MARK KANE MYSTERIES

BOOK SIX

I SPY

Copyright © 2015 by John Hemmings

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by MKM Enterprises

Cover by Octagon

Table of Contents

About the Author

THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR

FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS

Preface

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

A Word from the Author

Book One: Forget Me Not

Book Two: Ice

Book Three: The Black Widow

Book Four: Till Death

Book Five: Missing

Book Six: I Spy

Book Seven: A Tangled Web

About the Author

John Hemmings is a lawyer and writer of crime fiction with a one hundred percent record − none of his clients have been executed...yet! Some of his stories are inspired by actual cases he has worked on, but names have been changed to protect the innocent – and sometimes the guilty!

Each of his books features Boston private investigator Mark Kane, or simply Kane as he is known to most people, and his longtime companion Lucy − a slightly oddball couple with a somewhat unconventional relationship.

"I write for enjoyment − the sort of books that I hope have broad appeal in the mystery/detective genre; the kind of books I like to read myself − and as a family man I write for all ages − the sex private (even private eyes like a bit of privacy!), the language tempered. Take a look at those movies from the thirties and forties: Edward G. Robinson, Cagney, Bogart; the lack of strong language didn't take away anything from the air of menace those guys exuded. Of course, they wouldn’t have talked like that in real life, but then a movie or a novel is not ‘real life’."

"I have used my experience to make the stories as authentic as possible, although these books are intended as entertainments, so a little 'poetic license' is sometimes necessary. As for 'character development', this is a series told in real time. While each book is a standalone story, as my readers progress through the books more is gradually revealed about my protagonist and his sidekick. My readers sometimes ask me what Kane & Lucy look like; but as to their physical appearance well, that's the beauty of books over movies - they look just like each reader imagines they look."

To contact the author, please go to http://johnhemmings.net/contact

THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR

‘Things are not always as they seem’ – Phaedrus

For Kimberly

FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS

Chapter One: Open and Shut

Chapter Two: The Watch

Chapter Three: An Accidental Death

Chapter Four: Nessun Problema

Chapter Five: The Doppelganger

Chapter Six: Trish

Chapter Seven: The Tape

Chapter Eight: The Briefcase

Chapter Nine: Ten Days

Chapter Ten: A Low Profile

Chapter Eleven: Another Busy Day

Chapter Twelve: A Skeleton in the Closet

Chapter Thirteen: Some Bad News

Chapter Fourteen: A Safe Place

Chapter Fifteen: Elm Ridge

Chapter Sixteen: Following Orders

Chapter Seventeen: A Sense of Drama

Chapter Eighteen: Tweedledum and Tweedledee

Chapter Nineteen: Lucy’s Case

Chapter Twenty: Feeling Down

A Word from the Author

Mark Kane Mysteries Series

Book One: Forget Me Not

Book Two: Ice

Book Three: The Black Widow

Book Four: Till Death

Book Five: Missing

Book Six: I Spy

Book Seven: A Tangled Web

Preface

In writing this series I think it only fair to acknowledge my debt to that master of the detective genre, Raymond Chandler. Whilst I could never hope to produce narratives of such accomplishment, nor produce such a memorable hero as Philip Marlowe, in writing this series of novels I have nevertheless tried to be true to Mr. Chandler’s concept of what a private detective novel should comprise. I have adopted his famous guidelines, not simply because I admire him as a peerless writer of private detective crime fiction but because I believe they truly encapsulate everything that a good crime novel should be, namely:

It should be credibly motivated, both as to the original situation and the dénouement.

It should be technically sound as to the methods of murder and detection.

It should be realistic in character, setting and atmosphere. It must be about real people in a real world.

It should have a sound story value apart from the mystery element: i.e., the investigation itself must be an adventure worth reading.

It should have enough essential simplicity to be explained easily when the time comes.

It must baffle a reasonably intelligent reader.

The solution must seem inevitable once revealed.

It should not try to do everything at once. If it is a puzzle story operating in a rather cool, reasonable atmosphere, it cannot also be a violent adventure or a passionate romance.

It must punish the criminal in one way or another; not necessarily by operation of the law, but if the detective fails to resolve the consequences of the crime, the story is an unresolved chord and leaves irritation behind it.

It must be honest with the reader.

As for the hero, Chandler also had firm views. The morality of the detective is paramount. In his essay, ‘The Simple Art of Murder’, he wrote: ‘Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor – by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world’.

If Mr. Chandler were alive today it is doubtful that he would be impressed by my clumsy attempts at writing crime fiction, but I hope he would be satisfied with my attempts to carry on a fine tradition.

Chapter One

Open and Shut

“Seems like what we have here, Sam, is a classic example of an open and shut case.”

“Okay, run me through what we’ve got.”

“Caucasian couple, late thirties. Female probably killed by a single blow from a tire iron. Lot of blood. Murder weapon lying nearby the body on the kitchen floor. Husband, about the same age, hanging in the garage. Both dead for at least twelve hours. Neighbor called it in. She made a preliminary ID of the husband’s body – after we cut it down. Forensics inside sifting through everything, bodies still in situ; the pathologist arrived about twenty minutes ago. She’s in the kitchen.”

“You got some names for me?”

“Bob and Cynthia Hughes. According to the neighbor he worked as an accountant, she ran a care center downtown. Nothing known about either. Seemed like a normal, regular couple. Neighbor’s still in shock so we got someone taking care of her and her little girl.”

“So he killed his wife than hanged himself?”

“Looks like it. We’ll know more when forensics are through, but there was no attempt to clean the place up or dispose of the weapon, and there’s no sign of any forced entry or anything else disturbed, so it seems like Bob went off the rails, killed his old lady and then hanged himself. Like I said, an open shutter.”

Lieutenant Sam Malone walked past the detective and up the three steps into the front porch. The usual businesslike bustle was all around him. He walked into the kitchen. Pauline Granger, dressed all in white, was stooped over the woman’s body.

“Hi Pauline.”

“Hi Sam. They get you out of bed for this one? I’m almost done here.”

“Yeah, I didn’t turn in until well after midnight. Single blow to the head with a tire iron, Kelly said.”

“I think so. There’s some of her hair on the iron – it was found over there by the sink. Looks like the perpetrator cleaned himself up some at the sink then went into the garage and said goodbye cruel world. He died of asphyxia by strangulation; the drop wasn’t enough to break his neck.”

A couple of detectives were bagging up some odds and ends for analysis. It seemed like everything was being taken care of. Strictly routine. Domestic killing and suicide. It wasn’t the first he’d seen and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last either.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave Kelly in charge down here and go back to bed. How long until I get your report?”

“Couple of days ought to do it; unless there are any unforeseen complications.”

Malone walked through to the living room. There was no sign that any disturbance had occurred in there. Everything in its place. A paperback novel open and upside down on the coffee table. A scattering of the usual silver-framed photographs on the mantel. Sam walked over and looked at the photos. Mr. and Mrs. Hughes at their wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Hughes on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Mr. and Mrs. Hughes sitting under a parasol − in the back yard he guessed. He walked over to the window and peered out into the yard. Yep; there it was.

“I’m going home, Sean, bring me what you’ve got this afternoon,” Sam said to Kelly as he walked out through the front door. He got into his car, fired the motor and headed back to bed.

*

The young man standing on the platform was wearing a navy-blue woolen overcoat and carrying a black leather briefcase in his left hand. He was peering up the rail tracks and kept looking at his watch and moving from one foot to the other. He appeared anxious, or maybe it was impatience. He was smoking a cigarette and wishing he hadn’t had those last couple of shots at Blarney’s. That and the blow he’d had in the john. He was feeling pretty jacked-up; he wasn’t supposed to be using when he was working – if the boss found out he’d be more than pissed. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal ordinarily, but this wasn’t an ordinary day. This was his first real test and everything had to go off without a hitch.

He looked anxiously at his watch again and then turned and looked around him. The platform was pretty crowded. He had to be careful. Who was that? Seemed to be a guy watching him, but as soon as their faces met he looked away. He turned back and looked northwards up the track. Must be paranoia; he’d read about that. Too much blow could make you paranoid.

He was cold. He put the briefcase down on the platform and reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pair of black leather gloves and put them on. “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself under his breath. Another couple of minutes. Another couple of minutes. It was like a mantra going through his head.

He looked back at the platform, peering carefully at the faces in the gloom. Then he heard the sound of the train as it neared the station. He turned back towards the train’s direction.

“Yeah, baby, here she comes,” he said softly to himself as the train lumbered towards the platform. He leant down to pick up his briefcase.

*

It was two o’clock in the afternoon when Kelly knocked on the door of Malone’s office.

“Got the preliminary report typed up, Sam. You want me to go over it with you?”

“Sure, pull up a chair.”

“Okay. The neighbor’s Beth Alwin. She’s lived next door to the Hughes’s for about six years. Didn’t know them that well, but they got on just fine. Mrs. Alwin’s husband, Seth, is away for a few days on business. Or he was, but he’s back now to take care of her. She’s okay though. She went to bed after midnight and noticed the lights were still on in the Hughes household. That was unusual, but not so unusual that it rang any alarms. She couldn’t sleep; says it’s often like that when her husband’s away. She got up at three to make herself a hot drink and noticed the lights were still on next door. She was curious but she went back to bed. She got up again at six and noticed the lights were still on. She pulled on a housecoat and went to see if everything was okay. Everything wasn’t okay; so she called it in.”

“Anybody else?”

“No, the neighbors on the other side and across the street have all been questioned. None of them saw or heard anything. Oh, the little girl – Beth’s daughter, Claudia. She says she saw Bob Hughes driving away from the house yesterday evening. I ran that past Pauline because her preliminary finding was that the deaths both occurred at least twelve hours before the bodies were found. She says that now she’s had some time to do more calculations she puts the deaths at fifteen hours before her examination, give or take but not by much. So the little girl’s obviously mistaken. She’s only nine and it would have been getting dark around that time.”

“What time was it?”

“Around six to six thirty she thinks. Said she saw him drive off in a gray sedan. She didn’t notice the time so she couldn’t be specific. Mrs. Alwin says she never saw a gray sedan, and Bob’s car was in the garage when we found him. It’s a light blue Honda. Like I said, I guess she’s got a bit mixed up.”

“She didn’t see anyone go in or out of the house?”

“No, she just said she saw him in a gray sedan, driving away.”

“Any kin?”

“Not that we know of. Not yet anyway.”

“What does Mrs. Alwin say about her neighbors? About their relationship?”

“Nothing much. Like I said they weren’t close neighbors; but she never heard them arguing or saw anything to suggest they had any problems. Said they seemed a fairly ordinary couple.”

“Well I want a full examination of anything in the vicinity of either body which might yield prints or DNA. Let’s not be sloppy about this one just because it seems simple. I want to know if anything points to someone else being in that house.”

“Well, I guess a lot of people have been in the house. We haven’t got to the stage yet where the lab boys are able to tell us how recently prints or DNA were left behind.”

“Just do a thorough job is all I’m asking Sean, okay?”

“You’re the boss.”

“And see if you can find any kin, okay?”

“Sure, I got a couple of guys doing the rounds on that one.”

After Kelly left, Sam swiveled his chair around to face the window. He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, locking his fingers together. What caused a sudden explosion of rage in a seemingly normal house-hold? An argument? An infidelity? Alcohol or drugs? Who knew?

*

“Where the hell is he?” Mike Kingsley was pacing up and down the living room, looking at his watch.

“Maybe the traffic dad,” Clare said.

“Come on Clare, he’s known about this for weeks. It’s not just any anniversary. Thirty years – it’s quite a milestone. Traffic’s something we all have to make allowances for.”

“Well we can delay the meal for a bit longer,” Rob said.

“That’s not the point. It’s selfish. It shows a total lack of respect for his mother.”

“You want me to call him?” Tim said.

“What’s the point? I guess he’ll show up sooner or later. He can’t have forgotten, surely.”

“Of course not,” Rob said. “Tim talked to him this morning, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Tim said guardedly as he came into the living room. “He asked me what time we’d be eating.”

“He asked you that? Well he must have known he’d be late then. Why didn’t he say something?”

“He said he’d got an appointment. Said he’d get here as soon as he could.”

“Well he might have had the courtesy to call me and let me know if he was going to be late. Anyway, who the hell would he have an appointment with?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t say.”

“He doesn’t even have a job as far as I know. It’s nearly eight − who would he have an appointment with at this time of night?”

Rob, Clare and Tim gave each other knowing looks and Clare raised her eyebrows. Their father had his back to them.

“I don’t know what the hell I did wrong with that kid. Gave him too much, probably. Made things too easy for him. Not enough discipline.”

“You treated us all the same, dad,” Clare said.

“But he doesn’t even try,” Mike said. “He always expected everything on a plate. None of the rest of you took everything for granted.”

“Dad, there’s no use getting up-tight about it. He’ll show up.”

“When was the last time any of you saw him? I haven’t seen him for months.”

“I ran into him a about week ago outside Walmart. He was…”

“Was what?”

“Never mind…nothing,” Clare said.

Mike Kingsley sighed heavily. “Well, let’s get this show on the road,” he said. He walked out of the living room and into the dining room. Clare moved across the room and closed the door quietly. She turned to her brothers.

“I can’t tell him, guys. It would break his heart.”

“He’s going to find out sooner or later.”

“Maybe we could all get together, the three of us, and talk to him.”

“To dad?” Tim said.

“No, to Freddy. Try to talk some sense into him.”

“We all know that’s pointless, Clare. Get real.”

“When I saw him at the store he told me he was keeping his head down; because of the Costa brothers.”

“Maybe he’s left town,” Tim said.

“We wish,” said Rob.

“Come on guys,” Clare said. “I know you two never got along with Freddy, but he’s your brother after all.”

“For what that’s worth,” Rob said.

“Rob…”

“Look Clare, the way things are going he’s going to drag us all down the sewer with him. What the hell do you think it will look like if he ends up doing time? The kind of job I do, family’s as important as anything else.”

“Yes, Clare,” Tim said. “And what’s it going to do to mom or dad when they finally find out?”

“Come on, guys. Let’s go and eat dinner. We’ll talk about this some more later.”

Chapter Two

The Watch

It was the Ides of March and I was celebrating with a cup of coffee I’d just made in a new-fangled device which Lucy had bought for me. It was a machine in which you inserted sealed pods of coffee, pressed a button and hey presto! It was the first time I’d tried it out and I was congratulating myself on my ability to handle this new piece of equipment when the phone rang. It was Lucy. Lucy was in the office and I wasn’t. Lucy was in the office because Brenda was having a day off.

“There’s a client to see you; a Miss Price. She’s here now,” Lucy said, “waiting in the front office. I’ve made her some coffee and told her you’ll be here in two shakes of a dog’s tail.”

“Were you expecting her this morning?”

“No. She didn’t make an appointment or anything; she just turned up. You want me to handle it? I can handle it if you like.”

It was a rare occasion for a potential client to attend the office, especially without a prior appointment.

“No, I could do with some fresh air; I’ll be over in a trice to see what it’s all about,” I said. “As soon as I’ve drunk my coffee,” I added.

I stuck an ice cube in the coffee to cool it down and was about to take a sip when the phone rang again.

“Mr. Kane?” a man’s voice said.

“Yes,” I said. “How may I help you?”

“My name’s Mike Kingsley. I just called your office and spoke to your assistant. She gave me your cell number. I’d like to make an appointment to see you as soon as possible,” he said.

“Well I have an appointment with a client who’s waiting for me in the office right now, but I can probably see you this afternoon if that would be convenient. How would three o’clock suit you?”

“That will be fine. I know where you are; I’ll be there at three, then.”

“Can you give me an idea about the nature of your inquiry?” I said.

“My son was killed last week,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I want you to investigate the circumstances of his death.”

“Okay; let’s discuss it in more detail this afternoon,” I said.

The Ides of March might not have been an auspicious day for Julius Caesar, I thought, but it was turning into a humdinger for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had two clients in one day.

I finished my coffee and drove the short distance to the office where Lucy introduced me to a rather attractive and sophisticated-looking blond called Angela Price. She looked a lot like a forty-year-old Veronica Lake, but perhaps I was influenced in my opinion by the plethora of old movie posters which adorned our front office.

“Well I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Price,” I said. “Shall we go through to my inner sanctum and you can tell me how you think I may be of assistance.”

Lucy made a face at me. I used words like ‘inner sanctum’ because I liked to josh her.

“I’m sorry to just show up like this without calling first,” she said. “The thing is I’ve been wondering what to do for a few days now and then I was driving past your office, saw the sign and decided on the spur of the moment,” she said, as we went inside.

“Well that’s quite alright,” I said. “Take a seat and we’ll see if we’re able to help you.”

“I thought I’d stepped into a Hollywood casting agent’s office by mistake,” she said, as she sat down, putting her purse on her lap and placing her hands on top of it.

“Oh, the posters? My assistant, Lucy here, thinks they set the right tone,” I said, “although I’m still somewhat undecided on the matter.”

“Well I think they’re wonderful,” she said, rather to my relief.

I smiled at her and she smiled back. Lucy smiled too.

“Now what can we do for you?” I said.

“I want you to solve a murder,” she said.

“I see,” I said, not being able to think of anything more suitable to say for the time being.

“It happened last week,” she said. “Someone I was rather close to.”

“Who was murdered?” I asked.

“He was a close friend. Well a little more than that. We had an intimate relationship. He was a married man, but it’s not quite how it sounds,” she said.

“Can you be a little more specific?”

She crossed her legs, leaning back in the chair as she did so.

“The man’s name was Bob Hughes. He used to work as an accountant. I work as a fashion magazine editor and I was one of his clients; that’s how we met. We were just friends at first, but we started a sexual relationship soon afterwards. His wife knew all about it – it wasn’t a clandestine affair. You see Bob’s wife had a miscarriage early in their marriage and after that she lost all interest in sexual intimacy; but they were perfectly settled in their relationship in all other respects. There was never any question of him leaving her. Bob was quite open with her about it and she actually thought the arrangement was a satisfactory solution to the problem. I expect this sounds really bizarre to you,” she said, “but that’s how it was.”

“What is Bob’s wife’s name?” I asked.

“Her name was Cynthia. I’m afraid she was murdered too – at the same time.”

“You’d better tell me more about the circumstances of their deaths,” I said. “Where did this happen?”

“Right here, in Boston.”

I raised my eyebrows at Lucy. She shook her head.

“How were they killed?” I said.

“Cynthia was found on the kitchen floor. She’d been struck on the back of the head with a tire iron. Bob was found hanged in the garage.”

“I assume the police are investigating the deaths?” I said.

