Death of a Player

By Alex Ashe

Based on the lesser-known demographic of female private detectives, ‘Death of a Player’ proves that life at a small-town tennis club serves more than its fair share of faults.
– For many, tennis is a serene sport that exposes followers to the finer side of life. However, in Alex Ashe’s new novel, the death of a local tennis club member sparks the hunt for a cold-blooded killer and a series of mysteries that proves no town is safe from murder.
As the first book in a brand new private detective series, ‘Death of a Player’ gets things off to a mysteriously morbid start.
Synopsis:
"A small New Hampshire tennis club is devastated when the body of one of its favorite members is found lifeless in the locker room. Private Investigator Mena Young is called in to consult with the Lake Pleasant Police Department to find the killer. Death of a Player unveils the mystery surrounding the murder victim along with Mena's traumatic past to give a glimpse into life in a small country town. Things are rarely what they seem.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Ashe
• Release date: Jan 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781467555142

Alex Ashe

Alex Ashe writes novels from her home in New Hampshire where the environment and natural beauty inspire plot lines, characters and settings.New England offers a variety of historic sites, legends and landscapes that influence Alex's work. The close knit communities, architecture and Yankee mentality help to fuel plot lines and create rich characters.As the author explains, it is time female private detectives stole the limelight.“There are thousands of private detective stories out there, but ninety nine percent focus on the work of men. I wanted to show that females can be equally as cunning,” says Ashe.Continuing, “My upcoming series of novels will feature Mena Young as the protagonist, along with a series of mysteries that would certainly leave her male counterparts scratching their heads.”Since its launch, the book has garnered a consistent string of rave reviews.“A shocking murder mystery filled with intrigue! A very interesting read and fantastic start to the series! I cannot wait for book 2!” says Ashley, who reviewed the novel on Amazon.Another reader, Nika, was equally as impressed. She said that, “This was a terrific book. I love murder mysteries, and this one was gripping! Anyone who likes a murder with a twist, beware, you will be addicted!”With so much success on her hands, Ashe refuses to lose sight of what is really important.“Readers crave a private detective novel that is laced with mystery, suspense and a chaotic series of twists and turns. There are many wild and wonderful scenarios up my sleeve, all of which will be making it into my future books,” she concludes.Alex's first book Death of a Player takes place in a small New Hampshire town and is available for Kindle, Nook and iBooks. Her second book Death at the Notch will be released in mid 2013 and is set in northern New Hampshire.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I drove the winding road, slowing to a stop to avoid every washed out rut and tree branch larger than my tire. This meant stopping the car frequently and checking my rear view mirror to see that no one was behind me. The visibility was terrible and the wipers seemed more angry than productive. It was your typical New England fall rainstorm. Cold and wet, the kind that teased that the next storm would be snow.

The last and only time I had been here was 20 years ago, when I graduated high school. It was storming then, too.

I remember my feeling of excitement that night. I had no responsibilities and no curfew, not a single care in the world.

Today was different. I was hired to consult with the Lake Pleasant Police Department on a criminal investigation.

As a consultant with the LPPD, my job is two fold. I observe and remark. The difficulty is that everything needs to be examined, but very few things need to be declared publicly. I have to be diligent about my public conclusions, but free with my personal observations.

As I neared the end of the road, I saw flashing blue lights and two flares stuck in the wet gravel next to the giant sign welcoming patrons to Hidden Pines Racquet Club. The large, run-down building shadowed the sign and looked like it fell from the sky among the giant fir trees that surrounded the place. The locals called it simply Hidden Pines and there was nothing else for miles.

Hidden Pines members drive down this washboard road to come play tennis in the middle of nowhere. Hidden Pines is over 40 years old and looked every inch a relic. The building is metal with only a lower level of windows that poke out of the foundation.

The water runs off the roof in streams in some places and in buckets in others. The portico entrance is flooded, and the officer standing at the door pulled up the hood of his coat and darted over to my car.

Mena? The chief is waiting for you, he said to me, grasping my partially opened window.

Thanks, Bucky. I’ll be right in. I nodded, trying to lean out of the rain.

Here, I’ll park the car for you, he pointed to the far end of the lot underneath trees. There were four police cruisers scattered around the property and four cars already parked in the lot.

I reached across the seat for my bag and threw my jacket over my head.

Thanks, I would have needed a canoe to make it back here.

Bucky smiled, Yeah, wish I had one.

