Death in Divorce, a Jake Curtis / Vanessa Malone Mystery

By Tony Flye

Sixteen hours after winning her divorce from her cheating husband, Blanche Bickers was found, by her maid, naked in her bed and dead, with a raw bullet hole in the center of her forehead. With no eyewitnesses to the murder and only forensics evidence to go on, the police were baffled. No one saw anything.
Jake Curtis, Private Investigator, and his partner and wife, attorney Vanessa Malone, are hired to defend the victim’s ex-husband, John Bickers for her murder. It was a simple job. All it took was good old fashioned legwork. A tour thorough the victim's BFF's, the BFF's husbands, assorted family members and other miscellaneous interlopers led down trails from dead end o more dead ends. No one knew anything. Jake Curtis and Vanessa Malone verified their client's alibi and forced the police to release him and look elsewhere for the murderer. Jake and Vanessa worked on the premise there were only two people in Blanche's bedroom when she died; Blanche and her murderer.
Based on the the victim's first ex-husband, Marshall Evans', admission that he'd been with the victim only hours before the murder, the police arrested him. Barbara Evans, Marshall’s current wife hired Vanessa to defend her husband against the murder charge. Jake and Vanessa believed him to be innocent.
Was it because of Blanche's string of lovers that got her murdered or was it only one of her many lovers? Questions pile up but answers still remain allusive. Our diligent private investigating team persevere deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of this case in search of the murderer.
Repeated interviews with family members and BFF's revealed a Southern Belle who said something about the murder to Jake and Vanessa that no one outside of law enforcement knew. The BFF steadfastly refused to divulge who told her the one thing she shouldn't of known caused Jake and Vanessa to reinterview the BFF time after time, each time more forceful and the last. The threat of turning the BFF over to the police as the actual killer convinced her it was in her beat interests to reveal who told her the unreleased fact. What she told Jake and Vanessa led to the killer and to the surprising reason why the murderer killed Blanche Bickers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Flye
• Release date: Dec 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311155436

Tony Flye

Tony Flye's third book in the Jake Curtis / Vanessa Malone Mystery series, DEATH IN DIVORCE is in the final stages of editing and should be available by Christmas Tony is also working on a collection of short stories tentatively titled STORIES OF HORROR AND MURDER

Book preview

Cover photo by Commons Wikimedia and cover art by Rocky M.

DEDICATION

For Susan, as always, my inspiration.

DEATH IN DIVORCE, A JAKE CURTIS / VANESSA MALONE MYSTERY

Chapter 1

Martha Arnold, Blanche Bickers twenty-five year old personal maid, walked into her boss's luxurious bedroom at seven o'clock in the morning and saw Blanche laying naked in the center of her king sized bed. Blanche's three eyes stared at Martha but couldn't see anything. Martha stared transfixed at the third eye. Her scream shattered the silence in the house. The third eye was a bullet hole.

Sixteen hours earlier...

I have no further questions of this witness, your honor, the respondent's attorney, G. Abel Rothstein, said. He was a tall, dark, swarthy man whose ancestors lived around the eastern Mediterranean Sea. His round face highlighted by the gold wire frame aviator style glasses on his nose and a thin pencil mustache under his nose as wide as his mouth in the style of David Niven, the British actor of the fifties and sixties. His black Armani suit looked as if it were custom tailored. His fire engine red silk Gucci necktie over his white on white button down dress shirt with the matching red silk pocket square in his suit jacket breast pocket were the only splashes of color in his wardrobe.

Ms Tinsley, you may step down. You may call your next witness, Ms Malone, said the judge with a rap of his gavel. A thin ring of close cropped gray hair wrapped around the sides and back of the judge's head. The overhead lights bounced off his gleaming pate. Around the courthouse, he was nicknamed Judge Baldy but nobody dared call him that to his face. A new court clerk accidentally called him by his nickname. He's now working for the sewer department inspecting the inside of the sewers.

Judge Baldy has been known to wear out at least one gavel a year and in a good year, two. Once a few years back he rapped the gavel so hard the head broke away from the handle and flew to the back of the courtroom hitting a woman spectator in the face just under her left eye. The trial suspended pending the arrival of the paramedics and the removal of the injured woman.

