Terminal Investments...A Sinister Murder Mystery

By LF Earl and SL Earl

Brilliant and driven, 21-year-old David Anderson secures a position at a prestigious investment firm, Faust Financial Investments (FFI). After a year-and-a-half on the job, he realizes that several of the company's "Gold Account" clients died of mysterious circumstances, allowing FFI, as the beneficiary of their life insurance policies, to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duke Productions LLC
• Release date: Aug 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578910307

Book preview

Terminal Investments

A sinister murder mystery

L.F. EARL AND S.L. EARL

Authors of Dying to Live…Again

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1 Family Heritage

Chapter 2 Breaking In

Chapter 3 Proposition of a Lifetime

Chapter 4 The Terminal Investment

Chapter 5 Faust Financial Investments

Chapter 6 It’s All Over

Chapter 7 Making an Impression

Chapter 8 Ready for the Real World

Chapter 9 Getting It Done

Chapter 10 Chance Encounter

Chapter 11 Becoming Obsessed

Chapter 12 Searching for the Truth

Chapter 13 Stakeout

Chapter 14 Solved the Puzzle

Chapter 15 No Turning Back

Chapter 16 Proof

Chapter 17 Chased

Chapter 18 Betrayed

Chapter 19 Bad to Worse

Chapter 20 Praying for a Miracle

Chapter 21 Beginning of the End

Chapter 22 Case Closed

Chapter 23 No, I’m Sorry

Acknowledgments

We are truly grateful to our family and friends for the encouragement, love, and moral support. This story was many years in the making. Thank you for taking the journey with us.

Prologue

Ugh! He groaned as the straight vodka scorched his throat. The would-be victim slammed the bottle on the table as he sat alone in the motel room trying to conjure up the nerve to end his life. He’d been dealing with depression for several years, but had the foresight to make all the arrangements to ensure his family would be well off after he died. He knew he’d done some unforgivable things in his life and he felt this was his way of paying it back.

He had planned this for months, but now it seemed a lot harder than he’d anticipated. He was glad his wife had not figured out what was going on when he started his carefully calculated spending spree. He was just trying to keep her happy and knew he couldn’t keep it up indefinitely. When he realized the bad things his loved one was involved with, he had made up his mind that doing this was the only way to protect his family from harm. He knew it would eventually lead to this very moment. He didn’t know when, and frankly it came sooner than he expected.

He was careful not to divulge his plan by giving away his belongings or spending all his money at once. Little by little, he dipped into their nest egg, trying to give his wife the best time he could, since he knew he wouldn’t be there to grow old with her. He was just looking for the right timing and maybe even a good enough motive to end his life. In his mind, clouded by his battle with his demons, he finally found a reason worth dying for.

The would-be victim was not used to drinking, so he hoped downing straight vodka would give him the courage to actually go through with it. He looked at the container of cashews, knowing that they were poison to him. Eating only a few of the nuts would cause his throat to swell and his blood pressure to drop. He would become dizzy and slip into unconsciousness and would die from suffocation. He knew the details because he did the research.

He glared at the half-finished bottle, not realizing he’d drunk so much so fast. The vodka was starting to make him lightheaded and a little nauseous, and he knew he needed to get to the cashews before he got sick from the alcohol. With a quick move, he opened the lid of the cashews and took a handful of nuts. He stared at them for ten long seconds before tossing them into his mouth. After chasing the cashews with a huge gulp of vodka, he let out a low groan, knowing he had sealed his fate. In less than a minute, he was gasping for air on the floor.

Thirty minutes later…

CLEAR!

His body arched high in the air, making a perfect C before dropping on the dark brown carpet with a loud thud, like a sack of potatoes dropped from ten feet.

Silhouettes danced in the background as each of the dozen or so people standing outside the motel room shifted in every direction, competing to get a better view of the two paramedics frantically working on what appeared to be a lifeless body on the floor. Some onlookers were almost frozen in place. It was as if they didn’t want to look, but couldn’t resist the urge to see what was going on in the motel room. Maybe it was simple human curiosity that kept them there, or maybe it was the same morbid gene that makes us just have to slow down and look when we see a terrible accident. Whatever the reason, the small crowd peered through the open door and the half-opened drapes covering the two windows, trying to get a view of what was going on in the motel room.

