[Keplaz]

Synopsis: A young detective who is wrongly perceived as psychic has his life thrown into turmoil when a ten year old girl is kidnapped.



I am not psychic. I have never been able to tell the future, not now and certainly not ever. If I had been I wouldn't still be living in the cupboard I call an apartment or driving the wreck on wheels which I call my car. I would probably have been a billionaire by now, having successfully "seen" the lottery results at least nine times!! I am not psychic but there are those who believe I am and because of this misconception, a ten-year-old girl could be dead in 24 hours.

When I set up business as a Private Eye or an Enquiry Agent as we are more commonly known these days, I had anticipated hours of surveillance work, mostly watching unfaithful husbands and in some rare cases, wives. I had expected to be dealing with infidelity and missing animals, cheating husbands and missing cats, definitely not hunting a monster: a vicious kidnapper who I knew for certain had killed once before and I had no doubt, would definitely kill again. This was the kind of thing the police were being paid money to do, this wasn't what I'd signed up for, but the monster had had other ideas, he had called for me himself.

I hadn't always worked for myself. An old friend of my father's had given me a summer job after my A level exams, just something to do until I went to university. He hadn't told me what he did for a living and when I'd stepped into his world for the first time, I felt more comfortable than I should have been. He hadn't expected me to get the hang of it as quickly I'd done; he'd called me a natural. I can't explain how I could be so good at something I'd only just started doing but I had done it my whole life without consciously realising it. It started with little games I used to play to amuse myself whilst waiting for my dad to be late picking me up from school. Memorising the number plates of cars that passed by, watching people and noticing little things that others would miss, like how I knew the man next door was cheating on his wife because his shirt was always miraculously clean after work. He worked at a printing press and he didn't necessarily need to get dirty but I knew the nature of the man. I'd watched cleaning his backyard and I knew he wasn't a tidy person, ink spills, and yet he never got a drop on himself despite clumsiness I knew he had. Someone washed the shirts every night before he got home to mask other marks that may have been left behind. He was shocked when I'd told him if he didn't stop seeing her I'd tell his wife. He just looked at me in amazement, no questions asked but after that, he never came home in a clean shirt and he never found out how I'd known.

What was meant to be a holiday job became much more after the man had realised my potential. He talked my dad into letting me work with him for one more year and I never went to university in the end. I stayed with him for 5 years in which he taught me the tricks of the trade. He had been a policeman before opening his detective agency and he taught me everything he knew. We parted ways after all the other associates we worked with started moaning about losing money. The clients paid us on commission, and as my reputation for "knowing" things grew, so did my list of clients. I couldn't stay there much longer as the hostility against me grew. The pupil had outgrown the master. I left with a tidy sum in my pocket, a firm list of clients and the knowledge I had acquired. I rented a room above an office in Earls Court. Business was slow at first but it picked up gradually. The rumours about me being psychic didn't really kick off until after the Gregory case. If I had known what kind of trouble it would lend me in, I would have turned John Gregory out off my door the minute he walked in.

John Gregory was instantly recognisable to me the minute he walked in. I was surprised at the lack of paparazzi as he closed the door behind him; he had clearly taken precautions on his way to see me. His suit was Italian made, finely tailored and he was wearing it for the first time. His dark blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail and his usually pale skin was well tanned. He had strong cheekbones, a square jaw and the kind of looks that had made him an Oscar winner before he thirty. He looked around my office slowly, taking in the shabby second hand furniture and the ancient Dell computer on my desk. He was having second thoughts about my capability to help him. He sighed softly before sitting down in the wobbly green chair in front of him. Whatever it was I decided, it was serious.

"A friend of mine recommended you, but I'm not sure you can help me..." he began.

"Which friend?"

"John Williams, you helped him with his wife."

I nodded my assent. I remembered 62-year-old John Williams, his gorgeous young wife and the postman she'd been shagging.

"What can I do for you then Mr Gregory?" I asked warmly. The manner had to be reassuring but calm. I had learnt well.

"So you know who I am?" he smiled.

"My problem is delicate. John assured me you could help me, he thinks very highly of you but to be honest Mr Gray, I was expecting someone older, but since I'm here already, I might as well tell you." He continued.