“He didn’t do it,” she said. “He didn’t kill Cynthia and he didn’t kill himself.”

“Is that what the police have concluded?”

“Apparently; but I don’t accept it.”

“Have you been questioned in connection with the police investigation?” I said.

“Not at first. The police had no reason to make a connection between Bob and me. I approached the police officer in charge of the investigation myself because I knew it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“And how did you know that?”

“Because I knew him. There’s no way on earth that Bob could have done that. But of course, the police were only interested in evidence, not my opinion. I understand, and I don’t blame them for that. But there were other things.”

“Go on.”

“Well first, when they conducted the autopsy they found that Bob had consumed a large quantity of alcohol and swallowed barbiturates before he was hanged. Bob never drank, neither did Cynthia. They didn’t even have alcohol in the house. Of course, it was an exceptional case. The police simply took the view that he’d consumed the alcohol to give him Dutch courage before he hanged himself and had taken the barbiturates for the same reason. They even speculated that he may have killed Cynthia in an alcoholic rage.”

“Was there anything else that caused you to doubt the conclusion the police came to?”

Angela put her purse on the floor beside her. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk in front of her. She looked at me intently.

“Yes. There was his watch. I gave it to him. Well not really gave it to him; I mean I gave it to him to wear. It was a man’s watch and it was made to be worn – not kept in a bank vault or a display cabinet. When he was found it was missing. He always wore that watch – it was an antique watch that had been in my family for years. It was my father’s and his father’s before him. It was a Blancpain, made in the nineteen thirties – it’s very valuable. It’s worth over a hundred thousand dollars. You don’t have to take my word for it,” she said. “I have the insurance valuation.”

“So you still considered it your property?”

“Yes…well no. Look I never really analyzed it like that. But that’s not the point. It’s not about the ownership or value of the watch; it’s about Bob’s death.”

“How did you find out it was missing?”

“I went to the police. I showed them the insurance documents. I told them it was a family heirloom and I’d appreciate it being returned to me. It was of great sentimental value. As far as they were concerned there never was a watch. Nothing else was missing from the house. There was no sign of a forced entry, no indication that anything else was missing. It was ‘an open and shut case’ as far as the police were concerned. Maybe they thought I was trying to work some kind of insurance scam − I don’t know.”

“And of course you can’t make a claim because you’d given it away?”

“Exactly. But like I said it’s not about the money. That’s not why I’m here. I want you to investigate Bob’s death. I believe that somebody else murdered both of them. If you can find the watch then maybe it will lead to the real culprit.”

“You say you have the insurance details about the watch? Can you supply me with a picture and anything else about the watch which may help identify it?”

“Yes,” she said. “I have all that with me.” She picked up her purse, rummaged briefly through the contents and handed me a manila envelope. “You’ll find everything you need in there,” she said. “It’s got a unique serial number of course.”

“Okay, Miss Price. You give all the details to Lucy; she’ll take a copy of these documents and she’ll tell you about the costs involved. We’ll need to get hold of a copy of the police report – that shouldn’t be a problem – and we’ll follow up on anything we find which might help to solve this mystery. Who’s the officer in charge of the investigation?”

“Sam Malone.”

Lucy showed Miss Price out of the office and returned about fifteen minutes later.

“So what do you think?” she said.

“I think it’s an excellent case for you to handle yourself,” I said. “Get hold of the police report – I’ll give Malone a call about that and set it up for you. Then you can go through the report carefully to see if there’s anything significant the police may have missed. Then we’ll set about trying to trace the watch. From a brief look at the documents Miss Price has given us it’s no ordinary watch. It’s something that would ring alarm bells if someone tried to sell or pawn it I should think.”

“Aren’t we going to do this together?” she said.

“Well I’ll be here to help, of course, but I’ve got another client to see. His son’s been killed and he wants me to investigate the death. At the moment I don’t know any more than that.”

“When did this come up?” she said.

“Just before I arrived this morning. Mr. Kingsley – said he called the office and you gave him my cell.”

“Oh, yes. Wow, two cases in one day. One day nothing and then this.”

“Good job I’ve got an assistant,” I said. “Let’s go eat.”

“This job’s a bit like Forest Gump’s box of chocolates, isn’t it?” Lucy said, as we left the office. “You never know what you’re gonna get.”

Chapter Three

An Accidental Death

It was a little before three when Mr. Kingsley showed up. He was a tall and rather distinguished-looking man in his mid-fifties with silver-gray hair and a Roman nose. Lucy had already gone to get a copy of the police report about the Hughes murders.

“Right, Mr. Kingsley, please come in and tell me all about it,” I said.

Mike Kingsley perched himself on the edge of the chair, his hands clasped together in his lap. “Well I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “I’ve got – had − four children, three boys and a girl. The one who died − Freddy, he’s – he was the youngest. He was run over by a train at Dartmouth Street.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else I could usefully add, and it wasn’t the time or place for wisecracks so I sat patiently waiting for him to continue.

“The police believe it was simply a tragic accident. His autopsy showed the presence of significant amounts of both alcohol and cocaine in his system. They believe he slipped and fell or misjudged where the edge of the platform was.”

“And do you have any reason to believe otherwise?”

“No special reason. If it was an accident, and it was his own fault, then we must just pick up the pieces and get on with life; but I want to be sure – that’s why I want you to investigate the case.”

“Well off the top of my head all I can really do is look at the police report; see what evidence or other information they have gathered – but I may very well come to the same conclusion. Unless there’s something else you haven’t told me about yet.”

Kingsley sighed. He eased himself back in the chair and said. “There’s his background you see. It wasn’t unknown to me that Freddy used drugs. I didn’t approve of course but there was nothing I could do except talk to him; I’m afraid I gave that up years ago. He was twenty four, lived away from home since he was seventeen. He started drinking – binge drinking – when he was still in high school. I’m afraid he was a bit of a black sheep. My other children have all done well – college, good jobs and so on. My daughter, Clare, still lives with Audrey and me. My other sons, Tim and Rob share an apartment in the city. None of them had anything to do with Freddy anymore. Rob in particular was ashamed of Freddy; he works as a broker and was worried that it might adversely affect his career if Freddy got into serious trouble. You know what those broker houses are like – they abhor scandal of any sort. Freddy had been pulled in by the police a few times, although nothing too serious. But…”

Kingsley gazed out of the office window for a few moments, then he looked back towards me.

“I think Freddy may have been dealing. In drugs, I mean.”

“Many frequent users do that as a means of supporting their habit,” I said. “That stuff’s not cheap. Did he have a job?”

“Only casual jobs as far as I know. You know, store clerk, warehouseman that kind of thing. He never had anything steady that I knew of. My daughter tells me that lately he’d been unemployed.”

“And you think he may have fallen foul of somebody – that somebody might have killed him?”

“I can only say that it’s a possibility that I think should be looked into. I did raise it with the police but, well, I had nothing concrete to give them. The thing is I’ve learnt a few more things about Freddy since his death from my other children. It seems that they had reason to believe that he was perhaps on the verge of some sort of trouble, but they didn’t want to burden me and Audrey with that. Since his death they’ve opened up about their concerns – especially Clare.”

“You want to tell me about that?”

“The last one of us that saw Freddy was my daughter, Clare – she saw him outside a Walmart about a week or so before he was killed. He told her that he’d been keeping his head down because he owed money to some loan sharks – the Costa brothers. But he told her he’d soon be able to sort all that out. He was ‘moving up’ as he put it. He was driving some kind of fancy car when she saw him and was a lot better dressed than he normally was. She got the impression that he might have started dealing for one of the big boys.”

“Who are the Costa brothers − do you know?”

“No, I don’t. But apparently they’re well known as loan sharks in Dorchester and Roxbury.”

“Anything else significant?”

“The day he died he was supposed to attend a family gathering. That would have been unusual but it was a special occasion. It was our thirtieth wedding anniversary. I may not have approved of Freddy’s lifestyle but he was my son, after all. He was expected to attend.”

I waited, but he said nothing more. He seemed lost in thought.

“You’ve lost me, I’m afraid,” I said. “How does that figure in the overall scheme of things?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Because he knew how much we wanted the family to be together that night Tim, my eldest son, had telephoned Freddy that morning to remind him. And to make sure he stayed off the booze and drugs I guess. Tim told him we were all meeting at seven. Freddy confirmed he’d be there but he said he had an appointment and that he might be a little late. He asked what time we’d be eating. Tim told him eight o’clock; that’s all.”

“Did he say who the appointment was with or what it was about?”

“No. But he knew the anniversary dinner was important so I guess the appointment must have been more than a casual one. And what was he doing at the rail station? I can only assume that was where the appointment was.”

“Yes. I understand perfectly now; thank you. Since he was intending to attend the dinner I assume he wasn’t at the station to catch a train. Perhaps he was meeting someone off the train.”

“Unless at the last minute he decided to leave town – because of the Costa brothers. They’d been threatening him with various kinds of unpleasantness I understand.”

“Was there a CCTV camera at the station?”

“Yes, there was, but unfortunately it just isn’t possible to see what happened at the moment he fell – or was pushed. There were too many people. And apparently nobody saw him actually fall.”

I thought about it for a moment.

“There are two ways to explore what happened,” I said. “First the police report of course, but that may not shed any new light on the incident. But I think the ‘word on the street’ might be a valuable source of information. I do have informants I can use to find out more about that, although the more I know about who Freddy was involved with the more success I’m likely to have.”

“I can arrange for you to meet my children. They may have extra information or details they haven’t told me about. Probably it would be best for you to see them all together. And then there’s Trish; she was Freddy’s girlfriend. She’s a user too, I’m told, with a pretty bad record. I never met her and I don’t have any way to contact her. But again, my children might know.”

And with that I showed Kingsley back into the front office and asked Brenda to deal with the formalities. It was Brenda’s day off, but she’d agreed to come in after lunch because we were unusually busy.

“It will be a treat to have something to do for a change,” she had said brightly over the phone when I called her.

Chapter Four

Nessun Problema

I was back home when Lucy dropped by soon after five.

“Hi, how did it go with Mr. Kingsley? I’ve got a copy of the police report, the autopsy and the forensics. It seems as if pretty much everything’s already been completed.”

“Did Malone ask you what your angle was?”

“Yes. I told him about the watch.”

“What did he say?”

“Just raised his eyebrows at me in a pitying sort of way,” she said.

“I guess you haven’t had a chance to go over it all yet. Want to do it together?”

“Yes please.”

“Okay, let me get myself a drink and I’ll be right with you.”

“What’s the Kingsley case about then?”

“The apparently accidental death of his son which he thinks may not have been an accident.”

“How did he die?”

“A train ran over him.”

“Oh dear; three violent deaths for us to deal with in one day. I can see why you need a drink. Perhaps I’ll have one too. Just a glass of wine or something if that’s okay.”

I brought over the drinks and sat down on my recliner. Lucy sat on the sofa opposite me and dumped the files on the coffee table between us.

“What do you want to start on?” I said. “How about you look at the report from the officers at the scene and any witness statements they may have taken and I’ll look at the autopsy and forensics reports.”

“Okay, then we can swap.”

Cynthia Hughes had died of a massive brain trauma and was probably dead before she hit the ground, although the severing of an artery had left plenty of blood. The murder weapon was presumed to be a tire iron found nearby the body on the kitchen floor. Some of Cynthia’s hairs were stuck to the tire iron by her blood. There was more of her blood in the kitchen sink where the perpetrator had apparently washed his hands after the attack. On the edge of the sink was a smudge made out of a mixture of Cynthia’s blood and the perpetrator’s DNA. The DNA was that of the deceased found in the garage. More of his DNA was found on the tire iron. No DNA was found on or near Cynthia’s body except hers and that of the deceased. There were smudged fingerprints found on the tire iron which were insufficient to make a match.

Moving to the garage, the deceased was found hanging from a beam. It was surmised that he had probably climbed onto the hood or the roof of the vehicle before jumping off. The fall was insufficient to break his neck and anyway the knot in the rope was in the wrong place to break the axis vertebra − commonly known as the hangman’s fracture − so he’d died as a result of strangulation. So far no foreign prints or DNA had been found on the body, nor in the garage.

According to the autopsy report the deceased had sufficient alcohol in his blood to have made him three and a half times over the drink-drive limit and a significant amount of barbiturates. However, the report concluded that the concentration of alcohol and prescription drugs may not have been so high as to have prevented him climbing onto the vehicle. They would have made the tying of the knot in the rope difficult though and probably precluded the climb needed to string the rope over the garage beam. It was therefore concluded that in all probability the rope had been prepared before the deceased started drinking. This, in turn, suggested that both the murder of Cynthia and the suicide of Bob were premeditated. I thought that was a little presumptuous myself. It was equally possible that Cynthia’s murder had taken place first, when Bob was still sober, perhaps on the spur of the moment, and that he had then prepared the rope, swallowed some tablets and washed them down with vodka.

On the other hand the use of the tire iron to kill Cynthia did suggest premeditation since it would be an unusual object to have lying around in the kitchen. So it seemed to me that it was most likely that the deceased prepared the rope, seized the tire iron, went into the kitchen and killed Cynthia and then went back into the garage where he consumed the drugs and alcohol before hanging himself.

An almost empty bottle of vodka was found on a workbench inside the garage. The bottle of vodka had Bob’s fingerprints on the outside and his DNA was found on the rim of the bottle.

As open and shut a case as I had ever come across I thought, as I waited for Lucy to finish reading the police report.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything helpful here,” she said eventually. “It all seems very straightforward.”

“Tell me what you’ve got then,” I said.

“The neighbor, Mrs. Alwin, noticed that the lights were on all night in the house next door. In the morning, at about six, she went to have a look to make sure everything was alright there. She looked though the kitchen window and could see Mrs. Hughes lying on the floor and a lot of blood, so she called the police. Soon after the police arrived they found the body of Mr. Hughes in the garage and Mrs. Alwin was asked to identify Mr. Hughes’ body; they’d been next-door-neighbors for more than six years. There really isn’t anything else. All the other neighbors in the nearby houses were questioned but nobody had seen or heard anything.”

“There’s nothing I can see in the forensic reports or the autopsy findings either which suggests that the conclusions drawn by the police were incorrect in any important respect. Is there anything in the report about a watch?””

“There’s no mention of a watch anywhere in the report. There was no sign of a break-in. In fact the back door was unlocked and nothing in the house seems to have been disturbed. Nothing appeared to be missing either, as far as anyone was able to tell.” Lucy thought for a minute and then said, “Perhaps the story about the watch was made up by Miss Price merely as a means of trying to get us involved in investigating the case. On the off-chance that we might find something to suggest that her lover wasn’t the cold-blooded murderer he appears to have been.”

I went into the kitchen to fix myself another drink. “I think we should go and look at the premises,” I said. “But first I suggest that you make an appointment to talk to Mrs. Alwin. Can you go and see her tomorrow?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I need to get the report on Freddy Kingsley’s death tomorrow, and I need to contact a few of my snitches – see if they can shed any light on the Freddy Kingsley affair.”

“What sort of stuff?” Lucy said.

“Apparently young Freddy was a drug user, and it’s likely that he was selling too, possibly for one of the bigger outfits. He also owed money to a couple of unsavory characters called the Costa brothers. On the evening he died he was due to attend a family gathering for his parents’ wedding anniversary. He told his brother he’d be a little late for the celebration because he had an appointment. There’s no explanation as to what he was doing at the train station so it seems likely that he had some kind of rendezvous arranged there. The CCTV footage is inconclusive but I’ve no idea yet what any of the eye witnesses may have seen, although Kingsley says that nobody admitted to seeing anything. Anyway, I told Kingsley that I’d see what the word on the street was; if anybody knows what Freddy had been up to lately. I could study the report first, but if there’s anything known on the street then the sooner I put my minions to work the better. So I’m going to be pretty tied up all day I’m afraid.”

“Nessun problema,” Lucy said.

“What?”

“I told you – I’m brushing up on my Italian. Mom and dad want me to go with them to the old country in the fall; to see our relatives there.”

“Lycka till,” I replied.

Chapter Five

The Doppelganger

Benny Spitz’s table manners were as unappealing as his general appearance. He’d been dunking his donut and a sizeable portion was now floating in his coffee and only some of the rest of it had found its way cleanly into his mouth. He wiped the back of his hand over his lips.

“So that’s my take on it so far,” I said, having given Spitz an overview of the inquiry. “Now what do you know about the Costa brothers?”

“They’re Italian. They loan-shark, mainly to drug users. It’s good business because they know that the only way for their clients to repay is to deal in more drugs, and the Costa brothers’ old man is a big player in drug scene in Boston. So they borrow money from the Costa brothers and the Costas steer them towards their old man’s outfit where they can buy drugs to sell on to support their own habit and make money to repay the loan.”

“So if Freddy owed money to the Costa brothers he may have been buying his drugs from their dad?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, I want you to see what you can find out,” I said. “I’ll meet you same time, same place tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure thing, Kane. How’s Lucy? I heard the two of you’s workin’ together now.”

“Oh, who told you that?” I said.

He grinned and tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger leaving a small residue of donut sticking on the tip. He wiped his nose and mouth with the back of his hand again.

“I’m going to get Len and Blue onto this too,” I said. “So don’t feed me any horseshit.”

“It pains me to hear you talk like that Mr. Kane after all the times I’ve helped you out in the past.”

I called over the waitress and paid the check. I left a twenty on the table for Benny.

“Here’s a little something to be going on with,” I said.

“Gee thanks, Kane. Good to be doing business with you again.”

“Don’t drink it all at once,” I said.

I walked over to headquarters to keep the appointment I’d made with Lieutenant O’Grady who was handling the Kingsley case.

“The case is all wrapped up as far as the department’s concerned,” he said. “What’s your interest in it?”

“The boy’s father thinks it may not have been an accident,” I said. “He wants me to look into it. So if I can have a copy of the file I’d like to take a look at what the eyewitnesses said. I don’t suppose there’s anything confidential is there?”

“What eyewitnesses would they be?”

“I understand the platform was quite crowded. So much so that there’s no clear view of what happened from the CCTV.”

“Well, if you want to watch a video with nothing helpful on it and read a bunch of statements from people who didn’t see anything, be my guest.”

“What, none of them?”

“Not the ones we spoke to. A lot of them had left by the time we arrived and the rest just wanted to get home as soon as possible.”

“How did Kingsley get to the station – was there a vehicle?”

“Sure, it was parked nearby. Nothing of any significance was found in there.”

“Is there any CCTV of the station entrance?”

O’Grady leafed through the file.

