Till Death - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Four: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Stories...with a dash of Romance. A Murder, Mystery & Suspense Thriller Read online

  MARK KANE MYSTERIES

  BOOK FOUR

  TILL DEATH

  Copyright © 2015 by John Hemmings

  Mark Kane Mysteries. 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.

  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

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  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 suggested by cases he has been involved with, but some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent - or 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."

  Find out more or contact the author at http://johnhemmings.net/contact

  THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR

  ‘Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness’

  – Euripides

  For Gillian, Susan and Jim

  FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS

  Chapter One: The Meeting

  Chapter Two: The Agoraphobic

  Chapter Three: A Fresh Start

  Chapter Four: Stars in her Eyes

  Chapter Five: Maddox

  Chapter Six: The Prestige

  Chapter Seven: Office-less

  Chapter Eight: Another headache

  Chapter Nine: The Dead Guy

  Chapter Ten: The Cold Case

  Chapter Eleven: The Gym

  Chapter Twelve: Partners in Crime

  Chapter Thirteen: Starbucks

  Chapter Fourteen: Night Starvation

  Chapter Fifteen: Delmar Ditto

  Chapter Sixteen: The Accident

  Chapter Seventeen: A Moral Dilemma

  Chapter Eighteen: A Second Honeymoon

  Chapter Nineteen: In the Mood

  Chapter Twenty: The Twin Cities

  Chapter Twenty: One Atterbury

  Chapter Twenty Two: Another Death

  Chapter Twenty Three: The Highlander

  Chapter Twenty Four: Rapid Falls

  Chapter Twenty Five: Bob and Gladys

  Chapter Twenty Six: Till Death

  Chapter Twenty Seven: Making Plans

  Chapter Twenty Eight: Taking Stock

  Chapter Twenty Nine: Solja

  Chapter Thirty: A Race against Time

  Chapter Thirty One: Dr. Sanjit

  Chapter Thirty Two: DNA

  Chapter Thirty Three: Sudden Death

  Chapter Thirty Four: The Letter

  Chapter Thirty Five: Providence

  Chapter Thirty: Six Lisa

  Chapter Thirty Seven: The New Office

  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.

&nb
sp; 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

  The Meeting

  As soon as Lisa set eyes on him she was smitten. He was prowling along the jetty wearing an open neck dark blue polo shirt and cream-colored linen pants, his sockless feet in dark blue deck shoes that matched the color of his shirt. His hair was the color of prairie wheat and the skin of his face and neck had the golden glow of a summer dawn. He was about fifty, she guessed, and as such was old enough to be her father, but her thoughts at that moment were far from daughterly. He was a shade under six feet tall and, despite his middle-age, his figure was trim and athletic. He wasn’t conventionally good-looking, but he was striking in a way that she couldn’t quite figure. He carried with him an air of comfortable confidence that suggested he was at ease with the world.

  As he stepped off the jetty he made a beeline for the table outside the café where she was sitting. He strode towards her so purposefully that, in spite of the fact that she was sitting at a small table with her back to the café’s white stucco wall, she instinctively looked behind her to see where he might be headed. With a burst of adrenaline butterflies, she realized that he was directly approaching her, and she felt a rush of blood to her face. He stopped in front of her table and tilted his head slightly.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Are you from around here?”

  “Er no, I mean yes, in a way. I’m working here for the summer.” She tried desperately to prevent her face coloring. She felt foolish, like a girl at the prom being approached for a dance by the coolest kid in school.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” he said. “I’m in town for a few days and was hoping to find a boat to charter for a spot of fishing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lisa said, “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a land lubber.” She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps the café staff can help.” She was feeling calmer now.

  He stood perfectly still; looking at her with the deepest cobalt blue eyes she had ever seen. Neither of them said anything but the stranger made no move to go; it was like somebody had pressed the pause button on the video machine. After a while he said:

  “Perhaps I can join you for a few minutes. I could do with some refreshment. I don’t want to be a nuisance, but as you can see all the other tables appear to be occupied and you seem to be by yourself.”

  Liza felt her mouth go dry. “Er, yes…please. I mean of course.”

  He sat down, hitching the knees of his pants slightly as he did so. He extended his hand, and as she shook it she noticed the sandy-colored down on his bronzed forearm. She moved her chair back a little and looked out across the bay, trying not to stare at him.

  “I’m Don,” he said. “Don Maddox. I’m from Boston. Well not originally, but that’s where I live now.”

  “Lisa,” she said. “Lisa Burrows from small-town Minnesota. Born and bred there and if I never see the place again it’ll be too soon.”

  “So what brought you to Florida?” he said.

  “It was the farthest I could go without falling into the ocean. I’m not a very good swimmer.” She laughed at her own joke. She was feeling relaxed now and not self-conscious at all.

  “Well I’m just here on a jaunt,” he said. “I stuck a pin in the map and here I am.”

  “Are you with friends?” Lisa said. “Or...or family?”

