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    The Detective's Last Case
    The Detective's Last Case
    The Detective's Last Case
    Ebook327 pages5 hours

    The Detective's Last Case

    By Gerald Lopez

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    About this ebook

    With retirement looming, the detective gets a call from someone he can’t refuse. He takes on a final case in an idyllic seaside town where strange things are taking place. This includes a murder he’s been hired to investigate. But add in a lover not seen for years, a couple of bizarre sisters, and some children in distress and the detective has his hands full.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGerald Lopez
    Release dateNov 28, 2018
    ISBN9780463947524
    The Detective's Last Case
    Author

    Gerald Lopez

    Gerald was called to write at various times in his life. When he was young, the writing consisted of plays and short stories. Then he explored the fine arts and literature, earning a bachelor’s degree in the latter while minoring in art history. In his studies he was fascinated by and enjoyed analyzing characters, their personalities and motivations. To him it’s always been the characters who make a story special. Once again writing has taken hold of him. In the past it was just an amusement, but now—for Gerald—writing is a passion to live, eat, and breathe.

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      Book preview

      The Detective's Last Case - Gerald Lopez

      Copyright © 2018 by Gerald Lopez

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

      This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      Cover Art Copyright © 2018 by Gerald Lopez

      Acknowledgments

      My special thanks go to the following:

      To John and Joyce for their helpful comments and suggestions.

      Table of Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      Contact the author

      About the author

      Other books by Gerald Lopez

      The Detective’s Last Case

      Chapter 1

      Picture Postcard Imperfect

      AS THE TRAIN was nearing its destination, the detective looked out the window. He ignored the nonstop talking of the people in the seats in front of him, even when they addressed him. The American detective had spent nearly a hellish hour with them and couldn’t wait to be rid of the strangers.

      The landscape was similar to others the detective had seen along the journey. There were rocks, quaint tourist-laden towns, and the occasional outbursts of color from flowers or bushes. After a while, one town looked pretty much like the other. Details should matter to a detective but at present he just didn’t care. The constant chatter of the people around him had already given him a headache, and the sandwich he’d had for lunch wasn’t sitting well in his stomach.

      Most people would think they’d found themselves in paradise, but the detective was there to help a friend that he owed a favor to—it wasn’t a pleasure trip. He could make out the sea in the distance, past the tops of glitzy hotels. Luxury surrounded by poverty is what it truly was. Traveling by train gave one a chance to see falling down shacks occupied by multiple families, and the poor, ragged children collecting old bottles or throwaway objects they could convert into cash. All the towns had an area like this, sections they tried to keep hidden from tourists and the light of day.

      Once the train pulled into the station, the detective grabbed his bags, walked determinedly through the throng of people, and hailed a cab. Not one of the bright, shiny ones, but an older taxi that had seen better days. One with a driver that was clearly not born in the country he was currently working in.

      Come in, come in, the Indian driver said in perfect English to the detective. Let me help you with your bags, Sir.

      The detective held his hand up to signal he could manage, then got in the back seat with his bags.

      Where to, Sir? The driver said.

      La Mer hotel, and take the long way around.

      As you wish, Sir. Originally I am from India. My name is Ranvir which means brave in my native tongue, Sir. I am at your service should you be needing me during your stay.

      What’s the word on the street about La Mer? He took some bills out of his shirt pocket and handed them to Ranvir.

      You’re here about the murder, Ranvir said. The boss was right about you picking my cab. Now I have lost the bet. Mr. Walter Peters said you would pick my cab. He also said I am to be your eyes and ears while you are here.

      LOUISE WALKED UP the sidewalk located alongside the edge of the rocks. She had her squeaky wagon with her as directed by her mother. When the music hit her ears she cursed in French. The hotel La Mer seemed to always be playing something or another by Dalida whenever she had to make a visit on her mother’s behalf. This time it was Dalida’s song "Tant D’amour du printemps".

      Corinne was waiting for Louise at the top of the drive. Her long, pale blonde hair flowed behind her in the light breeze. She wore a short, diaphanous, spaghetti strap dress that showed off her slim body as the fabric clung to her against the force of the breeze.

      Average, that was the word Louise’s mother had used to describe Corinne. An average twenty-year-old with the ambitions of a great beauty. In her mother’s opinion Corinne had neither the looks or talent to get very far in life.

      Your papa needs to put some grease on that wagon, Corinne said. It’s noisy.

      The two spoke in French.

      My mama keeps him too busy to do anything for anyone but her—the lazy cow, Louise said.

      She really is lazy sending her ten-year-old daughter instead of coming herself, Corinne said. Your mama wouldn’t survive the walk from your house.

      "Walk, Louise said. Ha! She would have taken a taxi."

      They both laughed.

      That’s true, Corinne said, then puffed on the cigarette she held.

      Give me some of that, Louise said.

      Corinne handed Louise the cigarette. My aunt said that cigarettes age a woman before her time. But they keep them skinny too. That’s an old model’s trick. Do you have a soda or some candy on you, Louise. I’ve been out here for hours without even a sip of water or a bite of food.

