Triple Negative

By A.R. Wise

Lincoln hasn't been out of rehab for a day before he gets caught up in a brand new case, and this time he's got a famous client to deal with. A comedian is found dead of an apparently self-inflicted gunshot, but some of his friends think this isn't a simple suicide. It's up to Lincoln and another, beautiful private investigator to dig into the case and uncover the truth about this funny man's final day.

Meanwhile, Bentley's struggling to come to grips with the pedophilia ring he stumbled upon. He's determined to do whatever it takes to put an end to the worst criminals he's ever encountered. However, it won't take long before his vigilante justice takes him and his friends down a dark road that they'll never be able to recover from.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.R. Wise
• Release date: Dec 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311058959

A.R. Wise

I am a podcaster, movie and music lover, owner of the Talkingship website, and long time secret writer. I decided to sit down and force myself to finally put together a story and get it into people's hands. That happened with the release of my first novella, Deadlocked, on November 9th, 2011. For updates on my writing, news about upcoming projects, and to see a ludicrous amount of other fantastic things, head over to http://talkingship.com/wp/

Book preview

Triple Negative

Lincoln Pierce Mysteries

Book 3

By: A.R. Wise

Cover by A.R. Wise

Kindle Edition, License Notes

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Lincoln’s Interrogation

The detective set a digital recorder on the interrogation room desk. He clicked record, waited a moment, and said, My name’s Detective Richard Blake, and I’m here with Lincoln Pierce. He gave the date, and then checked his Casio sport watch to make sure he got the exact time.

The room smelled stale. The carpet was grey and thin as paper, with a multitude of stains. An air freshener was plugged in to Lincoln’s right, but the fluid inside had evaporated long ago, leaving nothing but a crusty, green residue. The unforgiving halogen above revealed all of the room’s little imperfections. The walls had several dark streaks on them from people kicking at them, and there were scratch marks on the beige tabletop around the metal ring in its center where cuffed suspects could be chained to ensure the safety of the detectives.

Lincoln had been spared the cuffs, for now at least.

His socks were soaking wet. They sloshed inside his ruined, textured Oxfords. His pant legs had started to dry out, finally, although they still chilled his calves. He resolved to never take a stroll in a snowstorm again, especially not after barely escaping the business end of a Smith and Wesson revolver.

He hadn’t been allowed a chance to change before being transferred from one police station to the next. Never a dull moment in the life of a private detective

Blake finished his preamble, We’re here to discuss the murder of George Gold, and the possible involvement of Bentley Ball, a private detective who worked for Mr. Pierce’s company. Richard cleared his throat and pulled at his already loose tie. He looked tired, and scratched at the corner of his eye, pulling at the black bags that lack of sleep had caused. Mr. Pierce has agreed to answer my questions honestly, and to the best of his ability. Do you agree with everything I’ve said, Mr. Pierce?

I’ll have to take your word on the date, said Lincoln. It’s been a long few days.

Richard Blake took out his cell phone, turned it on, and showed it to Lincoln. For the record, I’m showing Mr. Pierce a calendar. Can you see the date?

Lincoln nodded.

Say yes or no. Blake was already getting annoyed.

Yes, I see the calendar.

Do you agree with everything else I said?

Yes, said Lincoln.

Blake sat up straight, cleared his throat again, and nodded in satisfaction before flipping through the folder he’d brought in. He licked his thumb, and flicked through several pages until he found what he was looking for. He took out a photograph and set it on the desk. He started to slide it across to Lincoln, but then stopped and asked, When was the last time you saw Bentley?

I’m not sure. Maybe three days ago.

Did Bentley mention anything about George Gold?

Nope. Not to me.

But you’re familiar with the name?

Yes.

Richard slid the picture over. Is this George Gold?

Lincoln looked down at the man in the picture. Mid-thirties, slightly overweight, bushy beard that was as black as his eyes. That’s him.

The detective slid over another picture. It was George Gold lying on the floor of his living room, his face swollen and purple. His left eyebrow had ballooned up enough to hide his eye, and there was white foam on the side of his mouth. His right eye was open, cloudy, and staring straight up. Blood stained his beard and the floor around him.

Have you seen what happened to him? asked Blake. Thirty three broken bones, including his sternum. He was beaten with a hammer, and then kicked over and over. The medical examiner said that nearly all of his wounds were sustained before the killer began to choke him. That means your friend nearly beat this man to death before he finished the job by choking him with his bare hands.

Lincoln started to push the photo away, but the detective stopped him. He pointed at George Gold’s neck. The skin color had turned such a deep purple that it was almost indistinguishable from the man’s black beard.

