Iverson’s secretary ushered me into his private office, the modest title giving lie to a vast and stately chamber.
Bapri!
I’d seen the Tata & Sons boardroom once on Chowringhee in Calcutta, and this must have been twice the size of that, running the length of the building as far as I could tell.
Nehru Ji and Churchill Ji could have had one of their famous war time croquet matches in here, and then some!
The secretary, rather a prim sort and no match for Doris in my opinion, provided a glass of water and indicated that I should take a seat in front of a vast chunk of solid mahogany that no doubt served as Iverson’s desk. Mahogany being the prevailing theme, the white marble flooring providing the only relief from the dark wooden panelling and furniture. I imagined that the Prime Minister’s office in New Delhi might not have been as grandiose.
Is that pearl inlay on the light fittings?
“Mister Folgate, so good of you to come. I trust Tom wasn’t too melodramatic in persuading you to come. He sometimes can be a bit theatrical; I believe he once aspired to be an actor.” I turned as Eric G Iverson strode into his office, “No, no need to get up, no point and no time to stand on ceremony.”
I settled back into my chair and studied Iverson as he deposited a bulging manila file on the desk, and gracefully arranged himself in the chair across the desk from me.
The snaps in the rags don’t do him justice.
Iverson was a regular feature in both the red tops and the broadsheets, but the grainy print runs clearly didn’t convey the full measure of the man.
Let’s see now, at least six two and lean with it, greying strawberry blonde hair slicked back neatly, and an affected mid-Atlantic accent that could give Archie Leach a run for his Oscar winning money.
A textbook example on how to age elegantly. Some guys are born with a winning hand, or in this case an entire casino full of winning hands.
“You made it through that circus outside I see, what was it this time, unite Ireland?” Iverson’s tone was that of weary exasperation, “Or the opposite, annex Ireland? Send all the Catholics to gaol? Send all the Protestants to gaol?”
“I think this one was for a united Ireland, they seem to be headed for the Tower, popular destination for the Republicans, given that the 1916 martyrs were executed there.” I gave a considered reply as I could, though in truth my brain was pre-occupied running through various possibilities as to why I was here.
A disturbing number of those scenarios ended with me being bundled into the back of an unmarked van by an uncouth Scot.
“Well that makes sense in light of recent events, I should imagine the Bloody Sunday massacre will rub more salt into existing wounds for decades.”
The tycoon’s weary assessment was one that I admittedly shared, the 1947 partition of Ireland on a sectarian basis was a triumph of bureaucracy over common sense. The treatment of the Irish in recent decades, from the crushing of the Easter Uprising to this latest incident in Derry was not the Empire’s finest chapter.
I wonder what the Irishman would make of this mess. Nothing good I’m sure.
“Ache. Tikke.” I’d learned to keep my political leanings to myself and kept my reply simple, other matters were more pressing anyway.
“So, Mr Iverson, this is about your spouse?”
“Anika, yes. She’s a fragile soul, and as such I tend to treat her with kid gloves.” Iverson sighed, “She has a habit of disappearing for a few days, a week at most. I’ve learnt not to press her about it, she always comes back and that’s all that matters to me.”
His expression darkened, and worry lines creased that impeccably noble brow.
“The pattern seems to have been broken this time though.”
“She hasn’t come back this time?” I ventured, “Meaning she’s disappeared and not returned?” A hint of anxiousness was creeping into my tone, I could feel it.
All these years and you still feel responsible for her.
“Precisely, as I said she always had a wild side, that’s one of the things I love about her. A breath of fresh air when she came into my life, blowing away my grief after my first wife’s accident.” There was a strange air of vulnerability hovering over this titan of capitalism as he spoke.
“However, she’s been missing since March the twentieth, and I’ve had no contact from her since that day. She took the supersonic to Calcutta, was seen to arrive at the airport, but no trace since. Nothing.”
“Given your paired resources, I assume you’ve checked the five stars in Calcutta and beyond, The Grand, The Great Eastern, the Taj etc?” I didn’t think this was a simple binge trip for Anika, but always best to cover off the obvious stuff first in my experience.
“Of course, Mister Folgate we wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise. We’ve checked all the hotels in all the major cities across the breadth of the empire and there is no sign of her. At all.” The strain was beginning to get Iverson, either that or my famous lack of bedside manner was taking its toll on our embryonic relationship.
“She got into an Ambassador after collecting her luggage, and that’s the last she was seen. That car was found abandoned in the Salt Lake development zone outside the city limits two days ago, of the driver there is also no trace. Her credit cards and bank accounts have not been touched, which is extremely unlike her.”
Indeed, that doesn’t sound like the Anika of the society pages. Why me though?
The spectre of that unmarked van and a Scottish welcoming committee were still haunting me.
Why Now? Maybe I should shake the tree a little and see what drops down. Or is that suicidal?
Heart rate tattooing out a crazy rhythm all its own, I decided to jump in with both feet first.
“Seems a bit of coincidence though Iverson Ji, doesn’t it? I mean wife number one dies in mysterious circumstances, wife number two disappears mysteriously. As I recall the gap between wife number one and wife number two was quite unseemly at the time, so is there a number three waiting in the wings this time?” I paused to gauge Iverson’s reaction.