“Maybe. Yes, at the entrance, but we don’t have it. Didn’t seem relevant what time he arrived. Look, the kid was drunk and high on coke. It was an accident. Case closed. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.”

“Can you see if you can get me the other CCTV – the entrance?”

O’Grady looked over at me wearily. “Look you’ve done some good work for us in the past Kane – and you’re an ex-cop; that’s why you’re still sitting there. I’m a busy man but I’ll see what I can do. One proviso.”

“Shoot.”

“If you dig anything up don’t tell me about it, okay? I’m up to my neck at the moment.” He tossed a copy of the file at me.

I had a couple more guys to see before heading home. It was one of my rare forays downtown these days. I met up briefly with Len and then Blue. They were to be my eyes and ears on the street. Anything relevant to Freddy Kingsley – whether fact or gossip – was of interest to me I told them. They would only get paid by results so they’d make it their business to find out what they could. Blue was black and I’d never asked him how he got his nickname. By three o’clock I was on the way home.

I called Kingsley when I got back.

“I’ve got a copy of the report, Mr. Kingsley. You probably already know that his car was parked nearby, but nothing of significance was found. There’s a CCTV at the station entrance. The police haven’t seen it but they’re going to get it for me. It’ll at least show us what time he arrived and how long he waited there; maybe show us if he was alone or if anyone was following him. I’ll let you know. In the meantime I’d like for you to arrange that meeting with your children and to give me a couple of photos of Freddy. Can you fix that up for tomorrow?”

“Yes. Saturday, so there’ll be no problem. Shall we come to your office or…?”

“I can come there, Mr. Kingsley, if that would suit you better.”

“Okay. Say eleven, would that be okay?”

“I’ll see you then,” I said, and settled down to read the report.

*

Lucy bounced in at about five looking pleased with herself. She plonked herself down on the sofa and looked at me.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” she said.

I waited − she was itching to tell me.

“Mrs. Alwin told me that her daughter, Claudia, saw Bob Hughes driving away from the house at about six to six thirty on the evening before his body was found.”

“And did she tell the police that?” I asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Alwin was there when they spoke to her.”

“So is Claudia’s statement in the file?”

“No. That’s what’s so curious,” she said. “Why do you think that is?”

“How old is Claudia?”

“Nine.”

“Probably there’s no statement in the file because the police decided not to follow up on it.”

“Why?”

“Because, according to the pathologist, Bob Hughes was hanging by the neck in his garage at six to six thirty, dead as a doornail.”

“Perhaps the pathologist made a mistake.”

I sighed. “Or perhaps the nine-year-old girl did,” I said. “When the pathologist examined the body at about seven a.m. she calculated that Bob Hughes had been dead for at least twelve hours. Later she revised that to fifteen hours after a detailed examination in the lab. That puts his death at about four o’clock the previous afternoon, maybe earlier but not later. Obviously these are estimates but they’re pretty reliable estimates. All bodies go through the same processes after death; it’s a fairly exact science these days unless there are complicating factors.”

“Like what?”

“Like extreme environmental factors. You know, extremes of temperature, that sort of thing. Let me explain it to you in simple terms. To determine the time of death in a recent homicide the pathologist relies on two main factors – the degree of rigor mortis and the temperature of the body. Rigor mortis starts about four hours after death, affecting the eyelids and smaller muscles first and then spreading to the larger ones. Rigor is caused by the body being starved of oxygen. Full rigor occurs after twelve hours in normal circumstances and both bodies had reached that state, therefore the pathologist was able to say that death had occurred at least twelve hours before her examination. Then she took the temperatures of both bodies.

“When a person dies they lose body temperature at a uniform rate – the pathologist states in her report that this is one and a half degrees centigrade per hour. Scientists prefer the centigrade scale because it’s easier and more precise in these circumstances. The body will continue to lose heat until it’s the same temperature as the room – what they refer to as the ambient temperature. The ambient temperature in the kitchen was sixty eight degrees and Cynthia’s body had already reached that temperature, but the temperature in the garage was lower. The temperature of Bob’s body was fifty nine degrees, so doing the math she calculated that he’d been dead for fifteen hours. Making the logical assumption that Cynthia died first – I mean she can hardly have hit herself on the back of the head – the pathologist therefore concluded that both had been dead for at least fifteen hours. It’s all in the report.”

“So you think maybe it was someone else she saw driving away?”

“I take it you haven’t talked to Claudia – only to her mom.”

“Right, she was at school. I’m going to go back there now though.” She looked at her watch.

“Okay. Well look, when you talk to her please tell her to be as specific as possible. I mean what does ‘driving away from the house’ mean? Was the car in the driveway or was it parked out in the street? Did she see the man get into the car, or was he already in the car when she saw him? It would have been dusk at that time. How far away was the car, and was her view obstructed in any way? Okay?”

Lucy frowned. “Of course I’ll ask her all those things,” she said, slightly irritably.

“And try to gauge how reliable she is. Nine-year-olds vary considerably.”

“But they should have taken a formal statement from her anyway,” Lucy said sternly.

“Hey wait a minute. Don’t you go making waves with the police about what they should or shouldn’t have done. You can think it, but don’t level any criticism at them openly. We get a lot of cooperation from the police here in Boston and it would make our lives a whole lot harder if we lose that.”

“I’m only saying it to you,” she said huffily. “So you don’t think there’s anything in it then?”

“She may have seen a man driving away from the house, whatever that means. But you can bet your bottom dollar it wasn’t Bob,” I said.

“Why don’t you come with me,” she said, “so that you can ‘gauge her reliability’ yourself.” She did the finger quote thing to get back at me.

“Okay, well let’s go now, before it starts to get dark, and we can take a look at the scene of the crime.”

“The locus in quo,” Lucy said.

“Yes, that too,” I quipped.

“Did you get the report for the Kingsley case?” Lucy said as we drove over to the Alwin’s place.

“Yes, and I’ve read it too. Not much there. Train driver saw nix. People on the platform that were interviewed by the police said they saw nix, but they were probably just anxious to get home. Or maybe nobody really saw anything. These kinds of accidents happen very quickly – and unexpectedly obviously.”

“So it was an accident?”

“I don’t know the answer to that yet. The real question is ‘Is there any evidence to suggest otherwise?’ There’s another CCTV tape that the police haven’t looked at. It’s outside the station so it won’t tell us anything about the incident itself; but it might throw up something. On the other hand it might not.”

As we approached the Alwin household we could see that the house and garage next door were still sealed with police tape, so there was nothing for us there.

Claudia was a very pretty girl with black hair, a dusky complexion, and eyes that shone like diamonds. Her mother was Puerto Rican which probably had something to do with that. We sat around the kitchen table and Claudia spoke to us in a grown-up way which belied her tender age.

“Look I know what I saw,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”

“Well of course you’re not,” I said. “That’s why we’re here. We think what you saw might be very important. Let’s start at the beginning. You saw Mr. Hughes in a car, driving away from his house,” I said. “Where was the car when you first saw it?”

“It was parked in the street, across the way. Here,” she said, “I’ll show you.”

We walked over to the kitchen window together and Claudia pointed out the window.

“You see those two trees there?” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well it was parked between them.”

I estimated the distance to be about a hundred and twenty feet or so, perhaps a little further.

“And is this where you were sitting when you saw it?”

“Yes.”

“And what kind of car was it?”

“I don’t know what make it was. It was a gray sedan.”

“And where was Mr. Hughes when you first saw him?”

“Sitting in the driver’s seat. The car was facing this way so I could see him clearly.”

“But it was a little dark, was it?” I said.

“It was getting dark. Kind of just after sunset I guess.”

“And how sure are you that it was Mr. Hughes? You don’t think it could be someone who just looked a bit like him? Or maybe a lot like him?”

“I’m a hundred percent sure. I’ve lived next door to him practically all my life for goodness sake.” She looked at Lucy and me in the kind of challenging way that only a child can.

“Was there any special reason that you noticed Mr. Hughes in his car?”

“I don’t understand what you mean. The policeman asked me when was the last time I saw Mr. Hughes and so I told him.”

“The same as you just told us?” Lucy said.

“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t think he believed me,” she added.

“Well I believe you,” Lucy said, looking daggers at me.

“Me too,” I said.

I rested my hands on my knees and leaned towards her. “Do you know that the lady doctor who examined Mr. Hughes body says he’s been dead for fifteen hours – since mid-afternoon the day before?” I said.

“I know. Mommy told me.”

“So…”

“So,” she said, folding her arms and looking up at us both as if we were clearly her intellectual inferiors, “there must be two of them. It’s obvious.”

Lucy looked at me, raised her eyebrows and shrugged slightly.

“I looked it up on the internet,” Claudia said. “They’re called doppelgangers.”

*

“Isn’t she just so cute?” Lucy said as we drove home.

“As a button,” I said. I was lost in thought.

“Doppelgangers are some kind of evil spirits, aren’t they?” Lucy said, “that take on human form and the exact appearance of someone?”

“Does the report say anything about family members or relatives?” I said.

“Mrs. Hughes’ parents lives in Florida. Mr. Hughes father is dead. His mother lives here in Boston. Her name’s Muriel. She’s in a nursing home. No siblings.”

“I think you’d better go pay Mrs. Hughes a visit,” I said.

As I lay in bed later I cast my mind back to the days when I was a student in London. University College wasn’t far from the Old Bailey, London’s Central Criminal Court. I often went there to sit in the public gallery and watch trials – it was great free entertainment. I saw several trials where identity was a key issue and I remembered that when the judge summed up the case to the jury he always told them this: “Remember, members of the jury, that even a convincing witness can be a mistaken one.”

Was this such a case, I wondered. That would be the most obvious answer. But I wasn’t hired by people to look for the most obvious answer. I was hired to investigate the case thoroughly. One thing I was sure of – it wasn’t a doppelganger; but was it possible that Bob had a twin? I couldn’t sleep so I got up and switched on the computer. I thought I already knew the answer, but I wanted to make sure. I was right. Identical twins have identical DNA.

Chapter Six

Trish

“So you see,” I said to Lucy over breakfast at her place the next morning, “if the crime was committed by an identical twin the DNA would be the same. Suppose Bob Hughes has an identical twin somewhere, that could explain the forensics and Claudia’s sighting of the man in the car – it could explain the missing watch too. It’s like that quest to find the unified theory of everything that scientists are always going on about.”

“Sounds a bit unlikely. The police report states ‘no siblings’.”

“I know, but the police report isn’t infallible. How can they be sure?”

“It’s what Mrs. Hughes − Muriel − told them. But anyway, suppose he did have an identical twin and that he committed these murders,” Lucy said, “how would the police ever establish that? If their DNA is identical the twin could simply say it wasn’t his.”

“Their fingerprints would be different, for one thing,” I said. “I wonder how thoroughly the police have checked the fingerprints. After all, everything pointed to a domestic murder and suicide. I know the report states that Bob Hughes had no siblings, but how would the police know that for sure? I want you to get over to see Mrs. Hughes as soon as possible. If there is a twin then we need to get the forensic boys back in that house pronto.”

“Isn’t it exciting,” Lucy said. “Maybe Miss Price was right about the watch. If it’s worth that much money then it would have been tempting to take it, even if the motive for the murder wasn’t robbery.” She thought for a moment. “Suppose there is a twin, though. What would be the motive for him killing his brother and sister-in-law?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” I said. “One thing at a time.”

“So what’s on your agenda today?” Lucy said.

“I’m off to see the Kingsleys; Mike and Audrey’s children to be precise. See if there’s anything else they know that might give me some idea what I may be looking for.”

“Do you think there’s anything in it? I mean that maybe it wasn’t an accident?”

“An open mind is a detective’s best friend,” I said.

*

Mike and Audrey Kingsley lived in a turn-of-the-Century classic Victorian home in Waltham, about a forty minute drive away. It was a large single family home in an attractive neighborhood. I arrived just after eleven and was shown into the living room. Two sofas were arranged at right angles to one another and the three adult children were already seated on one of them when I walked in.

I sat down on the other one, accepted the offer of a cup of coffee, and the children introduced themselves to me. I told them I was sorry for their recent loss and they nodded non-committedly. Clare spoke first.

“I hope we’re not on a wild goose chase,” she said, “but we’re all agreed that we need to find out the truth. I think the circumstances surrounding Freddy’s death are suspicious at the very least. You should understand that we weren’t close. My brothers won’t mind me telling you that they washed their hands of Freddy years ago. That might sound an awful or insensitive thing to say at a time like this but in any case we’re determined to do the best we can to find out what happened. If someone else was responsible for Freddy’s death we want them brought to justice.”

“At first glance cases like this might seem very difficult,” I said, “particularly when there’s been a police investigation which turned up nothing other than accidental death. But if Freddy’s death is related to any kind of criminal activity then in my experience it won’t remain a secret for long. I’ve got some very reliable informants on the streets, and if Freddy was mixed up in something illegal which led to his death, I believe there’s a good chance of me finding out. Having said that though, there’s a big difference to finding something out and proving it – you have to understand that. When people are prosecuted, the prosecution has to rely on evidence, and the standard of proof they need to achieve is a high one; so I can’t promise that anyone will necessarily be brought to justice over this as you put it. But we shall see.”

“What kind of things do you think we can help with?” Tim said.

“Well first of all your father says that Freddy had a girlfriend called Trish. Do any of you know any more than that – a last name, an address, a place of work…?”

“I doubt she had a place of work,” Rob said, rolling his eyes.

“Her name’s O’Connor,” Clare said. “Trish O’Connor. True Irish descent – and it shows − a mass of red hair and an Irish brogue, in spite of living here all her life. I only met her once, but I went to the place where she and Freddy were living. Actually there were several people living there by the look of it. It was a long time ago, though, and I’ve no idea whether she still lives there or not.” She wrote down an address and handed it to me. It was in Roxbury.

“It’s a run-down apartment block. The apartment’s on the top floor. Rather dirty, mattresses on the living room floor. God knows how many people used it.”

“Do any of you have her phone number?”

They all shook their heads.

“There’s another possibility,” I said. “Your father said she’s got a record. The police or probation service may have some information about her. But I’ll check out the address that Clare has first. Even if she’s moved, there may be somebody there who can point me in the right direction. It seems to me that she’s the most likely person to know what Freddy was doing; although she may not have specific information on what he was doing on the day he was killed, and even if she does know, she might not be willing to tell me.”

“I got the feeling, last time I saw him, that he might be involved with some kind of gang, or whatever you call these kinds of people. I mean something a bit bigger, more sophisticated than he was used to.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“The car he was driving, the clothes; and an air of faux superiority that he had – almost cockiness. But he didn’t tell me anything specific.”

“I believe he told you that he owed the Costa brothers money and he’d been lying low,” I said.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I should have mentioned that. But I don’t think that could have anything to do with his death, do you? I mean they’d hardly want him dead if he owed them money.”

“It seems unlikely. I’ve managed to find out a little about the Costas’ operation. I’m told they usually lend money to drug users. Apparently their father is involved in drug supply in Boston, did you know that?”

“No, but it wouldn’t surprise me,” Clare said.

“On the investigative side I’ve got a copy of the police report. There was a CCTV tape which isn’t helpful, but I believe there’s another one that the police didn’t look at. It was outside the station. From that it should be possible to determine whether he was alone when he arrived there. I shall need a photograph of him, of course.”

“Dad’s got some for you,” she said.

I looked at each of them in turn. “Anything else that you know about that might help me?” I said. No-one said anything. “Well if you think of anything be sure to let me know. I’ve got an appointment with several of my informants now, so I’ll need to get downtown if you’ll excuse me.”

Mike Kingsley handed me several photographs of Freddy, then we said our goodbyes and I drove towards the city. I had no luck with the three stooges. Too soon, they said. Give them another couple of days. So I headed over to the address Clare had given me in Roxbury and located a run-down apartment building that had probably seen better days, but not for a long time. I knocked on the apartment door and heard mumbled voices inside.

“Yeah?” a female voice said through the door.

“I’ve come to see Trish,” I said.

“She’s not here, who are you?”

“A friend of Freddy’s,” I said.

There was a pause. “Freddy’s dead, didn’t you hear?”

“I know, that’s why I want to see Trish. Are you Trish?”

“I told you she’s not here.”

“I heard you. I’ve got some money for her,” I lied, on the spur of the moment, “can I come in?”

I heard sounds of the door being unlocked and then it opened, but only a couple of inches. There was a chain preventing it opening any further.

“You want me to give it to her mister?” she said.

“No, I have to give it to her myself. Can you tell me where she is?”

“I dunno. She split when she heard about Freddy.”

“If you don’t know where she is how were you planning to give her the money?”

She didn’t answer.

“Did she take her stuff with her?” I asked.

“No, why?”

“Because I want to know if she’s coming back.”

The door closed. The conversation was over. I had missed Trish O’Connor by just a few days. She’d lived there until she learnt about Freddy Kingsley’s death and then had hurriedly moved out and left no forwarding address. Or at least that’s what I’d been told, but I had no idea whether it was the truth. She might still be there for all I knew. It wasn’t the woman who’d opened the door though, not unless she dyed her hair.

Even if she was still there, or if her friends knew where she was, she obviously wasn’t going to talk to me, so I guess it didn’t really matter if she was there or not. Except that if she really had split when she learned about Freddy’s death, and hadn’t taken anything with her, it could signal a significant breakthrough. It would probably mean that she was frightened of something or somebody. And the something or somebody she was frightened of was probably linked to Freddy’s death. For the first time I thought that maybe I was on to something. Whether I could nail that something down was another matter. Suddenly the whereabouts of Trish O’Connor had taken on a new significance.

I called Tony Scipio who, together with his wife, handled most of my surveillance work. “Hey Tony, I’ve got a job for you. Not the usual – I need you to keep an eye on an apartment block in Roxbury. Are you free?”

“I’m on a surveillance job at the moment, boss. One of yours, didn’t Brenda tell you?”

“Sorry, she doesn’t always remember to keep me up to date on these things. How about June?”

“She’s free. How about I call her and get her to take over this job and then I’ll meet you.”

“Okay? How long will you need?”

“An hour. Sooner if I can.”

“I’ll wait.” I gave him the address and looked around to find somewhere in sight of the apartment building to drink a coffee. I was out of luck. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to know if I’d been told the truth. If Trish was in the apartment then sooner or later she’d have to make an appearance. If she knew someone was looking for her she might decide to leave. While I was waiting I realized I only had a vague description of her. An Irish redhead about thirty years old. I needed to get a picture of her, but there was no time for that now.

Tony was as good as his word and arrived a little after one thirty.