I walked into Hidden Pines and realized that little had changed since I was here last. Twenty years ago, the high school hosted a Substance Free party that bribed graduating seniors into staying sober by spending a fun filled night at Hidden Pines. After a few tragic deaths on graduation nights, the owners of Hidden Pines offered a solution. In lieu of individual parties, parents got together and sponsored one party. Hidden Pines was the only place in the area that could house 100 kids for the night. Local businesses donated pizza, drinks and prizes. Hidden Pines volunteered the facility and parents chaperoned. Kids were free to spend the night, but once you left the party, you weren’t allowed back inside. The premise was that if they could keep kids sober that night, no one would drink and drive.

I pulled my coat off my head and started to shake the rain off. I hung up the coat on the nearest hook. I kept my shoulder bag with me when I worked. Many detectives carried equipment on their person, I carried a large purse. It contained my detective license and identification, flashlight, iPad, pens, small camera, disposable gloves, pistol and spare ammunition.

There were times when I wore the .45 ACP Smith & Wesson pistol in a holster on my hip, but today was not one of them. The crime scene was secure and the gun became a nuisance when I had to bend, stretch or lean. I looked around and focused on observing my surroundings.

I secured my shoulder bag on my arm and entered the double glass doors.

There was a huge desk to the left of the doors, with a computer monitor and stool for the clerk, desk blotter, appointment book and some snack bars for sale in a cardboard display. Behind the desk was a what appeared to be a closet door. Notes and pages were tacked to the walls. There was a small hanging mirror and a fuse box on the wall. To the left of the desk was a seating area, with old mismatched chairs and a coffee table that held containers of plastic utensils and condiments. The wall was lined with a Formica counter that housed a heavy old 20 inch television. It was broadcasting the early morning news with the volume muted.

The fluorescent lights were on and I could hear a faint buzzing coming from overhead. The cement walls appeared to be painted recently, but there was no paint odor, just fewer smudges than on the other walls.

I slowly took in the place. The entrance led to a wide hallway, with more flyers tacked to either side of the wall. A giant bulletin board housed lists of names with phone numbers and at the end was a locked door with an Office sign hanging at eye level. At the end of the hall was a heavy looking door that I remember led to the tennis courts. Even though there were glass windows separating the courts from the hall, the lights were off and I couldn’t see inside the courts.

To the right of the courts was a stairway that led to the second level. To the left, the hallway continued to the locker rooms. I seemed to remember this hallway. I heard voices coming from that end of the building and headed down the hall to the locker rooms.

I passed a door on my way and peeked inside to see an entrance to the fitness center. As I looked back in the hall, a uniformed officer called to me.

Mena, the chief is inside the ladies’ changing room.

Thanks, Joey. I said. Sergeant Joe McCarthy had worked for the LPPD for as long as I could remember. He was as much a part of the force as was the chief. Seeing him made me feel a little more at ease at crime scenes.

I took a few more steps and turned at the corner of the hall and could see the entrance to the women’s and men’s locker rooms. Neither room had doors, but a maze like entrance. I entered the women’s room and after a series of right turns, the twisting hall opened up to a carpeted lavender powder room with a mirror, a padded bench and a group of purple painted lockers. I could hear the buzzing of the lights again and heard footsteps on a tile floor. To the left of the purple room was a white and navy tiled shower area with four stalls. Each stall had a plastic blue curtain that was pulled to the side. Chief Cunningham stood at the last stall, looking up at something on the ceiling.

I looked around and heard the click of a photograph being snapped.

The chief saw me and put out his arm to beckon me closer.

Good, Mena. You’re here. Come this way. I slid off my boots and placed on a pair of paper booties that were set on the bench.

I reached for the chief’s hand, but instead, he gave me a partial hug with his outreached arm.

Thanks for coming so quickly, he said.

Bob Lewis was standing just beneath the shower head on a step stool taking photos. He acknowledged me with a head nod and I nodded back, offering a partial smile. Even though Bob had been working crime scenes for years, he seems stoic yet respectful at each one. He was seasoned and tough, but always maintained a level of compassion that was both sensitive and vulnerable.

I looked into the stall and saw a woman’s body on the tile floor. Her head and neck were on the shower floor, but her body and legs extended into the stall just outside the shower. There was a sheet draped over her body, leaving only her neck and head exposed. She looked to be a large woman, as the sheet covered an unnatural human figure. Partially dried blood was pasted in her hair and swirled into the drain. It looked like she had a gash in her head, but the wound was well hidden. A pair of pale feet jutted out from the sheet still wearing a pair of flip flops. Even though the sheet was opaque and hid her body, I knew that it was placed there to protect her modesty.

