Hung Out To Die: Lukas Boston - Private Investigator Book Two

by Logan May

  About The Lukas Boston Mysteries.

  “Hung Out To Die” (Previously published under the title “Damned If You Do, Hanged If You Don’t” by G.M.Hague)

  Logan May is a pen name for G.M.Hague. Lukas Boston books are not episodes of a larger story and it isn’t necessary to read them in correct order, although the backgrounds to some of the characters and events will be made clearer if you do. If you’d like to be told when other Lukas Boston stories are available, I’ve created a newsletter at www.graemehague.com.au you can sign up—I promise not to send you anything except info on Lukas Boston, myself, my books and my music.

  This book is subject to copyright. Please refer to the pages at the end of this novel for all copyright information.

  DEDICATION.

  To my brother Stephen, who I’m sure will be watching.

  Very Important Note For Readers

  Hung Out To Die was previously published under the title Damned If You Do, Hanged If You Don’t by G.M.Hague. The story has undergone significant editing and some rewriting, and re-released under the pen name Logan May to separate it from my other works published in very different genres. While this release has been heavily reworked, the storyline and characters are essentially the same. If you’ve previously read Damned If You Do, Hanged If You Don’t, I suggest you return this title for a refund.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

  Hung Out To Die.

  ONE

  As far as derelict warehouses go, this one was typical—apart from the corpse hanging from the rafters. The body cast a grim, long shadow from the beams of cold sunlight streaming from a line of skylights in the roof.

  The place was big, built on an old harbour dock with wooden piers beneath and a weathered timber floor. A labyrinth of forgotten packing crates was piled high along with sea containers and stacks of loading pallets covered by musty sacking. The abandoned goods created a maze of narrow passages and alleys that stank of rat’s droppings and rotting hessian. Outside, seagulls could be heard wheeling hopefully above the wharves and ships, the water of Port Phillip Bay below them glinting under the weak winter sun with patches of spilled oil and scum-lined waste. The next stop south was Tasmania, then Antarctica. The sunlight had so little warmth that these might have been a stone’s throw away, not thousands of miles.

  The dead man was suspended above a clear area among the clutter and near the middle of the building. In the gloom, the circle of surrounding boxes and rubbish was like the edge of miniature, dusty city.

  Lukas Boston stared up at the corpse and said, ‘Yep, I know him. Edward Rewold. The last time I saw him, he looked a lot healthier. Not so... blue around the face, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Was he a miserable bastard?’ Detective Peter Goodall asked. ‘Miserable enough to do this to himself?’

  ‘Not at all. He needed a good private investigator and I came highly recommended—highly recommended. You don’t hear that too often, do you?’

  ‘Certainly not where you’re concerned,’ Goodall said. ‘What was the problem?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. Client confidentiality and all that. I’m sure you understand, Pete.’

  ‘I understand that your client is dead and hanging from the roof. He won’t be putting in any complaints.’

  The two men stood side by side. Lukas was tall and lean, with a shock of black curly hair and brooding, green eyes. Goodall looked more like the policeman he was—spending too much time at his desk and gaining pounds on his already thickset body with every donut he ate. His hair was thinning and grey. Both of them hunched into heavy coats. The air was chilly and a wind coming off the water made it sharper. Inside, the shadows seeped a dank, unpleasant cold.

  Lukas said, ‘Your powers of detective observation are almost Sherlock Holmes-like at time, Pete. I’m impressed.’

  Goodall just looked at Lukas, waiting.

  ‘And I’ve got my professional reputation to consider. A very good one, apparently.’

  ‘Give me a break, Lukas. We haven’t got all bloody day.’

  Lukas looked hurt. ‘All right, keep your shirt on. I’m investigating a bit of in-house robbery in Rewold’s home. Probably done by one of his own family, so he doesn’t want to call you blokes in. Rewold’s really pissed off, but prefers to keep it private.’

  ‘How much are we talking about?’

  ‘Money? I don’t know.’ Lukas shrugged. ‘But I’m guessing that it was little more than petty cash for this guy. Hardly worth stretching your neck for.’

  ‘Seriously? You don’t know how much?’

  Lukas protested his innocence with a gesture. It was true, Rewold hadn’t told him.

  Goodall said, ‘He’s on the wrong side of eighty. Maybe a terminal illness and he didn’t want kick the bucket too slow?’

  ‘Fit as a fiddle when I saw him.’

  One of the forensic team walked past. Although she was dressed in a baggy, white overall she had a shapely figure underneath it, so the two men still watched appreciatively.

  ‘Hi Denise, how’s it been going?’ Lukas asked lightly.

  Without turning around or saying anything, Denise flipped him a middle finger and kept going.

  Goodall said, ‘Have you been disappointing my female officers again?’

  ‘Okay, let me ask you,’ Lukas said. ‘How many times can you expect to sleep with a woman before she should start thinking that the relationship is... you know, exclusive? That you shouldn’t be having sex with anyone else?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Goodall thought it over. ‘Three times maybe. Four tops, I guess?’

  Lukas was annoyed. ‘Well, there you go. You and Denise apparently have a few things in common, strangely enough. Personally, I would have said five or six times, right?’

