Brad looked off into space for a moment. “My dad never talked about Dewey, so it surprised me that he’d taken an interest in his father’s life.”
“Any reason why your dad wasn’t interested in Dewey before that?”
His lips formed a tight line. “He was only five when Dewey died, and Dewey’s wife – my grandmother – had remarried, this time to Mr. Hensler, one of her neighbors who had lost his wife a year before. He was more like my dad’s real father. Don’t get me wrong, my dad just didn’t know his birth father very well. When I’d ask him about it, he’d say he didn’t remember much about Dewey. So when I found out he was looking into Dewey’s cases, it was a bit puzzling. I thought maybe it was a ‘getting older’ kind of thing, trying to learn about his roots.”
“How could your dad ‘look into’ the cases? Do you have the files?”
He nodded. “After his murder, Dewey’s office was cleaned out. My grandmother got rid of a lot of stuff, but she saved the old case files, a journal Dewey kept, and a few other things, in boxes in the attic. My dad and I found them after she died. I had no idea my dad held onto the boxes until I found it all in his house after he died, along with some notes that he’d made. He’d also taken a few of the files to work. I found them when I picked up his things from his office after he passed away. And I admit, the fact that my dad was studying all of it made me curious, so I took it all to my house and I’ve been poking around in the notes and Dewey’s journal.”
“So far none of this is suspicious,” I said.
“True. But then someone broke into my house a few days ago.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“And guess what they took?” he asked.
“The boxes?”
He shook his head slowly. “They took a few valuables, some money in a dresser, and a stack of CDs, but that was it.”
“Did you report it?”
He snorted. “With what little they took? I didn’t bother.”
“I’m waiting for the punchline,” I said.
He ran a hand through his hair. “They searched through all of the boxes. The paperwork was all over the living room.” He leaned forward to be heard over “I Got You” by Split Enz, which was now playing. “The night of the burglary, the case files that Dewey was working on when he was killed and his journal weren’t in the house. I’d gone out of town for a few days, and I took them with me. I think whoever broke in was looking for them, and they took the other stuff to cover their tracks.”
“Why do that? What’s so special about those cases?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“How many cases are we talking about?”
“Three. Those were also the files my dad had at his office.”
“What are they about?”
“A guy who thought his wife was cheating on him, an insurance scam of some sort, and a woman who wanted Dewey to track down a valuable painting.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “It doesn’t sound like any of them were unusual. What if the thieves took a different file and ran?”
“I thought about that, and it’s possible. But after my house was broken into, I thought they might be following me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I’ve seen the same guy around my office building and on the light rail.”
“You work downtown?” I asked, since Denver’s light rail system transported commuters mainly in and out of downtown.
“Yes.”
“Downtown’s a big place. It could’ve been someone going to work.”
“I think I saw the guy outside my house, too.”
I tried to keep the skepticism from my voice. “You think?”
He nodded. “I’m not sure, but I saw the same car down the street a few times. A black SUV. Last night I went out and started walking toward it. I didn’t get a real good look at the driver, but it was enough to make me think it was the same guy I’d seen around my office building.”
“Did you get a license plate number?”
He frowned. “I didn’t think of it at the time. But I’m sure someone’s been watching me. Maybe not all the time, but they’re around. That’s why I asked you to meet me here instead of the house.”
“Do you come here often?” I asked, glancing around. “If someone’s following you, they’ll know your patterns: where you go and when, things like that.”
He snorted. “I’ve never been here before, I just pass by it sometimes. Trust me, it’s not my cup of tea.”
That answered my initial question about his choice of venue. “How do you know someone didn’t just follow you here?”
“I was cautious.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Dewey had a book about detection skills and I read how to avoid being tailed. I used the tricks, and I watched carefully. No one followed me.”
I sighed. “How do I say this delicately? You’re sure it’s not just your imagination?”
His lips formed a hard, angry line. “I’m not making this up,” he said, controlling his emotions. “And I know someone tried to kill me, too.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”
He lowered his voice and I had to strain to hear him. “Today I was walking across the street near where I work and someone tried to run me over.” I opened my mouth but he held up a hand. “The car was suddenly there and it swerved right at me. And when it missed me, it squealed off. If it was an accident, you’d think the driver would’ve stopped when I leaped out of the way. And this time I did look for a license plate number, but there was no plate at all.” He paused for effect. “It’s not my imagination.”
I put my elbows on the table and thought about his story.
