Chapter 1: The Hound—Enigmas
I sat in my small office, checking my phone for the time. One more appointment this afternoon and then I could call it a day. I hadn’t spoken to my new client, Rose Myrtle, in person, only via email, but she was determined to find her father, despite the limited leads she had.
Most of my clients were seeking evidence of infidelity or insurance scams, but this one was different. I wasn’t even sure that I could help her but had agreed to a free consultation to determine if there were decent enough grounds to pursue an investigation. While I rarely said no to work, I didn’t like to take on jobs unless there was a reasonable chance of helping the client. This woman seemed different. Her email wording was very proper and to the point. No greetings and no words to sign off, just her name. It’s like she was drafting her communications using AI. This made her somewhat of an enigma to me, which was like waving fresh meat under a dog’s nose. I’d always been attracted to puzzles and mysteries. I’d considered a career in the police force, but working as a private investigator was more fulfilling. I made my own rules, decided on my own cases, and worked to my own timeline. Sometimes I stepped into a very gray area, morally and legally, to solve a case, but I was very careful.
An instant message popped up on my screen.
Ruth: Your 4 o’clock is here. Rose Myrtle.
Me: Send her through.
About 30 seconds later, a stunning woman walked through my door, ushered in by Ruth, my assistant. Striking was a better word for her than beautiful, but she was certainly that too. She was petite and fragile looking. Her vibrant red hair hung around her shoulders in soft waves and highlighted her incredible green eyes. I stood and motioned to the seat in front of my desk.
“Ms. Myrtle, lovely to meet you in person. I’m August Edison, but please call me Ace.” I held out my hand to shake hers.
She looked at it with uncertainty, opting to sit without shaking it, though she did look me in the eye and nod. Okay. Maybe she didn’t use AI to draft emails. She was just ... slightly off, socially, perhaps a bit robotic by nature.
“First, I want to thank you for contacting me. Let me tell you a bit about my company. Ace Investigations has been in operation for about five years. I’m the primary investigator, Ruth is the office manager and assistant, and Brett is my associate. Today is just an opportunity for you to tell me exactly what you are seeking and for me to advise if it’s worth your time and money to pursue this line of investigation.”
She nodded again, a very small nod.
“Thank you, Mr. Edison. I would like to find my father. I do not have much information. He was either a regular called Lou at the Iconic Sports Bar in Hamilton, or a Canon photocopier repair man who serviced an air-conditioning company. This would be about 29 years ago.”
Ido nothave much information. She didn’t even use contractions. Such a beautiful robot.
I’d asked her to call me Ace, but she seemed determined to retain formality.
That wasn’t a lot of information. These men could both be dead. “Lou” wasn't a great lead, given he could have lied about his name or gone by a strange nickname, and photocopier man? That was very vague but was potentially stronger than the “Lou” trail. If I could access employment records, how many people could really have worked in that smallish town repairing Canon photocopiers?
She looked nervous and anxious, like she was monitoring her every word.
“Is there anyone who could provide you with more information? Your mother perhaps, or any of her friends from that time?”
“Not really. My mother and I are estranged. Perhaps my aunt could provide more information, but I do not really wish to contact her. There was the owner of the air-conditioning company, but he passed away years ago.”
“Does the company still exist?” I asked.
“Yes, but it was sold to someone else long ago.”
Okay, there were some small threads here, but she may end up throwing money into this and walking away empty handed.
She stared at me, awaiting a response. Her hands were clasped firmly together and her eye contact, though strong, was limited to when I was speaking. When she spoke, she looked away. This woman was certainly a mystery.
“Do you have a copy of your birth certificate?”
“Yes. But ... there is no father listed. And I have changed my name since then.”
Interesting. Had she married? She wasn’t wearing a ring. Her marital status was not relevant to this investigation, but still ...
“That’s fine. It will be useful anyway for background. And if your name has changed through marriage, of course it will be different to the one on your birth certificate.”
She nodded but again looked away. So was she married or not?
“Ms. Myrtle, I will admit that there is not a great deal of information to go on, but I understand how important it is for someone to understand where they come from. I’d like to do this for you. I don’t usually do this, but I’m happy to pursue this for $500. I’ll establish whether there is anything here to follow, and if there isn’t, it means you won’t have lost much finding out.”
That damned nod again.
“Thank you, Mr. Edison. I wish to—”
