Dean Cordaine: The Fallen Oath Matter

By Bryan Nowak

As a private investigator, you seldom deal with attempted murder. Most cases involve some sleaze bag cheating on his or her spouse. Occasionally, a case comes along where the victim wasn’t simply sitting at home watching the late show while their significant other was boinking the neighbor. Sometimes, the case walks in the door wher

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryan Nowak
• Release date: Mar 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734727418

Bryan Nowak

My name is Bryan Nowak, the author of the books No Name, The Dramatic Dead, and Riapoke. I grew up in Steger, Illinois, a South Suburb of Chicago and spent lots of summers in Indiana. Many of my relatives still live in the Midwest and it’s a frequent destination for summer vacations. I was born in the summer of 1973. I had the good fortune of attending Eastview Elementary School. There I learned the value of a good library through our local librarian. Exhausting the library of ghost stories, and tales of monsters, I re-read some of my favorites. One in particular I remember was the tale of the restless spirits of dead pirates. It was supposedly a true story. Years later, after the advent of the internet, I would find out that the story was well known, and the location of the story is presently a bed and breakfast in South Carolina. Reading those stories are what gave me a firm foundation of suspense and the paranormal. Having moved to Minnesota as a teenager, I soon joined the US Army Reserves and the National Guard. I am a proud veteran of seventeen years. I went to college in Minnesota and met my wife there. Our first son was born in Minnesota. It’s safe to say that I will always have a soft spot in my life for the state that I once called home. It was during my time in the U.S. Army that I was ordered to the state of Virginia, to fill in with an active duty unit who needed some extra help. Returning to that same unit over the next three summers, I learned to really love the state of Virginia. Many years later, my wife and I moved our family here and we still reside in Northern Virginia today. I generally prefer horror to other genera, but I am not necessarily a purist. I like a good solid mystery to go along with it to keep you turning the pages or flicking the screen of your e-reader. I prefer a story line that doesn’t ooze blood, but I want it saturated in tension and dread. I’m a firm believer that if I can entertain you while scaring you a little, I have done my job. -Your Humble Servant, Bryan the Writer

Book preview

Dean Cordaine:

The Fallen Oath Matter

Bryan Nowak

Contents

In re Codsworth vs. Codsworth

You Hired Yourself Dean Cordaine, P.I.

The Maid Did it...or Didn't? Hell, I Don't Know Anymore.

The Floodgates Opened and a Little Girl Held the Keys

The Road to Nirvana is Often Paved in Buttercream

Come on, Squeal for Me, Piggy

But I Really Like Cheetos

Radioactivity

I Loved Seeing Fitzpatrick Embarrassed

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Pulling Off the Impossible 7-10 Split

Look at That Blubber Fly

Not All Blood Washes Away

The End of The Road for Sergeant Lardass

Tied-up Ends Are the Best Kind

Dear Reader,

Other Books By Bryan Nowak

Copyright © 2020 by Bryan S. Nowak

All rights reserved

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Bryan Nowak – Sterling, VA

www.bryannowak.com

Editing by Kelly Hartigan, XterraWeb

http://editing.xterraweb.com

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic means including information storage or renewal systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewing party, who may quote short passages in support of a review.

The information in this book is based purely on fictional events. All characters are fictional with the exception of certain historical figures. Any resemblance of the main characters to any people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

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United States of America

Sterling, VA

In re Codsworth vs. Codsworth

The plaintiff calls Mr. Dean Cordaine to the witness stand.

I stood, straightening my secondhand-store suit, and picked up the file folder next to me on the chair. For a moment, the question entered my mind as to why it was called a manila folder. I shook off the thought.

I didn't need the folder. For all the drugs and drinking I did, my mind was surprisingly great at details, which was why I excelled at my job. Some dipshit instructor had once told me if you tend to fidget you should carry a folder in your hands.

What can I say? I am a fidgeter.

The judge, Ricardo Hernandez, stared over his glasses at me. Ricky had a huge gambling problem until he married into money. He still sucked at gambling, but now, the gambling was no longer a problem. He could gamble and lose until the cows came home and his supermodel wife would still shit out money. Good judge but terrible at poker. I played with him and a few other guys a few times a month. I sure loved the smell of that high-quality supermodel money.

The attorney for the plaintiff, Johnathan Padgecent, was an acquaintance who had repeatedly tried putting me behind bars when he worked in the district attorney's office. At one point, he had managed to obtain an arrest warrant for me. Yet, no bars could hold Dean Cordaine—except for Scotty's Midtown Tavern.

Funny thing about Johnathan—once I found the chink in his armor, he became friendly. Johnny snorted enough white powder that it would make the ski slopes at Aspen seem like bunny slopes. Ever since I helped sober him up after a night of speedballs, I convinced him I made a better asset than an enemy. He laid off me and even threw some work my way on occasion.

The defendant had legal representation from little Lisa Maybury, who was petite yet firm in a Lara Croft sort of way. She had a pair of knockers and an ass that could make me come on sight. With olive skin and raven hair to boot, she had it all. In the courtroom, she was the defender you wanted, and if she sat on opposing counsel, you tried getting your client to settle.

Even Lisa had her dark secret. Every Sunday night, she served as the dominatrix at the Rue De La Salle, a burlesque parlor. They ran an illegal prostitution ring out of the back. If anyone knew what I did, she'd lose her license to practice law.

I was not a client at the Rue. That place was way too rich for a cheap P.I. like me. Plus, I doubted my significant other would approve of infidelity, which brought me to why I was in court this morning.