The court room is one of the oldest in the old courthouse and probably the prettiest. The walls are raised walnut panels aged to a natural patina. The judge’s bench as well as the petitioner's and respondent's tables and the railings separating the working area of the courtroom from the audience is also aged walnut. The hundred year old wide beam oak floor, stained a dark walnut color, showed years of foot traffic patterns around the tables and to and from the witness stand.

Vanessa stood and looked around the courtroom, soaking in its old world beauty. Thank you, your honor. I call Mr. Jake Curtis. I came forward from the audience side of the railing to the witness box on the left of the judge’s walnut bench. Still standing as I swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The bailiff left out the so help me God part. I sat on the hard unpadded, bare wood seated armchair.

Please state your name, place of residence and occupation for the record, Vanessa said.

Jake Curtis. I'm a private investigator living the District of Columbia.

Mr. Curtis, you are a private investigator, is that right?" Vanessa asked.

Yes.

You hold a private investigator's licensed in the District of Columbia? Vanessa asked.

Yes.

Mr. Curtis, on February fourteenth, St. Valentines Day last, were you hired to investigate a cheating spouse? Vanessa asked.

Objection, inflammatory, G. Abel Rothstein said.

Sustained, Judge Baldy said.

I'll rephrase the question your honor. Mr. Curtis, on February fourteenth, St. Valentines Day last, were you hired to follow the respondent in this case, Mr. John Bickers? Vanessa asked.

Yes.

And, Mr. Curtis, on St. Valentines Day of this year, in the course of your investigation, did you have occasion to see the respondent? Vanessa asked.

Yes. I followed Mr. Bickers on behalf of Ms. Malone and her client, Mrs. Blanche Bickers, I said, pointing to the attractive, somberly dressed brunet sitting at the petitioner’s table next to Vanessa. Her beige dress buttoned at the collar with long sleeves buttoned at the wrists. White lace trimmed the collar and cuffs. Her dark hair styled in a shoulder length cut with the ends flipped out. She wore a pair of light brown stone studs through the lobes of her ears. The only other items of jewelry was the simple gold wedding band on the ring finger of her left hand. Her conservative dress didn't quite conceal her generous figure.

What did you find in the course of your investigation? Vanessa asked.

On the night in question, St. Valentine's Day this year, I saw the respondent enter the ground floor apartment of a blond haired woman whom I later identified as Ms Muriel Monroe. I was able to see Mr. Bickers through the window as the blinds and drapes were left open from my vantage point parked at the curb across the street. I witnessed Mr. Bickers with his arms around the nude figure of Ms Monroe who happens to be in court today sitting in the first row behind the respondent's table. All eyes turned to the blond haired woman sitting in the first row behind the rail. The audience made woo sounds.

Order, shouted Judge Baldy, as he banged his gavel repeatedly. The courtroom quieted.

Muriel Monroe, a petite blond with long wavy hair, Her yellow dress had white lace trim around the collar and shoulders. Around her narrow waist she wore a thin white leather belt. Her yellow dress with it's square neckline and peasant style collar revealed a good look at her barely covered, well developed decolletage. Her complexion, peaches and cream.

Then what did you do? Vanessa asked.

I moved closer to the window where I could get a better angle on what was happening inside the room, I said.

What happened inside of the room? Vanessa asked.

Mr. Bickers and Ms Monroe, their arms around each other, worked their way to the bed. They proceeded to have intercourse.

Sexual intercourse? Vanessa asked.

Yes.

Were you able to document this sexual activity with pictures? Vanessa asked.

Yes.

Do you have the pictures with you? Vanessa asked.

Yes.

May we see them? Vanessa asked.

I'd rather not, I said.

Why not? Vanessa asked, a look of concern on her pretty green eyes.

They could be construed as rather pornographic, I said. Vanessa told me to use the phrase rather pornographic to subtly emphasize the sordid act of adultery. My lawyer wife is no dummy. G. Abel Rothstein's chin dropped to his chest in dismay. His last hope of saving his case just slipped through his butter coated fingers.

John Bickers turned in his seat to face the Muriel Monroe. Her peaches and cream complexion turned candy apple red. Blanche Bickers looked down at her hands, just the slightest trace of a smirk across her face. Vanessa smiled broadly.

