by David Carner
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 any actual persons, living or dead, events, establishments, or locations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Produced by LouLou Productions LLC
Copyright © 2012 by David Carner
Cover design by C. M. Rogers
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
To find out more about John Fowler, please feel free to follow my author page on Facebook. The David Carner fan page currently holds all announcements pertaining to this series. Also check out www.davidcarner.com for information on this series and any other works. You may also follow me on twitter @davidcarner.
The John Fowler Novels
The Road to Justice
Sins of the Son
This Thing of Ours (Coming Summer 2013)
Dedication:
To Mom and Dad (George): Thank you for raising me to believe in myself and teaching me that I can do anything I put my mind to.
To Chelle and LouLou: Thank you. Thank you for believing in me and encouraging me at every opportunity.
To my Great-Uncle Bill (who is no longer with us): Almost 30 years ago, you gave me a collection of works by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and introduced me to the world’s greatest detective. Thank you for believing in a young boy and his love for reading.
To Bobbi: Every time I was stuck, had a question, needed advice, something proofread (I honestly believe you saw every version of every query letter I sent to agents), or just a kind word, you helped me out. I cannot thank you enough for all the help you have been.
To Tonya: Each time I was ready to quit on this project you seemed to magically know I needed encouragement. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To Mr. Rogers: You saved me on technicalities more than once, and for that, you have my heartfelt gratitude. Thank you.
To Mr. George: You’ve been my rock through this whole thing. I don’t say it often, but as far as I’m concerned you and Mr. Wilhelm are the brothers I never had. Thank you.
To Mr. Wilhelm: Thank you. Fourteen years ago, you encouraged me to write fantasy wrestling. You wrote your organization and I wrote mine. You pushed me to tap into my creative side. This book would never have been possible without you. As I said to Mr. George, you’re the brother I never had. Thank you.
To Lester and Rhonda: Thank you for supporting me and believing in me. I can honestly tell you without all of your support this never would have happened.
To all of those who have supported me financially: Thank you. Without your help, LouLou Productions LLC never would have formed, and there never would have been a physical copy of my work. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Thank you to Ahmad, Amy, Amy, Carrie, Clint, Elizabeth, Leigh Ann, Linda, Nancy, Rob, Susan, and Steve. Thank you for critiquing my work and helping me stay on track. Without all of you, this never would have happened.
Finally to you, the reader: Thank you for picking up a novel from an unknown author and giving me a chance. I hope you enjoy the story I am about to share with you.
To my two girls: You two have been my rock. It’s because of you that not only have I written a novel, but now I have written two. You’ll never know what your love and support means.
To my many test readers and editors: Thank you for all of your help.
To you, the reader: If this is your first time to enter the world of John Fowler, then sit back and relax. I think you’ll have a good time and a few laughs along the way. If this is your second excursion, then you know what you’re in for. I can’t thank you enough for coming back
Chapter 1
Sunlight streamed into the apartment window as John continued to beat on his alarm clock. As the buzzing continued, John realized it was his phone and not the alarm clock making the horrible racket. As he focused his eyes on the name flashing on his phone, John groaned. “Mommy” continued to flash across the face of his phone as John set his feet on the floor and held his head in his hands. It wasn’t his real Mother, of course. His real Mother hadn’t spoken to him in three years now; which was fine by him. In fact, John couldn’t remember speaking to any of his family since the funeral. No, thought John, they would speak to me; I just don’t want to speak to them . . . not since I made that scene at the gravesite after the funeral.
The funeral; it had been three years, and it still seemed like yesterday. It seemed like just yesterday when his father-in-law cussed him in front of everyone at the gravesite. It probably didn’t help that John was three sheets to the wind while his father-in-law was doing it. It probably didn’t help that John had told Arthur, John’s father-in-law, that he was an interfering waste of human flesh. It probably didn’t help that he told Arthur that John and Sam had never had children, not because of John’s job, but because Sam didn’t want Arthur’s interfering nose in the child’s life. It sure didn’t help that Arthur was right about John. If John hadn’t been drinking. If . . . John’s thoughts were interrupted by the phone buzzing again.
John stood up and stretched. He glanced out the window at the city. New York. Sam had wanted to live here. “Where else can you find the arts, the different types of people, the nightlife, and all the other wonders this city held?” she had asked him. The most exciting city in the world . . . for Sam; for John, it was the loneliest city in the world. John had only one friend here. Most of John’s friends apparently agreed with the words his father-in-law had spoken. In fact, except for Chet, none of his friends had spoken to him since the funeral. That was fine with John. He didn’t need anyone. No sirree, he was doing just fine on his own.
“They say every cloud has a silver lining and the silver lining is that I haven’t had to listen to your stupidity, Arthur, since I lost her. I don’t have to listen to your judgments, your foolish ideas, and I don’t have to listen to you speak.” John smiled. As he glanced over to the picture on his nightstand of himself and the beautiful girl with him, his stomach dropped all over again. The smile fell from his face.