At twenty-three, I was hardly anyone's idea of a private eye and I often got under estimated which I found, usually worked in my favour.

John Gregory cleared his throat, coughed a little and then began to speak in his deep baritone voice.

"I've been to the police and two detectives already. I'm not expecting you to work miracles Mr Gray..."

"James" I interrupted.

"I'm not expecting you to work miracles James but you come highly recommended. You may have read in the paper that my painting was stolen. It was a rare Da Vinci and was worth almost 20 million pounds. What the papers didn't say is that the insurance company wouldn't pay for it or that I have serious gambling debts. I was going to sell the painting three days before it disappeared. The police have spoken to all their contacts in the underground but to no avail. I'm in dire straits James."

I hated myself for the question I had to ask him. But my mentor had taught me that looking after number one was the first objective.

"I'm sorry for asking this, but can you afford my fee? It will cost you 200 pounds per day plus any expenses I may incur."

He frowned.

"How long will it take you?"

I had read the case in the paper and had come with a solution almost instantly. I had debated on calling the police but as I'd learned earlier, they didn't take too kindly to help from amateurs.

"If you give me £300 pounds right now. You'll have your painting in an hour."

John Gregory gasped, then laughed mirthlessly and then looked murderously angry.

"Is this some sort of joke, Mr Gray?"

"I assure you I'm deadly serious. Come back in an hour and I'll tell you where to find your painting."

He looked at me suspiciously before walking out and slamming the door in his wake.

I picked up the phone on the table and made a few calls. One of them was to Lace, a contact of mine. Lace is a fence and a frightfully good one. I met her when I was younger; we'd grown up in the same neighbourhood. If any stolen item had been sold anywhere in Europe, especially something as big as a Da Vinci, Lace would know about it. I was satisfied with the information she gave me. I called a friend in the police force and she more or less confirmed my suspicions. In thirty minutes I knew for sure what had happened with John Gregory's painting.

John Gregory walked in exactly an hour later. He still had a dour expression on his face.

"So where is my painting Mr Gray?"

"Your painting is safe Mr Gregory. I first saw your case in the paper about a month ago and was intrigued. They showed a picture of your house and I couldn't help but notice that you had decorators there; you were redoing the whole place. I suspect the reason the insurance company didn't pay up is because they were not satisfied with your security arrangements, am I wrong Mr Gregory?"

He nodded his head.

"The alarm system was down due to the bloody decorators. My wife insisted on all the changes, she doesn't know about the gambling and I'd rather she didn't find out."

I nodded in return before continuing my narrative.

"The thief knew just when to strike. The alarms in the house were down but the security outside was still intact, it was someone who was already in the house." I said.

"The police thought so too. They searched all the decorators and my assistant who lives with us but everything came out clean. It simply vanished." He interjected.

"How long have you had your assistant, Mr Gregory?"

"Almost two years, Jones is a good man, he has no police record."

"I don't doubt that for a second. Did your assistant decorate his own room?"

John Gregory was stunned.

"How did you know? He insisted, he said he used to be a decorator when he was younger."

"When did you acquire the painting Mr Gregory?"

"Almost two years ago I think." He said after pondering it for a moment.

"Around the same time Mr Jones appeared?"

He gasped. He hadn't realised the connection, although I was sure the police had.

"The police took him for questioning, they even checked his fingerprints. They were very interested in him but he came out clean like I told you, Mr Gray. You are barking up the wrong tree and asking such ridiculous things. I knew you were too young. Thanks for your time, I'm sure you don't expect me to pay you 300 pounds for this."

He stood up to leave.

"Wait Mr Gregory. Give me five more minutes and it will all be clear."

He sat down reluctantly his face contorted with rage.

"The reason the police took such an interest in your assistant is because he is the spitting image of Howard Lakes, a notorious art thief. I saw the resemblance as well and was intrigued. Mr Jones is not the thief but he is an accomplice. I suspect that Howard Lakes is his twin brother. This is a nice little arrangement for them. Lakes' fingerprints are on the police database but Jones' fingerprints are not. Identical twins don't have identical fingerprints. They switched positions earlier in the day so that they could do the theft. Lakes stole the painting and hid it in Jones room, then they switched again and he left the house. He couldn't risk leaving the house with it. Jones took his place and when the police who suspected that Jones was Lakes in disguise took his prints, they were disappointed. Jones wasn't Lakes. You can't change your fingerprints so Jones couldn't possibly have been Lakes, but what if they were brothers? I suspect they've played this trick before. Get a policeman at once to arrest Jones, but tell them to follow him first, he will probably lead them to Lakes."