You see here? asked the detective as he placed his finger on the picture and slid it back over to Lincoln. Blake stood so that he could move the picture closer. He was leaning halfway over the table as he asked, Do you see what your friend did?

Are you sure he did it? asked Lincoln with a defiant tone. Or do you think maybe one of the hundreds of kids George abused decided it was time for a little payback?

That’s what this is, isn’t it? asked Blake as he stood up straight and crossed his arms. He stood triumphantly, with a smug grin and squinting eyes. Payback. You’re a couple of vigilantes out there meting out your own brand of justice. Beating down anyone you suspect of a crime. Acting like you’re above the law. That’s what it is, isn’t it?

Blake didn’t give Lincoln a chance to respond. He continued his accusation with mounting anger, The two of you got addicted to the media attention from the other cases, and decided you had carte blanche to go after whoever you wanted. And that’s how we ended up here, with a murderer on the loose who you’re helping to hide.

I’m not trying to… Lincoln was interrupted as Blake’s patience ran out.

Where is he? The detective nearly yelled. Where are you hiding Bentley?

Lincoln settled back in his seat, neither impressed nor fazed. I don’t know where Benny’s at, and I don’t know if he’s responsible for that. But let’s be honest with each other here, Detective Blake. Is the world worse off with George Gold dead? The man was a pedophile who bought and sold kiddie porn by the truckload.

Lincoln was being honest when he told the detectives that he didn’t know much about what happened between George and Bentley. All he knew was what his daughter had told him before he was brought to the Firestone police department.

And in your opinion he deserved to die. Blake was fishing for an admission of guilt.

I’m not saying that. But he sure as hell deserved more than a few months in jail and probation, which is what he would’ve gotten if you got your hands on him.

You don’t know that.

Actually, I do, said Lincoln. Darcy had told him the awful facts about how the local government dealt with cases of pedophilia. I know all about the recent pedophilia convictions in the state. First time offenders barely get a slap on the wrist. Most of them walk away with probation, and that’s it. There’s no rehabilitation program out there that works because no one knows how to fix them.

There’s counseling.

And it doesn’t work. Lincoln sat up straighter and leaned forward, exuding assuredness in his posture as the detective’s stance eased.

Lincoln had managed to gain control of the conversation. He’d learned the art of manipulating debates during his time dealing with sales executives when he was a motivational speaker. In this scenario, the detective was supposed to lead the back-and-forth by holding onto more information than the interviewee. It was the same in business. The person with a better grasp of the facts always has the upper hand.

Do you know the recidivism rate of pedophiles, Detective Blake? asked Lincoln. He only gave Blake a brief moment to respond, and then continued before the detective had the chance, 56 percent. You can look it up yourself if you don’t believe me. I had a hard time believing it when I first heard the number. That’s even higher than drug offenders. More than half the people charged with pedophilia go right back out there and do it again. That’s just the ones who get caught. The real number’s probably a hell of a lot higher.

So your solution’s to murder them?

No. Lincoln didn’t let the detective antagonize him. He stayed calm as Blake’s blood pressure rose and his nostrils flared during the questioning. Like I told you, I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Mr. Gold. I was working on the Colby Tate case. If you want proof of it, I’ll ring the water out of my socks for you. I’d be happy to tell you all about how I just got done hiking a mountain in a snowstorm. I came here from the Boulder station where they grilled me about Gellroy Waterson. Damn near every minute of my day for the past week has been focused on that. As for what Bentley was doing… Lincoln shrugged. I really can’t say.

Well I can, said Blake, happy to regain power of the tête-à-tête. Your friend was busy getting payback on members of an internet pedophilia ring. He took it upon himself to be judge, jury, Blake pushed the photo of George Gold’s corpse back at Lincoln, and executioner. In the past few weeks we’ve had one guy admit to his crimes out of nowhere, and another was found tied up in his house with evidence of what he did next to him. The second guy admitted he was a pedophile, just like the first. Each of those guys had links to George and Bentley. Neither of them admitted why they were coming clean. It was almost as if someone had scared the living crap out of them. That’s not the sort of thing we can chalk up to coincidence.

Then let’s chalk it up to good luck and call it a day.

Blake pressed his finger down hard on the photograph of George Gold. I’m not calling it a day until I put whoever’s responsible for this in jail where he belongs.

Lincoln picked up the photo and sat back in his seat. He examined the photograph carefully, studying the details with squinted eyes and pursed lips. Finally, he shook his head and said, Sorry, Detective, but no matter how hard I try, He slid the photo back across to Blake, I just can’t make myself feel bad about what happened to that piece of shit.

