. The hall was lined with polished floorboards and more flowers, this time in vases on tables and on windowsills. A large round mahogany table sat in the centre of the hall. In the centre of the table sat a smooth wooden bowl that curled inwards at the lip. In the bowl was an arrangement of wooden fruit. I suppose when people have too much money, they run out of ideas of what to spend it on. The table stood on a thick burgundy rug, and a chandelier hung low from the high ceiling above it. The staircase on the other side of the table split at a landing halfway up and continued in opposite directions.

"Dr Longmore will see you in the library." The butler said in a tone void of any emotion. When he spoke, his dense, prominent eyebrows danced energetically, taking on a personality of their own. They almost grew into each other, giving the impression of a monobrow. He led me through a door to the left that led to another hallway, this one lined with paintings on both sides. I guessed they were expensive but to someone as uncultured as myself, seemed to be an acquired taste. If the rest of the house was any indication, he must have good eyesight to be able to see me in the library. I said as much to the towering butler, and he responded by adding a touch more contempt to his face. I watched as he ducked his head making his way through doorways as we walked. He opened a door and gestured for me to enter.

I stepped over the threshold onto a thick carpet. Bookshelves filled with books lined the walls. I looked at some of the titles and authors. Dr Longmore had an eclectic taste. There were collections of classical literature, volumes of anthologies, and science journals. I saw a few books that discussed controversial theories by fringe scientists and explorers. The library smelled the way all libraries do; musty. The room was dimly lit by lamps that looked more decorative than practical. Beams of light captured the dust in the air and held it close. In one corner of the room, nestled between bookshelves, two high backed armchairs sat either side of a small table. On the table sat three decanters containing liquids that varied slightly in colour. On one of the chairs, with a book in one hand and a look of deep concentration on his face, was a very elderly man. The wrinkled skin on his face hung loose like a melted wax candle. His hair was unkempt and white. It was long enough at the sides to hide his ears but lacking on top. A thick tuft of white hair pushed its way over his shirt collar. He wore a white shirt under a black waistcoat that was undone. I could see that the back of it was red silk. I couldn't see the cover of the book until he placed it on the table. He was reading poems about Egyptian gods and temples. His eyes were hidden behind rolls of skin so that it looked like they were closed. Had I been able to see his eyes, I would say that he was studying me.

"Please sit down, Mr Pearson." He invited. His voice was quiet but clear. There was a slight rasp to it. I sat down on the other side of the table. He instructed his butler, whose name I learned was Eric, to pour me a drink. I opted for a scotch. Eric then poured a glass of water for his employer and placed some pills on the table. The label on the box was for a strong painkiller. I watched him drop two into his mouth and drink down the whole glass. He saw me watching him.

"For my headaches." He told me. "Can't seem to get rid of them, only dull the pain for a while." He paused to gather his thoughts. "What do you know of Ancient Egypt, Mr Pearson?" Sometimes clients needed to circle around a bit before they got to the problem. Sometimes they needed a push, other times it was best to let them talk. They would get there in their own time. I decided not to push.

"About half of what was taught in high school." I answered honestly.

"It's a fascinating history." He stared down into his glass, lost in his own mind, as if history was unfolding before him. "It's not how I made my living, though. More of a pastime." He paused, giving me the opportunity to join the conversation. I decided to let him carry on. "Gods living among men. Worshipped, loved and feared." He paused again. Despite my limited knowledge of ancient Egypt, it still sounded like an odd thing to say. I decided to leave it and give him a nudge instead.

"What can I do for you, Dr Longmore?" I raised the glass to my lips and breathed in through my nose before taking a sip. It was good scotch; the bottle probably cost more than my rent.

"Follow me." He slowly got up from his seat and we walked through a door on the opposite side to where I had entered. The large, high-ceilinged room we entered wouldn't have looked out of place in a museum. There were framed tapestries behind glass lining the walls. Pottery; some broken, some intact. There were headbands and rings and bracelets. A lot of it, I thought, probably had belonged to the Egyptian authorities at one point. Acquired through contacts who had no qualms about crossing a line or two in legal terms. He walked tall, keeping his back straight. He looked to be in his eighties but carried himself like a young man. He told me about the history of the exhibits in his collection as we walked; he seemed to know a lot. If this was just a pastime, he had clearly dedicated a great deal of time and resources to it. We reached the far end where a velvet cushion sat on a pedestal. There was a slight impression on the cushion as if something had sat there for some time. Until recently.

"This was my most prized possession, Mr Pearson." He told me, reaching a hand into his pocket to reveal a photograph. It looked like a glove, but somehow only covered the tips of the fingers. In the middle of the palm, a jewel glowed boldly. I didn't know what to make of it but took his word that it was valuable. I figured he would know.

"When was it stolen?" I asked, sensing where this was going.

"Two weeks ago." He replied.

"Why did you wait so long before calling someone?" He looked down. Nervous about what he had to tell me.

"I didn't wait. I hired another private detective as soon as I knew it was gone."

