Of A Kind

By Lucus Anthony Ren

A lieutenant detective homicide for Los Angeles since the end of the Second War whereas part of a small intelligence group known simply as ‘Once Over’ which sounded ludicrous to us not understanding whether it meant some code name we’d never be permitted knowing full operational tasks of, or simply ‘once we’re over here’ or perhaps ‘give it the once over’ most appropriate seeing our missions entailed infiltrating deep into the German-occupied populace, countries Nazis overtook with incredible speed, and through great strides observe an extremely short duration returning with full details to High Command based outside of London. But now with DonaX at stake what could hold anyone back from her.

Then we were spies of a rather different sort allowed to retrieve information deemed pertinent to the mission using any possible means. Without prejudice. Were most of our counterparts weren’t permitted so much leniency, we were the extreme end of things, so when called to the San Diego suburb of Pacific Beach well out of my area of L.A. at four in the morning rather surprised hearing the sergeants case information while just returning from a case in Malibu only an hour before, hadn’t even time to close my thoughts when the phone pulled me into that substance growing every moment thick with maddening despair. DonaX was back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucus Anthony Ren
• Release date: Dec 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463413555

Book preview

Of A Kind

Lucus Anthony Ren

Copyright © 2018, Lucus Anthony Ren

Self-publishing

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. Limit of Liability and Disclaimer of Warranty: The author / publisher has used its best efforts in preparing this book, and the information provided herein is provided as is, and makes no representation or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaims any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for any particular purpose and shall in no event be liable for any loss of profit or any other commercial damage, including but not limited to special, incidental, consequential, or other damages.

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Preface

There being, about twenty formulas going through the human brain, calculating, measuring, what have you, at any given time, which can and often does tire a person, in some cases completely leaving them with little or no understanding of their environment.

Sure, it happens to us all, and at the end of the day we seek nothing more than peace.

I wrote about 1946 because it’s an interesting time. Both wars are finished, though another beginning, yet the world wanted change, desperately grasping at ‘something’. Well, that could be the very reason itself the Cold War developed as it did. After all what is really happening? Today. Right now.

Wanting change some falsify reality. Some however can’t tell which, and is what ‘Of A Kind’ replays.

Its short story in the sense taking roughly four hours in real time; Tolber’s arrival at the scene being the principle start. But what happened during this case he is signed investigating, returns him to that area where black and white are not so clear, maybe a little like our lives, when we finally have a rest, look back wondering what actually have we done…in that time.

For those who ask the right questions.

Chapter 1 DonaX

Be still. Not a sound.

The most difficult of first steps, nothing known certain neither mundane nor contemplated from any distance as such, yet how her thinking achieved, with what and whom could say otherwise as ‘those’ without understanding her the least, bolted the door closing her off, reaching their own demise, but was this the place her making…for no escape from their prison? Possibly, yet these crimes committed pointed all acts towards the youth when questions not only from those living closest to her but those investigating; how could she, the age of twelve years placed deep within a distant countries sanitarium, produce such loss?

And it was here my story began, rather the one charged with.

Melissa, whom all referred to as Melli when only three years of age either or reasons they were lazy pronouncing her full name or saw something unkind with the one bestowed at birth, took me by surprise at their immense wealth of stupidity, and lack for understanding the world around often referred as, ‘Our Kind’. Rich from generations past inheritance hundreds of years in the making, acknowledged themselves above all others, and only forced due to the crimes spoke their disdain having to deal with such atrocities as commoners, with their stupefied questionings.

It was after all this reason only come in contact with such a group as most crimes undertook were those of a more natural nature and directness. But here was very different. This was not ordinary in any sense of the world those involved in would ever understand, including me. It drove me near insane as with so many involved in the case, and to this day still abuses most of my conscious mind, so much so hardly recognize any of the worlds around me.

But that is now. To start at the beginning would amount a task understanding exactly where that was but still eludes me for in the two-week investigation of her alleged crimes never understood where on the map only placed as a point in imagination, for reality here was difficult managing, simple there wasn’t much at the end able holding on to.