  “All on my lonesome,” he said.

  “Two lost souls in a sea of people,” Lisa said. It was so strange. She’d only met him a few moments ago and yet she felt totally at ease with him.

  With an almost imperceptible raise of his hand he caught the waiter’s eye. “A double shot cappuccino with skim milk,” he said. “And...?” he looked at Lisa.

  “Oh, an ice tea please,” she said.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m hitting on you,” Don said, as the waiter disappeared.

  Lisa felt a surge of adrenaline again in the pit of her stomach as she realized that’s precisely what she hoped he had been doing.

  “Of course not,” she laughed. Damn that rush of blood to her face again. She felt momentarily awkward, but he smiled a benign closed-lipped smile at her and she instantly felt at ease again. “Actually it’s nice to have someone to talk to,” she said. “I haven’t really met anyone much since I came here. I feel a bit like a fish out of water sometimes, as if everybody secretly knows that I don’t belong here.”

  “Are you working?”

  “I’ve got a sales job downtown.”

  “Fashion?”

  “No, jewelry actually,” she said.

  Don eyed her quizzically. “Unadorned as you are with your wares.”

  “I couldn’t afford anything that I sell,” Lisa said.

  “Sometimes less is more,” he said, and smiled. Lisa felt a flush of pride. She knew she was attractive, in a small-town Minnesota sort of way. She wore no jewelry and little make-up. She was confident with her looks; but it was the understated way that he fed her the compliment that she liked.

  “Look, if you’re not busy today,” he said, “perhaps you could show me around, if that’s not being too presumptuous of me.”

  “That would be lovely,” she said. “I’d be happy to.” Oh dear, was she being too forward?

  “Well perhaps you’ll let me buy you lunch. Do you like seafood?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” she growled. “Sorry, that’s not very ladylike.”

  They both laughed. Their drinks had arrived.

  “So it’s settled then.”

  The hours that followed had an almost dreamlike quality to them, except they lacked the disjointed nature of a dream. They talked about anything and everything, although very little about themselves. It was as if they’d known each other for years and there was no need to delve into each other’s backgrounds. She learned he was single and had been in the military some years before, but little else. He didn’t say whether he’d ever been married, and she was too shy to ask. Anyway, Lisa assumed that they were ships passing in the night, living for the moment. And she was glad of that because there was no way she could tell him the truth about her past. Her past was past and she wanted to forget it. And then again, she didn’t want to know about his family, a former wife or his present girlfriend, because it would spoil everything.

  Lisa found Don to be engaging, charming and courteous. He had apparently travelled widely and she found him excitingly knowledgeable and worldly, but at the same time he was in no way egotistic or boastful. In spite of her relative lack of experience in the world he was not at all patronizing or condescending. He listened intently to her opinions and views. Despite the age difference they found that they had man
y common interests − their political affiliations, tastes in music and movies. The same things seemed to interest them. They had a similar sense of humor too.

  There was no intimacy between them; no holding of hands or sweet words. She just felt comfortable. Yes, and safe too; safe and comfortable in a way that she hadn’t felt since she was a child; carefree. But she noticed that when they crossed the boulevard he gently guided her across the road by placing his hand softly in the small of her back, which sent a shiver up her spine.

  At sunset they returned to the very place where they had met and drank cocktails al fresco as they watched the sun go down.

  “It’s been a lovely afternoon,” Lisa said. She didn’t ask where he was staying. He didn’t ask for her number. They would part soon and life would go on. “Thank you for the beautiful lunch,” she said.

  “And thank you for the engaging conversation and the tour,” he replied.

  “I’ve got to get back and collect my laundry,” Lisa said, with a shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t lead a very exciting life I’m afraid. Rather humdrum actually, but I better be going.”

  They rose together and stood facing each other. It might have been an awkward moment, but it felt as natural as saying goodbye to a close friend that you knew you were going to see again soon. Only they wouldn’t see each other again, somehow she knew that was a given. They smiled warmly at each other and she turned to leave; but as she did so he reached out and lightly took hold of her wrist. He raised her arm towards him and gently kissed the back of her hand.

  “Goodbye Lisa, and thanks again,” he said. “I’ve had a perfect day.”

  She walked away without looking back, but she could feel his eyes boring into her. She wanted to turn and look, but she dared not. She rounded the corner, walked to the bus stop and headed home. She was flushed with the unexpected excitement of the day which had zipped by in a blur of wonderfulness. It was Sunday night. She collected her laundry, picked up a salad from the deli and went back to her room.

  The following morning, she replayed the previous day in her mind as she sat at her counter in the jewelry shop. She didn’t feel sad, in fact she felt somewhat elated; her afternoon with Don had boosted her confidence and, God knows, she needed that; and she spent a good deal of time wondering about the mysterious Mr. Maddox. She knew almost nothing about him of course, but she could still feel the touch of his hand in the small of her back and the memory of that slight but intimate gesture made her feel warm inside. She fantasized about having sex with him. What had he done to her?