Disclaimer:
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
About the Author:
Selmoore Codfish is not really a fish, but a chicken. He’s hiding because celebrity would show that he is not actually funny, just faking it. If the public knew Mr. Codfish’s identity they would demand that he be funny all of the time. However, he would prefer to remain a dour, grumpy person. Funny people don’t get respect but are thought of as special or different. His friends and associates appreciate his dry seriousness and they shouldn’t be let down by humor.
If you enjoyed this book please loan it to a friend, or write a positive review of it. I encourage you to contact me through my website. Read more and see the list other books in the series at: https://www.selmoorecodfish.com/
Other stories in the Neal Harris series
Eye of the Needle, Chapter 1
She was dead. Was she finally caught and murdered?
Many years ago, Olivia had helped me look for a killer. Eventually, the trail went cold and we gave up. Maybe the killer had become active again.
However, Olivia would have been very old, and she could have died of natural causes. It had been a very long time since we’d talked, but I still considered Olivia a friend. It had been a dozen or more years since we’d met, and she was in her seventies at the time. However, killing old women had been the MO of our murderer.
I looked at the death notice again. I had been browsing the newspaper at work when I saw her name and face. The notice was a short, generic description of her. There was no mention of her cause of death, but I knew people that could tell me. I might be able to reach her daughter too, if I could find their number. I’d missed the funeral already, but I would call anyhow just to confirm where to send a sympathy card.
When I met her years ago we looked for the murderer together. After several weeks, she said that she’d found evidence. She didn’t want to give the information to the police, but wouldn’t tell me why. I’d placed the case at the back of my mind all of this time, but occasionally it came back to me.
Now that she was dead, my vow was over. When I agreed to give up the case, she had said she’d leave the evidence for me some day, and I imagined it was in her will.
By the time that I’d given up trying to solve it, I believed that I had a good idea who was responsible for the murders, but there was no way to prove it. Oddly, I couldn’t recall the names of the people that I’d suspected. I’d blocked it out very well.
However, I had kept a detailed journal during that time. I had just finished college and started at the Sacred Recluse Self-Insurance Group (SRSIG). Also, I had been troubled by many things: my job, the case, and personal issues. Writing about it was one way to deal with the issues.
I kept the journal at my office since work caused many of my problems. I was sure I still had it. I began to look for it.
When I’d given up on the case, I had anticipated that it might be a very long wait until I would come back to it. I recall that I felt that I’d forget about it, so I went back and filled in my notes in greater detail.
A great deal had changed since then. Back then I was a new employee, but now I was the boss.
I found the writings—all handwritten—at the back of a file cabinet. Back then, computers were just starting to be a big deal in offices, and I never typed.
I hesitated opening the notebook. I’d pushed those thoughts away for a good reason. It wasn’t just another client investigation, but it had troubled me in many ways. Yet, now was the time to dig it back up, because of Olivia.
I flipped through the notes to try to refresh myself. The names popped out: Ted, Opal, and Mike. Opal was still around, but not the other two.
Already, I started to get a headache, and I could feel my heart racing. I’d hoped that I was ready, but maybe I wasn’t. When I tried reading, my mind fixated on stupid things that I’d done back then. I couldn’t get past it.
Was it better to just forget it all? A dozen years had passed with no additional murders, unless Olivia had been one too. Therefore, I might not gain anything by stirring up forgotten problems.
However, I owed it to Olivia and the previously deceased to bring them justice. I might not like it, but I had to do this.
I was doing very well now. That would help protect me from painful memories. I had a wife and two children. My son was just an infant.
It was time to look back. I needed to understand the whole story from the beginning so I turned to the front of the notes and started reading.
Net of Blood Page 12