Five Quickies For Roger And Suzanne (Roger and Suzanne South American Mystery Series Book 7)

by Jerold Last

  There was more muttering, but eventually things settled down followed by silence and apparent acceptance of the situation by the management team.

  "We've got enough evidence that Plantacur violated a ton of FDA rules and procedures and that corporate finances are already terminally shaky so that to all intents and purposes the company is out of business. You should all think about where you stand with regard to criminal charges. The first one who cooperates fully with our investigation usually gets the best deal in court."

  With exquisite timing, Detective Brown's cell phone rang precisely at the end of his comments about inducements for the conspirators to testify against each other. He listened quietly for a moment.

  "Good job," he said to someone on the other end of the line. "Follow up with another warrant to go for everything. Bloody clothes, answering machine contents, e-mails and computer records, the whole enchilada. And send me some backup here at Plantacur. We have some arrests to make." He disconnected the phone and made an elaborate ritual of pulling the folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

  "I take it that now is the time I should open this note and read it, right Roger?"

  I nodded yes.

  Detective Brown looked at the note. "I guess you've really earned that reputation we were talking about, Roger."

  He pulled a $5 bill out of his wallet and gave it to me. The management team members looked confused by the events occurring and continued to just sit there silently thinking their individual thoughts.

  "Does anyone have anything they want to tell me? This would be a good time to start cooperating."

  Nothing. Nobody said a word.

  "OK, we'll start doing it by the numbers." He stood up, walked around the table, put a hand on Linda Poras shoulder, and said formally, "Linda Poras, I herby arrest you for the murder of Eugenio Vasquez. Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law." He continued reading her rights under the Miranda Law.

  He took a pair of handcuffs out and cuffed her hands behind her back. Just then several uniformed police officers entered the room, including a woman officer who proceeded to search Dr. Poras for weapons. None were found.

  Detective Brown walked over to Robert Schantz and repeated the arrest process. This time the charges were conspiracy to commit murder and accessory before and after the fact to murder.

  Poras and Schantz were escorted out of the room on their way to jail by uniformed officers.

  He turned to the very subdued scientists and executives still sitting around the conference table, apparently in shock.

  "Some of you will be charged with various crimes after things get sorted out. For the moment, you are all free to go. I wouldn't try to leave town if I were you. I would encourage you to think about voluntarily assisting in the investigation of Plantacur's business practices when you are offered the opportunity to do so."

  An hour or two later we were all sitting at the dining room table in our house discussing the case, nibbling on crackers and cheese, and drinking an Argentine Malbec wine.

  "Does my $5 buy me the right to hear how you deduced who killed Vasquez and where we'd find the murder weapon?" asked Detective Brown.

  I looked at Brown, Bruce, Vincent, and Suzanne. "Sure. Eugenio Vasquez was a pretty sophisticated, well-traveled scientist. He'd been trained in Bolivia and Australia, and had been to meetings in a lot of other big cities including Lima, Peru and Santiago, Chile. He knew enough to be careful in a crime-ridden city like Los Angeles. I didn't see any way he'd let some strange man get close enough to him in a dark garage to empty the entire clip from a .32 into his torso without any defensive wounds on the hands or arms. On the other hand, a beautiful woman like Linda Poras could have gotten close in a whole bunch of ways. And a .32 suggested a woman; most men would have been more likely to use a 9mm or a .38 to shoot someone.

  "Robert knew too much about Eugenio not to have met him. The Australian accent and the Foster Beer jokes were the things I most remember talking about when I met him in Lima. And he had the motive. My guesses are that he supplied the murder weapon and that he and Linda had an ongoing relationship outside of the office, maybe going back to the earlier companies they had worked together in. I'd check both of those possibilities out when you get a chance."

  "You're right about both," replied the detective. "Jim Schantz was the first rat to scurry off the sinking ship. He told us that his brother was a gun collector and had the usual quartet of pistols for competitive shooting, a .22, a .32, a .38, and a .45. And that Robert and Linda had been living together off and on since they met at the first company where they both worked.

  "And I want to thank you all for pointing me in the right direction and solving this murder. I owe each of you one for all the work you put into this case, and won't forget it. I like your style and will probably see you again."

  THE END

  Story4.INTRODUCTION---THE DOG WITH NO NAME

  The next entry in this collection is a short story of about 2,000 words, entitled “The Dog With No Name”. I wrote this story for a competition. It didn’t win, but readers who owned, or even just liked, dogs seemed to enjoy the story. The story has appeared on Erika Szabo’s blog (where the contest was held) and on my own blog (from which it has been removed). It’s out of chronology with the series---Robert is 5 years old or so and Roger is just starting his career as a private detective, so hasn’t had his chance yet to meet Suzanne in the official series version, but what the heck? Maybe Robert’s Mom in this story is a clone of Suzanne’s, due to be replaced just after The Empanada Affair by the real thing! This is, after all, fiction. The premise is a simple one. Roger is invited as a parent to visit his son Robert’s class to talk about what kind of work he does as a private detective. We meet Roger’s first client via a flashback. We’re quickly into the story of the dog in the title. With only 2,000 words allowed for the story, things have to happen quickly or they don’t happen at all. Hopefully, there’s a surprise or two for the reader along the way.

