Chapter Twenty

Attwal Accounting Services occupied a storefront in a strip mall in the northwest part of the city. On one side was an electronics repair shop, on the other, a take-out gyros restaurant.

Declan walked through the front door and was greeted by an older woman in a brightly coloured sari.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes. My name is Declan Hunt. I have an appointment with Mr Attwal."

She gave him a stern look and a slight sneer crept across her upper lip. She stood and walked around the corner.

"Palvinder," she called out, then in a lowered voice, but just enough that Declan could still hear, "there is a man out there. He probably doesn't have much money, and I don't like the look of him. He says he has an appointment."

Palvinder Attwal came around the corner, followed by his receptionist. He beamed. "Mr Hunt," he cried out, as he grasped Declan's hands in his. "Mother, this is Declan Hunt, the man who was good enough to save my life."

"But not good enough to save your ear and finger." She didn't even try to hide her contempt.

"I only wish I could have found him earlier. I accept full blame for that," Declan said.

"Bah," the accountant said. "What is a finger good for but to point accusations, and an ear but to hear lies? Now," he said to Declan, leading him towards his office, "come and tell me what is on your mind. Mother—chai and kaju katli."

They sat down and Palvinder asked, "Now, my friend, what can I do for you?"

"First off, I want to thank you for the wonderful gift you gave us. My partner, Charlie, was speechless."

"It was the least I could do for what you did for me. And that little car of yours…it is a bit of an embarrassment. I can't have my hero driving around in that little shit-box. So after the police had finished with the red beauty, I convinced the wrecking yard fellow to sell it to me in exchange for a bit of help with his taxes. He was so pleased that he did the cleaning and detail work on the car for nothing!"

"Speaking of work, you mentioned to Charlie that you were in the market for a new client."

"Yes," Mr Attwal answered.

"As it so happens, I'm in the market for an accountant."

"Then it must be me! No discounts, of course, for saving my life. This is a business deal."

"Of course. I wouldn't expect it."

"Mother!" the accountant called out.

She entered carrying a tray with two ornate tea cups filled with chai and a small plate covered in triangular-shaped sweets. She set them down with a clatter and said, "I'm working on the contract right now. Don't rush me."

She quickly departed.

Declan smiled. "I'm going to like working with you, Mr Attwal."

"Palvinder, please."

"And please call me Declan. Now, I understand that one of your clients was Ian Mann."

The accountant crossed his arms. "I'm not sure how you found out, but yes, he was one of my clients."

"His wife hired me to find out what happened to him."

"Interesting." Palvinder nodded. "I thought the city had police to do that?"

Declan shrugged. "Sometimes it helps to have someone who is…free of blinders to look into a case."

"And sometimes it is just easier to handle things on your own, without the constraints of the outside world."

"Exactly," Declan agreed.

"So," Palvinder continued, "do you have any clues as to what happened to Ian?"

"Other than that he was murdered?"

Palvinder took a sip of his tea. "That is unfortunate."

"It seems that he was involved in an unwanted attempt to get him to sell one of his properties. Do you know anything about that?" Declan asked.

"As his former accountant, all I can say is that I was encouraging him to offload unnecessary assets to a developer, a view he didn't share."

Declan leaned in. "You wouldn't happen to know who that developer was?"

Palvinder picked up a sweet which he nibbled. "You are asking me to divulge private information of a valued client."

"Yes."

"Confidentiality is a sacred trust. An accountant is like a priest. You wouldn't expect a priest to repeat what a man said in confession, would you?"

"It depends on whether it would help to solve a murder," Declan replied.

Palvinder pondered that for a moment and took another sip of tea. "Well—it's a good thing I'm not a priest. That, and the fact that the developer is no longer a client of mine. It was Monarch Development."

Declan nodded. "And we know how far they'll go to get what they want."

"Precisely." Palvinder offered Declan the plate of sweets and the detective picked up a single piece and tried it. A cashew flavour flooded his mouth.

"This is delicious." Declan smiled as he continued, "Do you have the name of the person you were dealing with?"

