Case Closed – The Silvergrey Sea

The Silvergrey Sea

Part One: A Little Excitement

Case Closed

* * *

On my way down to the storm sewer, I stopped to say hello to the sidewalk.

As the remains of the second-floor window showered my soon-to-be bruised body, I congratulated myself on my foresight in standing near a breakable surface. I might’ve ended up like last guy who picked a fight with my client’s husband; palliative care was beyond my means.

The basso screams of said cheating spouse could be heard over the grunts and occasional meaty thwacks as various peacemakers impacted his overly fed carcass.

Deciding they could handle things for a while; I lit a cigarette, crossed my legs at the ankle, and gazed at a sky for once clear of cloud. The moons were especially pretty tonight.

I was deep in my traditional reverie of booze and broads when a voice drifted down from above. “You all right, Harry?”

Staring down at me from the empty frame was the face of my favourite copper; his silver-streaked hair shadowing everything but his smile. “Doin’ fine, Abram. How’s our boy?”

“Medics’ll have to let you know after they’ve seen him. Doesn’t look all that bad.”

“Think he could answer questions?”

“Not till comes to.”

We shared a chuckle.

“Not really important. I’ve got almost everything I need.”

“So, you coming up, or what?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” I had been enjoying the lie down, as I hadn’t had much sleep lately.

Abram’s head withdrew into the building. I levered myself to my feet, groaning, and headed for the entrance to the brick apartment complex, straightening my coat as I went.

* * *

It was hardly worth the trip.

Big Ugly was awake, but groggy and being helped down the broad steps as I walked across the lobby. Abram, wide brimmed hat back in place, met me halfway. “Any paperwork you need from me?” I asked.

He shook his head. “We just need a verbal confirmation that this is the guy you’re looking for.” He lifted Ugly’s chin as he passed.

Blonde jarhead haircut. Check.

Chin wider than forehead. Check.

Shit brown eyes. Check.

Oft busted nose. Check.

“Yep, that’s him. What about his squeeze?”

As four other Hermetists dragged the bum out of the building, Abram hooked a thumb backward. “She’s still upstairs. A bit shook up, but otherwise fine. She said our buddy here paid the rent on that place till the end of the year.”

“Really?” I doubted that; I’d checked.

Abram shrugged. “I gotta get this guy on ice.”

“You’ll be in place, later?”

“Of course.” The Hermetist winked as he left.

Abram and I had been friends since our misspent childhood on another world. His being stationed here had decided me on fleeing to Noir after things went seriously bad for me on the planet of by birth. This was home for us both, now.

* * *

I took the stairs up to the apartment, again admiring the décor.

This building had gone up during the city’s first wave of prosperity.

It had survived various economic downturns, natural disasters, and three prolonged gang wars. Its current owners had evidently decided to spruce the place up and had run out of money somewhere along the way. The stairs were chipped and worn marble. A runner of carpet had been added to cover up the worst of it. The first-floor landing had been tiled in pale green slate. It had also seen better days. Linoleum almost matching the colour of the tile now covered much of it. The walls had been repapered in a pattern of deep red and green. The paper itself had the texture of velvet. The public areas were lit by recessed sconces of frosted glass near the ceiling. The place smelled like bleach and despair.

The apartment was nearest the stairs leading up to the next landing.

Varnish was peeling at the edges of the darkly stained hardwood door, which was still open a crack. I let myself in. “Miss…?” I spoke loudly enough to be heard over the creak.

“Yes,” echoing down the dim hall, probably from the sitting room. She sounded like she’d been crying.

I let the closing creak of the door announce my entrance to the apartment. No protest. The main hall, lit only from ahead, was painted a dark green with a hardwood floor and a plaster ceiling. I walked down it and into the sitting room, first on the right.

Since my first appearance, the lady of the house had donned a quilted silk dressing gown in powder blue. Her eyes were puffy and red, cheeks flushed. Medium length ash blonde hair was still an unkempt mess.

