Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set

by James Kipling

  ###

  Ten minutes later, Martin opened his front door and was surprised to see Orlando.

  “David, why are---”

  His greeting was cut short as Martin’s fist smashed into his face. Martin groaned and fell back onto the carpet, as blood splattered on the floor. A filling went flying through the air and bounced on the carpet.

  Orlando picked him up and landed a solid punch to his belly. Martin groaned again and doubled over. He slid down to the floor again, as his arms wrapped around his middle.

  Orlando lifted him up again. Blood flowed from his mouth and dripped onto his shirt. Pain contorted his features. Orlando held Martin with his right hand. His left slammed into the bloody jaw, knocking Martin to the floor again. A cry of agony came from Martin, but he didn’t move off the floor.

  Orlando found a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his knuckles.

  “You’re lucky you don’t live in a high-rise on the third floor. Or on the tenth floor, for that matter” he said.

  He walked over to the portable bar, found a bottle of whisky and poured himself a drink. He figured it would be a while before Martin was coherent. He thought about going over and kicking his former friend, but realized a kick would not aid coherency.

  He had drank half the liquid in the tall glass, when Martin, after trying three times, finally climbed to his knees, while holding on to an Ottoman. He was bent and looked like a man about to throw up in a toilet. A horrid, gurgling sound came from him. His hand went to his belly.

  “You…my stomach…think you broke something,” he said, in barely more than a whisper.

  “Good,” Martin said, sipping more of whiskey. “We’re going to have a talk, old buddy. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’m going to break a few more things.”

  He reached over, grabbed Martin by the collar and lifted him up and dropped him on the sofa.

  “You beat up Sasha, didn’t you?”

  Martin didn’t answer immediately. Orlando had patience, because he knew the man couldn’t yet form words. His lips and tongue weren’t working properly. The mouth moved, but no words came out.

  “I’m going to give you about five minutes. If you can’t talk by them, I’ll just give you a first-class beating and talk to you three days from now in your hospital room.”

  Orlando drained the glass. A green cushioned chair set opposite the sofa. Orlando sat down in it and stared at his former friend.

  “You know what a first class beating will do to you, Martin? It not only breaks bones and dislocates organs, it takes an emotional and mental toll on you. A man is never really the same after that. He can’t function as well as he did before. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally. I guess it’s something like post-traumatic stress syndrome. You wake up at night screaming.”

  Orlando grinned when he saw the yellow glint of fear in Martin’s eye.

  “I think you can form words now, small words, at least. You probably can’t pronounce big ones yet. Start talking.”

  Martin shook his head. “I’m sorry. I..,I know it was wrong…”

  “Yes, it was. You should have had your moral insights before now. But I don’t want to interrupt. Continue.”

  “I began drinking. I had always drank some. At times we drank together. I began drinking more and more and, sometimes, I slapped Sasha.” He dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

  “Not sorry enough not to do it again.”

  “At times, when I drank, I slapped her.”

  “OK, I don’t need to hear about any more of it. You’re gonna pay for it. What happened the night of the home invasion? I know you own a gun. You didn’t get to use it. Did they get the drop on you?”

  Slowly, almost an inch at a time, he shook his head.

  “No. I heard a noise in the front room. Sasha screamed. I was in our bedroom. The gun was in the closet. I grabbed it and ran out. I ran to the living room. The two were there, with guns. They pointed them at me. For some reason, I had my gun angled toward the ground. I knew I had to bring it up, point it at them and fire….but I couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean you couldn’t?”

  Tears began falling from his eyes. His voice didn’t sound like a human’s. It was more like the whimper of a whipped dog.

  “I couldn’t raise my hand. I was paralyzed. I…I don’t know what type of guns they had, but I stared into the barrels and I couldn’t see anything else. I…couldn’t move my eyes…I knew in a half-second that barrel would be our death. I tried to tear my gaze away but couldn’t. I was paralyzed. All I did was stare at the metal hole. I knew the bullet…death…would come out of there. I froze…and shivered and froze again.”