"If all this is true James where's my painting?" he asked still sceptical.

"Your painting never left the house. I called a friend of mine to make sure it hadn't been sold and she told me it hadn't. Your painting is in your assistant's room, under the wallpaper. That's why he insisted on decorating his own room. He's been biding his time for two years. Waiting for an ideal situation. The painting was going to stay under the wallpaper until the heat died down and then they'd sell it. Go and remove the wallpaper, you'll find the painting there."

John Gregory still looked defiant. He kept his mouth shut and then stood up. He told me he'd do as I'd said and if I was right he would return to pay me. He left the room again, silently this time.

I half forgot about John Gregory until the next morning when I saw in the morning paper. The front headline read:

PSYCHIC PRIVATE EYE NABS GREGORY ART THIEF

When I arrived at my office several camera flashes and reporters greeted me. John Gregory stood amongst them smiling at me with the smile people magazine had described as the most perfect smile in the world.

"Thanks James. Everything was exactly as you'd said. Lakes and Jones had done this thing several times before. I don't know how you knew but thanks. You must be psychic or something there's nowhere you could have figured it all out, and you never even left your chair!"

"I'm not psychic..." I protested but he merely smiled at me.

"And this is yours." He said handing me a cheque.

I looked at the figure and instead of the three hundred pounds he owed me; it was a cheque for thirty thousand pounds. I blinked at the amount and John Gregory laughed.

"You deserve it. You've saved me a lot more than you realise. Get a better office and better furniture, you deserve better than this old place."

With that John Gregory and the press left. I gained a reputation I couldn't possibly live up to and the attentions of a criminal keen to prove to the world what I already knew. That I was no psychic. Only I couldn't fail, a girl's life depended on an ability I didn't have. What I had was very acute perception and good powers of deduction; anyone could do what I did if they tried hard enough. Why, I thought, did I have to help that bloody John Gregory? After Gregory I'd helped with a few other high profile cases and my psychic reputation had grown.

The girl was snatched on a Sunday evening and the letter arrived to me by post on Monday. She was a billionaire's daughter. She'd been snatched at Sunday Mass whilst her mother was in the confession booth. The irony of it all. All the letter said was: you have until noon on Sunday or the girl dies Mr Psychic. I had no clue. The press had somehow found out and the police were now involved. I'd met the girl's tearful parents and they believed sincerely that if their daughter could be found I was the only one who could do it. What exactly had I gotten myself into?

[Ambrose]

A staunch thriller. You had me hooked right to the very end. This could easily be a tv show, or even a movie. It was that good.

But... please tell me that is not the end? This is just the first part, correct? Because I absolutely need to know what is going to happen to the girl. The characters you've created are uncannily lifelike and thoroughly interesting. You simply must continue this.

Anyways, excellent, excellent, excellent. You definitely have a knack for this stuff.

[Wordsmyth]

The detective story has to be my favorite so whenever I see one on here I have to check it out and see if it does the genre any justice. I have to say that his was a very nice begining to what I hope will be a longer story. This part was an excellent lead up and I just hope you can make the rest of the story work.

Good luck with this. I look forward to his coming out really good.


PS sorry about the 73% I really did think it was better than that, but If I could do math better in my head I wouldn't be writing stories instead.

[Lonely Stranger]

Reviewer Disclaimer: I am not a literary critic, as a matter of fact I never got an "A" in English (usually "B"s) so I don't know the value of my opinions. These are just my impressions and are in no way meant to discount the hard work and effort that you put into your story. I never want to sound pompous, or know it all-ish, if I do, you have my apology. I'm just a guy who likes to read and write. In a give and take environment, in order to offer my writings, I must also give my opinion on others writing efforts. This is only one snook's opinion!
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First ... the nitpicking.
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"I had anticipated hours of surveillance work, mostly watching unfaithful husbands and in some rare cases, wives. I had expected to be dealing with infidelity and missing animals, cheating husbands and missing cats,"

It seems like this is a little bit redundant.
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Also, I'm seeing the word "had" making what might be too many appearances. In my opinion, the word "had" is the most overused word in writing.

