Mystery and Suspense:The Tipping Point: A mystery thriller full of intrigue about greed, fraud and murder... (International Mystery: Book 1)

by Walter Danley

  More Praise for The Tipping Point

  Sure to Take Readers Off the Edge

  … get your blood pumping, your heart racing. This international thriller keeps you guessing right up to the end… can't wait until the next one. … tailor-made adventure…triggers suspicions … you will find yourself wanting more.— Cyrus Webb "Conversations Book Club"

  Serious Mystery Lovers

  ...each character has reasons to commit these heinous crimes; … keeps you guessing until the end. It grabs right away and leads inexorably to an unexpected finish... Danley's work reminds one of Dashiell Hammett and James Anderson.—

  Dan Glover, Author of The Art of Caring: Zen Stories

  Solid

  … thriller suspense kept my attention from beginning to end. … smartly written … an iron-clad plot, believable characters … suspense to keep you guessing… This is a great read, … high-paced action thriller.— Bibliophile Book Reviews

  Jealousy, Greed, Missing Millions, and Dead People

  Driven … to stay alive while bodies pile up … he hunts for a killer. … Wainwright’s trust of no one comes from the author’s vast experience in the world of big business— James Gary Vineyard, Author of The Grave On Peckerwood Hill

  A Vibrant Picture

  … world of business is full of greed and backstabbing "players". …the author brings a vibrant picture … with a major twist of murder. … characters are well developed … I found myself suspecting each and every one … I can't wait for the next book… missing the characters already.—Rebecca W. Canon Verified Purchase

  A Gripping Story

  … you will believe …. should be made into a mystery and suspense movie … can't wait to get my hands on the sequel!— D. Beltran, Author of Murder is a Family Affair.

  High-Stakes Storyline

  Having represented major authors for many years gave me a good insight to The Tipping Point. I always look for murder novels that are not only intelligent but are a good story. The Tipping Point is well-written and a good read. I highly recommend this novel.— Michael I. Levy, Film Producer

  An Intense Well Crafted, Masterpiece of Intrigue

  Walter Danley steers the reader on a journey of breathtaking turns and twists, as his characters evolve and take you to – The Tipping Point!...married meticulously with well-researched facts … adds dimension and scope to the characters … excellently structured …. a well-developed piece of craftsmanship as a writer.—Deborah Hodgetts, Poet/Children’s Writer/ Author/ Blogger/ Creative/ Photographer

  Financial Suspense and Murder

  Something sinister is going on at CapVest… covering a global playing field and lots of twists and turns…a fast-paced, riveting suspense story…I positively recommend this quality fiction novel.—Susan Uttendorfsky Adirondack Editing

  A Story Of Friendship, Success, and Deceit!

  Danley's background provides a captivating story. I especially like authors who nurture their characters. …a very talented author…he brings his characters to life. I will definitely be reading the sequel to this book! — Rebecca Bennett of Robbie Reviews

  A tale of high finance and murder

  The Tipping Point by Walter Danley is full of thrilling mystery and suspense … a serial killer after Cap Vest partners,…drug abuse on the board and millions of dollars stolen … add a little romance and you have an intense, … Five-star read.— Customer "story teller" (Colorado)

  Up-To-Date Thriller

  … a highly intelligent intriguing read… real and enlightening mystery thriller novel.— Barbara K

  Financial Crime - You Do Not Want To Stop Reading

  I was impressed by the story's decent evolution. The characters are realistic and believable with all their flaws. The story is subtly written, making it difficult to put the book away. … characters, conflicts, murder, greed, … the reader gets to know the fictional characters quite well. Congrats, Walter! Reading The Tipping Point means time well spent. A must read for all murder and suspense crime fans—Karen O. " blogger & writer" (Germany)

  A New Great Author In The Making

  "The Tipping Point" rates with all the "New York Times Best Sellers" … looking forward to his next thriller novels.—An Avid Reader

  It Grabbed Me In The Very First Chapter

  …. and then I didn't want to put it down. It kept me guessing …, makes a murder mystery worth reading. … characters were very believable, I look forward to the next Danley novel.—Sue Brozowsky Verified Purchase

  Copyright © 2014-2015 by Walter Danley

  All rights are 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. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Marble Arch Communications

  215 West Bandera Road

  Suite 114-615

  Boerne, TX 78006

  www.marblearchcommunications.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Art & Design Fiona Jayde Media

  Editor: Adirondack Editing, Susan Uttendorfsky

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity Sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  The Tipping Point/ Walter Danley – 2nd ed.

  ISBN 978-0-9888052-3-1 eBook Edition

  ISBN 978-0-9888052-2-4 Print Edition

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013900970

  One

  “Of all the creatures that creep and breathe on earth, there is none more wretched than man.” ~ Homer

  SUNDAY—EARLY FEBRUARY—1978 | The flight took off thirty minutes late. Garth Wainwright left his home in the Los Angeles suburb of Playa del Rey at 6:10 a.m. to catch Continental’s flight to Denver, where he’d change planes to Denver Airways Flight 441 into Aspen. He was supposed to arrive in Aspen at 4:10 p.m., but the delay out of Denver was going to make him late. That was only the most recent thing grating on Wainwright.