      After blowing a ring of smoke from her mouth, Louise spoke. Are you crazy? In this heat you’ll get delirious or die without water or food. I thought you were just waiting for me to get here.

      Don’t be stupid. I’m waiting for the reporters to come so I can get my face in the papers.

      Now who’s being stupid? Louise said, then took another drag off the cigarette before giving it back to Corinne. Just because that old pervert Cabot Chambers died doesn’t mean anyone’s gonna want to take your picture. It’s been almost an hour since they found Chambers’ body where are the reporters or the cops? Nobody’s shown up to do anything much less take your picture.

      Walter is keeping things hushed up for now. He has many connections in town.

      So just cause he poked you a couple times you think you can call him Walter now, huh?

      Whatever. I’ve got Walter around my little finger, but I’m not going to settle for a nobody like him. He can’t make me a star.

      Nobody can make you something you’re not. And you’re no Dalida.

      You’re getting to be as big a bitch as your mama, Corinne said. Go inside, the Italian’s got the item waiting. She took another puff on her cigarette.

      Louise felt bad for saying what she had especially since Corinne had given her a couple drags on her cigarette.

      Mama’s wrong, Louise said. "You’re prettier than average. Maybe you can get somewhere in life. If Naomi can still be a rich man’s whore at her age, anyone can achieve something."

      We should all have her bag of tricks, Corinne said. But she was also gifted with real beauty. It all really does boil down to pure dumb luck. Hurry up and go inside before we both get in trouble.

      You better eat before you get all delirious and die, Louise said.

      Corinne smiled, and waved bye to Louise, who walked across the lot and to a side entrance. The Italian was waiting there for her.

      What took you so long, girl?

      The woman’s voice was rough and gravelly as she looked Louise up and down. It always made Louise want to giggle hearing the woman attempt to speak French with a strong Italian accent.

      I’m here and Mama says you have something for me, Louise said.

      I smell cheap cigarettes on you, the Italian said. You should stop hanging around that cheap slut, Corinne.

      Should I hang around expensive ones like Naomi instead? Louise said.

      Your mama’s right about your having a mouth on you. Wait there a second. She went inside then emerged with a suitcase that she put in Louise’s wagon.

      What if someone tries to take it from me on the street? I’m little still.

      The Italian looked at Louise and ran her hand through the small, petite girl’s golden blonde curls. She was young to be involved in so much shady business, but they all did what they had to in order to survive.

      You will be prettier than Corinne and the others when you grow up, the Italian said. Maybe even give Naomi a run for her money—she’ll be old by then anyway. Run along, child, and don’t stop for anything. Word is out not to bother you and people will be keeping an eye on you from the shadows should you need help.

      I’m hungry, Louise said. Can you grab me a cookie or something?

      No, there’s no time for that right now. There’s too much happening. Go quickly.

      There was something wrong with the music system and the same Dalida song Louise had heard coming in was playing again.

      While Louise had been talking to the Italian, Corinne had continued smoking and listening to the Dalida song. Corrine’s mind drifted and she pictured herself in a dazzling dress performing the song in front of adoring fans. She spun around while dancing and dropped her cigarette onto a rock below.

      Damn, Corinne said. My last one too. She leaned over the rope barrier to get the cigarette but couldn’t reach it. Looking down she peered at the sea ahead and got slightly dizzy.

      She had climbed along the rocks as a child but wore heels now. After kicking them off onto the sidewalk she climbed over the rope. As she stood on the rocks she looked at the fabric awnings belonging to the shops and homes below then made her way to the cigarette. Her foot hit a slippery spot and she would’ve fallen had she not grabbed hold of the rope barrier. Flashing colors appeared in front of her, and she shook her head but then saw hands clapping—applause. An imagined hand reached out from midair to help her and she let go of the rope to grab it. As she fell forward then backward she laughed.

      You were right, Louise. It was all illusion, like life—a grand illusion.

      Her body fell through two fabric awnings with such force that her neck snapped. Then she bounced off a hard cement rail that broke her back. There would be no dancing in front of an adoring audience for her. After being thrust from the balcony, her body landed on top of a bent over old man who was on the balcony of his home arguing with his old maid sisters.

      It’s a miracle, Adele, the one sister said while looking at the two dead bodies.

      "It is, Lucie! Glory be to God! We’re free! Finally free.

      Make sure he’s dead first, Adele.

      He has to be. That girl landed on him with such force he has to be dead, and all squashed up beneath her.

      She must’ve been an angel sent down by God to save us, Lucie said.

      It just looks like that cheap slut Corinne to me, Adele said. But it is a miracle, and that gives me an idea. She is dead, right?

      I don’t see her breathing, so I’m guessing she’s dead. Oh, Adele, what are we going to do about all this mess?

      We’re going to call the undertaker’s son, and the priest is what we’re gonna do, Lucie said. God has smiled down on us today.

      THE DETECTIVE WALKED through the glass double doors leading into the modern, shiny, marble and glass lobby. He didn’t feel good in the least about taking on this case, and wondered what was in store for him.