“Irish redhead, about thirty; that’s the best I can do at the moment. Still, it’s only one building so I doubt there’ll be more than one of those inside,” I said. “I spoke to someone in the apartment through the door. Claimed Trish had left. I just want to make sure. Not much of a job I’m afraid. Stick it out until midnight. If there’s no-show by then she’s probably not living there. You want to grab a sandwich or something?”

“No, June will bring me some soup later, when she’s done.”

I called O’Grady and was told the CCTV tape was ready if I wanted to go collect it. No, nobody had looked at it, he said.

I picked up the tape and set off for home. As I drove I stole a look at the tape sitting on the seat beside me. I mustered my best German Gestapo voice and spoke to the tape. “Tell me your secrets,” I demanded. “I haff vays of making you talk.”

Chapter Seven

The Tape

Lucy’s car was in her driveway when I got home so I called in to see her.

“Good day?” I inquired.

“Not exactly – I didn’t make much progress I’m afraid,” she said.

I walked over and sat down. “Did you get to see Muriel?” I said.

“No. I spoke to the administrator at the nursing home. He told me that she took the news of her son’s death very badly and she’s kind of withdrawn into a shell. She doesn’t want to see any visitors and they obviously have to respect her wishes. She’s rather frail apparently, both physically and mentally.”

“Oh, I see,” I said.

“I asked the principal whether they had any details of her family members that I could perhaps contact on her behalf. They said as far as they were aware there were none, now that Bob is dead.”

“Hmm. That’s no surprise. According to the police report that’s what she told them. Well if you can’t get to see Muriel then you’ll have to go the other route – public records, the internet…”

“Or Facebook. I was reading recently about successful searches families have made searching for long-lost loved ones. It shouldn’t be too difficult, especially since we know exactly what he looks like. I could upload a picture of Bob.”

“So all is not lost then – but we haven’t got a lot of time to play with. We need to trace the theoretical brother while the crime scene’s still intact.”

Lucy came over and sat down opposite me. She tucked her legs under her on the sofa.

“You don’t think Miss Price would have any information about a possible brother, do you?” she said. “After all, she knew him pretty well.”

“Well there’s certainly no harm in asking her,” I said. “We need to see her anyway and bring her up to date on our investigation. But whether she knows anything or not, she’s bound to want to explore this avenue of inquiry. She may even be prepared to pay for a professional company to help with such a search. In the long run it’ll probably save her money. These companies have resources and access to material that we don’t, so they’ll probably be able to find out more quickly than you or me.”

“So you think there really is a brother then – a twin?”

“I think it’s a lot more likely than a doppelganger, don’t you?”

“But if there was a twin, why would Mrs. Hughes deny it?” Lucy said.

“Perhaps there was an adoption; if so, Mrs. Hughes probably wouldn’t consider him to be her son now.”

“If Bob’s watch was stolen at the time of the murder do you think it’s worth checking pawnbrokers?”

“From what I know about the watch I imagine it would be difficult to pawn without having to answer a whole lot of questions. It’s very distinctive. It would be taking a hell of a risk so soon afterwards. Even though the police haven’t linked the watch to the murder there would be no way for the killer to know that − if there is a killer. Anyway, let’s leave it until after we see Miss Price again. It just so happens that I have a new movie for us to watch this afternooon.”

“Oooh, really? What is it?”

“It’s a CCTV from the train station entrance. Featuring Freddy Kingsley in his final live performance,” I said.

Lucy frowned at me. “Oh that’s horrible, I thought you were being serious.”

“I am. Let’s get the popcorn out and give it a whirl.”

I handed the tape to Lucy to feed into the machine and went to take my place on the sofa.

“I imagine that as a movie it’s going to be a bit thin on plot,” Lucy said as she slumped down next to me. “How long is it?”

“Two hours,” I said. “But we’re only going to watch a bit of it. Scan forward until you get to twenty minutes after six. That’s about ten minutes before the accident. I don’t imagine he got to the station before that. His car was parked nearby so we should see him as he approaches the entrance.”

“Are we looking for anything in particular?” she said. “You better tell me because he’s only going to be on the screen for a few seconds.”

“Maybe if there’s anyone with him; or anyone following him. If someone planned to kill him that evening they either knew where he would be, in which case they might have got there before him, or they followed him.”

Lucy stopped the scan and the movie started. It was gray and bit blurry. The blurry bit was because of Lucy’s enormous TV screen.

“Can you shrink it down so the picture’s a bit sharper?” I said. “And see what you can do to try and brighten it up a bit.”

“Anything else?”

“Maybe we should watch it on the computer.”

As I spoke I spotted someone walking towards the station entrance.

“Freeze it,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Just freeze it. Go back a bit. Yes, that’s him. That’s Freddy.” It was six twenty-two. “Now can you play it in slowmo?”

It was Freddy and he was alone. No-one was near to him; no-one else heading for the entrance. He disappeared from view. Keep going – let’s see if anyone follows him in.”

We watched for another couple of minutes but the screen was bereft of human life.

“So much for your theory,” Lucy said. “Never mind, it was worth a try.”

I had to admit it was a disappointment.

“I found out where Freddy’s girlfriend was living today,” I said. “Freddy’s sister had the address. It was a run-down apartment in Roxbury. Although she wasn’t there, her room-mate, or former room-mate, told me that she only just moved out. She moved out as soon as she heard about Freddy’s death. If that’s true what does that suggest to you?”

“That she couldn’t afford the rent anymore?”

“Seriously.”

“I was being serious. What does it suggest to you, then?”

“That she was afraid of something. Repercussions perhaps. I’m not sure – but the two events are connected, I’m sure about that.”

“Shall I play the tape again?” Lucy said.

“I don’t…yeah, okay, may as well.”

The tape restarted about a minute before Freddy was about to make his brief appearance. We watched it in slow motion again. My eyes were more accustomed to the image this time and I had no difficulty recognizing him from his photograph. He was wearing a dark-colored three quarter length overcoat and…

“Freeze it Lucy!”

Lucy jumped and dropped the remote. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll run it back a bit.”

“Okay, this time be ready when I say freeze.”

She re-wound the tape and pressed the play button.

“Okay…now!”

“What?”

“I meant to freeze it again.”

“You said you were going to say ‘freeze’ – but you said ‘now’,” Lucy said.

“Again please,” I said as patiently as I could.

Lucy started the tape again.

“Freeze it,” I said. She froze it.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I said. “I need to go and get the report.”

I walked back to my home at a brisk pace and grabbed the report, including the CCTV recording from inside the station, and then went back to Lucy’s. It was cold outside.

“This is all very tense,” Lucy said. “What can you see that I can’t?”

“Look at his left hand. What do you see?”

“A briefcase or something.”

“I don’t remember any mention of a briefcase in the report. Just a minute.” I looked at the report. “It lists all the items that were with him when he died; all his possessions, clothing etcetera – but no briefcase.”

“So maybe somebody took it – when he fell.”

“We’re going to watch the sequel,” I said. “Can you put this tape in the machine?”

I handed her the original tape that had come with the report.

“Go to six twenty-five,” I said. “The tapes may not be completely in sync with one another, but we need to find the part where the train arrives. Then let’s watch and see if we can spot anyone carrying the briefcase.”

The actual moment of the incident couldn’t be determined, but then people started to disperse.

“There,” I said. “You see that guy? Coming out of the throng carrying a briefcase? He’s walking straight towards the camera. I’m willing to bet it’s the same one. That’s it. Someone wanted whatever Freddy was carrying in that briefcase and they were willing to kill him to get it.”

“I wonder who it is.”

“I don’t know.” I looked at my watch. “I’m going to take it over to Harry’s first thing in the morning and see what he can do with his computer wizardry to enhance the picture of that guy.”

Harry West was a near genius at enhancing videos. He ran a service specializing in renovating old films and videos.

“You can see him full-face for a second or two and the light is brighter than the camera at the front of the station. There must have been some illumination there. If we’re in luck we’ll get a picture good enough to show around. I’ve got Benny, Len and Blue already seeing what they can find out. If I can get some decent prints we may get a fix on this guy.”

“Are you going to tell O’Grady?”

“Not yet, no. I want to know who that guy is and I want to know what was in that case.”

Chapter Eight

The Briefcase

“What do you think, Harry?”

“Give me an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll go find somewhere to eat breakfast.”

I was in high spirits while I ate breakfast. If nothing else I believed I’d gotten enough evidence to suggest that Freddy’s death was no accident. It might not be enough to prove that the guy with the bag killed him, but juries are entitled to draw inferences, so it might be enough. I was sure I’d found the key to Freddy’s death. I just hoped that Harry was going to able to give me a good shot of the guy. Good enough to find out who he was.

I was pretty sure I knew what was in the case too. It was either drugs or drug money. Freddy was to meet someone at the station, probably off of the train that killed him, to hand it over. If it was valuable enough to kill for then it meant that someone was going to be trying to find it besides me. I started to think about what all this meant. Let’s say it was money in the briefcase. Money to be used to buy drugs from whomever Freddy was to meet off that train. It sure as hell wasn’t Freddy’s money, so someone had lost a whole lot of bills when he died. Or maybe it was drugs. Maybe Freddy was to hand over the drugs and receive payment from the guy on the train. It didn’t much matter. Either way, Freddy’s boss was out of pocket and he’d be making waves to find whoever took it. Maybe Freddy handed over the case but, instead of giving Freddy the money or drugs in return, the guy had killed him.

Tony had called me before I left home. No redhead. I thought I’d probably been told the truth about her sudden disappearance. But why did she run? Freddy couldn’t be blamed for losing the bag. It wasn’t his fault. It certainly wasn’t her fault either. So why did she run away?

There only seemed to be a couple of likely explanations – either she was behind the heist or she was worried that someone might think she was. But I believed that there was a good chance that it may have been she who had tipped off someone that Freddy was to make a drop at that location and at that time. After all, very few people would have known about it. But he might very well have confided in her. Whoever took that briefcase, assuming it wasn’t the person that it was intended for, had been well-informed. If I was right then she was just as much a murderer as the killer was.

I hadn’t thought about that when I went to the apartment in Roxbury. I hadn’t realized the importance of finding her. Now it was a priority. It was probably better that I found her than whoever it was that the drugs or the money belonged to. So I had two people to look for now, and there was a better than even chance that when I found them they’d be together. That ought to make it a little easier, I thought.

I knew as soon as I walked back into Harry’s shop that he’d gotten something for me.

“Turned out real nice, don’tya think?” he said. “I made half a dozen prints for you. You need any more just let me know. Jeez, what’s with these CCTVs?” he said. “They get better shots of Pluto nowadays than you get from these things.”

I hadn’t arranged to see Benny until the following day but now I needed to get these pictures to him; and to the others. I called Benny and arranged to meet at our usual café. I told him there’d be more company. Then I called Len and Blue and told them to meet me at the same place. It was only just after ten so I set the time for ten forty five.

Benny was already there when I arrived and the others rolled in a few minutes later. I showed them the pictures and handed them one each.

“You know this guy?” I said.

They each looked at the pictures carefully. They each shook their heads.

“Well I want you to find out who he is. He’s probably connected to the drug trade in one way or another, although that’s not a certainty. Have you heard anything else on the street about Freddy? I’m pretty sure that the guy in the picture is the one who killed him. I think he killed him and took a bag from Freddy which either contained a lot of money or a lot of drugs. It’s going to be pretty hard to keep that quiet.”

“Nothing yet,” Benny said. “How about you guys?” he said to Len and Blue. “No nothing, but it’s early days,” Blue said. “Now we know a bit more about it though it should make it easier.”

“Okay – well you’ve all got my cell. Anything comes up you call me right away, okay? I think there’s a woman mixed up in this and if I’m right she could be in a lot of danger. I don’t even have a description of her, except that she’s a thirty-year-old redhead. But I know her name: Trish O’Connor. She’s a user and probably a small time trafficker too so she should be easy to find out about. You got all that?”

“Sure, Kane; we’re on it,” Blue said.

I drove home to tell Lucy about the progress I’d made. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. I needed to fax the picture over to a police contact in the drugs squad to see if anything was known about the guy, so I stopped at my place first and called Will Bryan. He was a sergeant detective. He wouldn’t ask any questions and he owed me a favor.

“Hi Will,” I said. “I got a picture to fax over to you. Can you see if anything’s known about this guy? I need a name and an address if possible.

“Sure, we’ll take a look.

“And something else. A lady called Trish O’Connor. She’s got a record – drugs. I need a picture of her.”

“Got it. How you been lately?”

“Oh, up and down, here and there, you know how it is,” I said.

I walked down to Lucy’s place.

“I’ve arranged to see Angela Price in the office this afternoon,” she said. “Half past two. I was hoping you’d be able to be there too. Did you have any luck with the video?”

I showed her the picture.

“Wow. That came from the video?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it circulating and I’ve faxed a copy to Will Bryan. He’s going to run it through the police computer to see if he can get a match. He’s going to get me a mugshot of Trish, too. I’ll come with you this afternoon, but let me bring you up to date on the Kingsley case first. I’ve got a doozy of a theory.”

“I bet you have,” she said.

“Okay, see what you think about this. Like I told you before, Trish suddenly split when Freddy was killed and I think she left because she was afraid of something – or somebody. I think she may have been involved with the guy who took the case.”

“Why?”

“Why do I think that?”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m sure that what was in Freddy’s briefcase was either drugs or drug money. Probably a lot. I think he was going to meet a guy on that train and either give him some money in exchange for drugs or give him some drugs in exchange for money. The guy who snatched the case obviously knew about this. Now when you’re involved in a sizeable drug deal you don’t go shooting your mouth off. The person most likely to have known where he was going, and why, would have been his girlfriend, right? Someone he thought he could trust. I think there’s a good chance that she tipped off the guy who killed Freddy – they were in it together. And that explains why she split as soon as the case was snatched. Her room-mate connected her flight with Freddy’s death, and so did I at first. But I think the two things were only incidentally connected. She waited to see if the plan worked. If it didn’t then she needed to be there when Freddy came home. But as soon as she knew her accomplice had the case she got the hell out of there.”

“Why would she need to do that? If she was involved in the heist only she and her accomplice would know about it. If she ran wouldn’t it just draw attention to herself?”

“Yes, it would. But if I worked it out then whomever that money or those drugs belonged to would have soon worked it out too. She needed to get out quick.”

“If what you say is right then the pair of them could be far away by now.”

“Well, the guy whose stuff was stolen will certainly be looking for her. But he may not know who was responsible for the actual theft. As far as the killer is concerned the best thing he can do is sit tight. Leaving town suddenly would draw attention to himself. This may be a big country but some of these drug dealers have a very long reach.”

“But Trish is a real threat to the killer. If they get her, there’ll get him too.”

“I think she’s between a rock and a very hard place. I don’t think she’ll survive long if I can’t find her. And it may already be too late. He might decide to betray her just like she betrayed Freddy. The two of them could be together and could be out of the state by now. Or she could be dead.”

“Kane, don’t you think it’s time to bring the police into this?”

“Right now nobody knows I’m looking for them, except Trish’s room-mate and she’s not going to blab about it. I think I have a better chance of finding them than the police. Mike Kingsley hired me to find out if someone had killed his son. His family wants the culprit brought to justice. I’m keeping it to myself for the time being.”

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

“Let’s go eat some lunch. I’m in a good mood so I’ll let you choose the place. Then we’ll go see Veronica.”

“Who’s Veronica?”

“Oh, that’s how I think of Miss Price,” I said. “She looks a lot like Veronica Lake, don’t you think?”

“She looks no more like Veronica Lake than you look like Alan Ladd,” she said.

“Well I think she does.”

“Maybe it’s the hair,” Lucy said.

Chapter Nine

Ten Days

Angela Price sat in my office, brushed her wavy blond hair away from her face with her fingers, and tossed her head. Lucy, sitting next to her, looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

“We think we may have made a little progress with this investigation, Miss Price.” I said. “But before I tell you about that I’d like to ask you a question. Did Bob have any brothers or sisters?”

“Not as far as I know,” she said.

“He never mentioned a brother?” I said, looking her straight in the eyes and narrowing my own.

“A brother?” she said slowly, almost to herself. “Yes, come to think of it he did mention that once.”

“Can you tell us about it – what did he say?”

“It was soon after we met, when we were still getting to know each other. I was telling him about my family and I told him I had two brothers; and he said, “I had a brother once.”

“Go on.”

“Well I can’t remember exactly what I said. Something like ‘Once?’ Anyway I queried it in some way, and he said, ‘Oh never mind’. We never spoke about that again. I remember thinking that perhaps his brother had died and I didn’t want to bring the subject up again.”

Lucy and I looked at each other.

“During the police investigation – at the scene and shortly after the bodies were found – the police interviewed a young girl,” I said. “She’s the daughter of Mrs. Alwin, the next-door-neighbor who called the police. We weren’t aware of that when we read the police report because there’s no mention of her interview there, but yesterday Lucy went to see Mrs. Alwin and she told her about her daughter’s interview, so last night we went to the house to speak with her. She claims that at about six o’clock in the evening before the bodies were discovered she saw Bob Hughes driving away from his house in a gray sedan.”

“Why isn’t that in the report?”

“Well I’m coming to that. According to the pathologist Mr. Hughes had been dead since at least four o’clock the previous afternoon, so they obviously concluded that the little girl had made a mistake. But, as I said, Lucy and I spoke to her last night and I don’t believe it was a mistake. Except that I don’t think it was Bob she saw. I think it may have been his brother.”

Angela looked at me with her mouth slightly open, a mystified look on her face.

“I think Bob may have had an identical twin brother,” I said. “We’re trying to follow up on this.”

“You think Bob’s brother killed him? It’s incredible,” Angela said.

“Well of course I’ve carefully considered whether Claudia – that’s the girl’s name – might have been mistaken; she’s only nine. But she was adamant and highly convincing. She and her family lived next door to Bob and Cynthia for six years and so it was an identification based on recognition. And the girl is very intelligent; I’m convinced she wasn’t mistaken, except to the limited extent I’ve mentioned.”

“Can I talk to her – to Claudia?”

“Well there’s nothing to stop you doing that if you want, but I think you can safely leave the matter in our hands to further investigate. You see the forensic report relies mainly on DNA found at the scene. If Bob had an identical twin then their DNA would be the same. So what appears to be Bob’s DNA – on the murder weapon for example – may not have been his.”

“This is the most wonderful news; I knew there had to be a mistake.”

“I’m afraid we’re still a long way from establishing that, Miss Price, but at least we now have something to focus on. It might explain the disappearance of the watch too.”

“You think the brother took it?”

