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Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12]
by Betty Sullivan La Pierre
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Mystery/Crime
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SynergEbooks
www.synergebooks.com
Copyright ©2009 by Betty Sullivan La Pierre
First published in SynergEbooks, 2009
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Others in ‘The Hawkman Series by
TO MY MOTHER, CHARLIE EVELYN SULLIVAN,
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
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Shadows in the Night
Book 12 of the Hawkman Series
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by
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Betty Sullivan La Pierre
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ISBN: 0-7443-1863-7
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Copyright 2009 by Betty Sullivan La Pierre
All Rights Reserved
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Published by SynergEbooks
www.synergebooks.com
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Others in ‘The Hawkman Series by
BETTY SULLIVAN LA PIERRE
www.bettysullivanlapierre.com
The Enemy Stalks
Double Trouble
The Silent Scream
Dirty Diamonds
Blackout
Diamonds AREN'T Forever
Cause for Murder
Angels in Disguise
In for the Kill
Grave Web
The Lure of the Witch
Also by Betty Sullivan La Pierre
Murder.com
The Deadly Thorn
[Back to Table of Contents]
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TO MY MOTHER, CHARLIE EVELYN SULLIVAN,
AND HER DEAR FRIEND,
UNA MAE BOSSMAN
[Back to Table of Contents]
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I want to thank, Yvonne Knepper, Community Marketing Director,
of the beautiful CYPRESS PLACE Senior Living,
at 1200 & 1220 Cypress Lane, Ventura, California,
for the patience and help in explaining to me the way this beautiful home is run.
It helped me so much in laying the foundation for this story.
I also want to thank, Dorothy Robert, a resident of the Independent Living
Section of Cypress Place for allowing me to take her picture for the cover of this book.
[Back to Table of Contents]
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CHAPTER ONE
Monday morning Hawkman arrived at the office in Medford, and had just put the coffee on to brew when he heard a loud banging. It sounded like it came from the stairwell. When it quit, he figured the noise had traveled from somewhere on the block. Then it started again and he swore he could feel the vibration in the floor. His curiosity finally got the best of him and he opened the door. An old man with flighty white hair, dressed in a long black overcoat, stood at the bottom of the steps with his cane raised to strike the banister.
“Hey, what's going on?” Hawkman yelled.
The fellow shaded his eyes and looked up. “I should have called you on the phone. I can't climb stairs, and I don't have the time or energy to go find another private investigator. I need to talk. So you're going to have to come down here.”
Hawkman grinned. “Sure. Want some coffee?”
The old fellow leaned on the staff and nodded. “Sounds good.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Black.”
After pouring a couple of cups, Hawkman went down the stairs and handed him a steaming mug. The old codger sat on one of the lower steps, so Hawkman leaned against the hand rail, and studied his face. “What's your name?”
“George Hampton.”
Hawkman held out his hand. “Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Hampton.”
After they shook, he looked up at Hawkman with sparkling, yet faded blue eyes. “Let's not start that formal stuff; call me George. I know you as Hawkman.” He raised the mug, took a sip of the hot liquid and continued. “Granted, it's your nickname. Your real tag is Tom Casey, but I like Hawkman better, so that's what I intend to call ya.” He pointed to the sign at the top of the stairs. “I've kept my eye on you ever since you came into this town and hung your shingle above the doughnut shop.”
Hawkman suppressed a smile. “How come I don't know you?”
George raised his bushy eyebrows. “Never needed your services until now.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I want you to investigate some murders at Maggie's senior home.”
“Never heard of the place,” Hawkman said, scratching his sideburn. “Is it around here?”
“No, no, that's not its name. My wife lives there and her name is Maggie.”
“Sorry, I misunderstood.”
“It's called, Morning Glory Haven.”
“Oh, yes, I know the place. It's on the outskirts of town, near the hills, behind the new mall. Beautiful area.”
“Yeah, it's the right home for Maggie. She's been there three years, come the first of next year, and she loves it. After she fell and broke her hip, it never healed right because of her arthritis, and she couldn't drive anymore. Then she got pneumonia. Just about lost her. Once she got over the worst part, she needed to get out and go places. I knew I couldn't take her everywhere she wanted to go with my bad knees and back, so after much discussion, we decided she needed to be where she'd have people and things going on all the time.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “I go see her every day. I sure miss her.”
“I'm sure you do,” Hawkman said, sitting down on the stair next to George.