I slowly brought my gaze around the body, examining around her in larger concentric circles repeatedly. I slowly peered upwards on the tiled wall.

The chief realized what I was searching for and shown his flashlight a few feet higher at a small spot on the wall. I saw it when I first came in he said. He directed his light at some tiny brown specks that appeared to be blood spatter.

The chief stepped back to allow Bob room to take photos. He placed his arm on my back and directed me to the carpeted part of the locker room, steering me over to the bench.

Bob is just finishing up with the photos and then you can take a closer look. Chief Cunningham said to me.

How did you— I started to ask the chief, but he interrupted me before I could finish my question.

We got a 911 call at 4:30 this morning. The cleaning guy came at 4 am, vacuumed the hall and when he worked his way down here, found her laying on the floor. He said he didn’t touch nothing in here, just vacuumed the carpet.

Hmmm. I thought about it.

When did you arrive? I asked.

The chief checked his watch. Bucky was the first to respond. He was out patrolling and got here 10 minutes after the call came in. Mike and Joey got here about ten minutes later. I arrived just before 5:00 am. Once we got the scene contained, I called you. I wanted you on this immediately. He explained.

Being that the victim is a woman? I asked.

That is one of the reasons, he answered cryptically. Bob came over to us and put the cap on his camera lens.

All done in here, Chief. Bob Lewis said. I want to take a few more photos around the place. I took some outside already, but with the all the rain, I’ll have to come back when it stops.

Thanks, Bob. Get those in the case file, ASAP, the chief said unnecessarily.

Bob looked at me and the chief, This is one sick perp. I haven’t seen anything like this. And, I don’t want to again. Bob nodded at the chief who nodded back at Bob.

Thanks, Bob. We’ll take it from here. Chief Cunningham said. Bob left the room, leaving me, the chief and the body. I could hear the lights buzzing again.

The chief took a deep breath. Bob’s right. I don’t want to see this again. He paused and said firmly, And neither do you.

I gave him a moment to gather his wits. I could see that whatever he saw was hard on him. He dealt with many heart wrenching situations throughout his career. I knew firsthand of his compassion and his empathy.

As a child, he rescued me from persistent atrocities at the hands of my biological mother. Twenty years later, I was able to repay him when his own daughter was in danger.

We had a kinship that went unspoken and unexamined. Neither of us wanted it any differently.

Chief Cunningham’s words gave me a scare. He treated me like a professional and expected adeptness and competence. It was unlike him to be so concerned about a crime scene. I worried what could be giving him pause for thought. I hesitated a moment and then I dove in. Tell me.

The victim was hit on the head. I don’t know if that killed her. But, I hope so.

He started to speak but then stopped to deliberate.

I finally spoke up. Chief, this will work better if you show me what you saw.

We walked over to the victim. Brace yourself. He advised me as he looked as serious and vulnerable as I have ever seen. It didn’t prepare me for what he had to show me.

He deliberately and carefully dragged the sheet off the body. Until now, I had only seen the victim’s head with her ruptured skull and blood leaving her wound. I had assumed that she was a large woman, but I was wrong.

Looking at the naked body laying on the floor, I had to catch my breath. Chief Cunningham put his hand on my shoulder. I know, I felt the same way when I first saw her. I took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before exhaling. I struggled to clear my mind and push aside my feelings of sickness and lingering torments.

I pulled a pair of blue nitrile gloves from my bag and slid them on my hands. I forced myself to focus and be as clinical and dispassionate as possible.

My first thought was that she was hit on the head and killed.

I inspected the body, noting that the victim was slim and fit and rather unremarkable in height. Rigor had set in. That meant she had been here a few hours, at least. I knelt down to be closer to the body.

The victim lay on her side with her left arm bent at the elbow and her right arm pinned behind her, between her body and the wall.

She was wearing make up on her face and jewelry - earrings, engagement ring and wedding band. She had on a gold necklace with a tiny gold tennis racquet charm. Her hands were open and she lay on her side.

Her right shoulder was angled backwards, causing her right breast to be fully exposed. Her left breast was concealed beneath her body.

She wore no clothing, but she was far from bare.

Her torso was smeared with colored wax, like face paint. She wore a bodice of blue and green smudges. Her exposed breast was outlined with gold. There were long uneven painted red stripes leading up her legs and down her abdomen to her genitals.