  So, please allow me to introduce you, dear reader, to The Dog With No Name. Given the circumstances, I don’t know either you the reader’s or the dog’s name, so the introduction has to be a very brief one. With a total length of 3.5 manuscript pages there didn’t seem to be any reason to construct chapters, so there’s no Table of Contents. We’ll just jump directly into the plot. Enjoy the story!

  The Dog With No Name

  By Jerold Last

  It was “Bring your parent to school day”. Roger Bowman was answering questions about his job posed by his young son Robert’s kindergarten classmates. The current question was, “Who is the strangest client you ever had?”

  “I used to be a policeman, then a lawyer, but now I work as a private detective here in Los Angeles. Who was the strangest client I ever had? I have to think about that a bit, but probably the dog with no name would be at or near the top of the list.”

  That drew a laugh from the assembled 5-year olds. They clamored for more. Obviously the idea of a dog, especially one without a name, as a client appealed to kids of this age.

  Roger looked over at Robert, who was obviously enjoying his father’s 30 seconds of fame in this class.

  “Do I have some time to tell the whole story?” Roger asked Ms. Fleming, the teacher.

  “Take all the time you want. I’d kind of like to hear about this nameless dog too.”

  Roger turned back to face the 29 eager young minds that made up the class.

  “Imagine the scene, all of you. I’m sitting in my office totally bored with nothing to do just a few weeks after I stopped being a lawyer and became a private detective. I'm still waiting for my first client to hire me and I’m asking myself who will my first client be: a man, a woman, or a kid from a kindergarten class?”

  The kids laughed at that idea. They’d all seen enough P.I. shows on TV to know that 5-year-olds weren’t their usual clients.

  "It was a cold, dark afternoon. I heard a scratching sound at the
door. I went over to open the door, which led out to the street, thinking, “Wow, I am about to get my first client.” Well, I did, sort of. A medium sized dog trotted in to my office, sat down in the middle of the rug, and looked at me as if she was in love. She was white, with a few large brown spots at her head, tail, and in the middle of her body on the left side. She wasn’t wearing a collar, so there weren’t any tags to tell me who her owner was. I like dogs, so I petted her head a bit while she gave me a bunch of doggie kisses.

  Fortunately there was a veterinarian, a doggie doctor, in a building just a few doors away from my office. I used my belt as a leash and took her over there. She behaved perfectly and had obviously been well trained. The doctor examined the dog. The good news was she was in excellent health, was a pure bred German Shorthaired Pointer, and all of her parts fit together the right way. The bad news was there was no way to identify her-- no electronic microchips or any ink tattoos. Nobody had reported a missing dog that looked like this one. So I now had a dog without a name. What do you all think should I have done next?"

  There were lots of suggestions, but the most popular one was to find the dog's owner and return her to her family. One little girl named Susie pointed out that I was a detective so that I should be able to find her owner pretty easily.

  The veterinarian offered the dog some food, which she didn't want, and some water, which she did. Then I tried taking her for a walk. When we got to my office door I hoped she'd start pulling me in the right direction to take her home, but she just seemed to want to go back into my office. I sat down on the couch and BOOM, she jumped up into my lap and gave me some more kisses. It was fun, but I wasn't doing a whole lot of detecting sitting on the sofa with a dog in my lap. I thought as hard as I could with 55 pounds of dog sitting in my lap kissing me.

  The kids all giggled at that image.

  Finally, I had an idea. It was risky because the no-name dog might run away from me, but it seemed to be worth a try. We went back outside and I turned her completely loose. She looked up at me, nodded to me as if she understood what I wanted, and started walking up the street away from the veterinarian's office. After she went half a block she stopped to make sure that I was following her. I was. When she got to the corner she sat down until I caught up and crossed the street walking next to me. Then she trotted ahead to the next corner and waited for me. She continued to do this for six more blocks, turned left a block, and stopped to wait for me in front of a small house painted light brown with a small, well mowed and cared for, lawn at the front of the house. The dog barked twice and trotted up the walk to stand just in front of the big door.

  It seemed clear that this was her home. I walked up to the door, stood next to No-name, and rang the doorbell. Nothing. No-name started to whine louder and more often. The clear message was "let me in---we have to get in."

  Remember, I used to be a lawyer. My training as a lawyer told me I didn't have any legal right to do anything more to try to get into the house at that point, but I thought I could look around a bit more without getting into a lot of trouble. I walked around the house trying to look in the windows. That didn't work too well; they were all covered with drapes or blinds so I couldn't see inside. The back and front doors were locked. No-name kept whining and trying to paw her way in through the front door. Finally, I made up my mind to do something.