Your honor, we request these pictures be introduced into evidence as the petitioner's exhibits one through five, Vanessa said as she took the pictures from Jake and handed them to the clerk for annotating. The clerk marked them and handed them back to Vanessa who then handed them back to me.

Mr. Curtis, Judge Baldy said, Please hand me the pictures. I did, reluctantly.

Judge Baldy stared at the pictures. His eyes flashed back and forth between pictures and John Bickers and the pictures and Ms Monroe and back to the pictures again. He motioned to the bailiff and held out the stack of pictures to be placed in evidence saying to the bailiff, Take these pictures to the respondent's table.

The Bailiff carried the pictures to the respondent's attorney, handed them to G. Abel and stepped back three paces as if to protect the pictures from being destroyed by the respondent of his agitated client. The attorney and his client looked at the pictures. A look of dismay came over the ordinarily confident attorney's face while John Bickers just looked down at the table shaking his head.

The bailiff approached the respondent's table and reached out for the pictures. The respondent's attorney silently handed them back to the bailiff. The bailiff placed the pictures on Judge Baldy's bench. Judge Baldy then ordered the pictures entered into evidence.

Mr. Curtis, please describe for the court the activity portrayed in these pictures, Vanessa said.

The respondent John Bickers, in this divorce action, is having sexual intercourse with a woman who is not his wife, Blanche Bickers, the petitioner in this case, Jake said quietly as if trying to avoid any undo sensationalism.

Mr. Curtis, are you sure the woman in these photographs, the woman the respondent is in the throws of passion with is not the respondent's wife? Vanessa asked.

The woman in these pictures is the blond Muriel Monroe. The respondent's wife, Blanche Bickers, seated at the petitioner's table is a brunet. The woman in the picture is not the respondent's wife, I said emphatically.

Just one more question Mr. Curtis, can you point the blond woman, whom you've previously identified as Muriel Monroe, out for the court? Vanessa asked, a smile on her face. She turned and faced the blond woman sitting beyond the railing behind the respondent's table. With the eyes of the court glued on her, Muriel Monroe candy apple red complexion turned an even deeper red.

She's sitting in the first row behind the respondent's table, Jake said. The blond's red face turned redder yet. I could almost see steam rising from her ears.

Thank you Mr. Curtis. Your honor, we have no further questions of this witness but we'd like to have him to be available for any redirect questioning, Vanessa said.

Judge Baldy rapped his gavel twice, turned to the respondent's attorney and said, Your witness.

Mr. Curtis, you implied you first took on this case on St. Valentine's Day and yet you concluded your investigation the same day. How is it you were able to conclude your investigation in a single day? G. Abel Rothstein asked, searching for any straw he can pull to save his case.

Sometimes it's better to be lucky than good. A twitter of laughter ran through the courtroom.

Quiet, Judge Baldy said, with several raps of his gavel. The courtroom grew quiet.

Are you good, Mr. Curtis?

Yes.

Are you lucky?

In this case I was.

How so?

The day in question was Valentine's Day. The most romantic day of the year. I played a hunch. I felt Mr. Bickers would meet with his girlfriend on Valentines Day. He did. The rest has been documented in words and pictures.

Any further questions? Judge Baldy asked G. Abel Rothstein.

The G. Abel took in the deep breath of a man about to be unmercifully beaten into the ground. No further questions.

Judge Baldy scanned the papers on the bench in front of him. I have examined the agreed upon division of property, equal distribution of the bank and the brokerage accounts. Mr. Bickers will keep sole possession of his family business and will pay Mrs. Bickers alimony in the sum of twenty-five hundred dollars a month until she remarries. In consideration Mrs. Bickers gives up any and all rights in Mr. Bickers' family business, Mr. Bickers will sign over their marital house to Mrs. Bickers. The divorce is granted, Judge Baldy said, with a solid rap if his gavel.

Blanche Bickers stood and hugged Vanessa. Then Muriel Monroe stood, shouted the four letter expletive at John Bickers and stormed from the courtroom her long blond hair trailing in her wake like a flag in the wind. John Bickers started to follow her but his lawyer grabbed his arm holding him back. Bickers jerked free of G. Abel and chased after Muriel.

