FIRST STEP MURDER Read online

  FIRST STEP MURDER

  H. R. Whidden

  Copyright © 2017 by H. R. Whidden

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  PRELUDE

  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

  PRELUDE

  “I want that piece of property. We both have the same interest. Buying those expensive inner city properties, and then selling, a year or so later, has been a safe way to launder a lot of our money.”

  “Let me handle this Kasam, we’re partners, you’re in Saudi Arabia, I’m in Boston and there’s plenty of properties, we’ll go after those first. In the mean time I’ll get someone to take care of Clayton Lewis, and then we’ll get the property from his daughter. Don’t worry I have men that can handle any problem that comes along Kasam. It may take time to do it right, but it’ll be worth it. I have one of my men on the inside at Lewis Construction anyway. One way or another we’ll have that property.”

  * * *

  The addiction Jessie Walker brought back from Afghanistan during his tours as a marine had been his ruin. He walked along a side street in Boston where drugs and sex were sold nearly out in the open. He only had enough money to get a small amount of heroine, but that would be enough for right now. His dealer Slick Jimmy handed him the small folded packet in exchange for the cash in his hand. He wiped his nose with a dirty sleeve and before he could find a place to sit out of sight and shoot up, a large sedan stopped along the curb and the back door swung open.

  “Get in Ensign Walker,” the man said.

  Jessie recognized that voice and like he’d done so many times before as a marine he jumped at his commanding officers order.

  “Lieutenant Commander, how’d you know where to find me sir?”

  “Never mind that Ensign Walker let’s go see your wife. I found out she’s living in public housing struggling to feed your daughters.”

  They drove to the run down city housing project, and the Lieutenant Commander followed Ensign Walker through the door and into the small two bedroom apartment. Jessie told his wife and daughters to go into the bedroom and shut the door.

  “I’ve heard you’re having a hard time adjusting to civilian life ensign. It’s a shame your wife and young daughters suffer because of it.

  “Why are you telling me this Sir? I’m a junkie, a broken man, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  He sat at the small table. His hand shook as he pulled out a needle and syringe, a small spoon, a short candle, and an elastic strap to wrap around his upper arm.

  “That’s where I come in Ensign Walker, I can help, I can make sure your wife gets a nice house and a car, and your kids go to a good school, I’ll make sure their cared for ensign. I’ll make sure you have your medication, you might say, until your mission here is over.”

  Jessie poured the packet of heroin into the spoon and held it over the small flame from the candle.

  “So you give me your word, you’ll take care of them? What’s the mission sir?”

  “I need someone to step up and take control of a situation. There’s a man in my way, and unfortunately there’s only one way to take care of him, and it has to look like an accident.”

  After a long talk the agreement was made, Jessie spoke to his wife away from the children.

  “Linda, take the girls and go with the Lieutenant Commander, he’s gonna take care of everything.”

  “And what about you Jessie,” his wife asked?

  “There hasn’t been anything between you and me in a long time Linda. For once in my life I’m trying to do something for you and the girls. I can’t live like this anymore.”

  * * *

  The lieutenant commander took the ensign’s wife and his two daughters to Philadelphia. They moved into a nice house not far from schools and given a cash allowance. After returning to Boston the lieutenant commander paid cash for an old used car for Ensign Walker.

  The next night the lieutenant commander sat in his car at the corner of Kings Street and Goldsmith road in Littleton, a small town just west of Boston. He watched as the Mercedes S class sedan turned south on Goldsmith road.

  * * *

  Ensign Jessie Walker had injected himself with heroin. He sat in the old Impala, and took a long drink from the bottle of vodka in his right hand. Despite the heroin and half of the bottle consumed, he was still alert, nervous about what he was about to do. His mind remembered a time being pinned down by radical Islamist in northern Afghanistan. The small town was perfect for radicals to cross over the border from Islamabad Pakistan, not too far away. They produced plenty of young men and women willing to go kill Americans.

  There were two bombed out buildings just on the edge of town and his platoon had been surrounded by overwhelming odds. Bullets chipped the stone around him and occasionally he’d shoot back hoping they wouldn’t be overrun. When they came he remembered firing at robed men, everyone was shooting. Three marines were shot, one dead, and two seriously wounded. Jessie heard a woman’s voice pleading for help just as the firefight had suddenly stopped. She walked toward them with her hands above her head. She was wearing a burka, crying she got closer, and then she ran forward through the half destroyed stone doorway. With marines standing there not knowing what to do. The woman shouted “Allah Akbar” and she exploded. As if in slow motion Ensign Walker watched the woman’s head, arms and legs shoot off in different directions as her torso turned into a huge spray of red. Out of the twenty six marines that fought that day there were only twelve that lived, Ensign Jessie Walker was one of them. Situations and memories like that turned him to drugs and soon to his end. He took another long drink from the bottle of vodka and his prepaid cell phone rang.