Do you, Dean Cordaine, promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God? the bailiff said.

Whatever God will have me, yes.

The courtroom let out a snicker. I loved working the crowd. Most P.I.s hated courtrooms, but I loved them. This case was a slam dunk, so I decided to have a little fun.

Ricky sat up like a statue above me. He gave off a very judge-like vibe. I want to ask if either counsel has any objection to the testimony Mr. Cordaine is about to provide. He said this to be an ass. He wanted to remind me that although I knew all their secrets, I was still far beneath them. I preferred my own crowd of gutter slime down at Scotty's. Far more egalitarian.

No, Your Honor, Lisa and Johnathan replied in unison.

Of course not. That was what was great about knowing everyone's secrets; everyone minded their manners. Granted, they could have me shot, but I would destroy their reputations on the way out.

Except for Lisa. She was too hot to bring down, and if she did lose her license to practice law, she would make a fortune running her own sex shop. A discreet door in the back would lead to secret rooms for discriminating, and wealthy, clients.

Johnathan stood up and approached me. Mr. Cordaine, on the night in question, what did you observe?

I was at 773 Halloway Lane. I followed a 98 Chevy Impala to the residence, license plate number IN7685. I clearly observed Mr. Codsworth exit the car and then enter the backyard through the gate in the fence.

And then what did you do?

Johnathan and I had discussed the testimony, so I knew where he was going. I circled around the alley in the back of the property and watched Mr. Codsworth and Ms. Jacobsen having intercourse in the pool area of the backyard.

How can you be one hundred percent sure they were having intercourse? The defendant has argued he was providing swimming lessons.

I watched them. I gave the gallery a wink. Got some high-quality pictures of the whole thing. Really top-notch stuff. They have great technique.

Mr. Cordaine—Ricky was pissed now—that is quite enough.

My apologies, Your Honor. I also recovered a used condom from the trash afterwards, which will likely provide a treasure trove of DNA evidence.

Objection, Your Honor. Move to strike. Lisa stood with a satisfied smile on her face like she had discovered a fiver in her panties.

On what grounds?

We contend that Mr. Cordaine gathered evidence on private property, which is illegal and therefore falls under the fruit of the poisoned tree doctrine. We further maintain there is no way to ensure the photos on the camera Mr. Cordaine used were not tampered with.

Mr. Cordaine? Ricky stared at me through his pair of bifocals.

I was prepared for this. The garbage man is an old client of mine. I threw him a hundo to give me first dibs on the garbage after Ms. Jacobsen walked the trash out to the curb in the morning. Most people didn’t realize this, but once you put the bag on the street, said bag becomes abandoned property until the garbage men, or really anyone else, take it away.

All right then, what about the pictures? Do you have an answer for that one?

Naturally, Ric—I mean, Your Honor. My camera has a built-in tracker which geotags all of the photos every time I take a picture and auto uploads them to a service to ensure a reliable chain of evidence. Judges loved when you said things like chain of evidence.

Ms. Maybury? Ricky raised his eyebrows at Lisa. She was smoking hot when she was pissed. I would love to have her punish me later. But, like I said, too rich for my blood.

Withdrawn for now, Your Honor. I may subpoena the garbage man.

The crowd in the courtroom let out a stifled chuckle. From the plaintiff's table, a whimper cut through the quiet of the courtroom, indicating a change to the normal sine wave of a court hearing. It was a change in tempo that I had unfortunately heard all too often. I glanced up at the defendant's table and watched Mr. Codsworth making eyes at Mrs. Codsworth. He worked hard to capture that vulnerable and sweet look. One might argue his performance was the most genuinely fake apology ever. I wanted to stab him in the eye sockets with the pen in my pocket.

Mr. Padgecent, please instruct your client to try and control herself.

Yep, that was Ricky all right. All emotion with sympathy abounding. However, he also knew what I was thinking. What came next was unavoidable.

Baby, I am so sorry. Don't do this. I love you! Mr. Codsworth burst out.

Mr. Codsworth, please do not speak to the plaintiff while you are in my courtroom! Ricky's face turned red, and his big bushy eyebrows knitted together like two caterpillars trying to fuck that couldn't cross the last centimeter or so between themselves.

Helen, honey. Please don't do this. We can work this out and be together. I love you and only you. I was confused.

Ladies, heed my warning—please. Any guy who cheated on you because they were confused was only confused about how to be faithful. Move on; they didn’t deserve you in the first place. I might not be the most moral guy in the world, but I would never cheat on my Sandra. Besides, she would cut my balls off with a straight razor.

Lisa tried to talk her client down off the inevitable ledge she had climbed. Harold was impressive. He laid it on thick, and she scooped it up by the bucketful. The story was written in Helen's eyes. She was only moments from cracking.

Their names really were Helen and Harold. Cute if he weren't such a letch and she wasn't such an idiot.

Lisa's words flew with a fury born from her Greek heritage. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but it was easy to figure out she was trying to convince Helen of what we all knew was true. Harold would do anything to avoid the spousal support payments.

Helen, drop the charges, and we can go home and be together. I love you so much.

If I don't get order in this courtroom, I am going to slap you with a contempt of court charge, Mr. Codsworth.

Harold Codsworth stood and stared at Ricky. I remember reading in his bio that he had some training as an actor. That talent was on full display today. Fun to watch in a twisted way. Your Honor, I apologize. For everything. I am putting my wonderful wife through this because of my little indiscretion. Throwing away a wonderful marriage of ten years simply because I am unable to talk about my feelings and sought solace in the arms of another woman. For that, I am truly sorry.

The