Crime Double

By Tarry Ionta

CRIME DOUBLE is a combination of two, fast paced, sting-in-the-tail novellas, both in the Crime genre.
It contains - ROUGH DIAMOND and MUTED STRINGS, which have also been published in another anthology, THREE OF A KIND.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tarry Ionta
• Release date: Aug 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370283484

Tarry Ionta

Born 1933 of Italian parentage. He served in the RAF and worked at various occupations before entering Glasgow University at thirty, to study Maths, Physics, and Astronomy. He completed one year before dropping out to become a telegraphist. Finally, completing his working life with British Telecom Finance Department. His Interests and hobbies comprise mainly of chess, and reading science fiction. He has also had a keen, practicing interest in computing and martial arts (Judo and Shotokan Karate) and music (Saxophone, Clarinet, and Piano - Over twelve years with City of Glasgow Military Band). Now retired and no longer active in those fields, he prefers to concentrate on writing. He has been writing since 1988, having written over fifty varied short stories, a few articles, novellas, novels, and a children's fantasy book. Several short stories have been published in anthologies and on the Internet. A few have also been short-listed in the WRITER'S NEWS monthly competitions. He continues to write.

Book preview

CRIME DOUBLE

(Muted Strings & Rough Diamond)

by

Tarry Ionta ©

Copyright 2015 ISBN-9781370283484

License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to the owner and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

The original images used to form the cover of this book are in the Public Domain. If anyone knows of anything to the contrary please inform the author at:

[e-mail]

MUTED STRINGS

Chapter 1

It stood out like a penny dreadful among leather-bound classics. Though, in reality, it was very much like the other books surrounding it; indistinguishable from the rest. And yet…?

There was just something about this particular volume that almost screamed out at me, ‘Pick me up. Pick me up.’ Just one dull book among many, fitting snugly and unobtrusively between the rest. The title itself should have been enough for barely a glance, before I let my eyes pass it by. But it wasn’t to be. And had I known the chain of events that would transpire from this one chance meeting, I would have shunned it like some dreadful disease… But in retrospect, maybe not.

With a slight and inexplicable feeling of reluctance I extracted the book, in spite of my misgivings; a compulsion really, with a little voice in my head saying, ‘Ignore the compulsion; leave it alone.’

But I didn’t.

It looked new, with an unobtrusive brown and cream jacket that was as dull as its title—THE CORPORATE SYNDROME.

As I flicked through the pages, reading a sentence here and a passage there, I thought to myself, why am I wasting time with it? The subject matter is of no interest to me whatsoever and—from the pristine slip on the first page where the borrowing date stamp should have been—of little interest to anyone else, either. I was about to put it back when I noticed that there was the tip of a bookmark sticking out further on in the book. I pulled out the narrow card. Either someone had been reading the book and had used it to mark their place—which seemed unlikely as the book did not appear to have been issued to anyone before—or that person had placed it there for some other reason.

I replaced the book, suddenly aware that I was no longer curious. But the bookmark remained in my hand. It seemed to capture my interest even more than the book itself had done. It was just an ordinary looking bookmark with some fancy sort of modernistic floral pattern, which I barely looked at, then turned over. The reverse side was plain white, but whoever had placed it in the book had scribbled an address on it, 16 Park Oval East, followed by a series of six numbers, which meant absolutely nothing to me. I hadn’t even heard of Park Oval East before. As for the numbers? They could have represented anything; an account number or a date, possibly.

Then, just as suddenly as the compulsion had come upon me, I lost all interest in the book or the bookmark. Might as well put it back, I thought, whoever put it there might come back for it, if they wanted to keep the address. I retrieved the book once again, replaced the bookmark at a random page, then tucked the book back into its niche. All interest in the incident was promptly forgotten. Or so I thought.

Memory of the incident didn’t resurface until some two weeks later. I had just finished one of those frozen microwave meals that looked like a cross between glutinous slime and rubber, which the manufacturers generously called Goulash, and settled down to have a look at the evening paper before turning on the TV.

Nothing unusual, I thought; the state of the economy; a number of attacks somewhere or other; another earthquake in China, etc. I don’t read papers normally, although I do like to know what goes on in the world. Usually I just skip through the news, picking out items of interest and just reading the headlines. Details don’t interest me, they’re mostly depressing. Unless, of course, there is something in the news that particularly interests me.

But on this occasion some words stood out glaringly before I could move on. They seemed to force themselves on my attention. The words were Park Oval East. It didn’t register immediately, the words just seemed to stand out from the rest of the text. It took me a moment to realize where I had seen them before. The library, that was it! I suddenly remembered browsing and coming across the bookmark in… some book or other, the title escaped me at that moment.