Their view was partially blocked by a woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties, wearing a tan business suit, standing by the door with a young police officer. They could see her fidgeting, and although she had a bird’s-eye view of what was going on in the room, she chose to stare aimlessly outside, looking everywhere but at the crowd. The young officer was obviously trying to keep her occupied by speaking to her periodically. Those standing outside assumed that the woman knew the man on the floor, and a few of them noticed she closed her eyes tightly whenever the whistle of the defibrillator filled the air. One middle-aged woman in the crowd, wearing an old blue house dress and matching slippers, also closed her eyes and looked away whenever the lifeless body was shocked into motion by the defibrillator.

OK, 340! one paramedic yelled to his partner.

The distinctive whistle of the defibrillator pierced the motel room as it charged for another round. Again, the woman in the house dress looked away while others shifted to get a better viewing position.

CLEAR!

For a second time, the man rose and dropped as 340 volts ran through his unresponsive body.

His heart is still not started; I’m still not getting a pulse! one paramedic said in a hushed voice. They knew that they only had one more opportunity to use the defibrillator. Anything beyond three attempts and you start to damage organs; if they resuscitated him, he would pretty much be in a vegetative state. The lead paramedic, Eric, turned the instrument to 360 volts and exchanged glances with his partner. The whining whistle sounded for three long seconds as the paramedic prepared the paddles.

CLEAR!

This time the body wrenched and twisted into a C, then contorted into an S, as if every organ inside was screaming ENOUGH! A gasp was heard from the small crowd as the man’s body slammed into the carpet with a very loud and final thud.

Oh my God, said the woman in the blue house dress. Unable to watch anymore, she walked away with her face buried in her hands, silently whispering a prayer for the man on the floor. Others filled her prime viewing position as she shuffled her way back through the crowd. The couple who were frozen in a stare at the paramedics jerked their heads and blinked in rapid succession at the sight of the man’s body arching so high in the air. They closed their eyes as they anticipated a thud louder than the previous two when the body landed. They too walked away from the scene.

As soon as the body landed, Eric put down the paddles, turned off the defibrillator, and watched as his partner checked for a pulse. Four long seconds ticked by, then his partner shook his head from side to side. The message was clear, and now the only reasonable option left was to start manual CPR using a Breather to pump air into his lungs. They looked at each other and nodded in unison, indicating they were both ready, and immediately switched to performing manual CPR.

Only fifteen minutes ago they had rushed into the bedroom of a suite at the Sunset Motel to find this man in his mid-forties unconscious, face down on the floor. The room was dark and sparsely furnished. The heavy floral drapes covering the two windows were pulled fully open to let in more light by a police officer who recently entered the room with his partner. The extra light helped only a little, mainly serving the purpose of giving the spectators outside a better view of the activities taking place in the room. The newly arrived officers saw the paramedics frantically working on what appeared to be a lifeless body. They had both seen their share of dead bodies, and from what they observed in those brief moments, in their opinion, the man on the floor was undeniably dead.

The older officer picked up the man’s wallet from the dresser and looked at his driver’s license. Upon recognizing the name as that of the person they had been sent to apprehend, he quickly made a call to a colleague at the local courthouse, who in turn passed the information to a team of attorneys who were anxiously awaiting the call.

The officers continued to look around and saw a half-empty bottle of vodka and a half-empty container of cashews lying on its side with cashews all over the floor near the man’s body. What the hell? Did he choke on cashews? You’ve got to be kidding me, the senior officer thought to himself.

The officer then noticed that a computer sitting on the desk was still running. Beside it was a note generated by a printer that left a dark streak through the center of the page. He thought it strange that the note was printed, since he saw no printer in the room. The note was short and unsigned:

My Dearest:

I wanted to give you a piece of the American Dream. I just lost my way in getting us there. Please forgive me.

I’m sorry.

With all my love.

Suicide? the officer whispered under his breath. Son of a…! Get someone from CSI in here! he ordered his subordinate. The note put a different spin on the situation; this was now a crime scene. The senior officer hurried past the lady in the business suit still standing near the door and went directly toward the crowd that was slowly growing outside.

Folks, please return to your rooms, you are compromising our crime scene… Step back, please, he instructed the crowd.