  He had planned to spend this past weekend with Tim and Brian, his children who lived with his ex-wife, Debbie. Last Thursday evening, Debbie called to say the boys didn’t want to go to their dad’s house. She was clear it was their decision and a continuation of other anti-Dad comments made by the boys.

  The disappointment he felt was palatable when Wainwright made his almost-nightly phone-fest with Lacey Kinkaid in Boston. Wainwright’s demeanor brightened some when Lacey said they had a last-minute invite to join the Burkes for a skiing holiday in Aspen. Wainwright was so happy; he couldn’t get the acceptance out of his mouth fast enough. And late flight or not, he was on his way to Aspen to be with Lacey. He would deal with the declining relationship with his sons after this trip.

  Lacey said she would meet him at the termina
l in Aspen so they could drive to the ski lodge together. Now he was going to be late, and if there was anything Garth Wainwright hated more than being late, he didn’t know what it was. Besides, a gentleman does not keep a lady waiting, certainly not a lady like Lacey. Would this be their fifth or sixth date? He’d have to—

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as we start out descent into Aspen Pitkin County Airport, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are stowed in their full upright and locked position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stored underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Remain seated until the plane is safely parked at the gate. Thank you.”

  Wainwright had never been to Aspen, so he’d spent some time at the LA public library researching the skiing, the hot spots, and the best restaurants. He wanted to read about Aspen and its world-class mountain so this trip wouldn’t make him look like a rube to Lacey and her client, his new business partner, Thomas K. Burke.

  Before the merger with Burke’s firm and Wainwright’s, Lacey represented Burke as his legal counsel. A damn good one, too, as Wainwright learned sitting on the other side of the negotiating table from her. Yeah, it must be our sixth date. I was in Boston for a week. I asked her to join me for dinner on the third day of negotiations, so this is our official sixth date, not counting the phone calls over the many months since. Why the hell did it take me that long to ask her out? Fear of failure, maybe. I hate being late, but I hate rejection just as much. Now, isn’t that an exquisite emotional profile for a guy who earns his living selling office buildings and shopping centers?

  Wainwright glanced at his wristwatch. It was 5:03 and the Convaire 580 was still on the taxiway approaching the gate area when he saw Lacey through the small Plexiglas porthole. She was bouncing up and down on the snow-covered tarmac to keep warm. Wow! There she is. I feel like I’ve known Lacey forever, and yet, I know very little about her. She is the kind of woman that makes you feel so naturally relaxed around her. Well, maybe not in a business setting, I guess.

  He felt like a seven-year-old on Christmas morning. Joy flooded through him, up his arms and onto his face, evicting the scowl that had been there since the Denver late takeoff. Standing in the snow and stomping her feet outside of Aspen’s terminal building, no one ever looked more beautiful to Wainwright. Is that the cutest picture, or what?

  Lacey had her long black hair done in a pigtail and it was bobbing up and down the back of her parka as she stomped the asphalt. Crowning her head was a white fur-trimmed hat that matched her parka and framed the most beautiful face Wainwright had ever seen. Her red painted full lips smiled at the plane and he knew it was just for him. Come on, pilot, get this rig to the gate, and let me outta here.

  As the passengers deplaned past the flight deck and the captain, it was always Wainwright’s habit to thank the pilot for a great ride. The crew appreciated the sentiment and it made Wainwright feel good to offer his appreciation for a safe trip. On the tarmac, it was all he could do to keep from running to Lacey. A fast walk would have to do.

  “Hello there, beautiful.” He wrapped his arms around the parka-clad paramour. The kiss wasn’t his best effort, but considering that his bladder was yelling for relief, an abbreviated embrace was all that circumstances would allow. Wainwright put his arm around her shoulders and guided her into the terminal. Explaining his urgent need, he left her near the passenger-boarding lounge and ducked into the men’s room.

  Wainwright stood at the lavatory sink washing his hands and splashing cold water on his face. There was only one other person in the facility. With a salt-and-pepper gray goatee trimmed in a Van Dyke style, he was drying his hands on a paper towel when he addressed Wainwright.

  “I likin’ you country miten da paper. They be sanitary more over da hanging dirty cloth ones towels,” the stranger said in broken English.

  Smiling at the man, Wainwright said, “I agree. But it hasn’t been all that long ago those public restrooms still had a loop-towel on a rod. I hated that and rarely used them. Paper is better.”

  “You are up for da ski?”

  “I am. Just got here for a week of schussing the slopes of Aspen Mountain. How about you? Are you a downhiller?”

  The stranger chuckled. “Ya, I do da manage da vertical, most da times.” He deposited his used towels in the waste bin, reached his hand in greeting to Wainwright, and introduced himself. “Mine nam Schwartz, Gambol Schwartz. I be from Oberstdorfer in Bavaria. I looking good to ski da big mountain. Mine town mountain, she—half dis ones, only 2,200 meters. Sorry, mine English, she not so good.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Gambol. My name is Garth Wainwright. Welcome to America.” Wainwright smiled, and then said, “Herr Schwartz, your English is far superior to my German, I assure you.”