Blake picked the photograph back up, tapped the edge on the desk, and glared at Lincoln. Then maybe you’ll feel bad for your daughter when she gets thrown in jail for her part in all of this.

Darcy didn’t do anything wrong.

That’s not the way it looks to me, said Blake. Once again, he’d wrested control of the conversation, and he knew it. He smugly grinned and said, I know Darcy’s sick, so let me give you a warning, Mr. Pierce. If you want to keep your daughter from spending what could be the rest of her life locked up in a jail cell, then you need to be real honest with me. I need to know exactly what’s been going on between you, your daughter, and Mr. Ball for the past month.

The pseudo-threat on his daughter incensed Lincoln, and he grit his teeth before replying. I already told you, I was in rehab. Bentley and Darcy were running the business for me. When I got out, I started working the Tate case. I kept records. You can check them for yourself.

I will, you can be sure of that, said Blake. Because this puzzle’s going to get put back together. One way or another. Bentley and your daughter got mixed up in something that’s ruined a lot of lives. Theirs included.

Chapter One

Bentley had emerged from the closet wielding a sledgehammer, and was prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep George Gold from ever peddling child pornography again.

What the… Who? What the hell are you doing here? asked George as he got up from the desk and reached for something to defend himself. There was nothing formidable at hand, so he picked up a bottle of lotion, and got ready to throw it.

You didn’t think I was going to let you get away with it, did you? asked Bentley.

Listen, man, said George as he prepared to throw the lotion if necessary. Just calm down and listen to me.

No. Bentley didn’t raise the sledgehammer to swing, but instead jabbed it head first at George. The pedophile threw the lotion, and it smashed into the wall behind Bentley, leaving behind a sizeable dent. Coconut scented cream splattered around the room. Bentley’s weapon collided with George’s gut. The pedophile huffed as he was forced back against his computer desk. He fell into it, knocking over the monitor as he grasped at the hammer’s haft.

The cat that Bentley had stolen from George scurried away. It darted between them on its way to the living room where it paused and stared back with wide, terrified eyes.

If the cops aren’t willing to do something, said Bentley before thrusting the hammer into George’s midsection again. I will.

The pedophile pushed the hammer aside and fell to the floor where he curled up in agony. He tried to scream, but only managed to gasp. Instead of trying to escape, he reached for Bentley’s legs.

Bentley kicked him away, and raised the hammer to take another blow.

I can help you, said George as he held his arm over his head to shield himself. I’ll help you get the others. The other pedophiles. They’re way worse. Way worse than me.

Bentley paused.

This was George’s only chance to save himself. I can help you. He repeated the phrase several times, each more earnest than the last.

How many can you help me find?

George’s desperation hurried his answer, Hundreds. Hundreds if you want. I can help you track them down.

How?

There’re more meetings, just like the one at the hotel. That meeting you busted up was a small one. There’s going to be another in Denver soon. I can get you in. Or we could go after the people on the guest list. I’ve got access to that sort of information. These guys, they… they buy stuff from me. We could set them up. Me and you. We could stop hundreds of them if we wanted. He grasped at Bentley’s leg and gazed up at him.

You’d turn on your friends?

They’re not my friends. I hate them just as much as you. George was panting as if exhausted. I hate them too.

Bentley kneed George hard, sending him back against the table. The cat, Biscuit, meowed from the other room in protest as his former owner struggled to stand. George winced as he got to his feet. He wrapped his arm around his side, cradling broken ribs.

You’re the same as them, said Bentley.

No I’m not, said George with a pained laugh, as if he’d managed to find something funny in the accusation. Trust me.

I know what sort of pictures and videos you had on your computer.

Big deal. You think that’s bad, you should see… He winced in pain that was intense enough to silence him for a second. You should see some of the stuff the other guys are into. Look, I know I’m a piece of shit. I know it. There’s no way you can hate me more than I hate myself, but if you think I’m as bad as they come then you’re kidding yourself. I’ve never touched a kid. Never.

You just let other guys touch them and film it for you, said Bentley as George’s attempt at explaining himself drew ire instead of sympathy. And even if you haven’t raped a kid yet, it’s only a matter of time. Someone’s got to put a stop to you before it gets to that point.

No, you’re wrong. That’s not… That’s not the sort of thing… He struggled to explain. I’m not into that. I don’t… Fuck, man. Listen to me. Just listen. He cringed when it looked like Bentley was going to hit him again. George yelled, Wait and let me explain!

You’d better hurry, said Bentley. I’m getting real sick of listening.