  Orlando said nothing. He had known Martin for years. He searched his memory. He thought he had seen at least minor displays of courage from him.

  “The intruders…they saw me and knew…they laughed at me. Laughed uproariously. They yelled at Sasha, asking her if she knew she married a coward. One walked over to me, laughing, and he took the gun. Then he slashed me with his weapon. Still laughing, they went on their way, leaving me on the carpet, bleeding from the head wound.”

  “And that’s where you stayed when they assaulted Sasha?”

  Orlando didn’t need an answer, and he didn’t get one. He walked back to the bar and refilled his glass. With a yell, he violently threw it against the wall, spraying whiskey and shattered glass through the room. He picked up the bottle and gulped whiskey down. He went back into the living room, but didn’t sit on the green chair. He stood behind it.

  “Let me tell you something, Martin. I know you want to forget that incident, and forget everything associated with it. That may possibly include Sasha. But marrying a younger woman and starting a new life won’t allow you to forget the old one, no matter how much you want it to. Or how much you hope it will. You can try to run away from the past, but no man can run that fast. The past is always there, right where you are.”

  Martin said nothing. Blood flowed from his chin onto his blue coat and shirt.

  “Martin, I was going to spend a few minutes knocking the snot out of you. That would give you something else to remember. I’m not going to do that, although I was really looking forward to it. But this is what you are going to do. You are going to give Sasha everything she wants in the divorce, and more. One of the reasons I won’t do the knocking is, I want you to be able to talk to your lawyer and tell him that, so he can draw up the papers quickly. Then, Sasha can get the generous settlement as quickly as possible and put you behind her. If I knocked you around, you’d be eating through a tube for a while, and that would postpone the divorce settlement. So, you call your lawyer quickly or I will pay you another visit, and that one won’t be as pleasant. You understand?”

  Martin nodded.

  “Good. One last thing. The new marriage. It won’t help what’s ailing you, Martin. Eventually your wife will find out what you are. Maybe she won’t care. I’ve got a hunch you will drink or drug yourself into oblivion. Some men, I guess, could live with being a coward. I don’t know if you can.”

  He turned and walked toward the door. Before he got there, Emily opened it and rushed in.

  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t kill him,” she said. “I didn’t want you to go to prison.”

  Orlando smiled. “Thanks for thinking of me. I don’t want to go to prison either. Not while I have one more case to solve.”

  “You want to have a drink or something?”

  He shook his head. “No. I think I just drank a half bottle of whisky. I tossed the rest of it at the wall. Don’t take this wrong, Emily, but this is one time I think I need to be alone. I’d like to go to a faraway place and forget about this little town, and what happen. I want to do something that will push all of this out of my mind.”

  “I understand, boss. I have some of those feelings myself.”

  “Pla
ying golf. I wouldn’t mind playing golf. That always took my mind off my problems. During those times, the only problem I was concerned with was my golf swing, and that’s always been a problem for me.”

  She chuckled. “Do you want to have breakfast tomorrow?”

  “Yes. I will be ready to face the world tomorrow morning. I want to have it at the Sunrise Reef. We can get a table with the beach waves splashing beneath us.”

  “That sounds wonderful, boss. What time?”

  “I may be sleeping late. Let’s say nine. The restaurant serves breakfast until ten.”

  “I’ll call for a reservation, just in case.”

  “I’ll look forward to it, Emily.”