“The house is way too quiet. If it weren't for my dog, Pesky, and the television, I'd go stark
raving mad.”
“Tell me about this murder. I don't recall reading anything about it in the paper.”
George shook his head, then pointed a crooked finger at Hawkman's nose. “You won't either. When you're at one of these old folks’ home, they just blame death on age, and say you died of natural causes. Well, I don't buy it.” He angrily slapped his thigh.
Hawkman felt a cool autumn breeze whirl around his shoulders. “Are you warm enough? We could get in my SUV.”
He waved a hand. “Naw, I'm fine.” Repositioning his body, he pulled the coat around his chest. “Sybil Patterson and Maggie were best friends. They shared a two bedroom unit at the haven, and did everything together. It really helped me, knowing Maggie was happy. Then yesterday morning they found Sybil dead in her bed. No apparent reason. Maggie had played a game of cards with her the night before and said she was fine.”
“What did the doctor say?”
He glared angrily at Hawkman. “They'll tell you anything. Said she had a bad heart and it just finally gave out. I don't believe it and Maggie is hesitant about accepting the diagnosis as Sybil had never shown symptoms of a heart problem.” He let out a loud sigh. “I'm about ready to pull my wife out of there, but she says there's no way she'd leave.”
“You said there were other murders.”
“Yeah, a couple just recently and no telling how many I don't know about.”
“What were their names?”
“The first was old Fred Horn. I'd see him walking the halls and paying visits to all the ladies. I used to tease him and tell him to stay away from my Maggie. He'd laugh and tell me since I was there all the time, I really put a damper on his flirting.”
“How did he die?”
“The very next day, when I went to see Maggie, she told me Fred had passed away in his sleep. It really seemed farfetched as the man had been walking the halls, fully dressed, and joking with everyone he saw. He sure didn't act sick.”
“Who else passed away, making you question a natural death?”
“My checkers buddy, Eddie Parker. He went last week, and I really miss the guy and our nightly games. We'd meet in Maggie's room every evening after supper. She'd have the table all set up for us and then retire to the chair in the corner and do her knitting. She really enjoyed us laughing and carrying on.”
“Did he go the same way?”
“Yep, in his sleep. Don't you see a pattern here?”
“Sounds suspicious. Do you know if autopsies were done?”
George shook his fluff of white hair. “I don't know, but I really doubt it. These people were all old, and like I said, death is expected in these places.”
“This sounds like it could be complicated. If I do take this case and discover foul play, I'll have to bring in the police.”
“I understand. I just fear for my Maggie. I don't want to go visit her some morning and find her dead in the bed.” He turned and gazed into Hawkman's face. “I'd like her watched from the time she gets up until nightfall. I usually go in the morning, stay a couple of hours, go back later and have dinner with her, then remain until she goes to sleep. I can't be by her side all day, because I do have responsibilities at the house. Plus, she doesn't want me hanging around constantly.”
“I could arrange for someone to be there on the hours you're not available, but it would cost you a pretty penny.”
“Cost doesn't bother me. I'd do anything to keep my sweetheart alive.”
Hawkman rubbed the back of his neck. “If you want to hire me, I need to get your signature on a contract and explain the terms.”
“I don't need no signed paper; a handshake will do.”
“I appreciate it, but legally I have to present you with the document. It protects us both.”
Hampton sighed in resignation. “If you insist.”
“I won't put you through the agony of climbing the stairs. Instead, I'll get everything ready and bring it to your house. You set up a convenient time in the next day or two.”
George checked his watch. “How about tomorrow morning at ten?”
“Sound good. It'll give me time to round up all the items.” He took a pen from his pocket and a small pad of paper he always carried. “What's your address and phone number?”
After writing down the information, Hawkman stood and helped Mr. Hampton stand. George gripped the banister, then lifted his cane from the railing.
“You okay?” Hawkman asked.
“Yeah, just have to let everything get back in sync before I take a step; otherwise I'd fall flat on my face.” He sniffed the air. “What's that delicious smell?”
Hawkman pointed toward the doughnut shop. “Clyde fires up those ovens about this time in the morning and bakes his pastries for the day.”
“Oh, my, I'm surprised you're not as fat as a butterball with such a business sitting just below your office.”
“It's not easy,” Hawkman chuckled.
“I think I might stop by and pick up a treat before going to see Maggie. She'd like that.”
“I can guarantee they're delicious.”