After the officer back at the courthouse passed the update to the awaiting team of attorneys, the news spread quickly. The note and the vodka were telltale signs of a suicide, but foul play could not be ruled out, given this man’s ties to the high-profile court case involving an investment company that was taking place in the downtown Miami courthouse.

Why did he take his life? What was he trying to get away from? Answering those questions was important, but the immediate priority for the paramedics was to restart the heart and get this man breathing again. One and two and three and four and five then a breath of air pumped from the Breather could be heard for the next twenty minutes. Finally, the exhausted paramedics looked at each other and knew it was over. Their best guess indicated that he hadn’t taken a breath on his own for over forty minutes. Even if they were able to get him to breathe again, they knew from experience that the odds were he would be severely brain damaged. They were exhausted, but stopping wasn’t an option unless another team took over or a physician on scene declared the man deceased.

Just then the young police officer who was sent to get CSI returned to the room with a tall, gangly gentleman and whispered to Eric that the gentleman was a doctor from a nearby hospital who saw the commotion on his way home and wanted to see if he could help. It was a welcome break for the paramedics. They paused long enough for the doctor to check the man’s vitals and ask how long they had been working on him. The conversation was intentionally hushed as they were trying not to alarm the woman standing in the doorway. After responding to the doctor, Eric looked at him intently and waited in a kneeling position. Both paramedics took the opportunity to catch their breaths.

While checking his vital signs, the doctor noticed the man’s swollen neck, face, and hands and concluded he was either poisoned or had a severe allergic reaction to something, possibly the cashews that were all over the floor. But this was not the time or place to discuss what might have happened to the man, so he kept his thoughts to himself. He just wanted to see if he could provide some quick assistance to preserve life, limb, or sight and head home. The complications of what happened and why it happened were not of interest to him. Given what he had observed so far, he was starting to realize he was too late to make a difference. After about a minute, which seemed like an eternity to the paramedics, the doctor looked at Eric and stated, I’m calling it. Time of death is six forty p.m. Eric’s assistant jotted it down on a form.

Realizing it was over, Eric bit his lip and shook his head from side to side, preparing to tell the woman who was standing anxiously in the front area of the motel suite that there was nothing more they could do; it was over. He looked up at her tan suit and noticed that she was presently preoccupied speaking with a uniformed officer. The officer had his arm around her shoulders and had her facing away from the room, looking out the open door. She was sobbing quietly and nodding her head, apparently responding to whatever the police officer was saying.

Eric looked down at the body once again and felt an eerie chill. He quickly looked away and focused on the dark brown seventies-style shag carpet to shake the feeling. That was kind of weird, he thought. Eric had been on the job for over twenty-seven years and was used to giving bad news to friends and relatives of the deceased, but this one was different. He’d gotten a bit numb to seeing young guys stabbed or gunned down over drugs or egos. In Dade County, where the annual number of homicides averaged in the high eighties, it happened frequently enough to make anyone numb to those situations. He wasn’t sure why this time he was so bothered by losing his patient. Maybe it was because he had not had someone slip through his hands for a long while, especially someone around his own age. It really made him think about his own mortality.

A short hour ago Eric and his coworker had been at a coffee shop enjoying coffee when the call came in from the dispatcher. Eric was now wishing he was still at the coffee shop sipping on that strong, sweet brew. Actually, right now, anywhere but this motel room would have been fine with him.

As the doctor prepared to depart, his partner started fumbling for the white sheet from the stretcher to cover up the body. Eric took one last look at the man’s lifeless face, inhaled deeply, and slowly rose to his feet. He stood a good six feet tall and, now that he was older, getting up after working on a patient for some forty-plus minutes had worn him out. Besides that, he really was having a hard time coming to grips with the task of breaking the news to the lady standing in the doorway.

As he stood up, she turned toward him and their eyes made contact. The sudden silence in the bedroom had caused her to focus her attention in his direction. No words were spoken; his eyes and body language said it all. She started to tremble as she looked at him. Her tan business suit seemed to swallow her whole as she jolted backward and fell to the floor, shaking her head in disbelief.

