“But he doesn’t even try,” Mike said. “He always expected everything on a plate. None of the rest of you took everything for granted.”
“Dad, there’s no use getting up-tight about it. He’ll show up.”
“When was the last time any of you saw him? I haven’t seen him for months.”
“I ran into him a about week ago outside Walmart. He was…”
“Was what?”
“Never mind…nothing,” Clare said.
Mike Kingsley sighed heavily. “Well, let’s get this show on the road,” he said. He walked out of the living room and into the dining room. Clare moved across the room and closed the door quietly. She turned to her brothers.
“I can’t tell him, guys. It would break his heart.”
“He’s going to find out sooner or later.”
“Maybe we could all get together, the three of us, and talk to him.”
“To dad?” Tim said.
“No, to Freddy. Try to talk some sense into him.”
“We all know that’s pointless, Clare. Get real.”
“When I saw him at the store he told me he was keeping his head down; because of the Costa brothers.”
“Maybe he’s left town,” Tim said.
“We wish,” said Rob.
“Come on guys,” Clare said. “I know you two never got along with Freddy, but he’s your brother after all.”
“For what that’s worth,” Rob said.
“Rob…”
“Look Clare, the way things are going he’s going to drag us all down the sewer with him. What the hell do you think it will look like if he ends up doing time? The kind of job I do, family’s as important as anything else.”
“Yes, Clare,” Tim said. “And what’s it going to do to mom or dad when they finally find out?”
“Come on, guys. Let’s go and eat dinner. We’ll talk about this some more later.”
Chapter Two
The Watch
It was the Ides of March and I was celebrating with a cup of coffee I’d just made in a new-fangled device which Lucy had bought for me. It was a machine in which you inserted sealed pods of coffee, pressed a button and hey presto! It was the first time I’d tried it out and I was congratulating myself on my ability to handle this new piece of equipment when the phone rang. It was Lucy. Lucy was in the office and I wasn’t. Lucy was in the office because Brenda was having a day off.
“There’s a client to see you; a Miss Price. She’s here now,” Lucy said, “waiting in the front office. I’ve made her some coffee and told her you’ll be here in two shakes of a dog’s tail.”
“Were you expecting her this morning?”
“No. She didn’t make an appointment or anything; she just turned up. You want me to handle it? I can handle it if you like.”
It was a rare occasion for a potential client to attend the office, especially without a prior appointment.
“No, I could do with some fresh air; I’ll be over in a trice to see what it’s all about,” I said. “As soon as I’ve drunk my coffee,” I added.
I stuck an ice cube in the coffee to cool it down and was about to take a sip when the phone rang again.
“Mr. Kane?” a man’s voice said.
“Yes,” I said. “How may I help you?”
“My name’s Mike Kingsley. I just called your office and spoke to your assistant. She gave me your cell number. I’d like to make an appointment to see you as soon as possible,” he said.
“Well I have an appointment with a client who’s waiting for me in the office right now, but I can probably see you this afternoon if that would be convenient. How would three o’clock suit you?”
“That will be fine. I know where you are; I’ll be there at three, then.”
“Can you give me an idea about the nature of your inquiry?” I said.
“My son was killed last week,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I want you to investigate the circumstances of his death.”
“Okay; let’s discuss it in more detail this afternoon,” I said.
The Ides of March might not have been an auspicious day for Julius Caesar, I thought, but it was turning into a humdinger for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had two clients in one day.
I finished my coffee and drove the short distance to the office where Lucy introduced me to a rather attractive and sophisticated-looking blond called Angela Price. She looked a lot like a forty-year-old Veronica Lake, but perhaps I was influenced in my opinion by the plethora of old movie posters which adorned our front office.
“Well I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Price,” I said. “Shall we go through to my inner sanctum and you can tell me how you think I may be of assistance.”
Lucy made a face at me. I used words like ‘inner sanctum’ because I liked to josh her.
“I’m sorry to just show up like this without calling first,” she said. “The thing is I’ve been wondering what to do for a few days now and then I was driving past your office, saw the sign and decided on the spur of the moment,” she said, as we went inside.
“Well that’s quite alright,” I said. “Take a seat and we’ll see if we’re able to help you.”
“I thought I’d stepped into a Hollywood casting agent’s office by mistake,” she said, as she sat down, putting her purse on her lap and placing her hands on top of it.
“Oh, the posters? My assistant, Lucy here, thinks they set the right tone,” I said, “although I’m still somewhat undecided on the matter.”
“Well I think they’re wonderful,” she said, rather to my relief.
I smiled at her and she smiled back. Lucy smiled too.
“Now what can we do for you?” I said.
“I want you to solve a murder,” she said.
“I see,” I said, not being able to think of anything more suitable to say for the time being.
“It happened last week,” she said. “Someone I was rather close to.”
“Who was murdered?” I asked.
“He was a close friend. Well a little more than that. We had an intimate relationship. He was a married man, but it’s not quite how it sounds,” she said.