Well at least he’s not looking sad anymore. More of a smouldering burn now. One more push then and see what level of trouble I’ve gotten into.
“And with all the money in the world at your disposal, you hire a little-known private detective who specialises in marital disharmony and despair to look for your wife. To the wrong eyes that may look rather a half-hearted effort at best.”
Iverson gaze had turned icy cold, and his eyes narrowed as they bored into me.
“Firstly, it is well known that the coroner recorded an open verdict in Kate’s drowning. What is less well known is that she was an alcoholic who was unable to control her impulses and whims under the influence.” He stopped, visibly controlling himself, icy eyes maintaining their grip on mine as he resumed, “Which is why I am sure she meant to swim from our yacht to shore that night but couldn’t understand the risk she was taking.” His tone had dropped several octaves, his clipped delivery wasting barely a syllable.
“As a result, I don’t touch the stuff myself anymore. Not a single drop.” His hand made a sharp cutting motion to emphasise the totality of his abstinence.
“Secondly, no there is no wife number three, if this turns out badly and I’ve lost Anika as well as Kate, then grief will be the only thing in my life. There’s no room or desire for anything else.” Another pause whilst he gathered himself.
“Finally, I’ve already expended a great deal of time and effort over the last two weeks to find Anika. As you might expect I have a wealth of contacts across various governments and a like number of police agencies. No trace. No hope.” Iverson’s eyes seemed to narrow even further if that was possible.
“So, I’m left begging for your help, even though you are a veritable caricature of a detective, a walking cliché, an alcoholic ex-policeman barely able to form relationships, earning a living on the margins of society. You could have walked straight out of the pages of a dime pulp novel. A bad one at that.”
“Dime novels are all bad, that’s why they call them pulp.” I quipped as mentally I tried to regain some footing.
Bapri that was brutal, maybe I asked for it, but still its brutal and I don’t like that.
“Whatever you may think of me Iverson Ji, you don’t know me, or the first thing about me.”
“On the contrary my dear fellow, I know almost everything there is to know about you, for example I know the contents of this file” he opened the bulky manila folder, which I now noticed was stamped with the crest of Scotland Yard, and began to flick through the contents.
“Educated at one of the best colleges in Calcutta, but couldn’t afford the fees for further education, so joined the army after they promised to fund you through a psychology degree at Reading.”
He held my gaze for a few seconds as if daring me to contradict his statement, I inclined my head with the traditional Bengali head wobble for him to continue.
“War broke out whilst you were conducting your initial officer training which put the kybosh on the university idea. You were posted out as a green lieutenant straight to the frontline in Burma, fighting with distinction there, then shipped to Borneo along with the rest of your regiment as support for the Dutch East Indies. After the fall of the Allied front in the region you were evacuated back to Calcutta where you became a military policeman.” Iverson looked up from the file, “It all seemed to be going well for you at this point.”
“If you mean fighting in some of the most vicious battles in history and being responsible, directly or indirectly, for the deaths of scores of my fellow humans, then yes it was going swimmingly.“ My throat felt like it was closing up and I reached for my water.
Iverson studied me as I sipped from the glass, something in his expression perhaps softening.
He read on, “In Calcutta you gained a reputation for chasing down black marketeers and spivs, so much so that following the Rationing Riots of the Fifties you were transferred here to curtail the same scourge. You were a success, bringing many miscreants to heel, mainly the big fish it seems, a file note mentions you were lenient when it came to the little fry.”
“I learnt early on that to snag the bigger guys, the ones that did the real damage, go through the smaller ones. For their co-operation I went as easy as I could.”
Not to mention the little guys were usually desperate folks just trying to eke out a living in terrible conditions, if I went after them, I’d have arrested the entire East End.
The conversation was proceeding deeper into territory that I didn’t like to remember, but the tycoon wasn’t quite finished yet.
“And then it all falls apart, shortly after your most high-profile case is successfully prosecuted you were dishonourably discharged for gross insubordination. That record itself was sealed, so I had to ask around and call in a few favours to get the details.” He closed the manila record of my personal failure and leant back into his chair, tension noticeably draining away from his frame as he spoke.
“Transpire you punched your superior officer, in front of the Commander in Chief, at a ceremony to honour the pair of you. Hardly seems like a wise career move.”
Lying Bastard deserved it. And More.
Aloud I replied, “I’m not a violent man Iverson Ji, or a brave man. I’m more coward than anything else, but sometimes the right thing to do presents itself to you, and you just have to follow your fate.”
“Well the right thing led your life down the wrong path. After the discharge you worked for a couple of established private detective agencies but were fired from both, your dislike of authority figures seemingly a repetitive fault.” Iverson had impressive recall; the folder remaining firmly closed on the desk.
“You work on your own, barely earning a living, enabling men such as myself to divorce their long-suffering spouses. Had some run ins with the Met regarding your methods, but that license hasn’t been revoked.” He pushed the closed file to one side, and leaned in imperceptibly over the desk, “You’ve had a few affairs over the years, but nothing that really qualifies as a relationship. You employed your secretary as a favour to her mother whom you used to lie with back in the day, perhaps she reminds you of the old girl?”