The officer tried to catch her, but even his muscular physique was no match for her sudden dead weight. He was barely able to keep her from slamming to the floor and hurting herself. As she sat there, her brown hair moved in all directions, shifting in an uncontrolled mess. She had done a great job partially keeping her composure while the paramedics worked. However, now having to face the reality of knowing they were no longer able to save him, her professional demeanor was crushed and replaced with a distraught, grief-stricken look. Eric could barely stand to look at her as she became overwhelmed with grief, so he turned his head and looked back at his partner. They had worked together for the past five years; his partner knew what that look meant: Let’s get him covered, grab our stuff, and get out of here. The paramedic unfolded the white sheet to cover the body, then suddenly…

No, no, nooo! Please no! Her bloodcurdling scream shot through the hot summer air like a flaming arrow.

Please don’t stop the CPR, please don’t stop the CPR, please don’t, don’t… She trailed off into hysterical crying as she tried to stand up then fell back to the floor, this time on her knees. The sounds of doors opening and shutting peppered the air as more motel guests left their rooms and started to gather along the walkway and on the nearby grass. Hushed whispers made their way among the growing crowd as some asked questions while others responded.

What’s going on…what happened? could be heard throughout the crowd.

Folks, please return to your rooms, you are compromising the crime scene… Step back, please, one police officer instructed.

This quaint Miami motel, with its pastel walls, bright red doors, and neon marquee lights flashing VACANCY, was a place spring-breakers, snowbirds, and families called home for a week or more during their vacations. The interior walls were also painted in pastel colors, the windows covered with thick floral draperies. The wicker furniture was upholstered in floral fabric to match the drapes. The bed linens had similar floral patterns. Nestled between a chain of small hotels and motels just off Orange Boulevard in south Miami, it was perfectly located only a few blocks from the beach and was near all the bustling Miami nightlife. Just around the corner were coffee shops with outside seating, clubs, and an assortment of ethnic restaurants. For its great location, the motel offered a good price and a perfect haven for anyone who wanted to soak up the sun and Miami nightlife for days or weeks at a time.

Normally, the sounds of the nightlife from the clubs and traffic could be faintly heard in the distance. Tonight, this quaint motel was engulfed by dozens of flashing lights from police vehicles, an ambulance, and the back-and-forth traffic of the first responders, drowning out the usual nightlife sounds. The lights of the vehicles reflected off the glass windows and shone in the eyes of the crowd that gathered.

Even with the relatively high crime rate in Miami, the area where the motel was located was always considered relatively safe, at least for the sake of tourism. Tonight, Miami’s best officers were on site at this motel because the dead man in the room made this location Miami’s most important crime scene.

Crime scene, what are you talking about? yelled a tall gentleman in the middle of the crowd.

Yeah, what the hell’s going on? shouted another.

A few others joined in asking similar questions. Others decided that after hearing it was a crime scene, they wanted nothing to do with the situation and returned to their rooms, shuffling their families along.

The first police officer was soon joined by three others, and they were able to back up the crowd out of the walkways and the edge of the grass into the gravel and parking lot areas. Once they established the boundaries, they were able to cordon off the area to a comfortable distance. The cordoned area pushed the crowd too far back to get a decent view into the room, so within minutes, the gathering dwindled to just a handful of onlookers who were still trying to figure out what was going on.

A few cars slowed along the road as drivers and passengers peered through their windows trying to get a glimpse of what was taking place. The screech of tires filled the air a couple of times as curious onlookers almost rear-ended other vehicles due to rubbernecking. The onslaught of emergency vehicles with their lights flashing was enough to draw unwanted attention to the area. Finally, a police officer had to stand on the road in front of the motel to wave vehicles through to minimize the traffic back up from all the rubbernecking that was taking place.

The motel manager finally made his way to the area to get an update on the man in the room. After the lady in the tan suit ran to his office some forty-five minutes ago screaming almost unintelligibly to get help, he’d called 911, but had been busy checking in a few guests and assuring them that everything was all right. He told the guests that someone was feeling ill, and they just needed to stay clear of the area so the paramedics could do their jobs. To ensure he didn’t add to the commotion, he made a point of assigning the incoming guests to rooms that were on the other side of the motel. It meant he had to do no-cost upgrades for a couple of guests, but he figured it was worth it to keep them away from the medical emergency that was unfolding. He really didn’t know what was going on because he’d barely understood what the woman was saying as she was