  * * *

  The expensive black sedan had just turned south on Goldsmith Rd. Clayton Lewis looked at the man sitting in a car parked along the side of the road at the intersection. He thought it was strange this late at night and considered turning around and offering help. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the headlights come on and the car pull onto the road. Clayton was relieved, he didn’t want to turn around and play Good Samaritan he was anxious to be home.

  “I wish I’d gone with Harper to the horse show today instead of a banquet listening to a bunch of hospital assholes,” Clayton Lewis said to his wife.

  “It’s what we do Clayton, it’s the biggest job for the company, except the Lewis Towers project. I’m glad you turned down that offer to purchase the last piece of downtown property from my grandparents.”

  “I don’t care what they offer, nothing’s going to stop me from building the Lewis Towers that’ll be our families heritage, something to leave our daughter and her children.”

  * * *

  “Go now Ensign,” said the lieutenant commander, “don’t disappoint your men or your commanding officer.”

  Jessie threw the phone on the floor, took another drink and dropped the b
ottle pushing the accelerator to the floor. His hands gripped the wheel at ten and two, his knuckles white. Fifty miles per hour, sixty, seventy, eighty miles per hour, he had a little over a mile to reach top speed yet. There was no one else on the road this late at night. He could see the headlights now, one hundred miles per hour, one ten, one twenty. The car shook, the ensign looked at the black car coming at him. Now, he swerved into the other lane.

  When the two cars impacted they both burst into flames, a door from Jesse Walkers car flew through the air, smaller parts of both cars rained down on the road and shoulder. Secondary explosions went off from the cars gas tanks, fully engulfing both.

  * * *

  The first officer on the scene stopped near the two cars on the shoulder of the road. With his patrol car lights flashing he got out, opened his trunk, and took out a fire extinguisher, then ran to what was left of the black sedan. The flames were dying down but he emptied it inside the front of the car anyway. What was left of the two bodies was nothing but twisted, grotesque, blackened figures. The other car was worse and the officer could see what was left of a body. There were pieces of both vehicles everywhere. An ambulance and two more officers pulled up, it was the coroner later that took a wallet from the driver’s back pocket barely able to see the name and address on the driver’s license.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The cell phone that sat on the small bedside table rang for the third time. Rolling over and picking it up he answered, “Faxon Bennett Investigations.”

  “I was told you could help me Mr. Bennett, you came highly recommended by a satisfied customer I met at the club, my names Shira Brennon.”

  Her accent was thick, Russian or Slavic he thought.

  “Before I agree Mrs. Brennon, I’m going to need to know what kind of help you need.”

  “I’d rather discuss it in person. It’s an issue involving my husband.”

  “Do you know Ned Devine’s Irish Pub?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t, but I can have my driver find it.”

  “It’s in the Quincy Market Building at Faneuil Hall Marketplace, there’s a bar on the second floor I’ll meet you there at 9:00.”

  “I’ll be there Mr. Bennett.”

  Faxon had been Army Special Forces in Afghanistan. During his forth tour of duty a roadside IED, (improvised explosive device) exploded and killed two, it tore an arm and a leg off the solder next to him in their Humvee. With his tour at its end he left the service and moved back to Boston. He got his private investigators license and a permit to carry a gun and without much investment started his own business, Faxon Bennett Investigations.

  He sat on the last stool at the bar drinking his favorite beer in a frosted glass. The owner of the pub let him stay in a small upstairs attic apartment. All Faxon had to do was bounce a drunk every now and then. The Special Forces training made him quite capable, he was twenty six years old, 6’2”, 224lbs, and hard as a rock. He was handsome, the kind of man women turned to look at when he walked into a room.

  William, Faxon’s friend and bartender, saw her first and that made him turn to look. Tall and slender, long black hair, she was wearing an expensive designer black dress. She had high cheekbones and that eastern European look, Faxon nodded to her and she walked his way. She sat beside him and William asked what he could get for her.

  “A cosmopolitan please,” she said in a thick accent.

  “If you don’t mind me asking Mrs. Brennon, are you from Russia?”

  “The Ukraine, Mr. Bennett, I met my husband, Mr. Brennon, at an arranged gathering in my home town of Luts’k. I must say Mr. Bennett you’re much younger than I expected.”

  “I assure you I’m capable enough to handle a cheating husband. That is what we’re talking about right?”

  “So it’s that obvious? Yes he’s cheating on me. My lawyer says I must have definitive evidence to nail his ass to the wall. That means I need pictures of their faces, in the act, can you do that Mr. Bennett?”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem, but are you sure he’s cheating on you?”

  “Yes, yes, he says he has a late meeting every Wednesday, I talked to someone at the bank and there are no late meetings. A woman knows. I can smell her on him when he comes home.”

  Faxon took out a small half worn out pad from his back pocket and borrowed a pen from William.

  “Ok, give me the details Mrs. Brennon.”