“Can you be a little more specific?”
She crossed her legs, leaning back in the chair as she did so.
“The man’s name was Bob Hughes. He used to work as an accountant. I work as a fashion magazine editor and I was one of his clients; that’s how we met. We were just friends at first, but we started a sexual relationship soon afterwards. His wife knew all about it – it wasn’t a clandestine affair. You see Bob’s wife had a miscarriage early in their marriage and after that she lost all interest in sexual intimacy; but they were perfectly settled in their relationship in all other respects. There was never any question of him leaving her. Bob was quite open with her about it and she actually thought the arrangement was a satisfactory solution to the problem. I expect this sounds really bizarre to you,” she said, “but that’s how it was.”
“What is Bob’s wife’s name?” I asked.
“Her name was Cynthia. I’m afraid she was murdered too – at the same time.”
“You’d better tell me more about the circumstances of their deaths,” I said. “Where did this happen?”
“Right here, in Boston.”
I raised my eyebrows at Lucy. She shook her head.
“How were they killed?” I said.
“Cynthia was found on the kitchen floor. She’d been struck on the back of the head with a tire iron. Bob was found hanged in the garage.”
“I assume the police are investigating the deaths?” I said.
“He didn’t do it,” she said. “He didn’t kill Cynthia and he didn’t kill himself.”
“Is that what the police have concluded?”
“Apparently; but I don’t accept it.”
“Have you been questioned in connection with the
police investigation?” I said.
“Not at first. The police had no reason to make a connection between Bob and me. I approached the police officer in charge of the investigation myself because I knew it wasn’t what it looked like.”
“And how did you know that?”
“Because I knew him. There’s no way on earth that Bob could have done that. But of course, the police were only interested in evidence, not my opinion. I understand, and I don’t blame them for that. But there were other things.”
“Go on.”
“Well first, when they conducted the autopsy they found that Bob had consumed a large quantity of alcohol and swallowed barbiturates before he was hanged. Bob never drank, neither did Cynthia. They didn’t even have alcohol in the house. Of course, it was an exceptional case. The police simply took the view that he’d consumed the alcohol to give him Dutch courage before he hanged himself and had taken the barbiturates for the same reason. They even speculated that he may have killed Cynthia in an alcoholic rage.”
“Was there anything else that caused you to doubt the conclusion the police came to?”
Angela put her purse on the floor beside her. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk in front of her. She looked at me intently.
“Yes. There was his watch. I gave it to him. Well not really gave it to him; I mean I gave it to him to wear. It was a man’s watch and it was made to be worn – not kept in a bank vault or a display cabinet. When he was found it was missing. He always wore that watch – it was an antique watch that had been in my family for years. It was my father’s and his father’s before him. It was a Blancpain, made in the nineteen thirties – it’s very valuable. It’s worth over a hundred thousand dollars. You don’t have to take my word for it,” she said. “I have the insurance valuation.”
“So you still considered it your property?”
“Yes…well no. Look I never really analyzed it like that. But that’s not the point. It’s not about the ownership or value of the watch; it’s about Bob’s death.”
“How did you find out it was missing?”
“I went to the police. I showed them the insurance documents. I told them it was a family heirloom and I’d appreciate it being returned to me. It was of great sentimental value. As far as they were concerned there never was a watch. Nothing else was missing from the house. There was no sign of a forced entry, no indication that anything else was missing. It was ‘an open and shut case’ as far as the police were concerned. Maybe they thought I was trying to work some kind of insurance scam − I don’t know.”
“And of course you can’t make a claim because you’d given it away?”
“Exactly. But like I said it’s not about the money. That’s not why I’m here. I want you to investigate Bob’s death. I believe that somebody else murdered both of them. If you can find the watch then maybe it will lead to the real culprit.”
“You say you have the insurance details about the watch? Can you supply me with a picture and anything else about the watch which may help identify it?”
“Yes,” she said. “I have all that with me.” She picked up her purse, rummaged briefly through the contents and handed me a manila envelope. “You’ll find everything you need in there,” she said. “It’s got a unique serial number of course.”
“Okay, Miss Price. You give all the details to Lucy; she’ll take a copy of these documents and she’ll tell you about the costs involved. We’ll need to get hold of a copy of the police report – that shouldn’t be a problem – and we’ll follow up on anything we find which might help to solve this mystery. Who’s the officer in charge of the investigation?”
“Sam Malone.”
Lucy showed Miss Price out of the office and returned about fifteen minutes later.
“So what do you think?” she said.
“I think it’s an excellent case for you to handle yourself,” I said. “Get hold of the police report – I’ll give Malone a call about that and set it up for you. Then you can go through the report carefully to see if there’s anything significant the police may have missed. Then we’ll set about trying to trace the watch. From a brief look at the documents Miss Price has given us it’s no ordinary watch. It’s something that would ring alarm bells if someone tried to sell or pawn it I should think.”
“Aren’t we going to do this together?” she said.
