Old Secrets

By David Kesting

Artificial Intelligence.

Singularity.

Catch phrases in the debate of man vs. sentient machines.

When rogue scientists try to push the discussion towards reality, it falls on private eye Sid Ericson to stop them in their tracks.

It all begins as Ericson walks into an interview with a prospective client unaware of that she will be the ignition point for a deadly roller coaster ride taking the private to an unbelievable climax.

At first, the private eye only sees a grieving woman, distraught over the sudden death of an elderly woman in the next apartment.

She hires Ericson to investigate the suspicious nature of her neighbor's fate. A death that the cops have quickly dismissed as an accident.

From the very beginning, the private eye can barely keep up with the ever changing dynamics of the case as he is forced to deal with the sudden appearance of killers bent on erasing old secrets before they can be turned into modern day game changers.

What secrets are these killers trying to eradicate? Or to protect?

Ericson always seems to be just one step behind these 'cleaners'. Pros intent on wiping out traces of past events without worrying about the collateral damage.

It's got to end some where.

Who or what awaits Sid Ericson at the finish line?

The trophy may be another old secret.

The last one.

A deadly one at that.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Kesting
• Release date: Aug 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386700081

Book preview

CHAPTER 3

Edith Bagley was murdered.

After making this pronouncement, Rosa Gonzales repositioned her short, bulky frame on the sleeper sofa.

She shifted her gaze to the folded patchwork quilt that was draped over the back cushions.

Ms. Gonzales followed her hand as it glided over large squares of red, black and gold, with some sort of emblem in the middle. She subconsciously smoothed out wrinkles here and there on the quilt.

I shifted uncomfortably on a cracked faux leather chair opposite the sofa. Rosa Gonzales was a prospective client. This was our first interview.

We were in her tiny studio apartment off Eden Court in the Cortez Hills area, near downtown San Diego.

It was hot and stuffy in this small space. A ceiling fan above us was just going through the motions.

Rosa Gonzales was an instructor at one of those ‘universities’ that offered training for prospective dental assistants. The campus was a storefront just off the trolley tracks on C Street.

Gonzales was getting ready to leave for her first night class. These nocturnal sessions serviced the needs of those students who worked during the day at their minimum wage jobs. Becoming a dental assistant at a plushy dentist’s office would be an upgrade.

Ms. Gonzales had on light blue scrubs with a long sleeve tee shirt underneath. She wore black shoes with one inch heels. Not the kind of footwear a person usually puts on for jobs that require long periods of standing.

I am sure that Mrs. Bagley was the victim of some sort of foul play, continued Ms. Gonzales, with a conviction in her voice.

The police...

The cops got it wrong, Mr. Ericson, interrupted Ms. Gonzales. Edith Bagley did not fall and hit her head against the sink. She was murdered and then placed in the bathroom.

How could you possibly know if her death was something other than accidental? I asked.

For one thing, I heard her arguing with someone just hours before she died.

As I was about to speak, loud banging suddenly streamed through the walls into the Gonzales studio apartment from all directions. The sounds reverberated within the small room.

New ownership, groused Ms. Gonzales. They are refurbishing the studios so they can jack up the rents.

Tell me about this argument that you heard coming from her place.

"It was mid-afternoon about this time, as a matter of fact. The day before yesterday. She was yelling at someone. Her apartment is right next door. Our bathrooms and kitchens are back to back.

I could hear bits and pieces, even through the banging caused by the workers, especially when Edie walked into her kitchen carrying on a loud, running conversation.

Who was yelling back at her? Was it a man or a woman?

I could not tell. It sounded as if she was having the conversation over the phone. I am sure that this phone conversation and her sudden accident are related.

Why?

A man has been bothering her in the last month or so.

What man?

Adams Lords. He’d been calling her at all hours. Somehow Lords got hold of Edie’s cell and landline phone numbers.

What did Adams Lords want with Edith Bagley?

Edie was vague about it. Something about Mr. Lord’s dead son.

Did he ever come around the apartment house?

"Yes. The first time he was pounding on her door. He’d snuck into the building. Edie called me and asked me to scare him off with a threat to call the police. It worked.

Another time, just a week ago, he was yelling from the sidewalk just outside our windows.

What was he yelling?

It was about his son again. He kept saying that she could help find Jacob’s killers. This time a number of the neighbors who have apartments fronting the street told him to get lost.

So you saw this Adam Lords. Describe him.

Old, in his seventies. White hair. Under six feet tall, though not by much. Average built. The first time I saw him, Lords was wearing a tweed jacket, with faded, old person jeans and leather sandals with white socks. I especially noticed his footwear.

A shattering series of loud thuds was followed by a rhythmic hammering. The sounds cascaded throughout Rosa Gonzales’ studio apartment.

The police have already closed down the investigation, she said in a loud voice. You must act quickly before the new ownership sends the refurbishing crews into Edie’s apartment. They will destroy any clues connected to her murder.

CHAPTER 4

I am expensive Ms. Gonzales. It will cost you plenty upfront to satisfy this whim of curiosity.

Finding a killer is not a whim, protested Rosa Gonzales. Besides, Lt. Larsen said that you would work gratis. She was supposed to have called you before this interview.

Rita Larsen?

Yes.

I’ve received no such call, I replied, trying to contain my anger. In fact, I didn’t even know of her promotion. The last time I talked with Detective Larsen she was a sergeant.

Rosa Gonzales started smoothing out the quilt again, avoiding my gaze.

How do you know Detective Lieutenant Larsen? I asked.

Larsen is her married name. She is divorced. Her maiden name is Olivera. She is of Latino descent. We share some of the same friends.

All right, I said, trying to keep the condescension out of my voice. Tell me about this crashing sound. Did it come during or after the yelling stopped in her