“I know, Sam,” he said out loud. “It’s a lie. I am not fine. I’m a wreck and I don’t know how to go on each day without you.”
The phone buzzed again. John walked out of the bedroom and walked into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and stared at the bottle of vodka. The bottle was a reminder to him of all he had done . . . not that he could ever forget. He had not touched the bottle since the funeral. If only he hadn’t touched it before then . . . John had fought the same fight every morning for more than 3 years. He had been to AA meetings, but he had never spoken. He left the FBI after the incident. He looked where his PI license hung on the wall and scoffed.
If you watched TV in the 1980’s, you would think every other street in every city had a private investigator on it. What TV didn’t tell you was the majority of the work included process serving, chasing down debtors, and, of course, spying on a spouse that someone thinks is cheating. Oh that was the best. All of the training John had received at EKU and Quantico wasted. There was nothing like renting some seedy hotel room and getting some interesting pictures of some not-so beautiful people doing things with other not-so be
autiful people. John shook his head in disgust of the mental image that had invaded his mind.
With the type of work he did alone, it was a miracle he had been sober over the last three years. The thought of those people just then was enough to drive most sane men to drink. John barked a laugh at the joke his life and his investigative skills had become. John stared at the bottle and tears welled up in his eyes. “Blast it Sam! I’m . . ." He was interrupted by a pounding on the door. John knew who it was without even looking out the peep hole in the door. He knew once Chet started in on him, there was no stopping him. He knew that for some reason, known only to Chet, it was time for them to talk. John wiped the tears from his eyes, shut the freezer door, sighed, and headed toward the door.
Chapter 2
The pounding on the door continued. “John!!! John!! Are you in there?! I will break down this door! JOHN!!!!!!!!!!!!” John stared at the door. He peered through the peep hole to see his best friend . . . well, his only friend. Chet looked furious. John stood there thinking of his options. It was early. Well, it was 2 in the afternoon, but it was early for him. He hadn’t slept much from the PI case he had just finished working . . . and, honestly, he slept as little as possible for the past three years to avoid dreaming about Sam. His mind wasn’t thinking very clearly due to the lack of sleep. John did not think he was in good enough physical shape to try to climb down the fire escape. Well, that was a lie. He was in shape; he just didn’t want to exert himself if it wasn’t warranted. While John really didn’t want to deal with Chet right that second; to climb down a rusty fire escape, which might collapse in the process, seemed a little extreme.
John realized he had to do something soon. Chet was a member of the FBI, so John was pretty sure Chet could actually kick in the door and get away with it. “JOHN!!!!!!” John sighed and opened the door to face his friend. Chet barged past him and straight into John’s bedroom. John knew an explosion was seconds away. John counted down from three on his fingers. When his fingers reached zero, he heard, “WHAT THE . . . .!?!?!? Why does it say Mommy on your cell phone!?!? That’s how you list me in your phone!?!?”
John sat down on the couch and smiled. “Good to see you too, Chet. What can I do for you this morning?”
“Why!!?!?!? Why do I bother!?!?” Chet stormed around the living room while John tried to suppress a smirk. “My last girlfriend told me that the best thing I could do is to let you fall into whatever deep depression filled hole it is that you want to!! She told me that all you want to do is join Sam. I told her that she was wrong. I told her that you were just going through a rough spot and you would get through it. I broke up with this girl because of the things she said about you!! Do you realize that John!?!? I left her because of YOU!!!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW HOT SHE WAS!?!?!?!?"
John had been trying to hold back the laughter, but the last statement by Chet had pushed him over the edge. John roared with laughter. He laughed until his sides hurt. As he looked through the tears that were rolling out of his eyes he noticed Chet was sitting on the chair laughing as hard as he was.
After several minutes of laughter, and when the chuckles died down, John spoke. “You’re the only person that cares about me, Chet, that’s why I named your cellphone number Mommy.” John tried to keep a straight face but he burst into laughter and Chet did the same. As the laughter finally subsided, John noticed a folder Chet was holding.
“Bring me a present, Chet?” John asked. Chet would sometimes throw things John’s way that the FBI couldn’t, or didn’t want to, touch. Chet hesitated. In that instant John read Chet’s face and knew what was in his hand. Oh crap, thought John. “No! No!! I am done with the FBI!!!” John was furious.
“Now, John, calm down. You are being brought on as a consultant only.”
“Chet, I have no interest.” John replied.
“John, look, I know you don’t need the money . . . Oh crap, I’m so sorry.” John looked away. Sam had a trust that was left to her by her grandparents. Her grandparents were the only members of Sam’s family that John believed liked him. Honestly, her grandparents were stinking, filthy, rich. John had no idea how much money they had; he honestly thought it was billions. All of Sam’s trust had been left to John. He didn’t know how much was exactly in the trust, but he knew it was enough for him to live five lives on.