The skin that was unmarked was a garish blue-gray.

Most disturbing though, was the head of a tennis racquet protruding from her genitals, the shaft forced inside her body.

Seeing the racquet made me wince and I grimaced with revulsion. I started to feel physically ill. I took a few square breaths and willed my nerves to calm.

Do you recognize her? he asked.

She looks familiar, but I don’t know her. I said, trying to peer closer at the face. It gave no indication of terror or misery.

I tried to make sense of what I saw before me. I felt my temperature rise and perspiration bleed down my spine. I stood up and forced myself to think about my surroundings.

Was the water running in the shower when you arrived? I asked.

No. Lights were off in here too. He said.

The lights? Why were they out? I questioned.

On a motion sensor. They shut out before we got here. He added. Cleaning guy, Hal Erickson, is upstairs. Real shaken up.

Oh yea, how so? I asked.

He asked to send Bucky for donuts and coffee, then went and sat down upstairs as if he knew the drill. The chief was a sarcastic devil.

Have you spoken more with him? I asked

Not yet. I sent Bucky outside for crowd control. Mike and Joey are here. Wilmot is sending us two officers. They’ll direct traffic away. The place normally opens at 8 am

I checked my watch, it was almost six.

The staff is expected to arrive soon. We got in touch with one of the owners and she tried to get in touch with the employees to give them the day off. If anyone shows up, we are sending them into the office downstairs. He looked back at the body. The other owner is upstairs, a guy named Tucker Baron. After I cover her up, I am going to ask him to take a look and see if he can identify her. He started to unfold the sheet. "It would help if you would take a look around, let Joey know when you’re done and if I don’t see you before you leave, meet me at the station later today. It was our standard practice to discuss the case immediately and then I’d go off in my own direction. The chief was bound by police procedure and law. I had a little more freedom to pursue a suspicion based only on supposition.

I nodded in agreement. Can you get someone to search the lockers? I asked the chief.

Only the ones without locks, at least right now. We will get a list of patrons who rent the lockers. He responded.

All right, that will have to do. I added as I picked up my bag from the floor. I hooked it around my shoulder and started my investigation.

I walked around the locker room and took it all in. There were four bathroom stalls on the opposite wall from the showers. Unlike the shower stalls, the bathrooms each had closed doors, except the one on the end. The last door hung partially open. There was a hand written sign on a sheet of copy paper with OUT OF ORDER across it in black marker.

There was no toilet in that stall and it looked like it hadn’t been in working order for a while. Dust lined the sealed pipes and had caked against the wall.

Just past the showers, there was a big heavy wooden door with a sign that warned ELECTRIC SAUNA, DO NOT USE WATER. I slowly opened the door and saw a tiny room, complete with wooden benches lining the wall and a dust covered electric sauna barely inside the room. The sauna looked like it hadn’t been used recently and despite all the cedar, the air smelled stale.

A door on the same wall as the bathroom stalls was marked TANNING BOOTH. There was a hand written sign on the tanning booth door that read NOT IN USE. I turned the handle and found an empty room that looked like a closet. There was a door on the other side of the tiny room. I crossed the few steps of the room and peeked out the second door. This small room connected the women’s locker room to the men’s locker room. The men’s room was full of blue tile like the women’s room, but smelled of mildew and urine. Instead of multiple shower stalls, there was a single shower head in the center of the tiled area. There were three bathroom stalls with doors lining the wall, parallel to where the women’s toilets were located. I returned to the tanning booth and checked the door handle. The door locked from inside the booth, but a key could open it from the men’s locker room. I wondered why this was unlocked. Anyone could cross between locker rooms. Privacy was a grave concern in most restrooms. I made a mental note to inquire about this issue.

I crossed over to the women’s side of the booth and saw that the door locked in the same way, from inside the booth or outside with a key.

I went back into the tanning booth. I shone the flashlight up the walls and at the ceiling. A clock was hung high on the wall. The rest of the room was empty. I left the tanning booth and headed out the locker room.

I exited the locker room and followed the hall 20 more feet, passing the entrance to the men’s locker room. There were two more doors. One door marked STORAGE was locked. The other door was an emergency door that led to a small mudroom. The mudroom contained a small wooden staircase on the left and an exit door that looked like an emergency exit. No alarm sounded when I opened the door. I could see the main entrance and the entire parking lot from this exit. There were tire tracks on the ground as close as six feet from the door. The earth was soft and the tracks were filling with rainwater.

