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“I don’t think that’s true,” Remy told them. “I think you’re all very good dogs.”
“No. Bad dogs. No good.”
They pushed one another out of the way, each of them wanting to be petted and praised. He had an idea where their self-esteem problem was coming from, especially since he had been summoned here to help with the investigation of a theft.
He was doing his best to give the guard dogs the attention they were craving when the front door to the house suddenly opened.
The dogs’ heads all turned to look at the man standing in the doorway.
“Mr. Karnighan?” Remy asked. “Hi, I’m Remy Chandler.”
The man was very old, leaning upon a cane carved from dark cherrywood that reminded Remy for some reason or another of solidified blood.
“It appears they like you, Mr. Chandler,” the old man sneered, his voice hinting of a strength now passed. He slowly lifted his cane and pointed it at the dogs.
Remy noticed them flinch.
“It seems that they like everyone, which is why I am currently in need of your services.”
The old man’s expression softened as he tore his gaze away from the animals.
“I’m Alfred Karnighan,” he said, hobbling farther outside the door, his hand extended. Remy met the man partway, shaking hands with him.
“If I can tear you away from your new friends, why don’t you come inside so that we can discuss business,” Karnighan said with a hint of sarcasm.
He made a brief clucking sound and motioned with his hand toward the animals. Heads hung low, the dogs trotted off, as Karnighan returned his attention to him, now gesturing with the cane for Remy to go inside.
The inside of the home was like a museum.
Remy walked slowly alongside the elderly man, taking in objects of art tastefully displayed around him as they progressed through the house.
“You have some very nice things,” Remy said as they passed a beautiful piece that he recognized as being by Monet, not a foot away from a glass case that displayed a porcelain vase that could have quite easily been from some ancient Chinese dynasty.
“Thank you, Mr. Chandler, but I consider these items merely knickknacks in comparison to what has been taken from me.”
“These are some very expensive knickknacks, sir,” Remy commented.
The room that they passed through next was in disarray, the floor covered with thick drop cloths. The smell of fresh paint hung heavy in the air.
“Please excuse the mess,” Karnighan apologized. “I’m having some renovation work done. Since I’m not traveling as much as I used to, I’ve decided to make my home more pleasing to the eye.”
Reflexively, Remy took the old man’s arm, helping him to navigate the cloth-covered floor.
“Thank you, that’s all I need—to fall and break my hip.” The old man looked at him, a strange mixture of anger and sadness evident upon his ancient features. “Don’t get old, Mr. Chandler. It’s not a pretty thing.”
Remy smiled politely, his thoughts suddenly distracted by similar statements made by his wife in her waning years of health.
They continued on into a hallway of rich, dark oak.
“We’ll take the elevator down to the storage vaults.”
Karnighan opened a door to reveal a closet-sized elevator. “After you, Mr. Chandler,” he said, ushering Remy inside.
Remy obliged, cramming himself into the corner.
“What made me purchase this home some years ago was the sprawling wine cellar, but not having a taste for the grape, I converted it into an elaborate storage place for my most valuable pieces.” He closed the door, using an old-fashioned hand control to make the elevator descend.
“Here we are,” he said, bringing the conveyance to a graceful stop.
Karnighan opened the door and stepped out into a lobby of sorts. It too was decorated in dark wood, framed paintings of considerable value hanging on the walls. Directly to the right of the elevator exit, there was a large safe door that seemed totally out of place with the stylings of the room.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” Remy said, eyeing the heavy steel door.
“I wish you could have seen them,” the old man said as he slid back a panel in the wall to reveal a hidden keypad. Karnighan punched in a code.
Remy could hear the door-lock mechanisms start to hum, whirring and clicking into place. Then came the sound of a bolt sliding back and the vault door slowly, silently began to open.
“This way, Mr. Chandler,” Karnighan invited, passing across the threshold. “I can’t tell you how sad it makes me to come into this room now, knowing that my most prized possessions have been taken.”
Remy joined the man inside the room. It was much larger than he would have guessed. Display cases of varying sizes filled with weaponry of all kinds lined the walls. There were guns of every conceivable size and shape from as far back as their invention. There even appeared to be an area designated solely for hand grenades. And there were weapons from older times as well: swords, spears, knives, and axes, as well as maces, helmets, and suits of armor.
“Wow,” Remy said as his eyes danced around the room from one of the cases to the next, objects of bloodshed from the dawn of man to the present on display here, a history of violence.
“Do you think?” Karnighan asked, leaning on his cane. “Over the years I’ve lost my objectivity.” He looked around the room, trying to see it as Remy did.
“All I can think of is what’s missing,” the collector said with a sad shake of his head.
“And what is missing, Mr. Karnighan?” Remy asked.
The old man made his way toward an empty waist-high case, the lights within still lit, as if displaying nothingness.
“Weapons,” Karnighan said, his voice much softer as he looked down into the case, as if hoping he’d been mistaken, that his beloved possessions were still there. “Some of them were just that, but there were others… so much more.”
Remy could hear the emotion in the old man’s voice—it was almost as if he were talking about missing loved ones.
Not too long after, Remy and Karnighan sat in a study upstairs finalizing their business over coffee.
“So you’ll have the documents sent over to my office?” Remy asked as he brought the delicate china cup down from his mouth to the saucer he held before him. The coffee was good, some of the best he’d had in a while.
Karnighan had just taken a drink of the scalding liquid, waiting to swallow before answering.
“Yes, of course. I’ve kept detailed records of all my acquisitions over the years,” he said, carefully placing the cup and saucer on a table beside his chair. “My records are currently in a bit of disarray because of the renovations, but I’m sure I’ll be able to gather them up by this afternoon and have them couriered over to you.”
The old man winced as he crossed his ancient legs.
“So I guess it’s safe to say that you’ll take the case?” he asked with a cautious smile.
Remy nodded. “Of course. It’ll be two hundred and fifty dollars a day plus expenses, if that’s agreeable?”
The old man reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and removed a check. He unfolded the piece of paper and looked at it before handing it to Remy.
“I took the liberty of writing this up before you arrived.”
Remy stood to take it from him. “That’s very generous,” he said, glancing at the amount.
“An advance, plus a bonus for your anticipated hard work. There is more where that came from, Mr. Chandler. It may seem pathetic to you, but I’ve come to realize that without these items my life seems suddenly meaningless.”
Remy listened to the man as he refolded the check and placed it inside his own shirt pocket. “I’ll do everything I can,” he told the old man. “There are no guarantees, but I won’t stop working on the case until all possible leads have been exhausted.”