  ‘Did you count the early dates? Going out to dinner and stuff without taking her home afterwards? The nights without sex?’

  ‘Without sex?’

  Goodall sighed. ‘Hard to imagine, I know, Lukas.’

  ‘All right, assume that happens, do they count?’

  ‘Of course, they count.’

  Lukas pulled a face and muttered something.

  Goodall said, ‘How’d she find out about the other woman?’

  ‘First hand, unfortunately. I really must figure out a better place to hide my spare front door key.’

  Goodall blew out his cheeks in sympathy, but hid a pleased smile. He nodded at the hanging man. ‘Notice anything strange?’

  Lukas obliged, studying the corpse again. ‘Rewold’s wearing a really nice suit and he’s got bare feet. A Paul McCartney fan?’

  Goodall squinted at him. ‘What?’

  ‘You know, that picture of the Beatles crossing the street in front of Abbey Road studios and Paul McCartney’s got no shoes on...’ Lukas’ voice trailed off as he saw Goodall wasn’t interested. ‘You don’t like the Beatles?’

  ‘I’m a Johnny Cash guy myself,’ Goodall said flatly. ‘Real country and western, not that bubblegum country shit they play now.’ He pointed at the body. ‘Why don’t you take a closer look?’

  Careful not to distu
rb any of the forensic people, Lukas stood right next to Rewold and examined him, waiting for something to leap out. He started saying, ‘Maybe he didn’t want to piss on his best shoes? Sometimes they think about stuff like that—’ Lukas stopped, surprised as one of the forensic team took a cue from Goodall and lifted the corpse’s legs, one by one, so Lukas could see the soles of Rewold’s feet.

  On the bottom of one foot in green marker pen was written “Lukas” and on the other was “Boston”.

  ‘That’s odd,’ Lukas said.

  ‘You think so? That’s why you’re here,’ Goodall told him. ‘Mind you, there’s always odd shit happening whenever you’re involved. What the hell is it about you?’

  ‘Why does it always have to be my fault?’

  ‘Because it usually is your fault. Are you still saying this has nothing to do with your missing petty cash?’

  ‘Let’s not rush into anything.’

  ‘No one’s paying you by the hour here, Lukas.’

  Lukas ignored that, thoughtfully regarding the body. ‘Have the rest of the Rewolds been informed he’s dead?’

  ‘Yes, but nobody’s been interviewed. We just broke the news and no one exactly burst into tears. You’d think we’d told them their pet parrot had fallen off the perch. A little suspicious, if you ask me.’

  ‘Then why not let me talk to the family first? I might get more out of them.’

  ‘If you think it’s worth a try.’

  Lukas stared up at the corpse’s face and thought, And I can try talking to someone else, too. Like maybe this guy.

  TWO

  Two hours later Lukas was sitting in the lounge room of Rewold Manor, a stately home in Toorak, one of Melbourne’s oldest and more prestigious suburbs. The house around him was huge and ornate, over a hundred years old with paneled walls and open fire places like the one with a crackling pile of blazing logs next to Lukas now. Wide staircases with polished handrails wound to the upper floors. Lukas would have guessed the chair he sat in was antique and worth more money than he earned in a year. That would explain why it was killing his back and made his arse completely numb.

  In an identical chair facing him sat the late Edward Rewold. Edward’s wizened expression was giving nothing away.

  ‘Come on, Eddy. You’re making this a whole lot harder than it needs to be. Just tell me what the hell’s going on and we can clear the whole thing up. I’ll still find your stolen cash and… I dunno, give it to your solicitor or something. No one else needs to know.’

  Edward stared back at him and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face.

  Lukas said, ‘See? I knew you were playing games, you crafty old sod.’

  Edward disappeared.

  Lukas sighed. That was the trouble dealing with damned ghosts. When it came to holding out on giving critical information or just being difficult, the bastards always vanished when the going got tough. Lukas swore quietly and sat back—then jerked forward painfully as something in the stupid, antique bloody chair tried to bore a hole in his spine. Lukas had spent plenty of time tied to a variety of chairs for unpleasant reasons, but these things took discomfort to a new level without resorting to ropes and sharp knives.

  ‘You’re not helping, you know that don’t you?’ he asked the empty air.

  Someone knocked softly on the door.

  ‘It’s okay, you can come in,’ Lukas called.

  Theresa Rewold peered cautiously around the door. She asked timidly, ‘Has it helped at all? Did you connect with the room? Get some kind of vibe?’

  Lukas hadn’t told anyone what he was really trying to do—have a chat to Edward Rewold’s spirit. Instead, he’d explained it was all about tuning into the crime scene where the safe had been robbed. Getting a feel for the room. It sounded all a bit Zen and rubbish, but the Rewold family swallowed it.

  ‘It’s been very interesting.’ Lukas gestured for her to come in.

