The Detective's Last Case
Page 1
Praise for Gerald Lopez
Blue Light By Night, a Layton Shayne Mystery
“There is a lot of suspense and the reader will be doing some guessing. There is also eroticism here and I commend the author on how he managed to work the themes so that everything comes together. I could see that he spent time thinking this story out.”
Amos Lassen Reviews
“This is a thrilling, suspenseful mystery. His ability to spin a tale of mystery, comedy and romance is obviously a talent that I am really beginning to treasure. —fast becoming one of my favorites writers of mysteries and the paranormal.”
Multi-tasking Momma’s Book Reviews
For Love of: Tangi
“A very entertaining read. I was cracking up because it seriously was funny.”
On Top Down Under Book Reviews
Novels by Gerald Lopez
Dueling Divas
(an Avondale Story)
New Eden Tales
Dead Men Tell Tales
City of Dead Men
The Layton Shayne Mysteries
Blue Light by Night
Green Eyes Cry, You Die
Black Hearts Dance
Gray Days, Wicked Ways
For Love of Series
For Love of: Tangi
For Love of: Colt
Miss Lucy and the Pussy Brigade
(Miss Lucy Case Files #1)
All Queers Must Die
Abel Kane Mysteries
Lost Bitches
Only the Young and Beautiful Need Apply
A Grande Romance
(A Grande Mystery)
The Travelers
Samuel: Dying to the Flesh
A Stratham Town Father Andrew Trilogy
A Shared Darkness
Crackpots, Crooks, and Cowboys
Andrew in Paradise
Lily’s Passion
A Lily Courtland Romantic Mystery
Gay Forever After
Horror in Lowden Hall
Short Stories by Gerald Lopez
Between Lights and Death
The Detective’s Last Case
Gerald Lopez
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
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.