Chet opened the folder in front of John. He laid out four pictures of people that had been shot perfectly in the head. John tried to ignore the pictures but the shots were right in the center of each forehead. The pictures had John’s interest. Chet let John look. The case would sell itself and Chet knew that. Chet just had to wait and John would hook himself. As John leaned back, seeming to lose interest, Chet reeled him in with one little sentence.
“They were all shot by the same person, within five seconds of each other.” Chet said casually. John’s eyebrow shot up, and Chet knew he had his best friend back on the hunt with him.
Two Weeks Earlier
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Washington DC.
Chapter 3
Agent Luke McDonald tried to steady himself as he stood at the first lady’s door. “Get ahold of yourself man. She’s not going to go off on you . . . I hope.”
Luke knocked on the door and waited for the First Lady, Lisa Nichols, to answer. The door opened and Agent McDonald handed a manila envelope to her. “Mrs. Nichols, this has to do with one of those names you asked me to flag in the system.” Confusion spread across Mrs. Nichols face. “Those special five names you asked me to flag ma’am?”
Mrs. Nichols smiled her best campaign smile and took the envelope. Agent McDonald spoke, “I’ll double check on the other four names you asked me to keep an eye on.” The agent looked down and then back at her. “Mrs. Nichols . . . Lisa . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” For a second Lisa’s smile faltered and she looked down at the envelope, confused. Understanding began to spread over her face. She looked sharply at the agent, pursed her lips, and nodded her head in acceptance. The agent nodded and walked away.
As he walked down the hallway and heard the door to Lisa’s office close, Agent McDonald thought to himself, “There’s a reason I suggested they give her the codename Silk. She’s as smooth as they come.”
The first lady, or Lisa as she is known to her friends, walked into her private office. “Steady girl.” she said to herself.
She opened the envelope and her worst fears were confirmed. The headline to the paper that was photocopied read, Captain Jason Sparks Dies in Overseas Operation in Afghanistan. Memories came rushing back to Lisa. Feelings she had repressed for so long . . . they came rushing back as well. She shook her head as if trying to remove them from her mind. “Get a grip.” she said to herself. She gripped the sides of her desk. She told herself there was no way anyone could connect the dots on what happened all those years ago.
The fears that she thought she had mastered welled up in her stomach. Her mouth filled with the bitter taste of bile. Tears came to Lisa’s eyes but she fought them away. She got up and walked downstairs to find Agent McDonald. Lisa found him in the intelligence center. “Agent McDonald, can you do me a favor?” she asked.
“Of course.” he said.
“I need you to check the incoming mail for any of those last four names. I need you to make sure as few people see anything that is sent in from them as possible. Do you understand?”
“Of course, ma’am. Are you expecting something from them?” Luke asked. Lisa shrugged. Luke nodded. “As usual, we will keep this to ourselves?” he asked.
The first lady nodded, smiling.
“Lisa, shall I destroy anything I might find?”
“Agent McDonald,” the first lady said smiling. “That is why you are my
favorite.”
The Next Day
Cemetery just outside of Fort Dunn, New York
Chapter 4
Leroy looked across the cemetery and shook his head. Four people he never thought he would see again were present. The first o
ne he saw was Colt. Colt had his tan from all those years working in Florida at a huge theme park. Every now and then Leroy received letters from Colt. Colt always seemed fine.
Leroy looked back to scan the crowd and saw another familiar face. There was Amy. He thinks her last name is Jensen now. Leroy chucked to himself. Amy sent him a Christmas card every year. The card is always a picture of her, her husband, and two dogs. Leroy thinks she’s a second grade school teacher in Illinois.
Of course there was Doctor Tom Bradley of Vermont, the genius of the group. Leroy was always inviting him down for the summer, but Tom never took him up on the offer. Truth be told, he never responded to any of the letters Leroy sent. Leroy wondered if any of them would respond to the invitation now with Jason’s death.
Lastly, there was the quarterback . . . in the casket. He was the reason they were there. Jason Sparks, 2nd Lieutenant, US Army. Leroy looked at the coffin and felt the sadness sweep through him. Lieutenant Sparks was killed in Afghanistan during a hush-hush mission.
Leroy remembered all of the times Jason had protected him in middle school. He really was one of the good guys . . . well except for that little secret that all of them shared. As the funeral went on, he looked around to see if the last member of the group was there.
Veronica Staples was nowhere to be seen. He knew she wasn’t there, of course. How could she be? Veronica couldn’t be here. She couldn’t take the chance that someone might figure it all out; that someone might connect the dots Leroy knew were unconnectable. That’s all he had heard from the other three all week. He wasn’t surprised. He wondered how many of them secretly were happy she hadn’t come.