I suggest checking every use of "had" and making sure it's really necessary.
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"I'd watched cleaning his backyard and I knew he wasn't a tidy person, ink spills, and yet he never got a drop on himself despite clumsiness I knew he had."

This reads awkwardly. How would:

"Having watched him work in his his back yard, it was obvious to me that eight hours in a printing press was not a day that had any chance of leaving him spotless, or even tidy for that matter."

... sound to you?
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"...made him an Oscar winner before he thirty."

I suspect that you wanted this to read either...

"...made him an Oscar winner before thirty."

or

"...made him an Oscar winner before he was thirty."
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"John Gregory gasped, then laughed mirthlessly and then looked murderously angry."

Seems like extreme anger just because some punk private eye is overconfident.
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"He sat down reluctantly his face contorted with rage."

Again, seems like extreme anger just because some punk private eye is overconfident.
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Now ... the narrative review.
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If a story starts slow (and this one started a smidge slow) it had better pick up fast. I have the attention span of a 3 year old. You picked up speed fast and wove a very, very nice yarn. The plot was solid. I really took time to think about Mr. Gray's deduction and I feel it is believable, Columbo-like ... but believable!

The voice of the story threw me a bit but I think you must be from the UK and I understand that there are subtle differences between the USA English and UK English.

It's hard to describe a first person character but you got the pertinent information (Gray's age, background and experience) in quite nicely.

A tad more description of Gray's office, though, might have given more insight into your protagonist. What kind of magazines? Computer games? Somehow, I imagine a Rubiks Cube on his desk. Is the Radio playing? What kind of music?

All in all, a very nice story. I enjoyed reading it and I look forward to seeing what happens with the missing girl. And again, these are my opinions, and to quote my ex-wife and current girlfriend ... "What the Hell do I know anyway!!"

[Bluejay]

Nicely done! This had a good pace, and excellent voice. And the first paragraph immediately grabs the reader with the foreshadowing about the girl.

Some places I stumbled while reading:

What was meant to be a holiday job became much more after the man had realised my potential.

The immediately preceding paragraph ended with the story about the next door neighbor. He was referred to at least twice as "the man". So, though this is a new paragraph, that association carries over. I had to go back and read to figure out exactly which man "the man" was referring to.

"So you know who I am?" he smiled.

"My problem is delicate. John assured me you could help me...

The break here told me the speaker was changing. But it hadn't. I would continue it on the same line after "smiled".

...am I wrong Mr Gregory?"

He nodded his head.

"The alarm system was down due...

Here, again, I expected the conversation had gone back to James. I tend to see a new paragraph as a focus switch, like a ping pong match if there are only two. The focus was on James; then the focus was on Gregory (and he nodded); then the focus goes... where? I would continue his dialogue right after his head nod, on the same line, unless you lead into it in the paragraph with something that clearly identifies he is still speaking.

Those were the only stumbling points.

I had to keep reminding myself that this was just an introduction. Since the Gregory case was solved almost before it started, I didn't get the satisfaction of working it out with James. But I told myself the payoff would come later. I realize you're using this to lead into something else, so it couldn't be played out in that way. I'm hoping the rest allows a more gradual discovery, to give the reader something to figure out.

Overall, you grabbed and held me. I'm looking forward to seeing how this turns out!

[vincimax]

Boss the piece excellent and had an excellent ending good one. Cant wait to read and find if the girl was rescued.

[RENA HANDS]

I would probably have been a billionaire by now, having successfully "seen" the lottery results at least nine times!!

I would probably have been a billionaire by now, having successfully "seen" the lottery results at least nine times!

I understand that you are expressing emotion here but the exclamation mark is a bit excessive. One would suffice.

When I set up business as a Private Eye or an Enquiry Agent as we are more commonly known these days, I had anticipated hours of surveillance work, mostly watching unfaithful husbands and in some rare cases, wives. I had expected to be dealing with infidelity and missing animals, cheating husbands and missing cats,

A repeating thought.