A lieutenant detective homicide for Los Angeles since the end of the Second War whereas part of a small intelligence group known simply as ‘Once Over’ which sounded ludicrous to us not understanding whether it meant some code name we’d never be permitted knowing full operational tasks of, or simply ‘once we’re over here’ or perhaps ‘give it the once over’ most appropriate seeing our missions entailed infiltrating deep into the German-occupied populace, countries Nazis overtook with incredible speed, and through great strides observe an extremely short duration returning with full details to High Command based outside of London.

We were spies of a rather different sort allowed to retrieve information deemed pertinent to the mission using any possible means. Without prejudice. Were most of our counterparts weren’t permitted so much leniency, we were the extreme end of things, so when called to the San Diego suburb of Pacific Beach well out of my area of L.A. at four in the morning rather surprised hearing the sergeants case information while just returning from a case in Malibu only an hour before, hadn’t even time to close my thoughts when the phone pulled me into that substance growing every moment thick with maddening despair.

‘Lieutenant Tolber. The commander wants you there right away. San Diego. The driver coming now should be arriving in fifteen minutes. Homicide. Body found on the beach. Young woman. Details with the driver.’

Laying on my back eyes blinking watching the dull gray ceiling wondered nothing but by the time reaching San Diego it would be morning and could sleep on the way after reviewing the case file but that wasn’t anything near to the truth after reading only the first paragraph knew this had something very different fact the body was fully clothed, young with long brunet-red hair, no markings of struggle, small scars on her right palm still pink indicating recent, no note or ID found on, all the labels from her dress and sweater removed, while the body found sitting on the sandy beach legs extended and crossed, so why all the way to another city, a local detective could easily manage?

With that question in mind, though not too deep fell asleep later woke as we arrived just outside the city asking the driver how long till at the crime scene, began again further through the information looking for any details, yet knew there would be little until seeing the body now at the morgue and talking with those from the scene wanting first viewing than meeting others, along with the deceased.

There wasn’t much to read in the standard information of the death only the location and time. Yet a homicide, how and why the case already listed as such, and who would have imagined but the commander himself gave the order, assigning me the case. Or were others involved? Who gave him the one prompting me out for the commander knew I was overworked with other cases more important than something so common as a dead girl on a beach, which weren’t in great number that was certain, still did cause an alert in my mind warranting why my involvement. But the commander was instructed obviously by persons of importance and while searching the sand, looking at the wall she’d leaned against, looking out at the ocean no more than a few yards away, couldn’t think of a single detail as to why.

And that was the first clue; there were no details, the entire area was sterile. Perfectly normal.

The tide came in removing any footprints, except those of a young couple out walking discovered the body at five-thirty in the morning, and the arriving officers were careful not to tread all over securing the area, permitting only assigned detective and those from the morgue entrance.

Taking into account tidal times only footprints from the young couple, and a set of the arriving officer remained, therefore whoever disposed of the body, or the killers, perhaps both, had their footprints removed, most likely aware of this, conclusive with the autopsy establishing when she died and where hoped, concluded by today wanting a return to L.A., yet knowing it would take time.

But that wasn’t true.

Gazing toward the ocean smelling the sea air clearing my mind, the driver approached informing me the results were indeed in and they were waiting for me, several thoughts sprang forward thrusting their way into the front of my brain as to why the exam was so quick, and who were ‘they’? Also, needing coffee or rather some very strong black tea which while in London during the war brought me further awake but harder to come by here. Asking the driver while en route to the morgue stop and get whatever we could for he as well needed a bolstering as the man seldom spoke, only when required reminding me of attaché drivers in London.

And that was the second clue; he wasn’t from the regular police force. He was different of which he understood I knew possible that very moment remembering his mannerism around the crime scene, and our journey including collecting me having opened the car door and his greeting, the way he did which hadn’t registered till now. So we both talked little only when necessary. It was a sub-conscience part of the entire situation recognized the moment he informed me of the results.

From lack of sleep, not picking up the situation as I should have, certainly during the war would have for senses then was greatly sharper. But since, practically fall asleep waiting for test results or tedious developments most of the cases were rather clear for me compared with dealings of the war and their complexities, which though greatly different from Los Angeles, were in themselves unique insofar you were chasing a suspect through the woods of Romania in the morning, and that very evening while exchanging information with Budapest underground militia usually over several bottles of wine, were shot at from marauding Gestapo agents.

