No Trace (eBook)

A Mason & Penfield Mystery

Jim Crigler (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
271 Seiten
Jim Crigler Books (Verlag)
979-8-9992595-0-9 (ISBN)

Infos

The nicest people live in the suburbs. The nicest people commit murder. When a mathematician is killed in his home in the sleepy Atlanta suburb of Bristow, detective John Mason is perplexed by two things: the near total absence of any forensic evidence at the scene, and the hush-hush interest that the FBI has taken in the crime. When Mason traces the FBI's interest to his former employer, a small, now-defunct defense contractor, he enlists the aid of his friend, Ron Penfield, to work out what's going on. After all, Ron helped solve a couple of previous cases, and he worked with Mason at the defense company. But Ron's past, both recent and remote, is about to bowl him over and leave him traumatized and unable to help. And Mason is about to face up to ghosts from his own past, as well.

Jim Crigler, the author of *Unthinkable* and *Seen Sean?*, lives with his wife and his dog in suburban Atlanta. He has degrees in music composition and computer science. His grandchildren call him 'Gaffer' even though he doesn't resemble a lighting electrician on a movie set.

Textauszug

Friday, June 22

1:35 a.m.

Ruthy was exhausted after an extra-busy Thursday night at Chaps & Spurs. She called Book’s cell phone and left a message that she wouldn’t be there for their usual tête-à-tête. Out of energy as she was, she giggled, remembering the term Book used to use. She was just alert enough to safely wend her way to her efficiency apartment.

She didn’t know she wouldn’t be meeting him again.

8:00 a.m.

Mason rang the doorbell and waited. After a moment, Ron Penfield answered the door.

“Got a few minutes?” Mason asked.

“Sure,” Ron replied. “Come on in.” As they approached the kitchen, Ron said, “I haven’t seen you since the trial.” Both knew the only trial he could mean was the murder trial of Vicky Winstead, who had killed Ron’s wife, Barbara. “I have about half an hour before I need to get ready to go to the office.”

“Abbreviated summer hours?”

Ron nodded.

“Wish I had those.”

Mason said hello to Lenna, who was just finishing her breakfast.

“Is Gloria here?” Mason asked.

Ron shook his head as he got coffee mugs from the cabinet. “No, she left early with friends to go to Callaway Gardens. Bumper and Ronny — Ed and Ron Jr; still getting used to it — are still asleep. Speaking of which, it’s early for you to be out and about,” Ron said.

John nodded. “Have you seen the news?”

“Not yet. I was just about to turn it on when you got here. What should I look for?”

Lenna placed her cereal bowl and spoon into the dishwasher, waved goodbye to the detective, and trudged up the back staircase.

While he poured John’s coffee, Ron asked again, “So what’s in the news?”

“Nathan Bookman is dead.”

“A shame,” Ron said. “Was he ever implicated in that business with Senator Jamison last fall?”

“Nope. Except for a single, unverified sighting, he was never tied in. McAlister absolutely refused to name him as co-conspirator, accomplice, not event an acquaintance.” As he accepted the mug from Ron, Mason noticed that the kitchen appeared identical to the way it had looked months ago, when the Jamison case was concluding.

“I’m sorry he’s dead,” Ron said, “but I haven’t seen him in years. You?”

“Nope.”

“How did you find out?”

“I was at his house well into the evening yesterday. He was murdered.”

Ron took a sip of his coffee. “That’s why you were there. The surprise is your coming here. Why did you come to tell me in particular?”

“Because while I was at the crime scene, two guys from the FBI showed up.”

“Why? Seems like a local homicide-type thing to me.”

“They wouldn’t say. It could have been connected to Jamison, but I think they would have told me if it were. That doesn’t leave much except …”

“Except for Kaiser,” Ron finished. “Hmm.”

Both men stared into their coffee cups for a moment. All three had worked at Kaiser Transceivers, a small defense contractor.

“You could’ve called,” Ron said.

Mason shook his head. “I’ve got a feeling about this. The crime scene was unremarkable, but the Bureau guys were acting funny. Something’s up, Ron.”

Ron said, “I wonder if it’s connected …”

“… to his cars,” they finished together, both smiling.

“Which one was your favorite?” Ron asked.

“The MG — the antique.”

“Really? I had you figured as a Corvette guy.”

“The Corvette he had was the wrong year. And the dark green MG convertible — that was a car.”

“What did he have in his garage yesterday?”

“He had the DeTomaso —”

“— the same as last fall,” Ron cut in.

John nodded. “He also had a Lam. Dark gray convertible with white leather interior. Classiest thing I ever saw. My new second, Mark Alcalá, nearly melted when he saw it.”

“Not Renfroe anymore?”