An old friend of my father's had given me a summer job after my A level exams, just something to do until I went to university.

There could be more details about this friend.

I rented a room above an office in Earls Court.

I rented a room above an office in Earls' Court.

I would have turned John Gregory out off my door the minute he walked in.

I would have turned John Gregory out of my door the minute he walked in.

"What can I do for you then Mr Gregory?" I asked warmly.

"What can I do for you then Mr. Gregory?" I asked warmly.

The manner had to be reassuring but calm.

The "but" for me implies the detective had to be either reassuring or calm. You wanted to state that he had to be both reassuring and calm.

John assured me you could help me, he thinks very highly of you but to be honest Mr Gray,

John assured me you could help me, he thinks very highly of you but to be honest Mr. Gray,

I'm not expecting you to work miracles Mr Gray..."

I'm not expecting you to work miracles Mr. Gray..."

"Is this some sort of joke, Mr Gray?"

"Is this some sort of joke, Mr. Gray?"

One of them was to Lace, a contact of mine. Lace is a fence and a frightfully good one. I met her when I was younger; we'd grown up in the same neighbourhood.

Perhaps a bit more description about Lace and her qualifications.

"So where is my painting Mr Gray?"

"So where is my painting Mr. Gray?"

"Your painting is safe Mr Gregory.

"Your painting is safe Mr. Gregory.

I suspect the reason the insurance company didn't pay up is because they were not satisfied with your security arrangements, am I wrong Mr Gregory?"

I suspect the reason the insurance company didn't pay up is because they were not satisfied with your security arrangements, am I wrong Mr. Gregory?"

"How long have you had your assistant, Mr Gregory?"

"How long have you had your assistant, Mr. Gregory?"

"When did you acquire the painting Mr Gregory?"

"When did you acquire the painting Mr. Gregory?"

"Around the same time Mr Jones appeared?"

"Around the same time Mr. Jones appeared?"

They were very interested in him but he came out clean like I told you, Mr Gray.

They were very interested in him but he came out clean like I told you, Mr. Gray.

"Wait Mr Gregory. Give me five more minutes and it will all be clear."

"Wait Mr. Gregory. Give me five more minutes and it will all be clear."

Mr Jones is not the thief but he is an accomplice.

Mr. Jones is not the thief but he is an accomplice.

All the letter said was: you have until noon on Sunday or the girl dies Mr Psychic.

All the letter said was: you have until noon on Sunday or the girl dies Mr. Psychic.

Again you are being repetitive about this detective not being a "psychic." The mystery of the kidnapping shall be a very interesting read.

[xtremelady]

You have a gd idea here, but I did find it a hard read. I found you supplied lots of info in a very matter of fact way which I thought marred the flow. What are the characters thoughts and feeling towards the past memories and ppl?

I liked the first paragraph starting the story.

From there;

I hadn't always worked for myself. An old friend of my father's had given me a summer job after my A level exams, just something to do until I went to university. He hadn't told me what he did for a living and when I'd stepped into his world for the first time, I felt more comfortable than I should have been. He hadn't expected me to get the hang of it as quickly I'd done; he'd called me a natural.

Unbidden, came the faint sense of loathing mingled with awe, which always surfaced whenever my thoughts turned to dwell on my old mentor and boss . Yeah Ian Bradshore had been a brilliant son of a bitch; one I had loathed on occasions...
the little bald headed man...etc

Describe a bit more; allow the personality to develop though his descriptions of ppl and situations. Other wise I like the intriguing possibilities you are weaving with this story.

[Omkar]

An excellent piece of work! As 'Lonely Stranger' said, your writing reflects distinct English language. The story really grips you: at every point there is an urge to read on till the end: but the end isn't here yet, is it? At least the synopsis doesn't suggest so.

Everyone in the story judges Mr.Gray, largely as psychic and some as an amateur over-confident individual in his profession. But why doesn't Mr.Gray judge himself? If he does have all his contacts and can solve a case seamlessly without getting off his chair, he should be portraying his youth attitude at the age of 23! Even with the staggering financial situation, his character doesn't show-off the confidence, the courage. Maybe that is what the character is all about, or maybe Mr.Gray changes to save the girl!