  “He’s the head of a multi-country banking syndicate. He has an office in their building at 75 Federal St.” She showed him an image of her husband on her cell phone. “We haven’t talked about your fee Mr. Bennett.”

  “I’ll get you what you need Mrs. Brennon but my fee is ten thousand.”

  “That’s a lot more than you charged my friend at the club.”

  “Different circumstances Mrs. Brennon.” Faxon couldn’t help his crocked grin, dimple, and light blue eyes along with his unruly black hair.

  Shira Brennon took a long drink from her cosmopolitan starring at Faxon. She set the drink down and removed her cell phone.

  “I’ll give you an electronic transfer for half, after you get me what I need I’ll give you cash for the rest.”

  Shira handed Faxon her phone so he could enter his account information. After she finished her drink she covered his hand with hers on the bar, she leaned over and kissed his cheek and whispered.

  “I think you’re worth it.”

  Faxon watched the tall Ukrainian woman walk across the room to the stairs like a top runway model. When he turned back around William was still looking her way.

  “Another beer William, it seems I’m gonna to be able to pay my bar tab tonight.”

  After about an hour, Faxon’s enjoyment of his new, not yet earned wealth was interrupted by a man yelling at another man inside the bar.

  “Ya know William you’d think a classy place like this wouldn’t have so many drunks.”

  Faxon set his beer down on the bar and slowly got up and walked toward the yelling man. He noticed the guy was at least three hundred pounds, of fat, but drunk and angry he could be a problem. The fat guy was now accusing the smaller man, still sitting down, of trying to trip him on his way back from the bathroom. His two friends were just as drunk and laughing, and most of the room was watching.

  “Hey chief, why don’t you and your friends find another place to get drunk,” Faxon said as he walked up.

  “You can’t be talking to me,” the fat man said.

  “You and your friends leave and no one will get hurt.”

  The fat guy swung a clumsy big left hand at Faxon. He ducked the swing, stepped closer and kicked him in the knee, the fat guy went down. His face was red he couldn’t catch his breath from the pain. While he was lying on the floor holding his knee with both hands one of his friends stood up and Faxon hit him under the chin with a right fist. When his head snapped back Faxon grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head down on the table blooding his nose. When Faxon looked at the other guy he had his hands up.

  “Ok buddy just let us get our friend out of here.”

  Faxon helped them get their fat friend down the stairs, his knee was ruined, the other guy held one of the restaurants cloth napkins over his bloody nose. When Faxon got back upstairs he finished his beer, William had just set another one on the bar in front of Faxon when a pretty blonde woman that they both knew sat down beside him.

  “I’m warning you Ms. Lindsey,” William said, “If you make a scene I’ll call the police, you’re not even supposed to be here.”

  “I won’t make a scene William. I just want to talk to Faxon for a minute.”

  “That’s what you said the last time.”

  “What do you want Amy,” Faxon asked? “I would have thought you could have found someone else to stalk by now.”

  “I’m not drinking anymore. We had a good thing. I thought we could start over again.”

  “You’re crazy, I slept with you once, and that was a huge mistake. There was nothing betwee
n us.”

  “Is it because I’m older than you? It’s only a few years. I know you love me, and I wouldn’t call what we did sleeping. I saw you with that other woman, she’s older than I am, is she next?”

  “She’s a client, and I don’t get intimate with clients, you taught me that. How long have you been watching me?”

  “I know you haven’t been with another woman since me. Come on let’s go up to your room and release some of that pent up energy, that fight’s probably has you all worked up.”

  “I told you a thousand times no. You’re a crazy stalking bitch and if you don’t leave I’ll have William call the police.”

  “I’ll pay you, how much do you want? It’ll be the most enjoyable money you ever made.”

  “You don’t have enough money, William I think you better make that call.”

  “Don’t call the police William, I’ll go, you have my cell number Faxon, call me I’ll be waiting, and watching.”

  After several more beers and then a good night’s sleep Faxon got up the next morning and went to the bank on Federal Street. He drove one of the cars that belonged to the restaurant owner. He had a vintage car collection that he kept in a private garage just across the street. He let Faxon borrow a car when he needed it, today he drove the 1946, army issue, Willis Jeep. After arriving at the bank and being escorted to an associate he opened an account and moved some of the money from his other bank. The helpful young woman took all his information smiling. He asked about the bank manager. She told him Mr. Brennon had been with them for ten years and was a respected executive of the company.

  After leaving Faxon sat in the jeep parked along the curb and watched the front of the building. Sometime around noon he recognized Mac Brennon come out, he wore an expensive suit. Faxon got out and followed him down the block to a small restaurant. The banker ordered a corn beef sandwich and a beer, Faxon sat at a table in the back and ordered the same. After lunch he followed him back to the bank. Tonight was Wednesday, one his meeting nights, so Faxon went and got a workout in at the gym then a shower before coming back to the bank before 5:00 to follow him.