“If it was as valuable as you say then it must have been a temptation. Or perhaps it was taken as some sort of trophy. I don’t know. But if we can locate the brother and the brother has the watch it would be very strong circumstantial evidence against him, together with Claudia’s testimony.”

“But there wouldn’t be any forensic proof if his DNA is the same as Bob’s.”

“Their fingerprints would be different. If we can establish that the twin exists then we can ask the police to re-examine the scene. I will need to talk to Malone. He may think our theory is wide of the mark, but I need to get him to preserve the scene for further investigation. At the moment it’s still taped off.”

“Oh please do that as soon as possible.”

“Okay. I think at this stage I’ll simply tell him that something’s come up but without specifying what that something is. They’re already skeptical about both the watch and Claudia’s observation so I think it would be best to deal with it that way.”

“How do you intend to find out about the twin? Is there a way to do that?”

“There are ways to investigate that, but it may take a while. You say that Bob said he had a brother once. If that meant that his brother was adopted then it does add complications – his family name will be different for a start. Of course we don’t know whether he was adopted; there could be some other explanation for their apparent estrangement. If Claudia’s sighting was reliable then he’s obviously not dead, and now we have your evidence that Bob himself claimed to have had a brother it’s a big step forward.”

“Bob’s mother is still alive,” Lucy said. “I’m afraid we haven’t been able to talk to her though. She’s not willing to see any visitors. All we know is that she told the police she didn’t have any other children. The principal at the nursing home told me that’s their understanding too.”

“How strange. I wonder why Bob would have told me he had a brother.”

“Probably because he did. Perhaps his brother was adopted and Mrs. Hughes no longer thinks of him as her own son. That wouldn’t be so surprising, especially if the adoption took place soon after birth.”

Angela thought about this for a minute. “That could be the answer. Bob told me that his parents split up soon after he was born. He never knew his father.”

“But if Mrs. Hughes won’t see us there’s no way of finding that out,” Lucy said.

“Suppose I went to see her?” Angela said.

“Like Lucy said, she’s not taking any visitors.”

“But she might see me. I know her you see. Bob was very fond of his mother and he took me to see her several times. She likes me. It’s rather embarrassing for me to say this, and I don’t mean any disrespect to Cynthia, but Muriel told me she thought I was more suitable for Bob. If she’s grieving for him she might actually welcome a visit from me. And I have another advantage, because of what Bob told me. If I ask her about it directly I don’t think she’ll lie to me.”

“I think you may well be right,” I said.

“And she’s more likely to open up to Angela about her past than she would be to us, don’t you think Kane?” Lucy said.

“Let’s give it a try. We’ll need to give some consideration to how to approach it though. I think we have to avoid telling her that her other son maybe a murderer. Another shock to her system might finish her off,” I said.

“Well I must say, all this is something of a shock to me too, but I’m willing to do anything that might be helpful to exonerate Bob. We weren’t in love, you know, Bob and me. It wasn’t quite like that; but of course we cared about each other.”

“Well you’re being a good friend to him now,” I said. “This is an unusual case because it’s not as if we’re trying to save a man from the gallows. Bob’s dead and nothing’s going to bring him back. But I quite understand why you’d want to set the record straight. The problem we’re up against here is time. If there’s anything in that house that might implicate the brother then we need to preserve the scene intact until we find him.”

“But why on earth would his brother want to kill him?”

“I’m afraid I’m not in a position to even speculate about that at the moment,” I said.

*

Sam Malone leaned back in his chair and half-closed his eyes. He looked like a good night’s sleep wouldn’t do him any harm. He puffed out his cheeks and blew the air out slowly. He studied me wearily.

“You want to tell me a bit more about the something that’s come up?” he said, opening his eyes.

“Not right now; I’m still working on it. All I’m asking is for you to make sure the crime scene is preserved for the time being.”

“Bob Hughes’s DNA was on the murder weapon, Kane.”

“That means zilch as you well know,” I said. “Bob Hughes probably used that tire iron hundreds of times.”

“His DNA was found mixed with his wife’s blood in a palm-print on the edge of the sink.”

“So what? His DNA had every right to be on the edge of the sink; he lived there after all. So then some guy leaves a print on the sink with Cynthia’s blood on it and the two get mixed up together. I’ve got a forensic scientist who could tear that evidence to pieces.”

“Nobody’s going to be tearing evidence to pieces, Kane; there’s not going to be a trial. The guy’s dead.” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Look, you’re a good guy Kane and I trust you, but I’ve an idea you’re just playing a hunch. It’s about the watch I suppose. Okay, I’ll give you a week to come up with something concrete. That’s the best I can do.”

“Give me two.”

“Ten days,” he said.

Chapter Ten

A Low Profile

After what Benny had told me about the modus operandi of the Costa brothers I decided I needed to pay them a visit. It seemed a good bet that Freddy may have been obtaining his own drugs from Al Costa and he may have been working for their father when he was killed. Anyway, no other names had come up and I had nothing to lose. I made the call.

“Where can I find the Costas, Benny?”

“In a clam bar in Dorchester, around nine at night usually. It’s called Testaloni’s. Their old man owns the joint.”

He gave me the address.

“I’ve got a picture of the O’Connor woman now. I want to get it to you as soon as possible. You need to get on this right away – I need to find her.”

“Okay, what time?”

“Give me half an hour.”

Will Bryan had faxed me Trish’s mugshot but had drawn a blank on the guy in the photograph I sent him. Benny knew all the dealers, and Trish was a user, so her photograph ought to make it a piece of cake to find out more about her and maybe even where she was.

“She’s probably hiding out somewhere,” I said to Benny over coffee and donuts. “But she’ll still need her hits so somebody’ll know where she is. She moved out of her apartment after Freddy got killed. I’ve a hunch that Freddy may have been working for Al Costa when he died, so I intend to sound out the brothers about that – unless you’ve come up with anything new?”

“I’m working it. You gotta remember it’s not just finding someone who knows – it’s finding someone who knows and is willing to talk.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m upping the ante on Trish.” I handed him a thousand dollars in hundreds. “That ought to loosen a few tongues,” I said.

I decided to stay downtown for the afternoon. If anything came up about Trish’s whereabouts I wanted to be able to get on it right away; and I needed to be in the city to find the Costa brothers later. I drove over to the public library in Cambridge Street to kill some time there.

It was six o’clock when I left the library and I still had several hours to kill before I went looking for the Costas, so I found a sports bar on Bromfield Street and settled in the corner with ‘The Quiet American’, a Graham Greene novel I’d borrowed from the library; and there I sat and I drank and I read, periodically looking at my cell phone and willing it to ring with some news; but it just sat there on the table in front of me, silently.

The fact that neither my ears on the street nor Will Bryan had come up with anything yet about the guy in the photograph suggested to me that he either wasn’t local or he wasn’t a player in the drugs game. That was going to make him a lot more difficult to find and all the more reason for me to locate Trish as quickly as possible. But the guy in the picture must have some kind of connection with the drug trade to have known about Freddy’s rendezvous, or he knew Trish – or both.

I looked at my watch again. It was nearly eight o’clock. And then my phone rang; it was Benny.

“I got what you want Mr. Kane; I know where Trish is holed up – the notes did the trick.”

“Benny I’m in the Space sports bar on Bromfield, do you know where it is?”

“Sure, you want me to come there?”

“And fast,” I said.

The Costa brothers would have to wait. Benny arrived in less than twenty minutes and sidled into the booth beside me.

“Where’d you say she was living before?” he said. I told him.

“Well she’s not far away from there. A couple of blocks down around the corner. Single room and she’s there alone. I found her fixer – he says she don’t want to go out so she calls him and he delivers the stuff to her there. It’s up a couple of flights of stairs. Bit creepy the guy said.”

I tossed what was left of my drink down my throat and headed for the door. “Keep looking for the other guy,” I said.

I drove back to Roxbury and parked nearby her old place, then walked a couple of blocks to the new one. She was trying to keep a low profile and I didn’t want to spoil that for her. The street was empty and so was the lobby in the apartment block. I climbed the stairs, knocked on apartment 2c and held my breath. I was ready to bust in there if I had to. Nobody answered my knock. No sound came from inside. I knocked again. I looked at the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. It seemed there was no light inside. Maybe I was too late again; maybe she’d moved on. After a couple more minutes I decided to take a look. I didn’t have to do much more than lean on the door to open it. It was dark inside and I felt for the light switch.

I’d been right − I was too late; too late to save her. Her wrists were secured to the arms of the chair in which she was sitting by wire. She’d cut her wrists trying to free them, and blood had run down the back of her hands. Her head lolled against her blood-soaked chest. I walked closer. Her throat had been cut, but there were other injuries too. She hadn’t died quickly.

I took out my cell phone and took several pictures of her from different angles. Rigor hadn’t started yet, so I tried to close her eyes, but the angle at which her head was hanging made it impossible. I switched off the light and left. I found the nearest bar and downed two whiskies in rapid succession. Then I walked back to the Chevy, climbed in and wound down the window. I didn’t know if I was angry, disappointed, frustrated or what. I felt nauseous. I breathed a few deep breaths then got out of the car and walked straight up to the apartment I’d visited earlier in the day. I knocked on the door. This time the door opened on the latch and the same wan face peered at me through the crack.

“Open the goddam door or I’m going to bust it down,” I said. I didn’t shout. I said it in a low voice through gritted teeth which the woman could tell meant business. She opened the door and I walked in and closed it behind me.

She turned her back to me, sauntered over to a mattress on the floor and sat down. “I told you before, I don’t know where she is. You wanna search the place?”

She was alone. Her voice sounded nonchalant, unconcerned. She was high as a kite.

“What’s your name?” I said.

She looked up at me and sneered. “Doris Day,” she said.

“I haven’t come here to find Trish,” I said. “I found her already.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Take a look,” I said, leaning down and putting my cell phone in front of her face. She looked, then sprang up and ran into the bathroom. I could hear her vomiting in there. She came back in the room. She was white-faced, sweating. She started to cry.

“Please don’t, please…”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said.

She sat down on the mattress again and I sat down next to her. She started to cry again.

“If you’d told me this morning where she was maybe I could have saved her,” I said.

She sat quietly; said nothing, staring straight ahead.

“I’ve got to go,” I said.

“Her stuff’s still here,” she said in a monotone. “In there,” she said weakly, pointing to one of the small side rooms. I walked over to take a look. A stereo, a TV and a few sticks of furniture. Some clothes. It wasn’t much to show for a lifetime.

I went over and sat down next to her room-mate again. “Look, I’m going to have to call the police, but there’s no need for anyone to come here. You know anyone can come and clear out her stuff?”

She looked at me and shook her head.

“Has she got any family here in Boston?”

She looked at me. “No; I don’t know. A brother I think.”

“You know where he is?”

She sniffed back tears. “Delaney’s over in Dorchester. I ain’t never seen him.”

“I’ll try to let him know,” I said.

I left her there, walked over and out the door and went back to my car. I switched off the caller display on my cell to call 911. Then I changed my mind, put the phone back in my pocket. Then I took it out again and called Lucy.

“I’m on the way home Lucy. I’ll call round when I get there,” I said.

“You don’t sound too good, are you okay?”

“I’m okay; I’ll see you in a while.”

I stopped in my driveway, went inside, had a shot of JD and then walked down to Lucy’s place.

“Got a bed for the night?” I said.

Chapter Eleven

Another Busy Day

“It’s awful to kill somebody like that – just for a few drugs or a bit of money.”

We were lying in Lucy’s bed, side-by-side. I was face-up, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t see the ceiling, but I knew it was there.

“It’s not just the money Lucy. It’s about face. If you’re a big player you can’t afford to let anyone get away with ripping you off.”

“It sounds like whoever killed her was trying to get her to talk first; trying to find out who her accomplice was.”

“From the state of the body it’s likely they succeeded.”

“How long do you think she’d been dead?”

“Less than three or four hours is all I can say. The blood was dry, but rigor mortis hadn’t set in. So probably late afternoon, while I was wasting my time in the library.”

“Well you can’t blame yourself.”

“I should have given the money to Benny earlier. Money always talks or makes people talk.”

“So did you call it in?”

“No. I need time to think. She won’t be going anywhere.”

“What about you? Where do you go from here?”

“I’ll keep looking for the guy with the briefcase. Obviously if Trish’s killer or killers find him first that’ll be an end to it.”

“But we don’t know that she talked – or maybe she told them who it was but was unable to say where he was. She may not have known.”

“Good point. You’re beginning to think like a detective now.”

“So you’re just relying on Benny and your other informants for the search?”

“I can’t think of any other way to find him. He doesn’t seem to be involved in the local drugs scene; he may not even be local. I plan to visit the Costa brothers. I didn’t consider them suspects at first, because there’d be no point in killing someone who owed you money – but now I know about the theft of the briefcase I can’t rule them out. I thought that maybe the Costas might be responsible for hiring someone to snatch the case, but that was only a guess; and if Freddy was working for Al Costa then it’s highly unlikely that the brothers would steal from their own father. But maybe Freddy was making a delivery on behalf of someone else – the Costas found out and had someone steal the briefcase for themselves or their father. Obviously it wasn’t one of them or I’d know by now; Benny and the others would have recognized the guy in the photograph right away. But they could be connected to the theft in some way. But now I know what happened to Trish I’m sure she was involved. Whoever the guy in the picture is, if he’s still out there he’d better hope that I find him first.”

“Do you know where these Costa brothers hang out?”

“Yeah, Benny told me where I can find them. I was planning to go there tonight but I got kind of side-tracked. How about you − any news from Angela?”

“Not yet. She said she’d let us know as soon as she found anything out. We talked about it – she plans to tell Muriel that she wants to let the brother know about Bob’s death. Obviously she can’t tell her the real reason.”

“That might work – let’s hope so.”

“Do you ever dream about all this stuff?” Lucy said.

“No, I never dream. Well obviously I do, everybody does, but I never remember what I’ve dreamt about when I wake up. How about you?”

“I dream about my grandparents a lot,” she said. “I mean they’re just there, and sometimes I’m surprised because I think ‘but they’re dead’ and then I realize that they aren’t and it’s great. Then I wake up and of course they are dead – but it’s still kind of comforting getting to see them like that.”

I gave Lucy a squeeze and then rolled over. “Come on, let’s get some sleep,” I said. “Another busy day tomorrow.”

*

We got up, showered, and Lucy cooked us breakfast.

“It’ll be a waiting game for me today,” I said. “I just hope that Benny or one of the others comes up with something.”

“Do they know about Trish yet?”

“No, and I’m not planning to tell them. When somebody dies like that it tends to make people clam up. I need to see the Costas. Call me if you hear anything from Angela.”

I walked the few hundred feet to my place, but stopped when I got to the driveway. I’d backed into the driveway last night and as I approached the car I could see a note that someone had slipped behind the wiper. I pulled it off and looked at it. It wasn’t written in English. It said this:

‘Non è omo così forte, che da mi non po’ schapare.’

It was Italian, but I had no idea what it meant. I walked back to Lucy’s place.

“You’ve been brushing up on your Italian,” I said. “Do you know what this means?” I handed her the note. She looked at it for a minute or two, silently mouthing the words to herself.

“It means something like ‘No man is strong enough to be able to escape from me’,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

“Some joker put in on my windshield.”

“It doesn’t look like a joke,” she said. “It looks more like a threat…or a warning or something.”

“It means somebody knows that I’m on the case,” I said. “And not somebody friendly. An unfriendly Italian by the look of it.”

“But why would they put that on your windshield?”

“Let’s analyze it,” I said, sitting down. “Why don’t you fix us both some more coffee.”

I studied the note, muttering Lucy’s translation to myself as I did so.

“No man is strong enough to escape from me. It has to refer to the guy I’m looking for don’t you think?” I said to Lucy. “The guy with the briefcase.”

Lucy brought over the coffee. “Do you think it means they found him? Is it a kind of boast?”

“No, I don’t think so. There’d be no point in that. I think it’s a statement of intent. I think it means something like ‘you stay out of this because I’m going to find the guy myself’. Something like that.”

“But who would know you were looking for him?”

“Well, whoever it is wouldn’t have found out from Benny, Len or Blue. There’s no way they’d let anyone know who they were working for. It can’t be Trish’s room-mate, because she has no idea who I am, let alone where I live.”

I thought about it for a few minutes.

“There’s only one explanation that I can think of. Somebody knows I went to Trish’s place to look for her; or maybe they saw me when I went into the building where she was killed, perhaps followed me back to her room-mate’s place, and then followed me home. I let my guard down, I’m afraid. I wasn’t aware that anyone was following me – I guess I was too pre-occupied with what I’d seen.”

“That’s a bit scary.”

“It’s encouraging is what it is,” I said. “If I’m right then it means they haven’t located the guy yet. They’re trying to scare me, to get me to back off.”

“Which you’re not going to do, are you?”

“Nooo I’m not. Now I know the guy’s still out there I’m going to double my efforts to find him. And now I know something important about the guy who’s looking for him too – he’s Italian. The Costas are Italian,” I said.

“So the note’s really had the opposite effect from what was intended.” Lucy said.

I smiled at her. “Yes,” I said. “Ironic isn’t it?”

Chapter Twelve

A Skeleton in the Closet

There was no time to waste now. I wasn’t going to wait until nine o’clock at night to pay a visit to the Costas. I decided to call the restaurant they apparently frequented and leave a message that I was on the way down there. But then, as so often happens, something else came up. Malone called to say that there had been an unexpected development in the Hughes case. It was ‘the clincher’, he said, the missing link which explained why Bob had killed himself and his wife. Maybe Lucy and I would care to drop by his office. He sounded smug.

“That was Malone,” I said to Lucy. “Says he’s got some new evidence which strengthens the conclusion they’ve already reached about the Hughes murders. He wants us to get over there to see him.”

“Did he say what it was?”

“No, I think he wants to enjoy telling us about it face-to-face.”

We drove over there separately since I needed my car after the meeting and Lucy needed to get back to the office. We were ushered into Sam Malone’s office. He was leaning back in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand and his feet on the desk. He removed the feet when we entered and invited us to take a seat.

“You want a coffee?” he said. “Mitch, bring us in some coffee, there’s a sweetheart,” he shouted through the open office door.

Malone folded his arms and leant them on the desk. “Good of you to come over,” he said. “I thought I’d better let you know about the new development so you won’t waste your valuable time chasing rainbows anymore,” he said.

“You want to cut the bull and get to the point, Sam?” I said, as charmingly as I felt able to.

He smiled and reached over to a thick manila folder on his desk, placed the flat of his hand on it and patted it affectionately. “What we have here,” he said, “is the motive. It seems that Bob Hughes had a skeleton in his closet. He’d been siphoning off money from his client accounts for more than nine months. The annual audit was due in mid-March. When the audit was started a couple of days ago the loss was discovered almost immediately. It’s yet to be completed but there’s a substantial sum of money involved.”

