The Umbras
By Derek Keeling
Published by
Dare Ric Media
a division of
SouthEast Productions
Portland, Oregon 97202
Copyright © 2011 Derek E. Keeling
Second Edition 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author and/or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, or where permitted by law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Photography Copyright © 2011 Shad Hamilton
Cover Artwork Copyright © 2011 Travis Sims
Author Email: [email protected]
Author Blog: http://derekkeeling.blogspot.com
Kindle Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
Contents
Chapter 1. 5
Chapter 2. 9
Chapter 3. 13
Chapter 4. 17
Chapter 5. 22
Chapter 6. 26
Chapter 7. 29
Chapter 8. 34
Chapter 9. 38
Chapter 10. 42
Chapter 11. 46
For my Mother, Father, Brother, and Grandparents. Ego Diligo Vos
Chapter 1
On The Case
He knew just by looking through the hazy, amber colored glass window that someone was standing outside his office door. The window hung dead center in the middle of the poorly painted white door displaying the words, Private Detective Walter Pierce. He had stared at these words for years, always looking at them backwards; it had begun to drive him nuts. But this time he stared through the words at the silhouette of a woman. He could see her head moving back and forth and her hands coming up and touching her face. His eyes grew with curiosity at the unknown beauty at his doorstep. Yet she made no effort to knock or say anything to let him know of her presence. His patience was wearing thin.
He stood from his old oak desk chair as silently as he could, but the chair moaned and creaked with a violent furiousness. The silhouette in the window jumped and threw her hands to her face but did not leave, or, for that matter, inquire with a knock. She stood there, silent, but not motionless. As he walked from behind his desk to his office door, the floor screamed a thousand screams. The sound was slightly reminiscent of camping in a heavily wooded area during a windstorm. It gave him no such luck in the area of stealth. His hand grasped the door handle tightly; he caught a beautiful whiff of women’s perfume. He drew it in deep, allowing the wonderful lavender and rose fragrance to permeate within his soul. The door rattled as it swung open and finally came to a rest against the wall, slamming just enough to frighten the woman.
“Oh, you scared me,” she gasped placing her hand over her chest.
“I apologize; I didn’t mean to startle you,” he replied. “Is there something I can help you with? I’ve noticed you’ve been standing outside my door for a few minutes.” As these words came out of his mouth, he realized the woman was crying. Two thick lines of washed away makeup told the story. The woman was in a beautiful red dress that clung tightly to her frame. She carried a small black handbag with two handles at her side. Her hair was thick and blond but looked soft. It hung from her head and gently kissed her shoulders, dancing back and forth in long golden strands of angelic silk.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I was just trying to pull myself together before I came in and talked to you.” She lifted her hand up and brushed her hair back behind her ear. “I have a case for you, assuming you want it.” Her eyes met with his as she said this, and he drew in a deep breath.
“Yeah, sure, come in and we can talk about it,” he said exhaling and waving his hand toward the chair that sat in front of his desk. She walked into his office slowly, going straight for the chair. The heels of her shoes clicked with every step and were amplified by the room’s natural reverb. She placed her handbag down on the floor as she sat in the chair.
“I guess we could start with our names. I’m Detective Walter Pierce,” he stated as he stretched his hand across the desk towards her, waiting for a name and a handshake.
She brought her hand up from her lap and placed it into his. Her skin was as white as bone, yet it was as soft as the petals of a rose. She had the grip of a sophisticated gentle woman, and nails as red as the fires of hell.
“My name is Marcia Darden,” she told him. “I am the wife…well, I was the wife…” Her voice became broken and filled with a genuine sadness. “Neil Darden was my husband. He was murdered about a week ago.” Marcia’s head sunk down below her shoulders and she let out a sob that sent a shudder down Walter’s spine.
“Here, take one of these.” He held out a small opened metal box containing several cigarettes. She took one and placed it upon her lips. The vibrant red lipstick smeared slightly onto the filter of the cigarette. Walter held out a lighter and lit the cigarette for her.
“Thank you very much,” she said while exhaling her first drag. “You have no idea how much I needed this.” Walter took a cigarette out of the box for himself and quickly lit it up, blowing smoke across the room.
“So, how did you come about needing the services of a Private Detective?” he said grinning a little trying to liven up the mood. He always hated dealing with the victim’s families of the cases he worked on. They were always so sad and depressed, lacking the same amount of life as the ones they’ve lost, or so he thought.
Marcia’s eyes wandered away from the conversation. She took a deep drag of her cigarette and stared at Walter’s plaques and awards. He had a framed document stating his legality in the Private Detective business. He had awards that he had won for saving lives and committing brave acts of heroism. Smoke started to fill the small room— a thick haze in which it was hard to keep your eyes open from the burning smoke. The walls were tinged a yellow-brown from the heavy smoking habits of current and past tenants. A single metal fan pointed out a window offered the only chance of ventilation. Walter stood from his chair, opened the window and turned the fan on. It hummed like that of a thousand wasps gathering in a field of wildflowers.