  ###

  Back at his house, he decided he would go to a faraway place and play golf. He turned on his Wii Golf. The Pebble Beach Golf Course popped up. He was in a tournament with the rest of the PGA members. Phil, Tiger, Ricky, Dustin, Jordan and all the others. As he looked at the scoreboard, Dustin was the leader. He had already finished his round, going five under on the course. But Phil and Tiger were four under. Even with his emotional turmoil, he thought he could beat that. The front nine at Pebble Beach was the easier nine, with several holes being birdie holes. The back nine was tougher. The par-3 17th was a difficult hole that had always given him trouble. The 16th was a par-5. Long hitters, such as the three leaders, could hit most par-5s in two, but not the Pebble Beach par-5 16th hole. It was long, more than six-hundred yards, and angled in such way only a few players could get their ball on the green in two.

  He picked his five wood for the first hole. It was angled, too. Hitting a driver would put a golfer into the rough. The pin on the first is usually only about twenty feet from the front edge of the hole, but the green is on a severe incline making most putts very difficult.

  As he looked down the fairway, he realized a nagging thought was trying to surface in his brain. He frowned. Was it something somebody said that he overlooked? Or a detail in his notes that he thought was insignificant? Darn it. He had planned to play computer golf, in a country club on the California coast, to forget about his cases. He didn’t want details bothering him while he played.

  Still, the nagging thought was there. He shook his head and picked up the remote. His first shot in the tournament was down the center of the fairway. The orange ball, he preferred orange balls, plunked in the middle of the fairway, only about a hundred and twenty yards from the pin. But a golfer wanted to stay beneath the hole to avoid the fast, and often sharp, curved putting surface. That didn’t give him much room. He figured the best shot was to use a wedge and attempt to place the ball near, or slightly above, the pin. With the incline of the green, the ball should roll back beneath the hole leaving him an easier putt.

  He eased into his stance, which was the same in the computer game as it was on the golf course.

  And as he swung, the nagging, vague thought hit him again. The feeling that he had missed something.

  He shook his head and watched the ball fly and plop on the green about two feet beyond the cup. As he expected, the ball rolled back, but faster and longer than he expected. It stopped about ten feet below the pin. He shook away the thought and looked at the putt. It wasn’t too long, but it broke about a foot to the left. It wouldn’t bother him if he missed the putt. He could still get a par. The first hole at Pebble Beach wasn’t a birdie hole. Golfers were grateful to get a par. He putted but the ball slid by the left lip of the cup, leaving him only a foot-long putt for par. He was satisfied.

  ###

  As he flipped to the second hole, the nagging thought had somehow moved down to his back. It pricked his skin like a thorn caught in his shirt. He tried to ignore it as he looked down the fairway.

  The second hole on Pebble Beach is a short, straight-away par-5. Long hitters can easily make the green in two shots. The fairway is a bit narrow, but should give good golfers no trouble. He took his stance and swung. The announcer whistled and said, “Well, pick up the tee and start walking, because this one is just fine.” And so it was. His drive didn’t stop until it was three hundred and eight yards down the fairway. The distance was one reason he really liked computer golf. He could never hit a drive three hundred yards on a real golf course.

  As the screen moved down to where his ball was, Orlando’s mind focused on the car that hit the two men twenty-five years ago. Something about the car. But what? It was odd that it had never been found.

  He switched his attention back to the game. His ball was sitting up on the green fairway. He swung the remote and the orange ball soared into the air and headed straight down the fairway. It bounced about five yards from the green and rolled on, about twenty feet from the cup.

  “Take that Dustin, Phil and Tiger,” he said. “Looks like a sure birdie.”

  He missed the eagle putt which ran just two feet past the cup. He made the birdie putt.

  “I like golf,” he said.

  The thought hit him on the third tee. That one word was what he had overlooked. That could be the key. It might be nothing, though. After twenty-five years, there were no sure bets, but that might be the key. He had to check the other options, but that might be the crowbar that could break open the box holding all the secrets to the cold case.

  If so, Justice, although delayed, would no longer be denied.

  ###

  The ocean was not peaceful the next morning. Large waves crashed against the wood pilings under Orlando and Emily’s table. Sea spray flew into the air, and then fell, splattering the sand. The wind whipped sea spray around, as a waiter, hair blowing in the breeze, set down two plates before them and asked if they needed anything else.