I sat, taking this in.

“So I guess Bob decided that the game was up,” Malone said. “Decided to take the easy way out. Probably decided to kill Cynthia first rather than have her face the shame alone. So I guess that puts it beyond doubt.” He spread his hands in front of him palms up and shrugged his shoulders. “So I guess there’s no need to preserve the crime scene any longer.”

“You made me a promise,” I said. “I’ve got more than a week left and I can’t waste any more of it sitting here. Maybe you’ll excuse us if we skip the coffee; my assistant and I have got work to do.”

“Okay, but you’re wasting your time on this one,” he said as we got ready to leave. “Even if there was a valuable watch, he probably sold or pawned it. God knows what he was doing with all that money.”

“So you want to check that out for us?” I said. “For the sake of completeness.”

“I didn’t say I was satisfied there was a watch. I was just pointing out that even if there was it doesn’t change anything.”

I patted Lucy’s leg and stood up. “We’ve got to go. I hope you’re going to stick to your promise about the crime scene.”

“We’d better get hold of Angela,” I said, as we left the building, “and break this latest bit of news to her. She’s not going to like it.”

“So you think Malone’s right? That it’s a clincher.”

“I didn’t say that. Look I need to see the Costas. You arrange a meeting with Angela as soon as possible and let me know.” I looked at my watch. “I should be through by early this afternoon. See if you can get Angela to drop by for a meeting. And in the meantime I want you to circulate details of the watch to every pawnshop in the state.”

I drove downtown, located the clam bar and asked for the manager.

“I’m looking for either Jimmy or Joey Costa,” I said. “Or both of them.”

He shrugged. “They’re not here right now.”

“But you can get them here, I guess.”

“They’re rather busy guys.”

I gave him my card. “They won’t be too busy to see me,” I said. “Tell them to give me a call.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, putting the card in his vest pocket.

“I’ll wait here, if it’s all the same to you,” I said. “In case they’re anxious to see me.”

“Please yourself,” he said disinterestedly.

I took a seat over by the door, next to the window. I thought about what Malone had told us earlier. It certainly put things in a new light, but I was still sure there was a brother too. Probably a twin and probably an identical one. I thought of the words Claudia had used, ‘I’m not stupid, I know what I saw’. But the information that Sam had so triumphantly imparted to us this morning had certainly added a further complication. My thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of two swarthy-looking men in their late twenties or thereabouts.

“Mind if we join you?” the taller one said.

“Be my guests. I’m Kane.”

“We know who you are, what do you want?”

“An introduction would be a good start.”

“I’m Jimmy, this is Joey,” he said, as both sat down opposite me. “Now what do you want?”

“You know perfectly well what I want. I want to know who killed Freddy.”

“He fell on the train tracks. It was an accident according to what I heard,” Jimmy said. “What’s your interest anyway?”

“Freddy’s father doesn’t think it was an accident, and neither do I.”

“We should care what you think?” Joey said.

“Why don’t we cut the crap,” I said. “Freddy was about to make a delivery when he died. Someone pushed him and stole his briefcase.”

“Is that so?” Jimmy said.

“Who stole the briefcase?” I said.

“How the hell should we know?” Jimmy said.

“How much did he owe you?” I said.

“A couple of grand. We’ve written it off – business loss. It happens, no big deal.”

“What was in the briefcase was a big deal though, wasn’t it?” I said.

“We don’t know nothing about it. And we’re busy men. Say though, if you find out who killed Freddy you be sure to let us know,” Jimmy said.

“Why should I tell a couple of dumb-ass low-life loan sharks?” I said.

“Hey,” Joey said and started to get up. Jimmy put his hand on Joey’s arm. “Leave it, Joey, he ain’t worth it.”

“Yeah, leave it Joey,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve been called a lot worse than that.”

Joey sneered at me. He ran his forefinger over his throat like a knife.

“Let me give you some advice,” Joey said to me. “Whoever killed Freddy and took the briefcase is living on borrowed time. When the time runs out, Freddy’s death will be…how to say? Avenged. Keep out of it Kane, it’s not your business.”

They both got up and left the restaurant without a backward glance. I hadn’t learnt much, but I figured that the guy hadn’t been located yet. It was a matter of time, and luck. I needed to get home, but I had an errand to do first.

I drove to Dorchester to find Delaney’s and to break the news to her brother about Trish’s death and give him a chance to collect her stuff from the apartment before the police seized it all. I wasn’t looking forward to it. It’s never much fun telling someone about the death of a family member.

“I’m looking for Mr. O’Connor,” I said to the guy behind the bar.

“Paddy? He’s in the cellar; is it important?”

“Yes, it’s important. Are you in charge here?”

“Yeah, I’m Dennis.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for Mr. O’Connor. There’s been a death in his family; his sister. He’s probably going to need some time out.”

“Oh sure, I understand. He can take the rest of the day off, it’s okay.”

“Can you get him for me?”

“Give me a couple of minutes.”

He disappeared through a door behind the bar and reappeared about half a minute later together with a guy with red hair, oiled and brushed back, and a pale complexion. “Hi, I’m Paddy. What can I do for you?” he said uncertainly.

I was momentarily lost for words. I was staring at the guy from the photograph.

Chapter Thirteen

Bad News

“Paddy, my name’s Kane. I need to talk to you; I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Dennis says you can take the rest of the day off,” I said.

“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” I asked Dennis.

“Back office is empty at the moment,” he said.

We walked through a swing door, past the toilets and Paddy opened a door to a small, cluttered room. There was a desk and a couple of chairs. We sat down.

“What’s all this about?” he said.

“I’m afraid Trish is dead, Paddy. I’m a private investigator. I was hired to look into the circumstances of Freddy Kingsley’s death. Trish was his girlfriend so I wanted to talk to her. Unfortunately, before I could find her she was murdered.”

“Oh Jesus, Mary, mother of God.” He slumped back in his chair like a marionette that’d had its strings cut. He looked over at me. There were tears in his eyes. If he knew already it was an Oscar-winning performance.

“Where is she?” he whispered.

“I found her in a room a couple of blocks away from where she was living.”

“When?”

“Last night. I’m going to have to take you in Paddy, you know that. You killed a man. Not much of a man maybe, but a man nonetheless.”

He looked at me in surprise. “What?” he said.

“You killed Freddy; I’ve got to take you in.”

“I didn’t kill Freddy,” he said. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I didn’t kill anyone.”

“I’ve got the video from the CCTV at the station. You’re on it plain as day leaving with Freddy’s briefcase.”

He looked me in the eye. “Yeah, I took the case, but I didn’t kill him, I swear.”

“You want to tell me your story?”

“How did she die?”

“They cut her throat.”

“Oh God.” He leaned forward and banged his head on the table over and over. Then he started to sob uncontrollably. He made fists of his hands and beat them against his temples. When he finally stopped I said to him:

“Tell me what happened, Paddy.”

He sighed and shook his head. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

“You want to tell me or you want to tell the cops?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Freddy was making a drop – a big one. Trish found out about it; well he told her. Said he was getting into the big time. But he wasn’t, he was just being used. Anyway, Trish had this idea.” He swallowed, took another deep breath, looked at his hands and then at me. “She knew where he was making the drop…she said if I could get the bag from him we could get out of town and she could make a fresh start. Freddy didn’t know me; we didn’t think there was any risk that they’d find out who grabbed the stuff. She wanted to get straight.” He sighed heavily. “I wanted that so badly for her.”

“What was in the bag?”

“Coke. High purity Cocaine. Ten pounds of it.”

“So how did you get the bag?”

“I was waiting for a chance to grab it. Freddy was half my size and I knew I could do it but I was waiting for the right moment. I reckoned I could wrestle the bag away from him, but there were too many people. I’d just about decided it was too risky when suddenly, just before the train arrived, he put the briefcase down. I couldn’t believe it. I just kind of reached over and took it and then I pushed my way through the people and out the station. I didn’t see him fall, and honest to God I never touched him. I only heard about the accident later.”

“Where are the drugs now?”

“I stashed the bag in the cellar. I’m pretty much the only one who ever goes down there. I put the case in the air-conditioning duct. It’s still there; I haven’t touched it since that night.” He paused for a while. “The idea was that we’d wait for a few weeks and then get out of town. We knew we couldn’t do anything here. I don’t know anything about drugs, but Trish said she’d find someone to buy them, maybe out west somewhere. Then we’d go back to the old country, she’d get herself straight and…”

“Whose drugs are they?”

“Al Costa’s. Freddy owed some money to Al’s sons. They made him a proposition – if he’d deliver some drugs to a guy coming in from out of town the debt would be written off.”

“Why did Trish move out of her place, Paddy?”

“I tried to stop her. After we heard about Freddy she panicked. She thought Al’s boys would come looking for her. I told her to stay put, brazen it out. Just say she knew nothing about it. I told her if she split it would look bad; but she wouldn’t listen to me. I’ve got a room upstairs but she couldn’t come here. She said she’d lie low for a week or two then maybe we could get out of town together.”

While he’d been talking I tried to work out if he was telling me the truth. I had no reason to doubt the truthfulness of the things he said about his complicity in stealing the briefcase, but what about Freddy’s death? It could be true. After all, if there’d been a struggle for the briefcase it was more likely that someone would have related that to the police. And Freddy’s murder wouldn’t have needed to be a necessary part of the plan. On the contrary, his death was likely to cause unnecessary complications. Was Paddy’s reaction a carefully prepared act? My instinct told me that it wasn’t – that what he’d told me might well be true. Not that it really mattered. After all there was no evidence that I knew about that contradicted his story. I was less certain now what I should do. Should I call the police? He’d admitted stealing the case; but it was only theft of drugs from a drug courier. One thing I knew was that I had to make sure that he didn’t suffer the same fate as his sister. Since finding the note on my car I’d been extra vigilant about the possibility of being followed, but I had no idea what Trish had told her killer or killers before she died.

“I need to get you out of here, Paddy, and I need to get you out now. Where’s your stuff?”

“In my room, upstairs.”

“I want you to get the briefcase from the cellar and grab whatever you need. I’m not going to call the police, at least not yet; I want to sleep on it. But you’re in serious danger. Don’t argue with me. I don’t want to add to your grief unnecessarily, but the way your sister died wasn’t pleasant, and it wasn’t quick either. And I’ll tell you this – Trish died trying to cover for you, of that I’m certain. If she’d told anyone I wouldn’t be talking to you now. You need to do exactly what I say.”

He looked over at me, hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Get going.”

I went back into the bar. “He’s taken the news hard,” I said to Dennis. “I’m sorry, but he’s going to need to get away for a while.”

“It’s okay. I got people that’ll be able to cover for him. I’m sorry about his sister.”

I waited in the bar. After about ten minutes he came down, a suitcase in one hand, the black briefcase in the other.

“Let’s go,” I said. Then I said, “Wait.”

I walked over to Dennis and handed him one of my cards. “If anyone comes here looking for Paddy I want you to call me, okay?”

“Okay, sure” he said, looking slightly puzzled by the request.

“His sister was murdered.”

“Geez,” he said.

Chapter Fourteen

A Safe Place

We went out to the car and I started to drive. I needed to find Paddy somewhere safe to stay until I could figure out a way to sort out this mess. I could think of a half-dozen people who would help but I didn’t want to put them at risk. It was obviously no good taking him to my place.

“I’m going to check you in a hotel with security. It’s the safest place I can think of for now. You’re to stay there until I come to collect you, you understand?”

“So you’re not going to turn me in to the police?”

“Not for now. I’ll have to consider what to do with you later, but right now my primary concern is to keep you safe and keep you out of the way. But I’ll tell you what,” I said, as I steered the car towards Cambridge, “I’m sticking my neck out for you and in doing that I’m putting myself in potential danger. I want you to promise to do exactly as I say.”

“I will. You have my word.”

I drove us to the Marriott hotel and booked a room in my own name. I paid cash in advance for three days and left five hundred dollars deposit against incidental expenses; then we went up to the room.

“You’re to stay here until I come for you. You will not leave the room. You can order room service and watch the TV. That’s your life for the next few days, you understand?”

He nodded.

“You don’t answer your cell phone unless you see my caller display. You call no-one. You don’t use the phone in the room. Have you got a laptop or tablet?”

“I’ve got a laptop.”

“You are not to use the internet under any circumstances. The hotel Wi-fi isn’t a secure connection.”

“You don’t think all these precautions are a bit over the top?” he said.

“Sit down; I want to show you something,” I said.

He sat, and I pulled out my cell phone. I found one of the pictures I’d taken of Trish’s dead body. It was something I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to do.

“Take a look,” I said.

“What…”

“Take a look.”

He looked.

“Oh Jesus,” he said.

“Don’t underestimate what these people will do to you if they find you. And don’t underestimate their power to find you. If you do what I say you’ll be safe. If you don’t then I wash my hands of responsibility for you. Now give me your ID.”

He handed it over.

“If you even think of trying to run I’ll get the police to pick you up before you can say Hail Mary. You understand?”

He swallowed hard. “I understand,” he said. “I won’t let you down, I promise.”

“Don’t expect to hear anything more from me for a day or two.”

“What are going to do?”

“Think,” I said.

*

I had only the vaguest idea of what I was going to do next, except for one thing. I called Benny and told him I needed to see him right away. Forty five minutes later we were seated opposite each other in our usual rendezvous.

“You can forget the search for the guy in the photograph,” I said, “and you can forget about Trish. It’s not important anymore. There’s some other information I need. I want to know where Al Costa lives, you got that?”

“Sure, I can find that out no problem. You reckon he’s connected to this in some way?” he said over the top of his coffee cup.

“You don’t need to know the reason,” I said.

I called Lucy to tell her I was on the way home. She’d arranged to see Angela at three o’clock; would I be able to come?

“Like I said, I’m on the way. I don’t have anything else to do until maybe this evening.”

“Did you find the Costas?”

“Yeah, so I’m going to need to take a shower when I get home,” I said.

*

“I want us to stay together for the next couple of days – and nights,” I said, as I walked through Lucy’s front door.

“How sweet,” Lucy said.

“Yeah. Joking aside I don’t like the fact that these assholes know where I live. And I’ve been thinking; why did they leave me a note written in Italian? It makes me wonder if they know about you, too.”

“How’s that possible?”

“If I can find out stuff about them, then they can find out stuff about me. And maybe about you, too.”

“Creepy. What happened today?” she said.

I was sitting in Lucy’s sitting room with a glass in my hand and most of the contents of the glass in my stomach.

“I found the briefcase guy.”

“The killer? What did you do?”

“I’m not satisfied that he killed Freddy,” I said. “He says he didn’t and I’ve no evidence to the contrary. He spun a fairly plausible story, but he admitted stealing the briefcase.”

“What did he do with it?”

“He stashed it in the basement of the place he was working. I left it in a locker downtown while I decide what to do with it. Oh, and I called Trish’s murder in on the way home. Anonymously, obviously.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“Trish’s brother. His name’s Paddy.”

“So what happened? Tell me the whole story, don’t make it like twenty questions,” she said.

“Trish’s room-mate told me she had a brother working at an Irish bar in Dorchester. I went to break the news of his sister’s death to him and to tell him where to pick up her stuff. I didn’t realize he was the guy in the photograph until I saw him. It makes sense now though.”

“Why?”

“It explains why Trish held out against her killers. At least I think she did. The idea for the heist was hers. She told her brother that if they could get the drugs that Freddy was supposed to deliver that night they could make enough money for both of them to make a fresh start. Her brother says he wasn’t mixed up with drugs himself, and that’s probably the truth since nobody on the street knew who he was. He admits stealing the briefcase. He said he snatched it when Freddy put it down on the platform. He claims there was no struggle and he didn’t even know about Freddy’s death until later.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I don’t know. But whether it’s the truth or not there’s nothing to contradict his version of events. Anyway, I need time to think about how to play this. For the time being I’ve got him holed up in the Marriott in Cambridge. I hope to God he follows my advice and stays put.”

“Why not just hand it all over to the police and let them sort it out. You should get some kudos by pointing out the briefcase thing.”

“The problem is the police have no evidence against the people responsible for Trish’s murder – nor even any evidence that Al Costa and his sons were behind the drug delivery that was supposed to take place the night Freddy was killed. I need them all locked up; not least because they know where I live.”

“So what’s next?”

“Angela,” I said. “Let’s see what she’s got.”

Chapter Fifteen

Elm Ridge

Each time I saw Angela she looked more and more like she belonged on one of our movie posters. The blond hair was tumbling over her right eye and she was wearing a cream-colored two-piece with a very short skirt. Her nylon stockings rustled when she crossed and uncrossed her legs. Lucy rolled her eyes at me.

“Lucy tells me that you’ve seen Muriel and determined that there is another son – a twin. You can tell us about that in a moment. Lucy hasn’t yet told you about the latest evidence the police investigation has thrown up. The fact is that Bob had been embezzling funds from his firm for several months before his death. The police angle on that is that the audit was due and Bob realized his thefts would be discovered. They believe that’s what triggered the events on the night both he and his wife died. I’m sorry. It paints a rather different picture than the one you painted for us of Bob Hughes.”

Angela shook her head. “It’s hard to believe,” she said. “I don’t know of any reason Bob would need money that badly. It’s a shock, of course.”

“Okay, well let’s move on. What’s the information about the brother?”

“Muriel was pleased to see me, though obviously she’s still coming to terms with the dreadful news about Bob and Cynthia. I told her that Bob had told me he had a brother. Actually I stretched the truth a bit I’m afraid. I said he’d told me he had a twin brother. After I told her that she told me all about it. She was married in 1975 when she became pregnant with the twins. She knew even back then that it was a mistake, but at the time she thought it was the right thing to do – to marry the father. The marriage didn’t last and her husband deserted her and the children within months after their birth. Later they were divorced, but neither party remarried. She never saw her husband again and she brought the two boys up by herself. It was a struggle, but she managed.

“The problem was that although the boys were twins – clinically identical twins – and they looked very much alike, that’s where the similarity ended. Bob was always a good son, but George, the other son, was always in trouble. She believes that he was probably a sociopath, with no concern for anyone but himself. She even described him as hateful. He sometimes even physically assaulted her, especially when she refused to give him money. When he was fifteen he said he wanted to go to live with his father. Since then she’s had no contact with him, although she knows that her former husband died about seven years ago. She has no idea where George is now and she said she stopped considering him as her son more than twenty years ago.”