It was a small item tucked at the bottom of an inside page, and looked to me as though it was a filler, added just to complete the column. The heading was, BREAK-IN AT MUSIC TEACHER’S HOME. It gave information about a break-in at a music teacher’s home early that morning. Apparently nothing had been taken.

The Police were mystified, etc. etc. I paid little attention to the details as the address quoted distracted me. It was 16 Park Oval East. And I suddenly remembered the bookmark I had looked at in the library. That was the address written on the back of it. Coincidence? It seemed odd to me, but I had to admit, it really couldn’t be anything else. Or could it?

In spite of dismissing it as a coincidence, it stayed in my mind for days after that. It got to the point that I knew that I would have to go back to the library, just to make sure that it really was the same address. That is, if the bookmark was still in the book. I couldn’t remember its title, but its position on the bookshelf was quite clear in my mind and I was sure I would recognize it as soon as I saw it.

So, at the first opportunity, I went along to the library. I went straight to the bookshelf. There it was, once again glaring at me as though begging me to pull it out again, THE CORPORATE SYNDROME. No doubt about it, that was the book.

Without wasting any time, I quickly leafed through the book, and rather surprisingly, the bookmark was still there. It was only when I turned it over that I realized it was not the same bookmark; the same psychedelic front pattern, but the plain white reverse had a different address written on it. This time it was 1224 Bishops Avenue. And yes, there was a series of numbers after the address.

Bells of curiosity began ringing in my head. There was definitely more to this than met the eyes. The same book and the same kind of bookmark? And I would have sworn that the handwriting was the same on both cards. The book still hadn’t been issued to anyone. So, wasn’t the person who placed the card in the book taking a big chance? What if someone borrowed the book and removed the bookmark, as I had done? I suppose though, when one considers the title and the contents, it wouldn’t be all that risky. I doubt if even one in a thousand people would really want to borrow it. No doubt that was why that particular book had been chosen.

I stood quietly for a while mulling it over. Was it possible that someone was passing information? A gang, or a group maybe, letting its members know where and when the next meeting or strike would be?

I shook my head. No, I had been reading too many detective novels. What basis had I for making such a wild assumption? One card and one attempted robbery? I think I would need more than that to make such a leap of guesswork. Now, if it happened again, then I really would have to take serious note of the occurrence.

The address was no problem, but the series of numbers had to be the date, if my fanciful theory was to be given any credence. I shuffled the numbers around in my head, moving them around in pairs. And sure enough they did make up a date. Not very convincing, really. I suppose you could take just about any group of six digits, move them around and come up with a date. But the date I had come up with was only a week ahead. I couldn’t dismiss that so easily.

On that day I bought several evening newspapers. The break-in at the teacher’s house had been in the early hours of the morning and reported that evening, so it seemed logical to look at the late editions.

I scrutinized the papers thoroughly and sure enough, tucked away on the second page was an item headed, BREAK-IN AT MUSICIAN’S HOME. Almost the same heading, but I had noticed that it was the same evening paper and probably written by the same reporter. No surprise, and no imagination, I thought, some people get their jobs easily. And the text of the item was really very little different than the last break-in story. The only difference essentially, was the address. The wording was slightly different but not enough to show any imaginative use of language. Some wet-nosed Journalist straight out of College, I supposed. As to the robbery? Nothing taken.

Now that did seem odd in itself. I could imagine that in the first case the thieves had been disturbed somehow and had fled before they could lay hands on anything worthwhile. But a second time? That was beginning to stretch the coincidence a little too far.

Why was I concerned? It had nothing to do with me, even if there was something going on. It would be better if I simply forgot the coincidence and moved on to the puzzle page.

But I didn’t. It’s just my nature, I suppose. Once I’ve started a puzzle I won’t give up until it’s finished, or be left for a long time with a feeling that I’m not as smart as I thought I was. And this was no different. It was like a puzzle. I would worry it like a cat with a mouse, until either the mouse escaped, or was no longer able to.

Chapter 2

Should I go to the police with this? Would they be interested? I wondered. After all, nothing had been taken in either case. And they probably had enough to do, without following up some crank’s fanciful notion that really only belonged in a detective novel. Besides, I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself over something so insubstantial.

And that’s what really bothered me, I suddenly realized; the fact that nothing had been taken. Someone was looking for something, I felt sure. I couldn’t imagine that, of the two break-ins, there hadn’t been anything worthwhile stealing. Most homes have something worth taking; loose change, the odd item of value in the shape of a TV, ornament,