Hawkman watched George's slow, swinging gait, clunking his cane against the concrete with each step, as he swung around the corner toward the shop.
[Back to Table of Contents]
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CHAPTER TWO
Hawkman jogged back up the stairs, and sat down at the desk. He shoved up his eye patch and rubbed his hands across his face. Leaning back in the chair, he flipped it down to shield his bad eye, then let his mind wander back many years. When he'd worked for the Agency, he'd never had to venture into a senior home to look for a murderer. The ones he'd stalked were usually much younger and vicious. Enemies still emerged from time to time, and he had to always be on guard.
He vividly recalled the time he went after the thugs who'd killed his first wife with a car bomb. A good whack on the head with a tire iron had caused him the eye problem. When the optical injury couldn't be corrected, the Agency wouldn't allow him to work in the field, so he decided to retire. He went to Copco Lake with a new identity and formed his private investigator business.
However, it didn't take long for one of his nemeses to find him, and a pursuit occurred. It involved Jennifer, his present wife, and he feared for their lives, but together they brought the man down quickly. Many years passed before he had to deal with the second adversary who entered his life.
He took a deep breath, dismissed those memories and leaned forward. Pulling a folder from the drawer, he set up a file for the Hamptons, and wrote on the outside the address and phone number George had supplied. He noted the old fellow lived in a high income part of town, which surprised him, due to his appearance. Maybe money wasn't a problem. You never knew about these old codgers, and definitely can't judge them by their clothes. He jotted down Morning Glory Haven, and the names of the three dead people George had mentioned. Sensing the leg work involved in this case, he figured a big challenge lay ahead. He'd first have to interview the family members of each of the deceased. Many times the residents of these selected establishments chose to stay near familiar territory even though their sons or daughters might live clear across the country. He could only pray he'd luck out.
George appeared serious about surveillance on his wife. The expense would be phenomenal as he'd have to pay top wages for this type of service. Hawkman would present Hampton with the estimated price and continue from there. Gathering up the needed contract and other forms, Hawkman slipped them into a large brown envelope which he placed on the desk.
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Since Hawkman's office was in Medford, Oregon, a good hour and a half drive from Copco Lake, he left home early the next morning. Hampton had mentioned a dog named Pesky and he felt it would be a courteous gesture to pick up some doggie treats at a pet shop. He didn't have any trouble making up to canines and usually they'd mind his commands, unlike Jennifer's little scamp, Miss Marple. He chuckled to himself when he thought of the cat and how she tried to get by
him with her antics.
Studying the different sized treats in the shop, and not knowing the weight of the animal, he chose medium sized biscuits. He then stopped by the office, picked up the brown envelope, and headed for George Hampton's place. As he drove through the upper class area, he couldn't help but admire the beauty of the architecture. Some house plots had tall fences with big pillars at intervals; others were surrounded with beautiful sculptured shrubs. There were two and three stories with a few single level homes scattered among them. When he reached the address, it didn't surprise him to find a lovely one story dwelling. George suffered from knee and back problems, so the choice made sense. The man must have money, because property here cost big bucks.
Hawkman turned into a circular driveway lined on both sides with a large white chain fence connected to short pillars every ten or so feet. He parked in front of the entry, got out and walked up a short aggregate sidewalk which led up a couple of steps to a porch that extended the width of the house. The front door made of highly polished oak with a beautiful beveled glass insert glistened in the sun. He pushed the bell and could hear chimes ringing through the house. A dog barked and when George finally got to the door, an energetic golden retriever, tail wagging, bounded out, and ran around Hawkman's legs.
“What a beautiful animal.”
“Pesky, behave yourself,” George said, then gestured for Hawkman to come in. “Please forgive her. She loves company and gets very excited when anyone visits. Afraid she's not much of a watch dog. I think she'd get in the car with anyone who offered her a goody.”
Hampton led Hawkman into a huge den that took his breath away. The walls were covered in rich dark paneling, and beautifully framed paintings of hunting scenes hung on both sides. A huge flat screen television almost covered one end, flanked with stands holding different types and lengths of fishing rods. The furniture was big, heavy duty, but covered with plush leather. The whole area definitely had a masculine touch.
“This is a man's dream room,” Hawkman said.
George stood leaning on his cane, smiling. “Thank you. As you can probably tell, I added my two cents worth in getting it decorated. Have a seat.”
Shadows in the Night [Hawkman--Book 12] Page 1