Palvinder stared Declan in the eyes. "The Monarch account was highly unusual. All the transactions were done online and the first people I met from the company were my kidnappers, but I do not think they were in charge. That is all I know."

Palvinder's mother entered the office and handed Declan an envelope. She stared at him for a few moments. He smiled and said, "Thank you for the delicious chai and kaju katli."

She looked at him, her lips pursed, and without comment left the room.

"You must forgive her. A mother's love for her son is undying, and she was upset that I got hurt. Now, back to your accounting needs, have a look at the documents she gave you and, if you agree, sign them where indicated and courier them back to me."

"Thank you, Palvinder. I feel like I'm in good hands."

They shook hands and, as the accountant escorted him to the front of the office, a little girl came through the front door. She wore a backpack emblazoned with a ladybug. She smiled at Declan, who recognised her as the courier who had delivered Palvinder's laptop earlier in the week.

Palvinder walked Declan out to his van, looked at it and said, "Well, it's a bit better than the thing you rescued me in."

"This one's for surveillance. The car you gave me—that will have its own special uses."

Palvinder nodded. "I hope you find the men behind Monarch, but be very careful. I sense what they did to me was mild compared to what they are truly capable of."

Declan thanked Mr Attwal and got into his van. He wondered if indeed Monarch had killed Ian Mann and, if so, why?

Declan had decided that a quick change of clothes was in order before he paid Luke a visit. He called Charlie with the news about Monarch. The phone rang, then went to voicemail. He decided not to leave a message. He'd just tell him when he saw him later.

Declan parked in front of the office, and waved at Gwen as he walked by her shop. He only half-noticed that she was serving a customer. He mounted the stairs to the second floor. The sun shone through the windows, bathing everything in a warm yellow glow. He paused at Charlie's desk. He'd been lucky to find Charlie. He had fit in instantly and picked things up quickly. It was hard to believe that he'd been with the firm for less than a week. And what a week it had been.

His stream of thoughts was broken by the chirp of an incoming text. He reached for his phone—but it wasn't his. The sound came from Charlie's phone, which lay on his desk.

"Charlie?" he called out.

He must have already headed out to check on the properties.

Declan went into the kitchenette and peeked out of the window that overlooked the parking lot behind the building. Odd, he thought. Francine's still there…but the Challenger's gone. He'd have to have a talk with Charlie about driving the car before he had the insurance paperwork.

The door alarm beeped, and he heard footsteps running up the stairs. The office door opened.

"I bet I know what you forgot," Declan called out from the kitchenette as he walked into the office, but the person in front of him wasn't Charlie.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" a man yelled.

Sam Hunt stood in front of Declan in full dress uniform, a block of a man who oozed authority, his eyes blazing. Declan had to fight hard not to raise his arms, fists clenched—not in a boxing pose, but one with arms and fists held close to his chest like a shield to protect him against his father's rage.

Declan's therapist had told him that beneath everyone there lurked a child-version of themselves waiting to come to the surface during times of stress. It could be set free by any number of triggers—a smell, a sound, a person. For Declan, it was the angry side of his father.

He did what the therapist had told him to do—think of things that brought him back into the present—into his adult self. The first image that came to mind was Charlie and his quirky, crooked smile. A deep breath and the thought of Charlie snapped him into the present. The whole process, from recognition of the problem to the implementation of the practiced coping mechanism, took no more than a few seconds.

"Hey, Dad. Let me guess—you've been talking to Gerry McKeckran."

"Talking? That idiot came up to me at the Commissioner's Lunch and started ranting about my son interfering with a police investigation. In front of everybody! My son wouldn't be crazy enough to do something as butt-stupid as that, would he?"

"No, of course not. Unless it was my case to start with."

"This is no joke. Police trumps civilian every time. Your PI licence isn't going to protect you. Now, drop it and go back to peeping through windows or whatever the hell it is that you do!"

Sam turned and marched out, but not before he yelled, "I'm not going to be there to bail you out again."