  She slipped inside and, before closing the door, turned and leaned out to check the hall behind her, bending over rather more than necessary. Lukas wasn’t about to complain. She had a full figure with a slim waist in a classic hour-glass shape. Long, auburn hair framed a pretty face and brown eyes. Her low-cut, short black dress was a spectacular success, as far as Lukas was concerned. He’d already discovered that Theresa was a flirt and a tease, and he hadn’t been surprised to learn Theresa had been married twice. It was a little strange how she’d been tragically widowed both times, but with a figure like that Lukas was willing to be understanding.

  ‘We’re alone,’ she announced breathlessly, coming in and standing with her back to the door, her breasts heaving hypnotically.

  Lukas was all too aware of that. ‘Oh, good… I guess.’

  ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘It’s hard to say, I’ll need to do it again. Tell me, are you sure everyone wants me to continue investigating this? Your father’s just died in a terrible way and you must all be grief-stricken. It’s not a good time to have a private investigator poking around the family home and looking for lost petty cash.’

  Theresa hurried over and sat in the chair opposite, leaning forward in a way that had Lukas further focused on her exposed cleavage for as long as he dared.

  ‘It was a lot of money, Lukas,’ she said secretively. ‘A veritable fortune and someone took it. Father would want you to continue.’

  ‘All right, if you insist.’ Really, Lukas had no intention of quitting since Edward had added the mystery of doodling Lukas’ name on the soles of his feet. ‘Why would anybody take the money?’ Lukas waved at the house around them. ‘There’s a squillion bucks in inheritance all around you. Why would anybody in the family bother with stealing anything?’

  Theresa lowered her voice. ‘Because no one knows how much share of the old boy’s money we’ll get when he dies—I mean, now he’s dead,’ she said hastily and threw in a look of remorse. ‘Some of us could get nothing. If you ask me, I think that stealing the safe’s contents might have been a crime of opportunity, grabbing a kind of insurance. A nest egg, if we’re cut adrift.’

  ‘That’s quite a theory, although it still seems a little drastic,’ Lukas said to her bosom, then managed to drag his eyes upwards to Theresa’s liquid, come-to-bed eyes. ‘We really should bring the police in, you know. They have much better resources than me—fingerprints and DNA... all that stuff.’

  ‘No, this is a family matter and that’s how father wanted it. No one broke in, nobody escaped the house. The contents of the safe are still here somewhere. Somebody within these walls is the culprit.’

  Yep, that narrows it down, Lukas figured. The house was enormous.

  He looked thoughtful to impress her. It usually worked. ‘Tell me, I hope you’re not offended but... you’ve lost two husbands, right? So I guess you’re quite comfortable in a financial kind of way?’

  ‘Are you trying to establish an alibi for me, Mr Boston? How sweet.’ Theresa fluttered her eyes.

  ‘Ah… call me Lukas, please. I’m only getting background information on everybody here. It’s a part of the process.’

  ‘Probing people for the truth? That’s all right, you can probe me as much as you want. I’ve got nothing I want to hide.’

  Lukas cleared his throat. ‘So, what can you tell me about your past marriages?’

  ‘Oh, they were just bad investments.’

  ‘You mean, your husbands had bad investments, right?’

  Theresa sat up and sort of jiggled impressively.

  She said stiffly, ‘They were both stockbrokers who couldn’t tell the difference between a good stock bond and a free hamburger voucher. Poor Cecil took his own life, hanging himself when the pressure became too much. Albert, on the other hand, died of food poisoning. An unfortunate luncheon sandwich.’

  Lukas tried to look sympathetic, something he wasn’t very good at. ‘How awful for you. Still, I suppose you must have sued somebody for damages after that? A law suit of some kind?’

  ‘He
made his own lunches, Lukas.’

  Seconds ticked by as Lukas searched for an answer.

  ‘Dreadful luck. It just goes to prove that good hygiene in the kitchen is so important these days,’ he managed. ‘What about your father? Why on earth would he kill himself?’

  ‘Perhaps, because he took a good look at himself in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw? My father suffered from an over-abundance of greed, spite and a sick sense of humour. Maybe his conscience finally got the better of him? On the other hand, he was quite old and this could be his way of making things difficult for the rest of us one last time?’

  ‘He seemed quite a nice guy to me,’ Lukas said, eyeing the shadows.

  ‘Like hell, he couldn’t even just die like a normal person, damn it. All I can say is that some things, Lukas, are wide open for interpretation at the right time and others are not.’

  It didn’t make much sense until Theresa did a leg-crossing move that had Lukas mesmerised. She arched an eyebrow at him to make sure the message got through.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, clearing his throat again. ‘Okay, back to the… ah, theft. You think someone cleaned the safe out in case there’s no money for them in the will?’

  ‘It makes sense to me. I didn’t do it, of course. I’m just saying, that would be my guess.’

  ‘Does everyone know how much money was supposed to be inside it?’

  Theresa did the leg-crossing act again. Lukas unconsciously followed it, his head nodding. She said, ‘Yes, because father used to taunt us about it. He said the safe was filled with treasure and cash just sitting there with nothing to do.’

  ‘How does that work? What, you’re all broke?’

  With a wan smile Theresa said carefully, ‘Let’s say the financial arrangements around here don’t put a lot of disposable income in our wallets. We don’t get much money to spend on ourselves.’