When James was buried, no one turned out for his service.

When someone dies without leaving a will, and no one turns up to claim their inheritance, the government can claim the money. Still, they have an obligation to publish the fact that money has been left, to give an heir the opportunity to come forward.
When big money is at stake – three million two hundred thousand and thirty three pounds in this case – there are specialist firms out there willing to jump at the chance to find the rightful heir.
For a hefty commission, of course.
That’s where I come in.

It’s a race.
Other firms will have their best investigators on the case. Public records, birth certificates, marriage certificates, all will be checked to discern the rightful heir, then these companies will fight tooth and nail to get to the lucky recipient first – bearing the good news and the offer to represent their new client.

I was the first to make it to Robert Wilson’s front door, but I knew the others wouldn’t be far behind me. If I wanted my pay day, I had to make sure that Robert Wilson did not deal with anyone from the other firms.

Wilson was a man in his late fifties. He didn’t even know he was the first child born of a union between James Caruthers and his now deceased mother, Ingrid.
He looked at me suspiciously as I handed him my card and explained why I had turned up at his door on a cold, winter’s evening.
As soon as I mentioned the money though, he invited me in to his living room. It looked like he’d inherited more than money from his late father: his house was a stinking hole that he shared only with cats.

That was good, really. No wife, no kids, no extended family to contest this turn of events.

I accepted the offer of tea – even though I’d never touch his filthy cup to my lips – and followed him into his kitchen. As he’d turned to fill the kettle, I took his head in both my hands and slammed it down on the corner of the work top. I aimed so that his temple struck the pointed corner and was gratified to see the deep indentation in his skull as he collapsed dead at my feet.
Careful to remove my card from his pocket, I put it back into my wallet.
Then I spilled some of the water from the kettle onto the floor, then manipulated Wilson’s foot so that it made a dirty skid mark in the spillage.

go to next page(page 3)