Bucky waived to me, You want your car, now? he yelled through cupped hands.

Not yet, Bucky. I yelled back.

What? He threw up his hands.

No! I yelled and shook my head.

I looked around and saw a flood light just above the door. The light was off. The morning was dark and dreary with rain. I looked around near the door for a light switch and found one. I found a pen in my bag and used it to flip the light switch. The light turned on. I flipped the light off and made a mental note to see if it was usually left off.

I went back inside and glanced up the staircase. It was narrow and dusty. I looked around for another light switch, but only found a bare bulb and chain on the wall. I pulled the chain and the light clicked on. A mouse darted along and disappeared under the stairs.

The staircase went up 8 steps then turned direction. I dug into my bag for my flashlight and began climbing the stairs.

The chief was in charge of securing the entire building before I arrived. He was a professional and executed his job well. I had to remind myself of these facts as I went up the dark and deserted stairs.

From the landing, I looked back down the stairs. My claustrophobia started to come out to play. I took a deep breath and continued up the stairs. When I got to the top, there was a door at the highest step. I slowly turned the handle and to my surprise, it opened. I walked through the door and it closed behind me. I tried to figure out where I was in relationship to the lower level of the building. This was another way of getting to the second level, but I hadn’t known about this back staircase or where it lead.

I slowly turned around and realized that I was in a closed room. There were couches and large upholstered chairs up against the walls. In the center of the room was a large rug placed on top of the carpeting. There were small tables in between the couches and a large armoire on one wall. I shone the light around until I found a light switch and turned on the overhead lights. The room was tidy, but out of place for a business. There was nothing industrial about it. The upholstery on the couches clashed, the tables were varying heights and styles. It was a conglomeration of furniture that filled the room and yet, it didn’t look like a storage room.

I saw another door on the opposite wall. I walked to the armoire and opened up the main doors. Inside was a large television with a DVD player. I pressed the eject button on the DVD player and found that it was empty. I opened the doors on either side of the television. On one side was a liquor cabinet. Partially filled decanters of bourbon, vodka and gin were mixed in with brand new bottles of tequila and rum. The other side of the cabinet held unmatched glassware.

On the bottom of the entertainment unit was a small ice maker whose door opened like a mini fridge. A plastic shovel hung on a hook on the front. On the other side of the unit was a cupboard. I tried to open the door but it was locked.

I thought it odd that the alcohol was not locked, but something else was. What could be worth locking?

A dusty silk plant sat on top of the cabinet. I shone my light up the cupboard and on the ceiling. I followed the spotlight around the wall and then down the entertainment unit back to the floor. I got down on the floor and shone the beam under the entertainment unit. I couldn’t see anything besides dust.

I noticed a trash can on the other side of the armoire. It was empty. I left the room through the other door and entered another dark room. I looked for a light switch, but heard voices before I could find one. I rounded the L shaped room and saw that I was standing overlooking the dark tennis courts, again. Now, I was upstairs from the main entrance, where I originally came into the building. I shut off my flashlight.

There were two uniformed officers with a man sitting down eating donuts at a table. Another man I didn’t recognize was in the corner of room, on the phone. I took off my gloves and paper booties and tucked them in the pocket of my bag.

I walked into the room and Mike, one of seated officers, came over to me. Mena, the chief is downstairs, he informed me.

Yes, I just saw him. I came up the back stairs.

Must be behind that locked door? he questioned, he gestured with his head behind me.

Yes, behind the door is a room that attaches to the back stairs. I said.

The second officer offered a nod of acknowledgement to me and then left to go downstairs.

Mike filled me in on what happened so far. We talked with the janitor and he gave us his statement. Mike nodded toward the man sitting down drinking coffee out of a paper cup.

Erickson lifted his left hand and waved hello while drinking his coffee.

Mr. Baron, Mike nodded to the man on the phone is one of the owners. He got here a little after five this morning.

I looked at Mr. Baron who had his back turned to us. He was unusually tall and lean. His short hair was trimmed neatly over his ears. He was dressed in a collared athletic top and long pants. He saw me and gave me an uncomfortable stare.

He put the phone in his pocket and came over. He reached for my hand and looked me in the eye. Hello. I am Tucker Baron. You must be a detective. He spoke slowly and softly, I am glad you are here. He didn’t release my hand and forced a smile.

Hello, I’m Mena Young. I am a private detective. I consult for the police. I said, pulling my hand back from his grip. I