“There we go. Get a little air in here,” Walter mumbled as if speaking only to himself. He sat back down and looked at Marcia. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked noticing her lack of communication. She sat silently and still, staring at the plaques and awards that adorned the Detective’s wall. “Hey, are you...”
“I hear you’re the best,” she interrupted and then paused. “I hear you’ll take cases that sometimes don’t make much sense, or don’t have very much evidence. You know, the weird ones,” Marcia blurted, never once making eye contact with Walter. “Is this true?” Her eyes shot down from the wall and stabbed into the Detective through his eyes.
“I, uh, have been known to take rather weird cases, and to have a rather weird approach at the cases I take. I have taken cases that were previously deemed solved, unsolved or closed. And after investigating further into those cases, have truly solved them. As you can tell by the plaques and awards on the wall.” He said this with a little bit of smugness, and felt slightly ashamed. “But to answer your question with a little less egotism: yes. Yes I have taken cases like these.”
“Your reputation around Francis City is impeccable. Your egotism is truly justified,” she replied bowing in her seat with the grace and beauty and an angel. There was an awkward silence for a moment while Walter blushed and tried to regain
himself.
“Before we go any further, let’s talk about fees,” he said.
“Yeah, sure. What’s your price?” she asked.
“Well, I’m not cheap. In fact, I’m pretty expensive,” he replied.
“Money is no problem.” She pulled out a black checkbook and pen and began to write on a blank check.
“I charge $100 an hour. Plus, half of $5000.00 up front for expenses,” he said. She started scratching even quicker across the checkbook and then ripped out the check.
“Like I said,” she smiled. “Moneys no problem. That’s $10,000 for you to work with. If you need more, let me know” she said proudly. Walter took the check and after looking it over, crammed it into his pocket.
“Thank you. This should suffice for now,” Walter said gratefully. “So, now that that’s out of the way. What happened to your husband that you would like me to investigate?” he asked curiously.
“Well, that depends on who you ask.” Her eyes once again fell to the floor. “I’m sure he was murdered, murdered right in front of me.” Marcia’s eyes began to swell up with tears, she gritted her teeth to try and hold them back. Walter could sense the urgency, the need for justice in her voice and actions. He knew she didn’t come here for fun, or to waste time. She wanted closure on something, or validation.
“Why do you think that?” Walter asked calmly. Marcia took a deep breath; her eyes shuffled around in her head looking for the right words.
“Okay, here it is.” She took another breath and placed her hands on Walter’s desk to fiddle around with one of his stray paper-clips. “My husband and I were sitting in our living room enjoying a nice fire. I was reading a book, and he was going over some papers that had to do with some project he had been working on for work. Anyway, we sat in silence for maybe two hours, not saying a word to each other. We just went about our own business. The only noise in the room was the occasional pop or crack from the fireplace.” She paused to take it all in. “The fire had started to die down. So I went to put more wood on it. I walked over to our fireplace, which is no more than ten feet away from where we were sitting.” Her voice squeaked and she stopped and took a big drag off her cigarette, which at this point was nothing but cigarette filter. The drag wafted across the room. A smelly chemical scent tickled at Walter’s nostrils. He pushed a thick, metal ashtray toward Marcia. “I was standing there throwing a piece of wood on the fire when I heard a thud from behind me in Neil’s direction. I looked back and he was laying face first on the floor, dead.” She stopped again and smashed her cigarette against the side of the ashtray. “The weird thing is, right after I noticed Neil was on the ground, I saw a shadow,” she added. She could see a slight look of doubt in Walter’s eyes, which Walter did not mean to show. “A real one. I wasn’t imagining things. Something moved from the living room into the kitchen, then left out of the back door,” she added defensively. “I know this because the back door was unlocked and we never left it unlocked, ever. Also, all his papers were missing from the table.”
“What did the police say?” Walter questioned breaking his silence.