“Well that all makes sense,” Lucy said. “Do you think we have enough to go to the police with now? To get them to re-open the investigation?”

“It ought to be, if it wasn’t for the evidence about Bob’s systematic theft over the past few months,” I said.

“But that doesn’t change anything,” Lucy said. “There’s still Claudia’s evidence; and the watch.”

“Except that the missing watch may not be such a puzzle anymore,” I said. “If Bob was so desperate for money that he was stealing from his company then he may have sold the watch himself – or pawned it. At least we know that George wasn’t adopted –and presumably he’s still using the family name. Bearing in mind Muriel’s description of George’s character it will be worth checking if the police know anything about him. It’ll be easy enough to get a check run through the police computers.”

“Maybe he was blackmailing his brother and Bob was stealing money to pay him off.” Lucy said.

“Blackmailing him about what?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Lucy said softly.

“I think it’s best not to make wild guesses,” I said.

“I got details about the place and date of marriage and Muriel’s husband’s name,” Angela said. “I told her that whatever his faults George deserved to know about his brother’s death. She accepted that.”

“Okay. I’ll get a police check done to see if he’s got a record and Lucy, you start checking the internet. See if you can find anything out that way.”

Angela was subdued as she left the office. The news of Bob’s conduct during the last few months of his life had clearly shaken her.

“It just goes to show,” Lucy said. “No matter how well you think you know someone you can never really be sure about their character.”

“One thing’s for sure,” I said. “There’s a lot more to this case than a simple domestic murder and suicide. I wonder what’s going to turn up next.”

When I got home I sat waiting impatiently for Benny’s call. I didn’t think his latest assignment was going to cause him much difficulty and I wanted to move on the Kingsley case without unnecessary delay.

“So what are you planning?” Lucy said.

“I’m not sure – at least not in any detail. There’s nothing that the police can use to touch them for any of this – the drugs, Trish’s murder, the veiled threat to me. But I have an idea that might seal the fate of the Costas if it works out.”

The call from Benny finally came at around seven. Al Costa lived in a place called Elm Ridge, about ten miles north of Fitchburg. It was probably about a ninety minute drive, even without traffic.

“When you gonna settle up with me for all this?” Benny said.

“You’ll get your reward in heaven, Benny.”

“I’d rather have it now,” he said. “I may not be going there.”

“You want to head out of the city,” I said to Lucy; “get some fresh air?”

“Were are we going?”

“Elm Ridge,” I said. “We can do some brainstorming about the Hughes case on the way.”

“Now?”

“We’ll leave about nine,” I said. “Let’s have dinner first and then take a drive.”

As we drove northwards Lucy said, “If the police have George’s prints on file it’ll be a real breakthrough.”

“Maybe. If he left any prints at the house.”

“But even if he didn’t he’ll still have some explaining to do. Even though Claudia never saw him in the house he must have been inside that night. And it was several hours after his brother’s death – and Cynthia’s.”

“That’s if the police consider Claudia’s evidence puts him there at all.”

“You’re being a bit negative,” Lucy said.

“I’m playing Devil’s advocate, that’s all.”

“Maybe it’ll all come down to the watch in the end,” Lucy said. “The theft from Bob’s firm, the watch and the deaths must all be related somehow. But how?”

It was almost ten thirty when we arrived at Elm Ridge. Al Costa’s house was in a subdivision of about half a dozen homes. It was a large bungalow set about a hundred yards back from the road surrounded by elm trees. There were several lights on inside. We parked a couple of hundred yards past the place. “I’m going to take a look,” I said. “You sit tight, give me about twenty minutes.”

I made my way carefully through the trees and approached the house from the east. A large black Buick and a small red Porsche were parked in the driveway. The house was fairly isolated from its neighbors and the blinds and drapes were open. I got close enough to see that the main living room was situated to the left of the front door and what looked like a study to the right, at the front of the house. No dogs barked, which was a relief. Maybe Al wasn’t a dog-lover. I got to within no more than thirty feet of the study window. There was a black leather chair with its back to the window and in front of that was a large wooden glass-topped desk. The chair faced the door, about twenty feet across the room. I held my breath and looked around, gazing at the elms which stood about fifty feet high. I didn’t hear any voices or see anybody. After about five minutes I walked back through the trees to the car. I climbed in and we started our journey home.

“Is that it?” Lucy said. “You find what you wanted?”

“Yep,” I said.

It was after midnight when I turned into my driveway. I locked the car and we walked down to Lucy’s place. “How about a hot drink before we turn in?” I said. I pulled out my cell and made a call.

“Hi bro,” I said.

“Hi kid, kinda late isn’t it? How you doing?”

“I need you here,” I said. “Tomorrow if possible; how are you fixed?”

“If it’s important I’ll be there. And since you wouldn’t be calling me at this time of night otherwise I guess it’s important.”

“You got a pen handy?” I said. “I want you to make a list of what we’re going to need.”

Chapter Sixteen

Following Orders

My brother Duncan lived near Indian Lake in Vermont where he ran a training school for survivalists. I reckoned he’d have about a six hour journey by car; and with what he’d be bringing with him a car was the only option. I needed to pay Malone a visit during the morning but I’d be back before lunch. I made a call to Paddy just after eight.

“You following orders?” I said.

“Sure, Kane; to the letter. And thanks,” he said, “for everything.”

I drove across town to see Malone. He was sitting in his office with an open bag of donuts and a coffee in front of him.

“You going to stick around for a coffee this time? Help yourself,” he said nodding at the donuts. “You got something a bit more specific for me now?”

“Muriel Hughes told you that Bob had no siblings; that was incorrect. Although she’s had no contact with him for more than twenty years, Bob has a twin brother called George. He’s an identical twin.”

“Why didn’t Mrs. Hughes tell us that herself?”

“It’s a long story. Like I said, they’ve been estranged for years; but she accepts that she gave birth to identical twins, Bob and George. Shortly afterwards she split up with the father. When George was fifteen he went to live with his father, Scott. Scott died about seven years ago and Muriel has no idea where George is now.”

“And you’re telling me all this because?”

“Because I believe he was at the house the night Bob and Cynthia met their deaths.”

“Oh, wait a minute,” he said. “You’ve been talking to the little girl next door?”

“She may be little but she’s as sharp as a paring knife. I talked to her and I’m sure she’s not mistaken. Except that she thought it was Bob driving away from the house instead of George.”

“I get it,” Malone said. “The brother did them both in and then drove off into the sunset. And because he has the same DNA as his brother he left behind no evidence of his presence there?” He smiled at me condescendingly.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Except that I don’t know whether he was involved in the killing of course. I’m just saying he was there and he’s got some explaining to do; not least, why he would drive away from a house with his brother and sister-in-law dead inside without bothering to let anybody know.”

“So you want me to help you find him?”

“No, I want you to find him. It’s highly relevant to your investigation don’t you think? You think he just happened by, noticed his brother was hanging from a beam in the garage and then stole his watch and took off?”

Sam Malone munched his donut. “He got a record, this twin brother?”

“No idea. All I know is he drives a gray sedan and probably has a nice antique wrist watch.”

“Oh the watch?” Sam said with resignation. “I might have known that would come back to kick me up the butt.”

“Come on Sam,” I said. “All I’m asking is for you to follow it up; do some real detective work.”

“Like you do?”

I sighed. “Sam we’ve known each other a long time. Let’s not get petty about this. You’ve got the resources and manpower to it a lot more quickly than I can.”

“Okay, I’ll get somebody on to it,” he said.

“And make sure the scene’s preserved until you find him. His DNA may be the same but his prints aren’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And as a reward for doing all this I won’t make you thank me when I’m proved right,” I said, smiling at him.

“Get out of here, I’m a busy man,” he said.

“You can take a back seat on this one now,” I said to Lucy when I got back. “Malone’s capitulated at last.”

“Oh great,” she said. “Let’s celebrate. I’m cooking a special lunch; we’ll have it as soon as Duncan gets here. Since he’s teetotal we may as well have a glass of something while we’re waiting for him; what do you think?”

“I think it sounds like an excellent idea.”

“But first I’ll just give Angela a call and tell her the good news.”

*

“I don’t understand why Malone was so reluctant to investigate this case. I mean that’s what they’re there for isn’t it?” Lucy said, as we both settled down with a glass of Californian chardonnay.

“It’s tough when you have a case that for all intents and purposes is closed and then a couple of smart-asses come along to complicate things.”

“I guess so. It’s ages since we saw Duncan – over a year. I hope the two of you are going to behave yourselves.”

“Impeccably, as always,” I said.

“What’s the plan?”

“I have to run it past Duncan first, to make sure what I want to do is feasible. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow if it all looks okay.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Duncan and I will have to go back to Elm Ridge tonight to check things out.”

“Well just make sure whatever you plan to do is fool-proof. I don’t want you putting yourselves in any danger.”

“There’s no such thing as a fool-proof plan. There are always unknown factors; but it’s the best I can think of at the moment. Duncan may have some ideas as to how it can be fine-tuned.”

“How long do you think it’ll be until the police are able to trace George?”

“Hard to say. If he doesn’t have a record they may have to try the IRS, check out his social security number and address that way. In the meantime they’ll check to see if the watch was pawned anywhere.”

“It’s been a busy week,” she said. “Bet you’re glad you’ve got an assistant.” Her eyes were twinkling.

“Let’s see how it all pans out,” I said.

Chapter Seventeen

A Sense of Drama

The last time Duncan visited me I was still living in my apartment downtown. I still had my downtown office too, and a secretary called Lucy.

“So this is the new neighborhood?” Duncan said as he unpacked the Land Rover.

“Yes, bit of change huh?”

“And not the only change,” he chuckled. “How’s your assistant – or should I say your other half?”

“I hope you’re not planning to make any inappropriate comments in that regard,” I said.

Duncan grabbed me round the neck and then bear-hugged me. “Good to see you kid,” he said.

“You’re the guest of honor,” I said. “Lucy’s cooked up something special so I hope you’re hungry.”

“Like a horse. Let me get some of this stuff inside. I guess the other stuff can stay where it is,” he said, pointing to the rear compartment.

“You got everything?”

“Everything and then some,” he said. “It’s gonna be a blast, trust me.” He winked and went indoors.

“How long can you stay?” I asked as I followed him into the house.

“Aa long as you need me, but I’d like to head back by the day after tomorrow.”

“Let’s see how it goes,” I said.

*

“Yes, from what little we know about him it seems completely out of character,” I said. “But then who knows what people might do if they’re desperate.”

“And you’ve no idea how the twin fits into all of this, except he was there? Or you think he was,” Duncan said.

“Check,” I said.

We were sitting on Lucy’s verandah, replete after a rather splendid lunch.

“Lucy’s going to Italy in the fall with her folks,” I said. “To see her long-lost relatives.”

“They’re not lost; we just haven’t seen them for a long time. Well actually I’ve never seen them at all,” Lucy said. “I’m brushing up on my Italian.”

“Oh that reminds me,” I said. I showed Duncan the note which was screwed up in my pocket.

“What the hell does that mean?” he said. I told him.

“Hmmm,” he said. “He’s got a sense of drama then?”

“Lucy thought we should frame it and put it on the office wall as a sort of conversation piece; but since nobody would understand what it meant that seems a bit pointless.”

“We could put the translation underneath,” she said sullenly.

“You see what I have to put up with?” I said to Duncan.

“I’ve got a good idea, Lucy,” Duncan said. “How about when you go on vacation I take the kid to my training camp and put him through his paces for a couple of weeks.” He jabbed me in the stomach to emphasize what a good idea he thought that would be.

“Good idea,” Lucy said. “We don’t want him to turn into a bloater,” she giggled.

“How was California?” I said, deftly changing the subject. Duncan had been back to visit friends from our old home town for Christmas.

“It was good,” he said. “But I was glad to get back. It doesn’t feel like home there anymore.”

Duncan and I had grown up in California. Well, there and a few other places around the globe because our father had been a banker, constantly posted to different places. We left more than fifteen years ago, not long after our folks passed away.

“Hey you know I was back in Hong Kong last year,” I said. “Remember that building – the one with the…?”

“The building of a thousand assholes?” he said.

“Yeah, well you hardly notice it anymore. A lot of changes there, a lot of construction.”

As the afternoon wore on we talked about this and that. We laughed a lot too; it was nice to relax for a while. About five I suggested we take a nap. Duncan and I were going to need our wits about us later, and we had a lot of driving to do as well.

“We’ll see you in the morning, Lucy. Maybe not too early in the morning,” I said, as we headed back to my place.

*

It was after one o’clock in the morning when the Land Rover slipped quietly past the house on Elm Ridge. I eased it to a stop. “What do you think,” I said.

“Nice,” Duncan said. “Let’s take a closer look.”

A little more than an hour later we were heading home again. We were all set.

Chapter Eighteen

Tweedledum and Tweedledee

It was one of those rare mornings when I wasn’t up and about at six. It was Lucy’s call that woke me. It was daylight. I looked at my watch. Nine forty. I swung myself out of bed and went to answer the phone.

“You up yet?” Lucy said.

“I am now.”

“You want a late breakfast?”

“Good idea. Give us fifteen minutes.”

Duncan was sitting out in the porch, already showered, shaved and dressed. “Breakfast, fifteen minutes,” I shouted, and disappeared into the bathroom.

“I’m off downtown to see Will Bryan and then I’ll be seeing the Costa brothers. I’ll leave you two to your idle gossip,” I said after we finished breakfast.

“See you when I see you kid,” Duncan said.

I called Testaloni’s on my way into town. “It’s Kane; tell Tweedledum and Tweedledee I’ll be in to see them at one,” I said.

“Who?”

“Jimmy and Joey, who the hell do you think I mean.” I hung up.

I got a call back about five minutes later. It was Jimmy Costa.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” I said. “I may be able to get your father’s stuff back, but I need to talk to the pair of you first. One o’clock.” I hung up before he had a chance to reply.

It was one o’clock on the dot when I walked into Testaloni’s. Jimmy and Joey were sitting at the counter.

“We need to talk privately,” I said.

We walked over to a table at the rear of the restaurant behind a screen. A sort of VIP room, I guessed.

“I can get your stuff,” I said, “although I need a little time. But there are two conditions.”

“Look…” Joey said.

“Let’s hear him out,” Jimmy said. “What conditions?”

“First I want an assurance that whoever took the stuff from Freddy is left alone. You’ll get the stuff back – let that be an end to it.”

Jimmy thought this over for a few moments. “You on the level?”

“Yeah, I’m on the level. I’m getting kind of old for this game.”

“You know who took the stuff?”

“Maybe yes, maybe no; but I can get the stuff back to you if you agree to this simple request.”

“Let me talk to the old man,” Jimmy said. He walked away from the table and disappeared. A few minutes later he came back. “It’s a deal,” he said, “but he wants to know the second condition.”

“I give the stuff directly to your father and he gives me his word face-to-face.”

“How do we know you’ve got the stuff?”

“I don’t have it now. I can get it this afternoon. I’ll meet you back here and take it to your father. You’ll have to take me there, wherever it is. And bring me back afterwards.”

He thought about that for a while. “Sure, okay. You bring the stuff here and we’ll take you there to talk to the old man.”

“But don’t try and get smart,” Joey said, “coz I’m itching to lay one on you.”

“I just want a peaceful end to this,” I said.

“How long you need?”

“A few hours – I can meet you here at four.”

“Get going.”

So far so good, I thought, as I walked out of the joint.

I was back at four. I had the briefcase cuffed to my right wrist. “I get to give it to the man himself,” I said, “okay?”

“Let me look inside the briefcase,” Jimmy said. I lifted it on to the table and flipped the locks open. He looked at the contents carefully.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

We walked out the restaurant and across the road to a dark blue Audi sedan. Jimmy climbed into the drivers’ seat and I sat at the back. Joey slid in next to me. We left the city and headed north. There was plenty of traffic, but I’d allowed a couple of hours for the journey. It was almost six when we neared Fitchburg and Joey took out a blindfold.

“You gotta wear a cloth from here,” he said. “No hard feelings, eh?”

Twenty minutes later we turned into Costa’s driveway, and the car lurched a bit as we approached the house. We went inside and Jimmy unfastened the blindfold. I looked at my watch. It was six fifteen.

They led me to the study which was on the right-hand side of the front door. Al Costa was seated behind the glass-top wooden desk. He smiled.

“You see,” he said. “There’s no need for any unpleasantness. We’re all businessmen, right Mr. Kane?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable. Jimmy, get Mr. Kane a drink. A scotch?”

“Thanks, that’ll be fine.”

“Let me tell you Mr. Kane, you made a wise decision coming here,” he said. “Did you check the briefcase Jimmy?”

“Sure, the stuff’s all there,” he said.

Al Costa made a gesture with his hand. “Bring it here, Jimmy,” he said.

“He can’t. It’s cuffed to my wrist,” I said, holding up my arm so he could see. I glanced at my wristwatch. “I’ll give it to you myself,” I said, “just as soon as you give me an assurance that you’ll let the matter rest there.”

Al Costa laughed mirthlessly. “You hear that boys? He wants an assurance.”

Jimmy and Joey laughed in unison.

“Mr. Kane, I’m afraid you’re really not in a position to make demands.”

“You gave me your word, or your son said you agreed that if I returned the stuff you wouldn’t take the matter any further.”

Costa laughed again. “I said I was a businessman, Mr. Kane, not a gentleman.”

“Don’t you think there’s been enough violence?” I said.

“In my line of business Mr. Kane I can’t afford to let people steal from me and get away with it. I’d, how shall I put it? Lose respect.”

I glanced at my watch. “You didn’t have to kill her,” I said.

“Trish O’Connor? She was a junkie. You think I’m going to let a junkie make a fool of me?”

“She was tortured.”

“Yes, well, perhaps my boys got a bit carried away,” he said.

“She wouldn’t talk,” Jimmy said.

“I’ll say one thing for her, she was a tough bitch.” Joey said. “She kept her mouth shut. I seen a lot of guys couldn’t take what we did to her.”

“So it’s no deal?” I said.

“Give me the case, Mr. Kane. And then perhaps my sons can persuade you to tell us where you got it.”

I sighed. “Okay, Mr. Costa, I didn’t get to be this old by being a hero,” I said, taking out the key and unfastening the cuff.

I walked over to his desk, put the case on the desk in front of him and then backed away from the desk. He smiled and made a move to open the briefcase.

And then all hell was let loose.

A series of explosions in the front yard rattled the windows and almost simultaneously the window behind Costa shattered and the glass on top of the desk shattered too.

“Jesus,” Costa said. His sons were frozen on the other side of the room. “Stay where you are, all of you,” I said.