“There’s something in Dewey’s last case files,” he said, trying to convince me. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
I pondered everything he’d said for a moment longer. “Okay, I’m intrigued.”
“I hoped you’d say that,” he said, relief in his voice. He reached down into a briefcase he’d stuck underneath the table and pulled out three faded green file folders and an old hardback journal. “This is what Dewey was working on when he was murdered.” He set them on the table. “Maybe you can find something I didn’t.”
“How much have you researched these cases?”
“Not much. My dad had some notes, and he’d written down some initials. He was researching the people in the files, and it looks like he might have been calling relatives, because there was a phone number next to a name. I called a couple of times but no one answered and I didn’t leave a message…” he shrugged. “That would be a weird message, right? I started some Internet searches here and there to see if I could find any more of the people mentioned in the case files, but I didn’t find anything. Then they broke into my house and that car tried to run me over, so I decided to call you.”
I took one of the files and opened it. Inside were pieces of paper with notes scrawled on them, some receipts, and a contract stipulating Dewey’s fees: a lot less than I make. “But nothing in these seemed unusual?”
“Not what I read.” He shrugged again. “To be honest, it’s all kind of boring.”
“A lot of detective work is,” I said.
“So you’ll help me?” he asked. “Find out if this is all my imagination or not?”
I thought for a minute more. He waited. “I guess I can look at his cases, but…”
He held up a hand. “I’ll pay you for a few days of work. If you don’t find anything, if you think I’m crazy, then you can walk away.”
I still hesitated.
“Come on,” he said. “What do you have to lose?”
I tipped my head back and forth, thinking. “Okay,” I finally said. We talked about my fees and then I said, “Tell me about Dewey. What’s the back story?” I couldn’t help but use the movie term about filling in a character’s background.
“He was born in Denver, was a Marine during World War II, and when he got out, he worked as an i
nvestigator at a law firm and then he became a detective. He got married, had a son. He was 35 years old when he died.” Brad reached for a newer manila file folder and pulled out a photo. “Here’s what he looked like.”
I took the black-and-white picture from him and studied it. Dewey was sitting in a chair, looking seriously at the camera. He wore a gray suit and fedora. He had the same light hair and eyes as Brad, but he had a fuller face, and within it there was the hint of darkness, as if the war years, or his profession, or both, had taken their toll.
“Did Dewey have an office here in town?” I asked.
“Yes,” Brad said. “He had a little place on Capitol Hill…”
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Renée’s Bookshelf
Reed Ferguson Mysteries:
This Doesn't Happen In The Movies
Reel Estate Rip-Off
The Maltese Felon
Farewell, My Deuce
Out Of The Past
Torch Scene
The Lady Who Sang High
Sweet Smell Of Sucrets
The Third Fan
Back Story
Night of the Hunted
The Postman Always Brings Dice
Road Blocked
Small Town Focus
Nightmare Sally
The Damned Don't Die
Double Iniquity
The Lady Rambles
Reed Ferguson Novellas:
Ace in the Hole
Walk Softly, Danger
(re-release coming soon)
Reed Ferguson Short Stories:
Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat
A Gun For Hire
Cool Alibi
The Big Steal
The Wrong Woman
Dewey Webb Historical Mystery Series:
Web of Deceit
Murder In Fashion
Secrets and Lies
Honor Among Thieves
Trouble Finds Her
Mob Rule
Dewey Webb Short Stories:
Second Chance
Double Cross
The Nephilim Trilogy:
Nephilim Genesis of Evil
Book 2
(To be announced)
Book 3
(To be announced)
The Noah Winter Adventure Series:
The Emerald Quest
Dive into Danger
Terror On Lake Huron
Middle-grade Historical Fiction:
This War We’re In
The Sarah Spillman Mystery Short Stories:
Seven for Suicide
Saturday Night Special
Dance of the Macabre
Short Stories:
Take Five Collection
Codename Richard
(Ghost Story)
The Taste of Blood: A Vampire Story
Standalones:
The Girl in the Window
(Standalone Suspense)
The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within
(Non-fiction account of a haunted house investigation in Kansas)
About the Author
Renée Pawlish is the author of The Reed Ferguson mystery series, Nephilim Genesis of Evil, The Noah Winter adventure series for young adults, Take Five, a short story collection that includes a Reed Ferguson mystery, and The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within, about a haunted house investigation in Kansas.
Renée loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents' cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim.
Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com.
The Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 3 Page 52