"Why didn't you go to the police? I assume it's insured." His eyes still didn't meet mine.

"Because I believe it was stolen by a dear friend of mine. Dr Randolph Haynes. He's an archaeologist from England. I funded several of his expeditions. I admired his work a great deal. We shared a passion for ancient Egypt and the occasional dinner."

"Why do you believe it was him?" I asked.

"He was the only one who knew it's true value. He seemed to know more as well but wouldn't tell me. I don't think he wanted to part with it, but he didn't want to jeopardise his funding for any future projects." I responded with a "hmm." I saw Longmore's eyebrows raise at that, but he didn't say anything.

"He went missing around the same time as the artefact." He said instead.

"What did you mean when you said he didn't want to part with it?" I asked.

"He discovered it on an archaeological dig that I funded. We agreed that I would add it to my collection."

"Do you just want me to find this glove, or him as well?"

"I imagine when you find it, Mr Pearson, he won't be far away." I gave him my fee and he gave me photos of the item he needed me to recover, and details and photos of Randolph Haynes.

"One more thing, Dr Longmore." I said before turning around. "You mentioned you hired another private detective. Why did he drop the case?

"I didn't say he dropped the case, Mr Pearson." He paused again. "He disappeared."

"What was his name?" I wanted to know.

"Charles McKenzie." I was familiar with Charlie, but mostly with his work. I knew he was good. A little old fashioned, maybe. Something of a throwback. I crossed paths with him once or twice back when I was on the force.

"What happened?" I asked. Knowing why he disappeared would hopefully help me avoid the same fate.

"He called me and said he found something. He was supposed to come to the house, but I never saw him again. I tried going to his office, but he wasn't there either."

"Does Haynes have any family or friends? Colleagues who would notice if he disappeared?" If someone had reported him missing, then the police may have something. That and whatever Charlie found gave me a good place to start.

"Randolph is a life-long bachelor and makes a regular appearance at all the social gatherings where he might meet potential investors for his work." Longmore seemed to disapprove. I asked him for a list of people who might fall into that category, and he fished around for a pen and some paper.

Eric the butler was waiting by the door to escort me out. As we reached the front door, I heard footsteps and turned to see a woman walking down the stairs. She wore a red and black dress that was long enough to cover her legs but show off her ankles. She was younger than Dr Longmore by maybe fifteen years, which would have put her in her sixties. I could see a lot of money had been spent in an attempt to look younger still, but the end result was not entirely convincing.

"I didn't realise we had company, Eric." She spoke as if I had already left, and she was only now finding out that someone had been there.

"Mr Pearson, ma'am." Eric informed her. "He was here to see your husband."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs Longmore." I reached out a hand which she either didn't see or chose to ignore.

"And what was he here to see my husband about?" Perhaps she hadn't seen me. I decided to join the conversation anyway.

"I'm a private detective, Mrs Longmore. I'm afraid I can't tell you what I was here to see your husband about." She looked at me for the first time. A smile crept onto her face, but it didn't seem friendly. She looked mildly amused.

"Well, Mr Pearson. I'm just heading out to meet some friends for lunch. As you seem to be leaving, perhaps you could give me a lift." I returned the amused look and gestured with my hand for her to join me. We walked to my car, which didn't seem to impress her.

"Where to, Mrs Longmore?" I asked, as she waited for me to open the passenger side door. She got in and I closed the door and walked round to the driver's side. She gave me the address of a restaurant that wasn't close to any of the places I planned to visit today. As requested, I turned off the CD player and decided to let her carry the conversation. We drove in silence for a time before she finally spoke.

"So, what has my husband asked you to do?" She asked.

"As I explained, Mrs Longmore. I can't discuss it with you. People expect a certain amount of discretion from me. It wouldn't do to talk every time someone asked." She looked insulted. "It's not personal. That's the way it is in this business. If people hear that I'm willing to roll over for anyone, I'll never get any work." I could see that she wasn't used to being told no. I could detect something in her voice that told me she married money, rather than was born into it.

"You can't even tell his wife?" I shook my head. "Perhaps I'm the reason he hired you. Perhaps that's the reason you can't tell me." I knew what she was doing and didn't bite. She took my silence as her cue to continue. "Perhaps he hired you because of this glove he's been obsessing over lately." Of course she would know about it being missing. I could continue to deny, but maybe she could give me more information about it and why it's so important to him.

"What do you know about it?" I asked her. She smiled. She knew she had hit gold, but it was worth it if I could find out more.

"He's been obsessing over it for months. It was discovered in a dig somewhere in Egypt, and he paid a lot of money to have it brought over here." She didn't give me anything new, it was the same story my client gave me.

I pulled up outside the restaurant. It was as I expected. The name was in French, and it would make my bank manager cry if I looked at the menu.

"Why don't you join me, Mr Pearson?" She invited, seemingly reading my mind.

"Call me Jack. Thank you, but maybe another time." I replied. She was as subtle as a stick of dynamite.