She was trying to light a cigarette, but her hands were too shaky. I stepped up, took the heavy lighter from her, and lit her smoke. She took a long drag and gave me a real smile as she exhaled. “Please sit, Mr. Tranker.” Her ‘little girl lost’ demeanour remained in place. I was beginning to suspect it was her defense against the whole world rather than merely bait for her carnal hook.

I sat, placing the rock-crystal lighter on the coffee table next to the overflowing brass ashtray. Before speaking, I used my zippo to light one of my own. “I know you’ve had a rough night, miss. I just need to clear up a couple of loose ends, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

She nodded.

I took out my epad and swiped through pages until I got to the one I wanted. “You’d been seeing my client’s husband for a little over a year UT, correct?”

Nod.

“He set you up here—” I waved toward the room—”two months ago.”

Another confirmatory head-bob.

“One thing I don’t know is how this apartment was paid for.”

“He paid for it.”

I was looking for the tell when she spoke. It was there, but only if you were paying attention: a slight twitch of her eyes to her left. I decided to sneak up on the lie. “But you did sign the lease, right?”

Big brown eyes gave me a perfect simulation of surprise. “I never knew anything about a lease; he just said he would pay the rent for me.”

“Hmm. That’s odd. The landlord told me he requires six-month leases on all new tenants. He wouldn’t show me his files, of course, but he did tell me there were no exceptions. Even if your boyfriend gave you the money, you would still have to have to sign a lease.”

She shrugged, free hand twitching toward her tangled hair. Her glance to left lingered this time. “He did say something about paying in advance, I think.” She wouldn’t meet my eye at all.

“I know he didn’t pay for this place, Miss. I know how he makes his money, where he hides it, and what he spends it on.”

She jabbed the stub of her cigarette into the pile of butts and grabbed another. I flicked open my zippo and lit it for her. She took a drag and exhaled into her lap, fingers playing with the belt of her housecoat. She knew she’d been caught. I could almost hear her wondering how much I knew.

I decided not to keep her guessing. “The landlord recognized you from a picture I showed him. He confirmed you paid cash and signed a lease. I need to know where that money came from.” I was almost sure I knew, but I wanted confirmation before confronting my client.

She spilled it all. A woman had struck up an ‘innocent’ friendship with her months ago and had manipulated her into taking a loan for the rental of a love nest. From the description she gave me, I knew it was same the woman who’d hired me to find evidence of philandering she could use in a divorce. I told Big Ugly’s girl how she’d been manipulated. I didn’t mention that I  had been as well.

I left after telling her I hoped she enjoyed the apartment and instructing her to start looking for a new one before the lease ran out. She was genuinely surprised when I told her she wouldn’t have to pay back the loan.

* * *

My final meeting with my client went as planned. I got my final payment, plus a hefty bonus for getting her husband arrested and charged with attempted murder. Then I sprang on her my knowledge of the set up and the consequences she knew would follow. She was still gawping when Abram and company entered and arrested her for conspiracy to commit murder.

The point of hiring me, of course, was not to get enough evidence to divorce her husband, but to get him put away so she could access his wealth, none of which was on the books. She set him up, knowing his paranoia and violent tendencies would lead to the debacle that ended with me going sidewalk diving. I’m not averse to being played for a chump if the money’s right; but I value my skin above gold. So, it was with considerable satisfaction that I watched her cuffed and dragged away.

Finally, barely an hour before dawn, I retreated to my office.

* * *

As Geist began to lighten the night, I sipped my third scotch while updating my ledger and journal by the light of a green glass desk lamp. One of my many quirks was a fondness for paper and pen when it came to certain activities. I could hardly avoid a using an epad and web access in my work, but I found a peculiar joy in the scratching of a fountain pen on parchment when totalling my money and recording my cases.

The streetlights were still on as I finished, casting blades of light through the blinds and onto the hardwood floor. The ceiling fan was just enough to cool the pre-dawn air, though I’d had to shed my coat and fedora. They hung from the stand to one side of my office door.

With a sigh, I thumped closed the ledger, leaned back in the creaking wooden swivel chair, and took a longer drink. I decided not to bother going home; it wasn’t an inspiring place. Truth to tell, this office was where I spent most of my time.

I poured another drink.

— Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, September 2026

© Gideon Jagged
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