Blanche Bickers walked slowly from the courtroom. As she reached the door, a tall, dark haired man wearing a two tone gray plaid wool sports jacket, black slacks and polished black loafers without socks, walked out next to her. He sat in the back row on the aisle behind the petitioner's table and stood as she reached his row. As she walked her right hand hung down along her shapely leg. She intertwined the fingers of her right hand with the fingers of the tall, dark man's left hand as they turned the corner and walked away from the open courtroom door. I stood at Vanessa's side as she packed her papers into her briefcase. My eyes focused on Vanessa's client as she took hold of the tall, dark haired man's hand.

Your client just walked out of court hand in hand with her boyfriend, I said. Vanessa turned to stare but the there was no one in the courtroom doorway. She looked at me wondering if she had been played.

Chapter 2

Vanessa wanted to stop by her office which was conveniently located across the hall from mine to finish up the paperwork and prepare an invoice against the retainer for Blanche Bickers.

When Paulie Molinaro, a bad guy, entered my office almost two years ago with the intent of killing me, the two lady interior decorating firm who rented the office across the hall broke their lease and moved out over night not wishing to bring their high class clients to an office where people shoot at other people. The office remained vacant ever since.

When Vanessa's situation at the law firm of Barrows and Rose, where she worked as an associate changed, she needed to open her own practice. We decided the office across the hall would make things easier for both of us. Since her move, she received her own private investigator's license and became my partner in the PI business as well as life. While she took care of her business I went across the hall to my office to check my answering machine and email.

A message on my answering machine from one of my bread and butter clients who pays me to do preemployment investigations of their new hires told me I could expect an application faxed over any minute. I looked at the fax machine sitting next to the coffee pot on the short two drawer file cabinet. The application was already in the fax's outfeed tray.

The preemployment application verification is nothing to get rich on but it's regular and it pays for postage stamps. I wouldn't want them to know, but it only takes me a twenty minutes on average to get the necessary searches in motion and another ten minutes to input the report into the computer, print and mail, or fax, it back to the client as the case may be. My clients never expect same day service unless they specifically request it. Ordinary I never send the reports back the same day as I receive them. I think it adds to the PI's mystique.

Are you ready to go? Vanessa asked as she walked into my office. I pulled the copies of the application from my fax machine's out tray, made up a file folder and placed the file in my center desk drawer. I walked towards her and took her hand in mine. Her hand felt soft and warm, as it always does in mine.

Timothy's? I asked. Timothy's is Timothy's Pub, a little bar and steakhouse a short walk from our apartment and the place where Vanessa and I first met. She dropped Blanche Bickers invoice and a refund check for the overage of the retainer in the mailbox in front of Timothy's. Little did we know then Blanche Bickers would be dead two days before the bill and check appeared in her mailbox.

We walked in and Fred, the Bartender, pointed us to our usual booth which happened to be empty, Erin O'Connor, our waitress and a distant cousin of Timothy, came to our table with her usual bright smile. We ordered two Glenfiddichs on the rocks, two ribeye steaks, medium rare with fries and salads, house dressing.

Fred, the Bartender, is a longtime fixture behind Timothy's bar. Years ago a rumor circulated through the pub in a previous life Fred, the Bartender was a Catholic priest. Vanessa and I tended to believe the rumor because he always listens to his customer's problems as if he sat in a confessional and then dispenses sage advise rather than the usual ten Our Fathers. Advise his customers have learned over the years is sound.

He stood at the far end of the bar talking with Amanda Scott, a nurse at a small nearby 'Doc in the Box' clinic, who sat on the last stool nursing a beer. She was five feet eight inches tall, a little stocky at hundred thirty pounds. Her short cropped dark hair streaked with a few strands gray. She wore little makeup and a pair of nondescript dark plastic framed glasses in front of her deep brown eyes. Amanda looked to be in her late thirties or early forties but her smooth, unlined complexion looked younger than her years. In a previous life Amanda was known by the name of Sister Mary Anthony, who for some reason lost her faith and walked away from her vows. If you look at them long enough you'll catch them touching each other's splayed fingers on the bar top. Fred, the bartender, seems to be smiling a lot more lately. He and Amanda seem