“Michael’s going solo on small-to-medium breaking and entering and some assault when there’s not much doubt. He’s running slightly ahead of average in bringing cases in.”

They chatted for a couple of minutes about baseball, then John asked, “Can I borrow the phone? I left my cell phone in the car.”

Ron blinked as he recognized something, then said, “Sure.”

John placed a brief call to his wife using Ron’s house phone. From the conversation, Ron surmised she was on her way to her office, an upscale residential real estate brokerage.

When John rang off, he said, “Ann says hi. Anyway, thanks for the coffee,” emphasizing coffee slightly. “But I’ve got to go through all the reports from the crime scene: Forensics, see what the Medical Examiner has if they’ve gotten to it, compare everything to canvassing reports. I don’t really know where this one is headed.”

Ron said, “Yeah, seems strange. … What does thinking about Kaiser remind me of? … I remember: Guess who I saw yesterday.”

Mason shook his head.

“Eight-ball.”

“The janitor? Where’d you see him?”

“At the hardware store. We were both getting PVC pipe.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Seemed to be fine.”

“He still seeing the little Latina? The one with the big curls and pencil skirts?”

Ron shook his head. “Nope, Henery Guyée wasn’t Catholic enough for her mother.”

John drank off the last of his coffee, and Ron walked him to the door. Ron noticed John had parked three houses down.

9:10 a.m.

When Mason reached the squad room, Mark Alcalá was buried in reports spread out around him.

“What stands out so far?” Mason asked.

“Two things,” Alcalá said. “First, the general lack of forensic evidence. The preliminary report came through around a quarter to eight. There were no fingerprints except the victim’s in the living room, and barely any more in the kitchen.”

Mark handed the preliminary forensics report to John. He noticed there wasn’t a coffee cup in Mason’s hand.

“No coffee yet?” Mark asked.

“Met a friend for coffee before I came in,” John said as he sat. “Have Bookman’s financials come in yet?”

“They should start trickling in this morning.”

Mason thought for a minute. “He probably had a maid service. Check his address book.”

Mark nodded. “I’ll check.” He jotted Maid service? on a notepad. “You called next of kin yesterday, right?”

It was Mason’s turn to nod. “Yeah. They were really pleasant. ‘So, our son’s life finally caught up with him.’ Anything from the M.E.?”

“The preliminary just said what you saw at the scene: Small caliber gunshot to the head.” Mark handed John the summary sheet. “No residue around the wound or on his clothing, so somebody shot him from several yards away. There’s no obvious evidence the body was moved, but on a hard floor you might not see traces anyway.”

“Didn’t see an exit wound,” Mason said, “so that’s consistent. The bullet is probably still in his head. It won’t tell us anything.”

“How come?”

“The lack of powder and fingerprints tells me it was a pro. A .22 is inexpensive: One kill and it’s at the bottom of the Hootch.” Mason used a common nickname for the Chattahoochee River. He went on. “You said two things stood out. What besides the lack of material evidence?”

Mark thumbed pages. “The bit Officer Caligari turned up in canvassing about the woman seen leaving Bookman’s house in the wee hours.” Mark handed John the relevant page from the folder of canvass interviews.

“Was it recent?”

“Most recent was about a week ago,” Mark said. “But if we can track her down, she might be able to give us background information. It’s worth a shot anyhow.”

“Check with vice,” Mason said, “local and around the area, for call girls. If she’s a pro, she might cooperate.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She might get someone to look away later if she cooperates in a murder investigation,” John said. “Is the description good enough?”

“It’s a good start. Average height, wears platform shoes and has really long hair. Might be a wig. But here’s the thing that sets her apart: She drives herself. In a sedan. In the middle of the night. If she’s a pro, she’s either independent or works for someone who trusts her.”

“And if she’s just a friend?”

“Then she’s probably in the address book.”

Alcalá half shut his eyes.

After a moment, Mason said, “Gimme the inventory sheet.”

“Stuff we took or furnishings?”

“Both.”

The junior detective opened his eyes and found the correct folders, then handed John several stapled pages.

John looked through it all, then handed it back and asked, “What’s missing?”

“Huh?”

“What should be here that isn’t? You’ve got a guy who hasn’t hit middle age, tech savvy, lives very comfortably. What isn’t here?”

Mark scanned the pages. “Two nice TVs. The usual appliances. Wait … where … where’s his phone? Everybody has a phone. He didn’t have a land line, so he must have had a cell. And you said ‘tech savvy,’ so where’s his computer? He should have at least one, maybe more. Was the phone in the garage or in one of his cars, maybe?”

“No, Welch’s people would have found it.”

Mark tapped on his desk. “Welch. That reminds me,” he said. “She brought this envelope by around eight o’clock and told me to put it in your...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.6.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 979-8-9992595-0-9 / 9798999259509