“They think he died naturally. They said his heart just stopped. They said it was as quick as snapping a finger, that he felt no pain. Can you believe that? How insincere does one have to be to say something like that to someone whose husband just died? They closed the case the same day, no investigation, nothing. They say he just died of natural causes. But I know he was murdered. Call it hunch, call it what you will. I know.” Walter studied her face as she replied. She was obviously broken up about all that had happened to her. Marcia’s stiffened up as she added, “I don’t know if this’ll help, but. Neil was working on a project. A ‘top secret’ project.” She put her fingers up in front of herself and signaled quotations. “This project consumed him, it’s all he ever did for months. It was so secret, he wouldn’t even tell me where he worked. He worked with one other person. That I do know for sure. I’ve seen a picture of him once but, besides that, I don’t know anything about what he was doing. He wouldn’t tell me about it. All he would say was that this project, once completed, would change the world forever. He was always into those weird conspiracy theories like: UFO’s, Roswell, JFK. But he used to always talk about this one conspiracy. He said that if he didn’t watch out that these people would ‘erase’ him. I didn’t realize that he was serious.” Her head shook back and forth with a look of disgust. There was a sense of panic in her voice, which filled the air with a thick tension. “I remember him talking about these people, these assassins. He used to say things like they would kill without anyone noticing, even the person they were killing. And they hide in the shadows. All to silence whoever gets in the way of their ideals.” She paused and pushed the ashtray toward Walter. “Am I crazy?” she asked rhetorically. “I mean, does any of this make any sense, or, seem like it’s worth your time? It’s pretty unusual.”
“You’re not crazy, trust me. But, I’ve got to admit, that’s a very unusual case,” Walter said. He placed his hand on top of Marcia’s and smiled warmly, just barely showing his teeth. “Unusual or not, I’d love to investigate it.”
“Thank you,” she replied, returning the smile.
“I’d like to start off by doing a little research on the case. And I’m going to need your help whenever I can get it. Do you think you can try to find that photograph, or at least try to get a name of who Neil was working with. It might help to talk with him. Plus, any paperwork or documents you can get me would be very helpful,” Walter said.
“Well, I have a few documents with me actually.” She reached down into her purse and pulled out a small assortment of papers. Some were typed, others were hand written. “The police and the coroner’s report are on the top. The rest are kind of unknown to me.” She laid the papers down in front of him with trembling hands. Walter picked up the small stack and straightened them out.
“I promise you, I will do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this. I am going to need a few days to get myself acquainted with the case. I am really curious to know why Detective…” Walter scanned the first paper titled: Police Report, searching for the Detective in charge. “Detective Frank Barlow...” he said raising an eyebrow. “…closed the case so quickly.”
“Do you know him?” she asked, sensing his awkwardness
“Uh…yeah. Frank and I go way back, so to speak. I’ve had a lot trouble with him. But I’ve also got a lot of help from him.” Walter admitted hesitantly.
“Is he a good cop? You know, does he do his job correctly and thoroughly?” Her voice got a little louder when she said this and her nostrils flared.
“I hate to say it, but Frank has been known to be the kind of Detective that does the very least amount of work he can, pawning all the real work onto dumb street cops who don’t know anything about being a Detective. This could explain the quick closure of the case.” As he announced this, Marcia stood from her chair, taking her purse with her and throwing her hair from her shoulder as she walked toward the door. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Walter was never very suave when it came to saying the right things to women. He always had a tendency to just blurt out whatever he was thinking.
“Just please do what you can. My phone number is on the police report if you need to get ahold of me,” she said pointing at the stack of papers with a hint of fire in her voice. “And Detective…” She opened the door and a violent rattle emitted from the frame. “Thank you.”
“I’ll do everything I can,” he declared as she closed the door. He could hear the clicking of her heels as she walked down the hallway toward the main exit of the building. He lit up another cigarette and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. He sat still, staring at the door. Smoke billowed up at him, stinging at his nose and eyes. He loved new cases. He loved the thrill, but most importantly, he loved the justice.
Chapter 2
Mystery In The Morgue
Walter squinted his eyes fiercely at the perfectly cube s
haped building. The rain dripped heavily off his wide-brimmed brown fedora, splashing onto the dark asphalt. The wind tore through his trench coat, sending a shudder down his back. He hated the morgue. To him it represented a place of absolute disrespect of the dead. Poking and prodding at a dead human was a little on the unusual side for him. The smell of formaldehyde and the cheap air freshener the Mortician used to mask the smell of death always made Walter sick to his stomach. A small, rectangular sign above the door read: Welcome.
“That’s a little creepy,” Walter whispered to himself as he turned the door handle.
As he stepped into the morgue, the smell hit him. It smelled like road kill that had been baking in the sun for a few days, then set right under your nose. His gag reflexes started to kick in, causing him to choke slightly. He quickly covered his face with his trench coat collar. The overhead light flickered around, casting shadows on the walls that appeared stained with the stench of death. The place was sad, dirty, and lacked anything to temporarily take your mind off the reason why you were here. Death, whatever the sort. “Thankfully,” Walter thought, “I’m here to investigate death, not to mourn or visit it.”
“Sir, can I help you with something?” a voice asked from the office to the right of Walter.
“Uh…yes, sorry. I am Private Detective Walter Pierce. I’m investigating the Darden case,” Walter answered still covering his nose and displaying his credentials.
“Ah…yes, Neil Darden. Strange case, strange case,” the man said shaking his head and ruffling through some papers. “Please, step into my office and we’ll discuss it. I am Edward Brussels, by the way.”
The Umbras Page 1