Christ! Allah! Haya Bhagabana! Do you know my inside leg measurements too? The size of my John Thomas?
I tried not to sound too bitter after he’d finished.
“Well now you’ve read me the litany of my failures, and taken pleasure from that, I can’t honestly see why you would want to hire me!”
He sighed.
“I haven’t taken pleasure from this Mr Folgate, though you did try to test me a bit, and I do not like to be tested.” His expression intensified once more.
“I merely needed to illustrate a few points to you, such as that I do indeed have access to great resources, and despite that I still have not been able to find Anika. Despite knowing your background, I believe you to be my best chance at finding my wife.”
There’s something missing here.
“Maybe it’s my lack of university of education here, but I’m still not with you on that last point.” My frustration was bubbling out and I almost sent the glass of water flying as I punctuated my outburst with a sweeping arm movement.
“Mister Folgate I’m aware of a few other things that aren’t in that file.” Iverson lowered his voice, speaking in an almost conspiratorial fashion.
“I know you saved the life of a young Dutch officer in Borneo and that officer became your firm friend. I know that the pair of you along with his sister were evacuated to Calcutta. I’m aware that you and the sister, my Anika, became close. Remarkably close.”
My expression must have shown my anxiety, the very thing I’d dreaded coming out since Connery had uttered her name.
“Don’t worry Folgate, I’m not a jealous man, nor do I believe you are in anyway responsible for her disappearance, and nor do I believe that Anika bears you any malice.”
Really? Given the way events unfolded last time I saw her, that would be… surprising.
“Alright so you know there’s some past history there, how does that help?” I struggled to find the right expression, “I’m not seeing the bigger picture.”
“Outside of myself and maybe a couple of others, you will know Anika as well as anybody, you would understand her mood swings and her tantrums.” He was smiling wistfully as he talked.
God, he misses that.
“Beyond that I believe that Anika is still in Calcutta, and you know the city and it’s underbelly intimately. So, to me you represent the best chance I have of finding her if she doesn’t want to be found, or if she’s in trouble, or both…”
“My knowledge of Calcutta is at least two decades out of date.” I shrugged as I tried to explain, “It wouldn’t be much use today.”
Iverson had really bought into the idea, however.
“You’ll be in the same boat as Anika then, she’s been back often, but never set foot outside of the rarefied lifestyle we inhabit. If she’s out on her own then you’ll make the same mistakes as she does then, you’ll go down the same blind alleys. It will help us find her.”
He paused for breath, and apparently, to consider the flip side of the situation.
“If someone else has taken her, then a fresh set of eyes will maybe pick up something, some lead, that was missed or overlooked. You may not know the current Calcutta, but you know the culture, and it won’t take you long to get up to speed.”
I guessed he was starting to feel desperate.
I’m still missing something though, some angle I’m not seeing.
“You were a good investigator once, really good. Help me find her Folgate, help me Norton and I can help you. I can set you up for a lifetime, the right words in the right ears, we can rebuild your reputation. And I’ll pay you handsomely of course.”
Tikke. Well now, perhaps it’s time to give a sucker an even break.
Against your better judgement?
“Alright, let me sort out a few things, including what to tell my secretary.” I guess I’d bought into Iverson’s belief as I started to mentally tick off arrangements for travel.
“Excellent, thank you Norton.” He seemed exude relief.
I hoped I could justify his faith.
“Don’t worry about your secretary, I’ll make sure she’s looked after and paid accordingly for the duration of the job, think of it as part of your advance.”
Advance eh? Maybe things were looking up.
“You’ll be coming along too I guess?” It was logical given his desperation to find his wife.
Iverson shook his head, western style.
“No not immediately,” He saw the question in my eyes, “I have an aversion to airplanes, a phobia, I’ll be travelling more sedately via the Orient Express Blimp. Airship is a safer way to travel. I’ll reach a few days behind you.”
He buzzed the intercom for his secretary.
“Nidhi, can you come in please. I need you to make travel arrangements for myself, Thomas, and Mister Folgate.”
Thomas?
“I’m sending Connery with you; in case you need more muscle.” Iverson informed me as an aside from the intercom conversation.
Great that’s all I need, Conan McBarbarian and his melodramatic lack of subtlety.
A final thought occurred to me.
“How long were you keeping a track on me?” I pointed at my Scotland Yard file, “Were you expecting something like this?”
“Good god no.” Relief at getting my buy in transformed him from stern mogul to gushing schoolboy, “I rounded that lot up over the last couple of days. You were recommended to me. Suggested to me as a matter of fact.”
That caught me off guard.
“Really? Who?”
“My brother in law, Anika’s brother.” said Iverson Ji, who seemed amused by my shocked reaction.
“You find that surprising?”
Totally.
“Yes. Last time I saw him he promised to shoot me if we crossed paths again.”
More accurately he told me he’d pop me one in the forehead, going to gift me a third eye he called it, and then he was going to piss in it.
“Well let’s hope he doesn’t do that until after we find Anika. Perhaps an element of danger pay is in order?”
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