Al Costa made a move to get out of his chair. A rifle shot rang out and a bullet slammed into the wooden desktop a few inches from him.

“I said to stay where you are. Let me show you something,” I said. I walked over to a shelf beside the desk and picked up a narrow vase. It was no more than three inches wide. I placed it on the desk beside Al Costa, just inches away from him. As I moved back a third shot shattered the vase.

“The next one goes through the back of your head,” I said. “If you think that was a lucky shot why not try to move again?”

Costa’s face was a paroxysm of rage. “You…will…pay…for…this,” he whispered.

“I’ll take my chances. Right now I’m going home. If anyone moves in the next five minutes this room will be torn apart,” I said. “They’ll be scraping pieces of all of you off the walls. I’d say arrivederci, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing any of you again.”

I turned and walked out of the study, into the hallway and out through the front door. I heard no sound as I walked up the driveway. At the end of the driveway a Land Rover drew up. I climbed in. “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

As we drove down Elm Ridge a fleet of half a dozen police cars raced by us in the opposite direction, sirens whining, lights blazing.

Duncan looked at me and smiled. “There must have been some kind of disturbance,” he said.

Chapter Nineteen

Lucy’s Case

It was almost nine when we arrived home and Duncan pulled into my driveway. I’d left my car downtown; I’d have to collect it tomorrow. I’d telephoned Lucy on the way home and she had a snack waiting for us. Duncan had been wearing camouflage and needed to go and clean himself up, so I walked down to Lucy’s alone.

“So it all went off without a hitch?” she said.

“Like Duncan said, it was a blast.”

“I wish I’d been there to see it,” she said.

“I’ll get the news from Will in the morning. He’s the one who set it all up,” I said. “Short notice, too.”

“You think there’ll be enough to put them all away for good?”

“More than enough,” I said. “In due course.”

“What does that mean?” Lucy said.

I lowered myself into Lucy’s recliner and tossed my cell phone down on the table.

“I got enough to amount to a confession to Trish’s murder from all of them,” I said. “Although there are parts of the recording I’ll want to discard. I wouldn’t like the police to think that I had anything to do with the drugs.”

“So you think Paddy will be safe now?”

“He’ll be okay. But I’m going to need to have a heart-to-heart with him. I think it would be wrong to keep the police in the dark about his role; and anyway his evidence will be needed to complete the picture. I’m going to talk to Martin Scholes in the morning.” Martin Scholes was an attorney.

“I think, given the circumstances, he can probably cut a deal − an immunity from prosecution for his theft of the briefcase in return for his cooperation in the investigation. He can fill in the gaps, see? He can link everything neatly together.”

“Well I’m glad that’s all over,” Lucy said. “Now we can concentrate on my investigation.”

“Yours?” I said.

“Yes, the Hughes case.”

“How come that’s your investigation? Because you saw the client first? You only made her a cup of coffee.”

“Because I was the one who found out about the doppelganger,” she said.

“Fair enough,” I said. “Any more news?”

“Not much. Malone called to say that George doesn’t have a record, and their inquiries with the pawnshops haven’t turned anything up. But of course it’s only a matter of time before they find him.”

“And then the real investigation will start; trying to make sense of everything.”

Duncan had arrived. “Well let’s not worry about that for the moment,” she said. “Let’s eat.”

“I laid all the charges in the yard last night,” Duncan said. “Or rather in the early hours of this morning. Then I drove back there this afternoon and at dusk I took up a position in one of the elm trees. We decided it would be best in the evening. Because the house is isolated it seems that they weren’t in the habit of closing the drapes. With the illumination from the lights inside the study I had a perfect target. Kane reckoned he’d need about ten minutes after entering the house to set them up, and we decided that as soon as the briefcase was put on the desk I’d let the fireworks off and drill a hole in the desk. Then I called the cops. They were already standing by.”

“Sounds like the nightmare on Elm Ridge,” Lucy said. “You know, like the movie – Nightmare on Elm Street.”

Duncan and I looked at each other.

“Yes, Lucy,” I said. “We get it.”

“But what if they hadn’t taken you into the study? What if they’d conducted the meeting somewhere else?”

“Well we had a plan B. We’re not stupid,” I said, in my best mimicry of little Claudia’s voice.

Lucy laughed, nearly choked on her sandwich and had to rush to the kitchen for a glass of water.

*

“Can’t you stay a bit longer?” Lucy said to Duncan at breakfast.

“Not this time; but we’ll get together again soon.”

“You remember that case you got for us in January?” Lucy said. “Don Maddox.”

“Of course.”

“That was my first case,” she said. “Kane and I are a real team now, right?” she said, kicking me on the ankle under the table.

“Indubitably,” I said.

“Where the hell does he get all those ridiculous words from, Duncan? Why can’t he talk like the rest of us?”

“He can if he wants, Lucy; he enjoys joshing you − and he likes to show off. He was educated in England y’know,” he said, in a parody of a refined English toff.

“Hah,” she said, tossing her head.

“He only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases,” I said. “That’s a quote, by the way.”

“Alice in Wonderland,” Lucy said. “I know.”

“The movie or the book?” I said.

“Time for me to go,” Duncan said, smiling.

We waved him goodbye as he disappeared down the street and we went back inside.

“I need to report back to my client,” I said.

“What will you tell him?”

“The truth; that I haven’t uncovered any evidence to suggest that his son’s death was other than a tragic accident.”

“Do you really believe that to be true?”

“I really don’t know. There’s no evidence to contradict what Paddy told me. I think we just have to leave it there.”

“But suppose he really did push Freddy?”

“I don’t believe he would have done that intentionally. Maybe, as he says, he didn’t do it at all. But whatever he did he’s suffered for it, there’s no doubt about that. And whatever you may say about Trish she deserves credit for not giving him up. And she didn’t give him up – I know that from the Costa brothers. So at the end she did something brave and selfless. And the knowledge that she did that for him is something he’s going to have to live with for the rest of his life.”

Lucy looked at me and smiled. “You know what Kane?” she said, “You’re okay.”

I leaned over and kissed her. “Now let’s not get carried away,” I said.

Nothing much happened for the rest of the day. Angela called to see if we’d had any luck tracing George. Lucy told her that we’d let her know as soon as we heard something ourselves.

I drove over to see Mike Kingsley together with his children, and even Audrey put in an appearance. I didn’t tell them everything. I left most of it out. It had been a tawdry, squalid affair and I wanted to spare them that. I told them what they needed to know.

“It seems it was just a tragic and unfortunate accident,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“In a way it’s a relief to hear that,” Mike said. “It means we can now put it behind us and move on with our lives.”

I placed Paddy in the capable hands of Martin Scholes. I dropped in to see Will Bryan. The police had discovered more cocaine in Costa’s home. All three of the Costas had been taken into custody. It wasn’t Will’s jurisdiction, but he’d keep me informed. Al Costa was keeping his mouth shut so far, but they were putting together a watertight case against him. Joey and Jimmy were talking but denying everything. I told him about the tape. He referred me to the DA’s office. I went there and made a lengthy statement. I told them I’d gone to investigate the death of Trish O’Connor with a view to obtaining evidence of their involvement. I gave them the tape. I didn’t tell them that I’d found Trish’s body and they didn’t ask me how I knew about that; but I did tell them about Paddy O’Connor and that Scholes would be contacting them.

The next day I treated Benny, Len and Blue to a steak lunch and gave Benny a grand. He thought he’d won the lottery.

It was early afternoon by the time I got home, and I met a very excited Lucy. George had been picked up and they were bringing him in for questioning.

“Malone says he owes us an apology,” I said. George was wearing the Blancpain watch. At least, they assume it’s Angela’s watch, but they need her to identify it. Call Angela and ask her to come to the office.”

*

“They need you to confirm that the watch George was wearing is the one you gave Bob,” I told Angela. “Obviously that’s something you can do easily because you have the serial number and all the insurance details.”

“Thank you both so much,” she said.

“Well we haven’t really done much,” Lucy said.

“But you never doubted me. I’m grateful for that.”

“The case is far from over,” I said. “There are a lot of questions to be answered.”

“I’m a bit nervous. Could you come with me?” she said. “Would you mind?”

“Sure,” I said. “If that’s what you’d like.” I called Malone and he asked if we could go right over there. They didn’t want to start the interview until they were sure about the watch.

We drove over there, the three of us, and went up to Malone’s office. Angela gave him the paperwork for the watch. There was a photograph, but most importantly the insurance certificate with the serial number of the watch recorded on it.

“Where did they find him?” Angela asked.

“In Syracuse,” Malone said.

“Can I see him?” Angela asked.

“Sure we’re waiting to interview him.” He led us through some swing doors and down a corridor. There was a room with a one-way window and we could see a subdued and nervous-looking man sitting on the opposite side of the room.

As Angela looked through the window, she gasped. “Bob?” she said; then her legs buckled and before I could get hold of her she fell to the floor.

Chapter Twenty

Feeling Down

“It must have been a terrible shock for her,” Lucy said. “It’s just so sad that after all her concern to exonerate Bob all she achieved in the end was to prove the opposite.”

After we took Angela home we’d returned to Malone’s office. Following Angela’s dramatic identification of Bob Hughes, he had told the interviewing officer the whole story. There would be a further interview later, but Malone related to us the gist of what he’d told them.

“He says that George had incurred serious gambling debts and was having the squeeze put on him,” Malone said. “He’d never lost touch with his brother despite the estrangement between George and his mother. He said there’s a bond between twins that nobody else would understand. I guess that’s especially true with identical twins. The amount George said he owed was too much for Bob to find, but George told him that he could pay it off in instalments and begged him to help. But the money he required kept increasing and Bob started to take money from his company.

“At first he thought he could pay it back, but it was too much. In the end he told George that he just couldn’t help any more. That day George came to the house. He told Bob that if he couldn’t pay he’d tip the police off about Bob’s thefts from his employer. Bob begged him to talk to his creditors, to get them to back off. George had laughed at him. There never had been any creditors apparently – it was all a scam from start to finish.

“Bob said he couldn’t think of any way out. He was ruined. George had brought a bottle of Vodka with him – he was drinking heavily and eventually passed out. Bob says he sat there for a long time wondering what to do. He couldn’t think of a way out of the mess he’d gotten himself into. Even if George didn’t carry out his threat he knew the auditors were breathing down his neck. He got some sleeping pills from the kitchen, mixed them with the vodka and poured it down George’s throat. He dragged him into the garage, and strung him up. George didn’t jump, he said. Bob hoisted him up there and watched him die. Said it was like watching himself die. Then he went back into the house and waited for Cynthia to come home from work. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of her finding everything out. She came home in the middle of the afternoon and he struck her on the back of the head, then waited until it started to get dark, went out to George’s car and drove off. He had nowhere to go, so he drove to George’s place and stayed there.”

“My God,” Lucy said. “If he hadn’t taken the watch he probably would have gotten away with it.”

“I guess he wasn’t thinking that straight,” Malone said. “He told the interviewing officer that he never intended to assume George’s identity, but after the killings he said he needed to get away, to think – to buy himself some time.”

“What will happen to him now?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t know. It’s not my job to wonder about things like that,” Malone said.

*

“Seriously,” Lucy said, “did it ever occur to you for a moment that the man Claudia saw was Bob after all?”

“No, it never crossed my mind,” I said. “It should have. I’m always telling you how important it is to keep an open mind. If something can’t be dismissed as an impossibility then it should be considered. I was remiss on this occasion; but I guess in the long run it didn’t really matter.”

“Well the pathologist got it wrong too – she assumed that Cynthia died before Bob – I mean before the man in the garage.”

“Which just goes to show how careful you have to be when making assumptions,” I said.

We were sitting on Lucy’s verandah, which bore a striking similarity to my porch, watching the sun go down.

“I wonder how Angela instantly recognized it was Bob in the interview room. After all, they were identical twins.”

“They may have shared the same DNA,” I said, “but not the same genetics. There are always differences, and these may become more obvious as they age – particularly to someone who knew Bob intimately, and I doubt that anyone was more intimately familiar with his appearance than Angela. But even if she hadn’t identified him, and if he hadn’t confessed, the police would have soon worked it out. After all, unlike George, Bob’s fingerprints would be all over his home and all over his office too.”

“I feel so down,” Lucy said miserably. “I thought we were helping Angela – helping Bob. But in the end…” She wiped her eyes.

I put my hand on her leg and then I stood up, walked behind her and put my arms loosely around her neck. “Lucy, in this job we can’t afford to get involved emotionally. It’s tough, I know, but we have to move on. We did our best, we can’t control events.”

Lucy looked up at me over her shoulder. “I know,” she whispered. “It’s okay, I’ll be alright.” She patted my hand. I kissed the top of her head, smelled her hair.

After a while she looked up at me again and smiled at me through misty eyes.

“I guess I’m going to have to learn to take the rough with the smooth,” she said, “but, as Scarlett O’Hara said, ‘Tomorrow’s another day’.”

“Frankly, my dear,” I said, in my Clark Gable voice, “I’d have to agree with you.”

I smiled at her. She stood up, took my hand in hers, and led me into the house.

***

To learn about all the books in the Mark Kane Mysteries Series please read on…

A Word from the Author

You Can Make a Real Difference

If you have enjoyed reading this book please can you help me by spending just a few moments to leave a review by clicking the link below? Positive reviews are the only way for me to reach more readers. No matter how short your review is it will be greatly appreciated.

John Hemmings

July 2015

Please click here to leave a Review

The Mark Kane Mysteries Series

A short synopsis of each book in the series appears on the next few pages.

Book One: Forget Me Not

Greg Philips’ wife, Gloria, has recently died after suffering from chronic dementia, leaving her long-lost illegitimate daughter, Susan, a large slice of her estate. But is Susan who she claims to be? And was Gloria mentally competent when she made her will or was she manipulated in some way? Boston Investigator Mark Kane is hired to discover the truth, but as the investigation proceeds he soon finds himself embroiled in a murder mystery, and as the suspects mount up he needs all his wits about him to find out the truth, and prevent Greg’s adult sons from financial ruin or worse. As usual, Kane’s longtime companion Lucy is there to lend him a helping hand, but will she be able to help him solve the mystery? (Free on Amazon)

Book Two: Ice

Jenny Garcia has returned to Boston from a vacation overseas little knowing that her suitcase contained a valuable haul of illicit drugs hidden inside. When the bag is stolen from her at the airport Boston investigator Mark Kane is given the difficult job of retrieving the suitcase and finding out who is responsible for putting Jenny in such terrible danger. But when the two men who could have provided the answers are found dead Kane has his work cut out for him. As Lucy stumbles upon a vital piece of evidence the case suddenly takes a new turn. Has Kane been looking in all the wrong places? And when a kidnapping puts the whole investigation on a different footing he needs to call on all his experience and cunning to save the victim from harm and bring the culprits to justice. (See it on Amazon)

Book Three: The Black Widow

On vacation in Thailand Lucy befriends Dale Porter, a fellow American, but her idyllic break is cut short when Dale is arrested for murder. She enlists Kane’s assistance and they head to the Philippines to look for answers. Kane deputizes Lucy as his temporary assistant investigator and together they set out to solve the mystery of a body found floating in the sea and to try to prove that Dale was not responsible for his death. They travel from Manila to Subic Bay in their quest for the truth and identify several suspects along the way − including the dead man’s widow. But the victim had many enemies too. And why had Dale disguised the victim’s boat and concealed it in a secret location? As they struggle to unravel the victim’s complicated life Kane is finally driven to an unexpected and shocking conclusion. (See it on Amazon)

Book Four: Till Death

Don and Lisa Maddox’ idyllic marriage is threatened when Lisa is targeted by blackmailers, and Boston private detective Mark Kane is hired to investigate − but he soon realizes that he is investigating more than just blackmail, and finds himself searching for a serial killer as well − and with trouble at the office too it’s one headache after another. But who is responsible for the bizarre deaths? And what secret is Lisa so desperate to hide from her husband? Kane and his newly appointed assistant investigator Lucy head west to The Twin Cities to look for answers they are plagued with setbacks and are met with a wall of silence. As Lucy observes, “It’s as if some malign force keeps putting obstacles in our way.” But Kane and Lucy must find a way forward if they are to thwart the blackmailers and find the killer. (See it on Amazon)

Book Five: Missing

Dean Roberts is a sick, elderly man with just one precious thing in his life -- his teenage daughter Marisa.  When she mysteriously disappears in Springfield, Missouri on a road trip across America the police draw a blank, so Dean hires Kane and Lucy to find her and bring her home.

When Kane and Lucy set out for Missouri to find a teenager who has gone missing whilst on a road trip across the States they soon realize that she and her traveling companion have been abducted by a sinister group whose victims are turning up dead – real dead. But what is the motive for her abduction? Nothing has been stolen from her bank account, no demand for a ransom has been made and a telephone call from the missing girl a few days after her abduction only adds to the mystery. In a race against time they enlist the assistance of local law enforcement officers and friends of the pair in a desperate attempt to find the two girls before it’s too late. (See it on Amazon)

Book Six: I Spy

Kane and Lucy find themselves with two case to investigate: one an apparent murder/suicide and the other a tragic accident – or was it? As they struggle to make sense of the apparently contradictory evidence they discover that neither case is as straightforward as it appears.

When the police discover the body of Cynthia Hughes savagely beaten to death on the kitchen floor and her husband Bob hanged in the garage it seems like an open-and-shut case – a domestic murder/suicide -- but Bob’s mistress, Angela, doesn’t buy it and she hires Kane and Lucy to find the real killer; and as they investigate the deaths it soon becomes clear that the police have overlooked some key evidence in the case which points to a different culprit. Meanwhile Mike Kingsley’s son has died after being struck by a train and the police have ruled it an accidental death. But was it? As Kane and Lucy struggle with the two cases simultaneously they discover that they have something in common – neither case is quite what it seems to be…

Book Seven: A Tangled Web

When Marjorie Griffiths learns that her husband has had a clandestine meeting with a young woman at a local motel, she hires private enquiry agent Dick Hampton to keep him under surveillance.

When Hampton informs her that her husband is in a room at the motel, with the same woman, she hurries over there and when she sees her husband leave and drive away she decides to confront the woman.

And then she vanishes.

When Marjorie’s husband, Chuck, reports her missing, he becomes an immediate suspect in her disappearance. He hires attorney Oliver Davies to advise him, and Davies recommends Kane & Lucy to investigate Marjorie’s mysterious disappearance. But when traces of Marjorie’s blood are found in the matrimonial home and in her abandoned car, Chuck is arrested; and this is only the beginning of his nightmare, as demons from his past return to threaten and even destroy him.