MARK KANE MYSTERIES
BOOK SIX
I SPY
Copyright © 2015 by John Hemmings
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by MKM Enterprises
Cover by Octagon
Table of Contents
About the Author
THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR
FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
A Word from the Author
Book One: Forget Me Not
Book Two: Ice
Book Three: The Black Widow
Book Four: Till Death
Book Five: Missing
Book Six: I Spy
Book Seven: A Tangled Web
About the Author
John Hemmings is a lawyer and writer of crime fiction with a one hundred percent record − none of his clients have been executed...yet! Some of his stories are inspired by actual cases he has worked on, but names have been changed to protect the innocent – and sometimes the guilty!
Each of his books features Boston private investigator Mark Kane, or simply Kane as he is known to most people, and his longtime companion Lucy − a slightly oddball couple with a somewhat unconventional relationship.
"I write for enjoyment − the sort of books that I hope have broad appeal in the mystery/detective genre; the kind of books I like to read myself − and as a family man I write for all ages − the sex private (even private eyes like a bit of privacy!), the language tempered. Take a look at those movies from the thirties and forties: Edward G. Robinson, Cagney, Bogart; the lack of strong language didn't take away anything from the air of menace those guys exuded. Of course, they wouldn’t have talked like that in real life, but then a movie or a novel is not ‘real life’."
"I have used my experience to make the stories as authentic as possible, although these books are intended as entertainments, so a little 'poetic license' is sometimes necessary. As for 'character development', this is a series told in real time. While each book is a standalone story, as my readers progress through the books more is gradually revealed about my protagonist and his sidekick. My readers sometimes ask me what Kane & Lucy look like; but as to their physical appearance well, that's the beauty of books over movies - they look just like each reader imagines they look."
To contact the author, please go to http://johnhemmings.net/contact
THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR
‘Things are not always as they seem’ – Phaedrus
For Kimberly
FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS
Chapter One: Open and Shut
Chapter Two: The Watch
Chapter Three: An Accidental Death
Chapter Four: Nessun Problema
Chapter Five: The Doppelganger
Chapter Six: Trish
Chapter Seven: The Tape
Chapter Eight: The Briefcase
Chapter Nine: Ten Days
Chapter Ten: A Low Profile
Chapter Eleven: Another Busy Day
Chapter Twelve: A Skeleton in the Closet
Chapter Thirteen: Some Bad News
Chapter Fourteen: A Safe Place
Chapter Fifteen: Elm Ridge
Chapter Sixteen: Following Orders
Chapter Seventeen: A Sense of Drama
Chapter Eighteen: Tweedledum and Tweedledee
Chapter Nineteen: Lucy’s Case
Chapter Twenty: Feeling Down
A Word from the Author
Mark Kane Mysteries Series
Book One: Forget Me Not
Book Two: Ice
Book Three: The Black Widow
Book Four: Till Death
Book Five: Missing
Book Six: I Spy
Book Seven: A Tangled Web
Preface
In writing this series I think it only fair to acknowledge my debt to that master of the detective genre, Raymond Chandler. Whilst I could never hope to produce narratives of such accomplishment, nor produce such a memorable hero as Philip Marlowe, in writing this series of novels I have nevertheless tried to be true to Mr. Chandler’s concept of what a private detective novel should comprise. I have adopted his famous guidelines, not simply because I admire him as a peerless writer of private detective crime fiction but because I believe they truly encapsulate everything that a good crime novel should be, namely:
It should be credibly motivated, both as to the original situation and the dénouement.
It should be technically sound as to the methods of murder and detection.
It should be realistic in character, setting and atmosphere. It must be about real people in a real world.
It should have a sound story value apart from the mystery element: i.e., the investigation itself must be an adventure worth reading.
It should have enough essential simplicity to be explained easily when the time comes.
It must baffle a reasonably intelligent reader.
The solution must seem inevitable once revealed.
It should not try to do everything at once. If it is a puzzle story operating in a rather cool, reasonable atmosphere, it cannot also be a violent adventure or a passionate romance.
It must punish the criminal in one way or another; not necessarily by operation of the law, but if the detective fails to resolve the consequences of the crime, the story is an unresolved chord and leaves irritation behind it.
It must be honest with the reader.
As for the hero, Chandler also had firm views. The morality of the detective is paramount. In his essay, ‘The Simple Art of Murder’, he wrote: ‘Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor – by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world’.