I tried to get help. I fucking tried and there’s nothing anyone can do. When I was a teenager I knew I had a problem, so I told my mom, and she took me to therapy. Want to guess what happened? They kicked me out. No psychiatrist would take me on as a patient because they said there’s nothing they can do to help me with these… these desires. I tried to get help, and there’s no help out there.

Bullshit, said Bentley.

It’s the truth! No psychiatrist will take on a client with a pedophilia problem because they’re scared of getting sued if the patient ever goes and hurts a kid. Look at it from my perspective. Imagine yourself as a teenager discovering that you’ve got these sick, horrible fantasies, and that there’s nothing anyone can do for it.

I’m having a real hard time feeling sorry for you.

I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me. I’m asking you to think about what you’re doing here. I wish I wasn’t a, you know… I wish to God I didn’t feel the way I do, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it. He pointed at the computer and spoke with intense shame, That helps me cope. I can look, but not touch.

And that’s supposed to be better? asked Bentley.

It is better. I mean, I know it’s still sick and whatever, but it’s better than the alternative.

You sure about that? asked Bentley as he slapped the head of the hammer. I can think of a few alternatives. If I were you, I’d do the world a favor and blow my brains out.

I don’t deserve to die.

That’s up for debate, said Bentley.

I’m offering to help you! You can hate me all you want, but there are guys out there ten times worse, and I can help you track them down. I tracked down that other guy, right? That girl’s dad. I tracked him down online, and I can find others too. Think of it this way. If you were one of those kids, would you rather see me dead – just some random guy - or would you rather see the person who abused you get what’s coming to him?

Bentley didn’t respond.

Think about it, said George, confident he’d finally convinced Bentley to consider his offer. I can help you find the really sick ones. You could do that, or you could end it here, right now, and never help a single one of those kids. He pointed a shaking finger at his computer.

Bentley despised the idea of working with George, but he couldn’t argue with the logic. If he had the chance to stop other pedophiles, he had to take it.

All right. Where do we start?

Chapter Two

When are you picking up your dad? asked Hector.

Tuesday, said Darcy. She’d been focused on her computer so long that she needed to blink to reset her eyesight after looking away. We’ve just got one more weekend of freedom before he comes barreling in here and screwing up all our hard work.

The three of them chuckled at the notion. They’d gotten into a groove at the office since Lincoln had been in rehab. Hector took on a contract from the city to develop a new anti-bullying site, and Bentley was always busy working on a variety of cases. Darcy was in the midst of completing an infidelity case, and was filling out the copious paperwork involved.

I’ve got a feeling he’ll figure out a way to get into trouble day one, said Hector. Let’s all make sure to enjoy a nice, long weekend before he’s back.

What’re you guys up to this weekend? Got anything exciting going on? asked Darcy.

I’m going to Manitou Springs with Dee, said Hector. I rented a cabin right over by Garden of the Gods. It’s got a Jacuzzi in the room, and I got one of those chocolate fountain things. We’re going to drink some wine, smoke a little ganja, and then eat our weight in chocolate strawberries.

Oh God, that sounds like heaven, said Darcy. What’s the occasion?

Hector swiveled his chair so that he was looking at them, and his wide grin revealed there was something big going on that he hadn’t told them. He didn’t respond, and let his silence and obvious joy speak for him.

What? asked Darcy, her curiosity piqued. Tell me what’s going on.

Well, I figure after stringing the poor girl on for six years, it’s about time I put a ring on it, said Hector.

Darcy erupted in giddy cheer. She bounded up, covered her mouth with both hands, and then asked, You’re serious? For real? You’re going to ask her to marry you?

I guess I’d better, said Hector. Otherwise I won’t have anything to do with this. He opened up one of his desk drawers and took out a black jewelry box.

Darcy gasped and then ran across the space between their desks as she waited for him to open the box. Let me see, she said when he didn’t open it up for her right away.

Hector teased her, Oh, did you want to see the ring?

Darcy punched him on the arm and said, Yes, and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were planning this. I should kick your ass.

He opened the box for her and said, It’s nothing too crazy. I’m not throwing down a fortune for a rock. She’s not the type of girl who cares about that sort of thing.

Oh, it’s gorgeous. Is that white gold?

No, platinum. I went with a bunch of smaller diamonds instead of one big one. Go ahead and try it on. See what you think.

Oh no, that’s okay, said Darcy. Isn’t that bad luck or something?

No, said Hector with a chuckle. Not that I know of. Check out the engraving inside the band.

Darcy carefully took the ring out of the box and read the engraving aloud, Never alone.

"Yeah, that’s part of what I plan on having the pastor say at the ceremony instead of ‘till death do us part.’ I’ve always hated that phrase.