At the moment all was as far as you could get from those years. Where all was extreme. And here, simply a dream.

A dream slowly waking from staring further seeing no signs of convulsions or vomiting at the scene common with alcohol or drugs, or even poison, nor signs of a struggle. The victim it appeared sat down, stretched out her legs and simply died. Naturally, the post-mortem examination would prove further of this, my thoughts in that direction motioning to the driver and within a short time, we sped off to the coroner's office when the slight shiver just behind my left ear alerting me to another area of a crime not yet reviewed, or trouble's coming.

It started when seven; the shiver. Nothing more described it but that while attempting mathematical problem yet understood. Though the teacher having reviewed several times with great patience, no nearer, exasperated and gave up from my lack of simply understanding the equation. Seemingly insurmountable might as well have been swimming through a frozen lake than figuring sums, till my mother beat me hard enough, and locked in the downstairs basement where certainly the boogeyman lived, coming out from under the old bed my granddad died on, probably was since mom always said he was a mean son-of-bitch and would eat stupid children who couldn't figure out their goddamn math. And when locked there alone only with the math book and pencil with a small lamp because she'd turn the lights off saying, 'You don't have much time Russ so get the fuck move on or when that battery goes...so do you!'

Starting with what believed pestered from an insect in the near dark, most possibly a giant blood-sucking thing landing on just where the base of the skull attached to the neck, certain but still wanted desperately finishing this equation or the sensation grew pulling my focus towards the message growing from within somewhere secretly instructing me, whispering the correct essence of the total amount including how to arrive at the end, which promptly bleated out creating a unison outcry from the students knowing once this was accomplished class was excused for lunch. But first had to be dealt with in the basement.

Since without knowing, this sensation occurred coming forward when needed the most yet was never ‘called upon’ either through prayer or demand, yet never failed to bring about my attention insofar close of another direction one of which neglected.

And it was in this I observed more clarity, than at any other point.

What arrived in the rear seat while observing nothing particular of the city around us as we drove through its seamless environment, a single thought did not flash as one might believe though in themselves this might be very true, yet here often they floated coming low from a nearly invisible horizon of my consciousness that often enough an area less delved in than usual which grown grateful for. This place where ideas and concepts worked themselves but not wanting to interrupt their process, never fully ventured for fear indeed suspending some marvel, otherwise would simply fade away along abstract daydreams more often than not amounted entirely from discarded relics of their once explored fantasies.

From youth this ‘factory’ witnessed drove, relentlessly at times pronounced more so from the war and its meaning, not simply observation of which cracked all recollection of that existence, that youthful mold we all held so desperately onto. Because once passing through the conflict Europe and the world was under, we aged. Grew tired. Not simply our values changed, but moreover, an understanding of what lay beyond life pushed through forcing itself upon us which for all parts, must have been planted at our own births, yet lay hidden among our cherished beliefs and reasoning, only arriving with the butchery.

Looking out the window thinking of reasons why wanting order in life, a demand of justice, the scent from swaying palms and cool air filled the car, mounting the difference between the two of just a year ago stood in Stalingrad and Berlin surveying a ruined world we’d all in effect brought about, wondering was it all worth this. Remembering glancing down at my muddied, torn boots where a doll having lost its body, its few strands of probably once blond hair remained in the half-crushed head, its one eye gazing up into the gray clouded and smoking sky knowing then probably never see the light of day again. That I had become simply a toy like so many waiting for whatever master came along.

It was the weight. Others too spoke of such, their tones low not wanting either others to hear or waking something deeper inside. Some animal they’d want nothing more of, at least a moments reprieve from, nevertheless, kept them alive through war. And worst of all they knew would rise again.

Once discharged from the Army sought only peace and quite hoping for a life of finding someone, having a family forgetting all of the past life which four years brought an end of, and through a newer one would arrive as we all spoke of for most wanting nothing more of what we'd seen and done.

And most did.

But when boarding the flight returning to the world untouched yet by bombs and death as Europe had suffered as well as Asia with the Japanese, was pulled aside escorted to another building on the airbase by three military police twice the size of any normal human feeling the Army wasn’t through even though my orders showed discharge in less