“Well I’ll be here to help, of course, but I’ve got another client to see. His son’s been killed and he wants me to investigate the death. At the moment I don’t know any more than that.”
“When did this come up?” she said.
“Just before I arrived this morning. Mr. Kingsley – said he called the office and you gave him my cell.”
“Oh, yes. Wow, two cases in one day. One day nothing and then this.”
“Good job I’ve got an assistant,” I said. “Let’s go eat.”
“This job’s a bit like Forest Gump’s box of chocolates, isn’t it?” Lucy said, as we left the office. “You never know what you’re gonna get.”
Chapter Three
An Accidental Death
It was a little before three when Mr. Kingsley showed up. He was a tall and rather distinguished-looking man in his mid-fifties with silver-gray hair and a Roman nose. Lucy had already gone to get a copy of the police report about the Hughes murders.
“Right, Mr. Kingsley, please come in and tell me all about it,” I said.
Mike Kingsley perched himself on the edge of the chair, his hands clasped together in his lap. “Well I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “I’ve got – had − four children, three boys and a girl. The one who died − Freddy, he’s – he was the youngest. He was run over by a train at Dartmouth Street.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else I could usefully add, and it wasn’t the time or place for wisecracks so I sat patiently waiting for him to continue.
“The police believe it was simply a tragic accident. His autopsy showed the presence of significant amounts of both alcohol and cocaine in his system. They believe he slipped and fell or misjudged where the edge of the platform was.”
“And do you have any reason to believe otherwise?”
“No special reason. If it was an accident, and it was his own fault, then we must just pick up the pieces and get on with life; but I want to be sure – that’s why I want you to investigate the case.”
“Well off the top of my head all I can really do is look at the police report; see what evidence or other information they have gathered – but I may very well come to the same conclusion. Unless there’s something else you haven’t told me about yet.”
Kingsley sighed. He eased himself back in the chair and said. “There’s his background you see. It wasn’t unknown to me that Freddy used drugs. I didn’t approve of course but there was nothing I could do except talk to him; I’m afraid I gave that up years ago. He was twenty four, lived away from home since he was seventeen. He started drinking – binge drinking – when he was still in high school. I’m afraid he was a bit of a black sheep. My other children have all done well – college, good jobs and so on. My daughter, Clare, still lives with Audrey and me. My other sons, Tim and Rob share an apartment in the city. None of them had anything to do with Freddy anymore. Rob in particular was ashamed of Freddy; he works as a broker and was worried that it might adversely affect his career if Freddy got into serious trouble. You know what those broker houses are like – they abhor scandal of any sort. Freddy had been pulled in by the police a few times, although nothing too serious. But…”
Kingsley gazed out of the office window for a few moments, then he looked back towards me.
“I think Freddy may have been dealing. In drugs, I mean.”
“Many frequent users do that as a means of supporting their habit,” I said. “That stuff’s not cheap. Did he have a job?”
“Only casual jobs as far as I
know. You know, store clerk, warehouseman that kind of thing. He never had anything steady that I knew of. My daughter tells me that lately he’d been unemployed.”
“And you think he may have fallen foul of somebody – that somebody might have killed him?”
“I can only say that it’s a possibility that I think should be looked into. I did raise it with the police but, well, I had nothing concrete to give them. The thing is I’ve learnt a few more things about Freddy since his death from my other children. It seems that they had reason to believe that he was perhaps on the verge of some sort of trouble, but they didn’t want to burden me and Audrey with that. Since his death they’ve opened up about their concerns – especially Clare.”
“You want to tell me about that?”
“The last one of us that saw Freddy was my daughter, Clare – she saw him outside a Walmart about a week or so before he was killed. He told her that he’d been keeping his head down because he owed money to some loan sharks – the Costa brothers. But he told her he’d soon be able to sort all that out. He was ‘moving up’ as he put it. He was driving some kind of fancy car when she saw him and was a lot better dressed than he normally was. She got the impression that he might have started dealing for one of the big boys.”
“Who are the Costa brothers − do you know?”
“No, I don’t. But apparently they’re well known as loan sharks in Dorchester and Roxbury.”
“Anything else significant?”
“The day he died he was supposed to attend a family gathering. That would have been unusual but it was a special occasion. It was our thirtieth wedding anniversary. I may not have approved of Freddy’s lifestyle but he was my son, after all. He was expected to attend.”
I waited, but he said nothing more. He seemed lost in thought.
“You’ve lost me, I’m afraid,” I said. “How does that figure in the overall scheme of things?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Because he knew how much we wanted the family to be together that night Tim, my eldest son, had telephoned Freddy that morning to remind him. And to make sure he stayed off the booze and drugs I guess. Tim told him we were all meeting at seven. Freddy confirmed he’d be there but he said he had an appointment and that he might be a little late. He asked what time we’d be eating. Tim told him eight o’clock; that’s all.”
I Spy - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Six: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Suspense & Thriller Stories - A Murder Mystery & Suspense Thriller Page 2