  “No, thank you,” Emily said.

  She picked up the pepper shaker that was in the shape of a glass lighthouse and shook it over her scrambled eggs. Most of the black flecks missed and hit the red tablecloth. Emily tried again, using her hand to shield the shaker. This time most of the pepper landed on the yellow eggs.

  “Want to go in? The wind is strong today,” Orlando asked.

  “No, I rather like it. Besides, it should die down soon. Pepper?”

  She handed the shaker to him. Orlando looked better than she had ever seen him. For a while, it seemed a moodiness was around him, and laughter never shook the glumness. Now, he wore a high-beam smile and his confidence shone like a midday sun. His voice, instead of being tentative, was strong.

  “You’re looking good, Boss.”

  “Thank you. I think the Richardson case has invigorated me. Somehow, I have taken strength from it. For one I thing, I have a case that’s a noble cause.”

  “The other case was a noble cause, too. I phoned Sasha before I came here. Your little chat with Martin convinced him to drop all objections to her divorce requests. Gosh, you’re persuasive.”

  He smiled. “It was some rough negotiation, but it ended well.” He picked up his cup of coffee. “Emily, I don’t know how this happened, but somewhere during the years, Martin lost his courage, and perhaps lost any sense of morality. I think he had some once. But recently, I found my courage. I don’t mean just physical courage. I mean courage to face the day, to watch the sunrise without dread, to know the night has no terrors for me. It’s like everything around me was gray for a long time, a dark gray, but now it has changed to a sunshine yellow. I think I’m prepared for whatever life throws at me. I don’t how it happened, but I’m glad it did. I know you are a part of it, and so is the Richardson case. That’s one reason I feel a moral imperative to solve it.”

  She nodded, and spooned some buttered grits on her plate.

  “That’s wonderful, Boss. So, are you going back to Lynwood Springs today?’

  “Yes. I have an interview scheduled down there. And I have an idea that I hope will lead me to the killer.” He picked up a piece of bacon and chomped on it. “Emily, for the first time in a long while, I’m excited about a case. I’m excited
to get up in the morning. I’m not shrugging and wondering what life will throw at me today. I’m looking forward to the day.”

  “Yes, I can sense and see the change in you. Frankly, I think life has been better for me lately, too. I have a little more spring in my step, and I’m smiling, even though I was investigating a grim case.”

  “Yes, at times detectives have to look into grim cases. I guess it’s an occupational hazard. Perhaps I shouldn’t smile too much or be too witty. I don’t think any client wants a giggling, merry private detective,” Orlando said.

  Emily sipped her coffee. “Well, that’s true. You don’t have to be that sunny or giggly. Just smile occasionally.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.

  She cut into the scrambled eggs and lifted a scoop toward her mouth. “Do you really think you have a lead in the Richardson case?”

  “Yes. I just need to check a few things out and see if all the pieces start to fit together. This case is like a jigsaw puzzle, and none of the pieces were fitting. But now, I think one or two, or maybe even three or four, pieces are coming together. I’m getting an outline of a picture, or perhaps I should say a motive.” He shook his head. “Sometimes a motive is in the last place you look.”

  “What would you like me to do?”

  “Just keep being your lovely, sweet self.”

  She had been sipping more coffee. Her chuckles caused her to spill some of the coffee out. The drops splattered on the table.

  “Well, I can do that. You know, I don’t think the old Boss would have said that. He wasn’t all that witty.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that old guy.” He forked some more eggs and chewed them. “You know, I really haven’t had much time to philosophize lately. I haven’t gone to the beach and sat in a yoga position to contemplate the cosmos.”

  “Which you shouldn’t do, unless you practice for a while. If you don’t practice, you get really bad leg cramps from some of those yoga stances. I think I’m the only person who sits in a lounge chair with a bottle of wine to contemplate the cosmos.”