  He was smiling strangely at Wainwright.

  “Nice talking with you. Maybe we’ll be on a chairlift together. Have fun in Aspen. Good-bye,” he said and hurried into the terminal to find Lacey.

  “Is everything all right? You were in there longer than a woman’s visit.”

  “Yes, everything is fine. I met a visitor from Bavaria who is here to test our mountain. Strange chap. We just got into a bit of conversation, that’s all. I wanted to show him our best US of A friendliness rather than brushing him off. Okay?”

  “Garth Wainwright, you are one class act, I must say. Come on; let’s get your gear from baggage. I’ve got a rental waiting outside. And I’ve been waiting for your strong warm body since Boston.”

  Holding hands, Lacey and Wainwright picked up his ski gear and luggage, climbed into the big Land Cruiser, and headed to the lodge for their dinner date with Thomas and Sonja Burke.

  The skier rested for a minute at the top of Aspen’s aptly named ski trail, Bad Decision. He could see the mogul field blanketed steep trail in front of him. Moguls were man-killers and knee breakers. The field looked like an earthquake hit it.

  Moguls form when skiers repeatedly ski the same line. Snow climbs away from the back of the ski on every turn, and piles into a mound. People ski around the pile, pushing more snow onto the top of that mound. Now you have a mogul field, a series of high random mounds with dangerously deep depressions fronting them.

  There was no way to avoid this route to the resort. He had to ski directly through the moguls. He knew he was risking severe injury to try it, but he had to go for it. Bad Decision, my ass. I love moguls! A happy smile slowly spread across his face in anticipation of a welcomed challenge. This was just one of the reasons he had come to Aspen Mountain. Called Ajax by the locals, it certainly had the best runs, the best snow, and the best of everything. Burke was having the best time of his life. With a grin, Thomas Burke pushed off the ridge and let loose with a rebel yell as loud as his forty-six-year-old lungs would produce.

  Winded, with knees that threatened total collapse, Burke leaned over his ski poles and looked back at the incline he had beaten and smiled. His hot breath steamed in the fridge mountain air. He was a happy man.

  That last run was symbolic, in a way, for his reason for arranging this skiing holiday. Burke was celebrating his first year as a partner in the largest real estate investment firm in the country. Capital Vested Corporation of Bellevue, Washington—or CapVest, as everyone referred to it—had acquired Burke Properties last year. Burke now ran the Boston division, once his company. One year and counting. Burke thought himself a truly blessed man…and he was.

  Burke invited his attorney, Lacey Kinkaid, and Garth Wainwright, a CapVest partner, to join them in Aspen. Wainwright was Los Angeles-based and had been in a bi-coastal relationship with Lacey for almost a year. Sonja suggested he ask Wainwright and Lacey. Burke was glad she did. The four of them were having a marvelous time; at least, Burke presumed so, as Wainwright and Lacey shared the same suite at the lodge.

  Burke liked Wainwright, even more since Lacey had apparently placed her own stamp of approval on him, and Burke trusted her judgment implicitly. He’d gott
en to know Wainwright better since the companies merged. Wainwright was very effective and highly respected by his partners in Bellevue. Burke recognized Wainwright was one of the Young Turks at CapVest. He was a comer, one of the anointed who would soon be leading the firm. It was good to have someone like Wainwright, with his stellar reputation and executive leadership potential, in his corner. Corporate America was a scary place for a middle-aged guy. Having a good friend on the corporate board with him was a definite benefit in the ceaseless battle for corporate turf.

  He hid deep in the Aspen trees’ orange and brilliant golden foliage fifteen yards off the ski trail—waiting. His skis pointed across the downhill slope through a small breach between the large stand of Quaking Aspen. He would be ready when the time came to make his downhill run from his concealment. There was no breeze, and the pungent, yeasty Aspen scent surrounded him where he bent low over his skis. He’d been waiting for twenty minutes; fresh, crisp snow crunched under his skis as he shifted his body in the wait. He knew his victim would come soon. His target made this his last run every day.

  The Assassin glanced over his left shoulder and saw skiers glide off the chairlift to begin their run down Walsh’s Trail. They made a sharp left turn at the watchers’ stand where the trail led down the mountain’s steepness. He flexed his stiffening knees and felt them pop. Snow-stacked sprigs above his head dripped onto his neck, running cold down his spine. It made him shiver. Considering what he was there to do, the Assassin thought, Shivers, how appropriate is that. And he continued his wait.

  It had been snowing soft dry powder all week, but today was bright and warm; the summit temperature registered just above freezing. Snow had iced up on the sunny runs. The Assassin had been shadowing his target for six days—Thomas K. Burke, a competitive skier who pushed himself hard, taking the steepest and longest runs on the mountain. All week, Burke made Walsh’s Trail his last run for the day. The Assassin was sure he would come.