  I looked down at the dog, who was really upset, and told her to sit as much like her master as I could. She amazed me by sitting down right in front of me, with part of her butt planted on the top of my left foot.

  There were some more giggles from the kids when I said, "butt".

  Some of the things I learned in law school were useful now. I knew exactly what I had to do before I could break into the house without getting into trouble with the police.

  "OK, No-name," I said firmly. "I need to have a client who lives here in this house ask me to break into the house. First, I need to know that this really is your house. Is it?"

  The dog nodded her head as if to say yes. She also wagged her tail as well as she could while sitting on my foot.

  "Now, I need you to pay me or give me something valuable to make you my client. Can you promise me you'll pay me when you can?"

  She nodded again.

  I walked back around the house to the back yard, broke a kitchen window as quietly as I could, unlocked the window, and climbed into the house. No-name jumped gracefully through the open window, the bottom of which was at least four feet above the ground. She grabbed my trouser leg in between her teeth, careful not to rip anything, and half led, half dragged me to the staircase in the middle of the house. She bounded upstairs and waited for me at the top. The meaning was clear so I followed her up. She then led me to a closed door, which I guessed led to a bedroom, and whined more or less continuously. I knocked and called out. No answer.

  I very carefully opened the door and looked in. Lying on the floor beside the bed was a woman who looked to be about 45 years old, unconscious, wearing pink pajamas and a blue bathrobe tied shut across her tummy. I checked her pulse, which I could feel, and her breathing, which seemed normal. I dialed 911 and asked for the police and an ambulance. Then I sat down to wait where I could keep an eye on the woman to make sure that she didn’t do anything to hurt herself more than she already had.

  No-name ran downstairs for a minute or two, returning with a rawhide chew bone, practically new, which she very carefully put on the floor by my feet. It looked like she had just paid me as well as she could.

  A few minutes later we heard the sirens, and a minute or two later the police and the man and woman from the ambulance came into the house. I called to them and they were in the bedroom checking out the woman almost immediately. While the medical people from the ambulance took care of the woman, one of the police officers took me downstairs and started to ask me a bunch of questions.

  The policeman wore a blue uniform, was very large, and acted very tough, like he thought I was the one who had hurt the woman. “Who are you?” “What are you doing here?” “Are you a relative of the woman upstairs?”

  I showed him my private detective license, suggested that he call a couple of my former friends on the police force who could tell him I was a former policeman, and told him that I had come by the house because my client was worried about the dog's owner. I also said that I had to break a window in the back to get into the house and that I had found the woman exactly the way she was when they arrived.

  He told me I was in a lot of trouble about breaking into the house, but relaxed after a couple of police detectives told him over the phone that I had been a good cop and to treat me right. He didn't really believe me when I told him my client was the dog, but relaxed again when the people from the ambulance told him that we had just saved her life and I showed him my almost new rawhide chew bone. It looked like the woman had fallen accidently and hit her head. The ambulance took her off to the hospital after they told the officer who had been questioning me that she should be ready to talk to the police tomorrow or the next day.

  I took No-name home for the next couple of days and nights until her owner was back home from the hospital and ready to look after her dog with some help from her family. Then I returned No-name to her owner who felt better now. She thanked me for my help and offered to pay me for my time. I refused, telling her that the dog was my client and that she had already paid me.

  Two days later I finally figured out that somehow the dog with no name had gotten out of a closed and locked house, which didn't seem to be possible, to find me. I had my first locked house case that nobody could have gotten into or out from that I could try to solve. On the other hand, I could only afford to do so much for a total fee of a single, used rawhide chew bone, and I'd already saved a life. That seemed to be enough for me to do, especially since it was only my first case.

  I kept the rawhide chew bone as a souvenir of my first case and the first fee I ever earned.

  I said good-bye to Robert's
class and Ms. Fleming.

  When Robert got home he asked to see the rawhide chew bone. I got it down from the shelf. He looked at it a bit and asked, "Daddy, can we get a dog and name her No-name?"

  "Why not?" I answered.

  -------------------------------------------------------The End----------------------------------------------------

  Story5.INTRODUCTION---THE HAUNTED GYMNASIUM

  “The Haunted Gymnasium” is just long enough at 7,670 words to classify as a novelette. It was originally written for an anthology to be considered for inclusion as a paranormal mystery. In this story Roger has to solve a killing without Suzanne’s help. She’s at home working and caring for Robert. To fill the slack, he has Vincent Romero along for assistance in his task as a hired bodyguard for a rich martial arts devotee. The setting is Fortaleza, Brazil, a big city on the Atlantic coast in the north of the country, just about on the Equator. We spent a week there a few years ago on the way home from Montevideo with our son Matthew, a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu enthusiast. He was visiting a gymnasium similar to the one in the story for him to work out with the locals and visit his instructor’s family. Matt helped me describe a few of the holds and tactics in the story, so they are authentic for the local martial arts style. Despite the heat and humidity, Fortaleza will host the World Cup soccer tournament in 2014, so should be an interesting place for you, the reader, to visit.