If Mr. Chandler were alive today it is doubtful that he would be impressed by my clumsy attempts at writing crime fiction, but I hope he would be satisfied with my attempts to carry on a fine tradition.
Chapter One
Open and Shut
“Seems like what we have here, Sam, is a classic
example of an open and shut case.”
“Okay, run me through what we’ve got.”
“Caucasian couple, late thirties. Female probably killed by a single blow from a tire iron. Lot of blood. Murder weapon lying nearby the body on the kitchen floor. Husband, about the same age, hanging in the garage. Both dead for at least twelve hours. Neighbor called it in. She made a preliminary ID of the husband’s body – after we cut it down. Forensics inside sifting through everything, bodies still in situ; the pathologist arrived about twenty minutes ago. She’s in the kitchen.”
“You got some names for me?”
“Bob and Cynthia Hughes. According to the neighbor he worked as an accountant, she ran a care center downtown. Nothing known about either. Seemed like a normal, regular couple. Neighbor’s still in shock so we got someone taking care of her and her little girl.”
“So he killed his wife than hanged himself?”
“Looks like it. We’ll know more when forensics are through, but there was no attempt to clean the place up or dispose of the weapon, and there’s no sign of any forced entry or anything else disturbed, so it seems like Bob went off the rails, killed his old lady and then hanged himself. Like I said, an open shutter.”
Lieutenant Sam Malone walked past the detective and up the three steps into the front porch. The usual businesslike bustle was all around him. He walked into the kitchen. Pauline Granger, dressed all in white, was stooped over the woman’s body.
“Hi Pauline.”
“Hi Sam. They get you out of bed for this one? I’m almost done here.”
“Yeah, I didn’t turn in until well after midnight. Single blow to the head with a tire iron, Kelly said.”
“I think so. There’s some of her hair on the iron – it was found over there by the sink. Looks like the perpetrator cleaned himself up some at the sink then went into the garage and said goodbye cruel world. He died of asphyxia by strangulation; the drop wasn’t enough to break his neck.”
A couple of detectives were bagging up some odds and ends for analysis. It seemed like everything was being taken care of. Strictly routine. Domestic killing and suicide. It wasn’t the first he’d seen and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last either.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave Kelly in charge down here and go back to bed. How long until I get your report?”
“Couple of days ought to do it; unless there are any unforeseen complications.”
Malone walked through to the living room. There was no sign that any disturbance had occurred in there. Everything in its place. A paperback novel open and upside down on the coffee table. A scattering of the usual silver-framed photographs on the mantel. Sam walked over and looked at the photos. Mr. and Mrs. Hughes at their wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Hughes on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Mr. and Mrs. Hughes sitting under a parasol − in the back yard he guessed. He walked over to the window and peered out into the yard. Yep; there it was.
“I’m going home, Sean, bring me what you’ve got this afternoon,” Sam said to Kelly as he walked out through the front door. He got into his car, fired the motor and headed back to bed.
*
The young man standing on the platform was wearing a navy-blue woolen overcoat and carrying a black leather briefcase in his left hand. He was peering up the rail tracks and kept looking at his watch and moving from one foot to the other. He appeared anxious, or maybe it was impatience. He was smoking a cigarette and wishing he hadn’t had those last couple of shots at Blarney’s. That and the blow he’d had in the john. He was feeling pretty jacked-up; he wasn’t supposed to be using when he was working – if the boss found out he’d be more than pissed. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal ordinarily, but this wasn’t an ordinary day. This was his first real test and everything had to go off without a hitch.
He looked anxiously at his watch again and then turned and looked around him. The platform was pretty crowded. He had to be careful. Who was that? Seemed to be a guy watching him, but as soon as their faces met he looked away. He turned back and looked northwards up the track. Must be paranoia; he’d read about that. Too much blow could make you paranoid.
He was cold. He put the briefcase down on the platform and reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pair of black leather gloves and put them on. “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself under his breath. Another couple of minutes. Another couple of minutes. It was like a mantra going through his head.
He looked back at the platform, peering carefully at the faces in the gloom. Then he heard the sound of the train as it neared the station. He turned back towards the train’s direction.
“Yeah, baby, here she comes,” he said softly to himself as the train lumbered towards the platform. He leant down to pick up his briefcase.
*
It was two o’clock in the afternoon when Kelly knocked on the door of Malone’s office.