      Chapter 2

      Razzle Dazzle

      THE LIGHT SHONE through the crystal chandelier in the lobby of La Mer, and the detective was mesmerized by the dazzling colors on display. But not so lost in them that he missed his old friend, and fellow American Walter Peters heading his way. At six-foot-two he was hard to miss. Platinum white hair framed an angular, extremely handsome, tan face. Green eyes sparkled from that tan face as he looked at the detective.

      The detective held his hand out, but was instead greeted with a hug.

      You’ve gained a bit, Water said, then patted the detective’s stomach. The rest of you looks good as always. He ran his hand through the detective’s shaggy, golden brown hair. I kind of like your hair longish rather than in a crew cut. I’m doing alright for forty-six, don’t you think? Well, almost forty-six. Come on, have I got a helluva mess to show you. He looked at one of the bellmen then spoke. Take his bags up to his room, please.

      FATHER ALBION’S MOUTH hung open as he looked at the dead old man and young woman on the back balcony. The undertaker’s son, Maxime was kneeling beside the old man. Like the two sisters, both Albion and Maxime spoke in French.

      He is definitely dead, Maxime said.

      Good, Adele said. We just wanted to make sure. Praise God in Heaven!

      Ms. Adele where is your Christian heart.? Father Albion said.

      She’s doing right, Father Albion, Lucie said. Like the Israelites praised God when they were set free from their oppressors in Egypt, so we praise God today.

      We are no longer slaves to that cruel tyrant who called himself our brother, Adele said. Maxime, I know our brother had already made and paid for funeral arrangements to be handled by yourself and your father.

      Yes, Maxime said, then turned to look at the dead woman. He thought his heart might burst when he saw her face. Slowly he walked toward her.

      Ladies, you must call the police to see to things, Father Albion said.

      Shouldn’t we have the mess cleaned first, Lucie said. We wouldn’t want them to think we don’t keep a tidy home.

      No, you mustn’t touch anything, Father Albion said.

      She was an angel sent from Heaven is what she was, Lucie said to Maxime, who was looking down at Corinne.

      She is truly an angel, Maxime said.

      Exactly, Adele said. That’s why I think her body should be displayed for viewing in Father Albion’s chapel.

      What? Father Albion and Maxime said in unison.

      THE POLICE ARE giving you time to look over the scene before they arrive, Walter said to the detective as they walked down the bright hallway with glass on one side toward the elevators. "It only took a small bribe to get their cooperation. Tourism is the mainstay of this town, so they don’t want this all getting into the public realm.

      When they entered the elevator Dalida’s "La Vie en Rose" was playing. No sooner had the elevator doors closed than Walter was on top of his old friend kissing him hard on the mouth. But he was gently pushed back.

      Dalida was playing when you took my virginity all those years ago, Walter said as he looked away from the detective and at the wall in front of him. It was my fault, I admit it. I’m totally to blame for what happened between us. I admit it, damn it!" He turned toward the wall behind him and leaned against it.

      Moments later Walter felt strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close. Soft kisses administered by the detective went up his neck sending warm chills down his entire body. The detective’s hot breath in his ear made other things stir in Walter."

      Business first, the detective said.

      I’m forgiven then?

      The detective merely smiled in response.

      Thank you, Walter said. For that and for coming when I called. Luckily, you were already in the country. French is the commonly spoken language here, but everyone knows English, don’t let them fool you into thinking they don’t. This hotel is seven stories and we’re headed to the penthouse. The pretty blonde outside the hotel is keeping watch for any pesky journalists or the like.

      Not when I came in, the detective said.

      It’s not like her to run off.

      Her? the detective said. Beard or girlfriend.

      Beard of course. I haven’t changed in that respect, or in my feelings toward you.

      THE HANDLE TO Louise’s wagon had fallen off before she’d even gotten to the end of the street La Mer was located on. Some of the local boys had appeared, and were busy looking for supplies to reattach the handle as she waited.

      I DID SAY IT was a mess, Walter said.

      The detective and Walter were in the bedroom of the penthouse looking at the naked dead man on the bed. He was on his stomach and his hands were cuffed to the headboard. His back was scarred with fairly fresh whip marks and there was a large dildo stuck in his ass. But his body was missing a head which had been placed on a plate on the bedside table. Silently, the detective went around taking pictures of the scene using his phone.

      Cabot Chambers was his name and he was into some kinky stuff, Walter said. He liked it rough, but not quite this bad."

      Girls or boys? the detective said.

      Women, Walter said. He had a longtime mistress named Naomi. I’ll get you her particulars. She lives in a villa up the hill. Naomi is very open-minded and didn’t mind Cabot entertaining the occasional dominatrix or two. In fact, she was usually the one to set up those meetings.

      She and I need to meet—soon.

      I’ll arrange it, Walter said then his phone rang. He was only on a second before speaking to the detective again. The police just drove in.

      Later, the detective, said then went downstairs.

      Upon entering the lobby once more, the detective spoke with the pretty, dark-haired female clerk on duty.

      The last time I saw Corinne—that’s the name of the blonde friend of Mr. Peters— she was talking with a ten-year-old blonde girl named Louise. Little Louise looked so cute pulling her red wagon.

      "Was there anything in her

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