The Brief-Case Affair

Chapter Four - The Other Client

An hour had passed before I began to feel a little uncomfortable. It was one thing to go out specially to fetch me a lemon but, given the amount of time Stone had taken, I could only presume that he had engaged himself on some sort of gargantuan quest on my behalf. I was busy imagining him flitting from shop to shop in his desperate bid to find me a lemon, which (in my mind) no shop had for some unknown reason, when a tall, suited gentleman stepped cautiously into the room.

It seemed that Stone had taken so long in his search, that his next client had already arrived. He took a step forward, his dark eyes scanning the room before they found me sat on the sofa. They widened a little, but the man's chiseled face remained set and firm.

'Ah,' I said, 'you must be the next client.'

The man stared at me with marked indifference. His eyes flickered briefly over at the desk and then darted like a boomerang first to my face and then to the briefcase on my lap. The newcomer took a step or two towards me and held out his hands.

'I'll take that, shall I?' he asked, his voice quivering with either excitement or fear - I can never tell the difference.

Apparently Stone was not as forgetful as I'd first imagined. Clearly, he had not only informed his next client to expect me in the office, but had also told him of my marvellous work with his English grammar. Without hesitation, I handed the briefcase over and watched as the man set it down upon the desk.

'Combination?'

I dutifully told him and watched as the man opened the case. He drew something out from the drawer and placed it inside, before firmly shutting the case and bringing it back towards me. I rose to meet him. He thrust the briefcase into my hands and, without so much as an explanation, turned and moved back to the desk. To my surprise, and disgust, the man then proceeded to help himself to Stone's desk chair and a cigarette, which he produced from one of the other drawers. He lit the cigarette and sat there for a long time smoking as I cradled the briefcase in my arms.

To say I was confused is something of an understatement.

'Do you know why I'm here?' I asked tentatively, attempting to make conversation.

The man stared coldly back at me and took a long drag from his cigarette.

'Everything you need is in that briefcase.'

He spoke with a good British accent and a marked confidence that made me wonder why Stone had suggested such a person would be in need of my humble skills.

'Everything?' I replied. 'How do you know what I need?'

The man swung back and forth a couple of times before raising his left hand and tapping his temple twice. The sound this made was remarkably hollow considering the force with which he did this.

'John Stone knows everything.'

'Indeed he must do.'

I knew at that moment that I'd made the right choice. Not only was John Stone a great private investigator, but it appeared that he had talents that a lay man might consider to be nothing short of clairvoyant. Even now as I imagined him rushing across town in search of my lemon, he had directed another client to hand me precisely what I needed to solve the question of my wife's fidelity.

I examined the case in my hands. I wondered what fateful documents lurked within it's leather holdings: email and text transgressions; photographs of late night liaisons. Did this briefcase contain the future of my marriage? The man who'd compiled these must have done so very quickly. My mind flitted briefly back to a newspaper article I'd read only a few weeks before. There were concerns that social media and internet searches could be used to build a complete view of someone's life.

Is that what John Stone had done?

Was the world such a public place that private investigators knew what you wanted and were investigating before you'd even stepped through the door?

What a remarkable world we are living in.

The second client was watching me with intense eyes.

'It's all there.'

I nodded firmly. 'I imagine it is,' I replied. 'Please pass my thanks to Mr Stone, and tell him not to worry about the lemon.'

A flicker of some unrecognisable emotion flashed across the client's face. 'The lemon?'

I nodded again. 'He'll understand.'

I moved towards the door, pausing momentarily before emerging out into the corridor. No sooner had I stepped out, was I confronted with a pressing thought that forced me to turn back to the man sat in the office chair.

'What should I do about my wife?' I asked.

The man cocked his head to one side. 'Your wife?'

'If she is having an affair,' I reiterated. 'What should I do?'

The man thought for a moment and shrugged.

'That is your concern,' he replied curtly. 'Personally, I would follow her and see what she's up to. If she is cheating, then what you do next is up to you.'

I nodded my understanding, although really I didn't understand at all. Perhaps he was in the same position as I. Maybe his own wife was cheating on him and the last thing he wanted to do was sort out my problems. I decided in that instant that I would review Mr Stone's findings and ask the man himself in the morning if necessary. After all, big decisions like this need sleeping on, and the one thing I was definitely lacking was sleep.

I gave the man a short nod and closed the office door, leaving him alone inside. As I proceeded down the hall, I heard a distinct scrapping of wood on the floor within the office of Mr Macavity, but I paid it little attention. I headed swiftly down the stairs and out onto the street, turning left towards the centre of town and my route back home.

As I walked through the brisk, cool air, my thoughts turned to the amazing way in which Mr Stone had tackled my problem with barely any input from myself. I gripped my briefcase tighter and wondered what terrifying truths would be laid bare when I finally opened it at home.

And, as the chubby man ran to and fro across my imagination, searching for my lemon, I hoped he hadn't gone to too much trouble on my account.