“Got the preliminary report typed up, Sam. You want me to go over it with you?”
“Sure, pull up a chair.”
“Okay. The neighbor’s Beth Alwin. She’s lived next door to the Hughes’s for about six years. Didn’t know them that well, but they got on just fine. Mrs. Alwin’s husband, Seth, is away for a few days on business. Or he was, but he’s back now to take care of her. She’s okay though. She went to bed after midnight and noticed the lights were still on in the Hughes household. That was unusual, but not so unusual that it rang any alarms. She couldn’t sleep; says it’s often like that when her husband’s away. She got up at three to make herself a hot drink and noticed the lights were still on next door. She was curious but she went back to bed. She got up again at six and noticed the lights were still on. She pulled on a housecoat and went to see if everything was okay. Everything wasn’t okay; so she called it in.”
“Anybody else?”
“No, the neighbors on the other side and across the street have all been questioned. None of them saw or heard anything. Oh, the little girl – Beth’s daughter, Claudia. She says she saw Bob Hughes driving away from the house yesterday evening. I ran that past Pauline because her preliminary finding was that the deaths both occurred at least twelve hours before the bodies were found. She says that now she’s had some time to do more calculations she puts the deaths at fifteen hours before her examination, give or take but not by much. So the little girl’s obviously mistaken. She’s only nine and it would have been getting dark around that time.”
“What time was it?”
“Around six to six thirty she thinks. Said she saw him drive off in a gray sedan. She didn’t notice the time so she couldn’t be specific. Mrs. Alwin says she never saw a gray sedan, and Bob’s car was in the garage when we found him. It’s a light blue Honda. Like I said, I guess she’s got a bit mixed up.”
“She didn’t see anyone go in or out of the house?”
“No, she just said she saw him in a gray sedan, driving away.”
“Any kin?”
“Not that we know of. Not yet anyway.”
“What does Mrs. Alwin say about her neighbors? About their relationship?”
“Nothing much. Like I said they weren’t close neighbors; but she never heard them arguing or saw anything to suggest they had any problems. Said they seemed a fairly ordinary couple.”
“Well I want a full examination of anything in the vicinity of either body which might yield prints or DNA. Let’s not be sloppy about this one just because it seems simple. I want to know if anything points to someone else being in that house.”
“Well, I guess a lot of people have been in the house. We haven’t got to the stage yet where the lab boys are able to tell us how recently prints or DNA were left behind.”
“Just do a thorough job is all I’m asking Sean, okay?”
“You’re the boss.”
“And see if you can find any kin, okay?”
“Sure, I got a couple of guys doing the rounds on that one.”
After Kelly left, Sam swiveled his
chair around to face the window. He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, locking his fingers together. What caused a sudden explosion of rage in a seemingly normal house-hold? An argument? An infidelity? Alcohol or drugs? Who knew?
*
“Where the hell is he?” Mike Kingsley was pacing up and down the living room, looking at his watch.
“Maybe the traffic dad,” Clare said.
“Come on Clare, he’s known about this for weeks. It’s not just any anniversary. Thirty years – it’s quite a milestone. Traffic’s something we all have to make allowances for.”
“Well we can delay the meal for a bit longer,” Rob said.
“That’s not the point. It’s selfish. It shows a total lack of respect for his mother.”
“You want me to call him?” Tim said.
“What’s the point? I guess he’ll show up sooner or later. He can’t have forgotten, surely.”
“Of course not,” Rob said. “Tim talked to him this morning, right?”
“Yeah, right,” Tim said guardedly as he came into the living room. “He asked me what time we’d be eating.”
“He asked you that? Well he must have known he’d be late then. Why didn’t he say something?”
“He said he’d got an appointment. Said he’d get here as soon as he could.”
“Well he might have had the courtesy to call me and let me know if he was going to be late. Anyway, who the hell would he have an appointment with?”
“I don’t know, he didn’t say.”
“He doesn’t even have a job as far as I know. It’s nearly eight − who would he have an appointment with at this time of night?”
Rob, Clare and Tim gave each other knowing looks and Clare raised her eyebrows. Their father had his back to them.
“I don’t know what the hell I did wrong with that kid. Gave him too much, probably. Made things too easy for him. Not enough discipline.”
“You treated us all the same, dad,” Clare said.
I Spy - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Six: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Suspense & Thriller Stories - A Murder Mystery & Suspense Thriller Page 1