The Last Game: Detective Harry Sweet, #1

By david henningsen and Andrew Olsson

Nothing is as it seems... 

 

Harry Sweet is a seasoned Boston homicide detective who, up until now, thought he had seen everything. That was until he was assigned the murder investigation of a prominent California lawyer whose naked body was found in a Boston alley with multiple stab wounds and cigarette burns over most of his torso. 

 

A weekend trip to see a baseball game at Fenway Park has turned into murder charges against the dead lawyer's three partners. As the investigation unfolds, the shocking truth presents itself. 

 

But no one and nothing is as it seems. 

 

What is real and what is not and who is in control in this gripping thriller is finally revealed. 

 

This police proceedural is the first book in the Detective Harry Sweet series. 

 

1.0: The Last Game 

…and more to come! 

 

About the Authors 

 

Andrew Olsson is a retired lawyer living in Los Gatos, California with his wife, Mary, to whom he has been married for nearly fifty years. Between them, they have two grown children and four grandchildren. When Andrew is not writing, he is busy solving crossword and Sudoku puzzles or during the fall, agonizing over the San Francisco 49ers' latest game. 

 

Dave Henningsen is a retired trial attorney now living in Santa Cruz, California with his wife, Jane. They have two grown girls and three beautiful grandkids. When he is not playing golf he is thinking about playing golf. He has been a frustrated writer his whole life and still is. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: david henningsen
• Release date: Jun 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201331689

Book preview

Table of Contents

About The Last Game

THE LAST GAME

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!

Dedication

Acknowledgements

About the Authors

Copyright Information

About The Last Game

Nothing is as it seems...

Harry Sweet is a seasoned Boston homicide detective who, up until now, thought he had seen everything. That was until he was assigned the murder investigation of a prominent California lawyer whose naked body was found in a Boston alley with multiple stab wounds and cigarette burns over most of his torso.

A weekend trip to see a baseball game at Fenway Park has turned into murder charges against the dead lawyer’s three partners. As the investigation unfolds, the shocking truth presents itself.

But no one and nothing is as it seems.

What is real and what is not and who is in control in this gripping thriller is finally revealed.

This police procedural is the first book in the Detective Harry Sweet series.

1.0: The Last Game

…and more to come!

THE LAST GAME

A Detective Harry Sweet Novel

Andrew Olsson & Dave Henningsen

Chapter 1

Friday-July 16, 1982-around midnight

Boston, Massachusetts

THE TWO MEN WERE SITTING quietly in the big Buick waiting patiently for the fun to begin. The man’s orders had been simple. Grab the lawyer and bring him to me. How hard could that be?

It was still ungodly humid even though it was almost midnight. The rest of Boston had already settled in for the night. Thunder showers were forecast for later that morning and if that wasn’t bad enough the goddamn Redsox had lost another close one.

Everything is set, observed the taller one of the two, albeit both were well over six four, as he tossed his cigarette butt out the window. All we need now is the lawyer and we can go to work.

Speak of the devil, replied the other one as he pointed out the window at the skinny guy in glasses and a blue tee shirt running for his life. He’s the one we want.

Keep the duct tape and the bag handy. He’s running right at us. Can you believe this guy? This is going to be a piece of cake.

Both of them timed it perfectly as they jumped out of the car and scooped up the lawyer. They were half way down the block before the lawyer even knew what was happening.

What the hell is going on, screamed the lawyer as the duct tape was put over his mouth and the cloth bag was pulled over his head. As he was whisked away the lawyer’s feet were barely touching the ground.

Just a little side trip, said the taller man as he hit the lawyer in the solar plexus, knocking the air out of him. Now shut the fuck up before I really hurt you.

They quickly dragged the lawyer past the abandoned and boarded up buildings. Two years ago the city, in its infinite wisdom, had condemned this entire section of Boston for redevelopment and a new shopping mall. Apparently the bureaucrats were still arguing about the details because nothing had happened. The buildings were just getting older as they waited for their demise.

As the two tall men passed the old apartment buildings the street was eerily quiet and empty save for the silhouettes of a few homeless souls lying in the doorways, now all either peacefully asleep or fitfully passed out.

The lawyer was pushed through the door of the last building and landed hard on the floor.

The two men and the lawyer climbed the rickety stairs with the help of only the light from their two flashlights. They could see the dust floating in the air as they stopped at Room 215. In prior times the room was probably used as a living area for a Boston family but now it contained just two wooden chairs facing each other as if ready for a duel. As they swung the door open, they noticed the dark figure standing in the shadows.

Where do you want him?

The man simply pointed at one of the chairs. You guys have any problems? Did anyone see you?

No problems and no one could have seen us. It’s like a ghost town out there, was the reply as the lawyer was stripped down to his boxer shorts and shoved into the chair of choice. At the same time, one man held the lawyer still while the other man tied his legs and bound his hands behind him. Then they removed the bag and ripped off the duct tape from the lawyer’s mouth.

As the lawyer sat shivering in the chair, the man wearing a pair of old jeans and a tee shirt emerged from the shadows and sat down in the chair across from him. He slowly removed the knife and a pack of cigarettes from his pants pockets and delicately placed them at his feet. As he did so, he could see the dust coming up from the floor and floating in the beam of the flashlights held by the two men who flanked the lawyer.

What’s with the cigarettes? the lawyer stammered. I thought you quit smoking.

You’re right, I did. But tonight I’m going to start again, the man said with a laugh.

The room was perfect for what he had to do. Any noise would be muffled by the boarded up windows and doors so no one would hear the screams that were definitely going to come. Even though the man knew he would eventually get what he needed, it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun getting there. He was going to make this pompous, meddling asshole suffer.

After making himself comfortable, he slipped on the rubber gloves and bent over and picked up the pack of cigarettes. He took the wrapper off and pulled out a Marlboro. He hadn’t smoked for a while and so he was going to enjoy it all the more. The man struck the match, lit the cigarette and took a long drag. At the same time he fetched the knife off the floor and opened the blade. Light danced off the edge of it.

He leaned in and took the lit end of the cigarette and rubbed it into the lawyer’s right nipple.

As he did so, the lawyer started shaking and began to scream.

Andy, unless you answer my questions, that’s only the start, the man stated as he showed him the knife. I need to be sure that you are telling me the truth.

As he looked into Andy’s eyes, he could see the absolute terror in them.

He always found it fascinating how different people have different reactions under stress, he knew it was only a matter of time until the lawyer lost control of his bladder and bowels.

Now Andy, calm down and think about how you want this to go. It is entirely up to you how much pain needs to be involved. I just need information and it is up to you how I get it. Understood?

Yeah, I think so, stammered the lawyer sounding totally unsure. I’ll give you anything you want. Just tell me what you need and it’s yours, he wailed, as the tears ran down his face. All I want to do is go home to my family, the lawyer pleaded.

That’s exactly what I’ll get, replied the man as he gingerly drew the knife across Andy’s thigh. A thin line of blood appeared. He was amazed at just how sharp the blade was and how easily it went through the lawyer’s skin.

You know I have to be a little careful because I don’t want to nick an artery and have you bleed out too soon.

Jesus Christ, I’ve known you forever. Are you going to kill me? For God’s sake. I don’t understand what’s happening.

Just don’t bullshit me, Andy. If you give me all the information on those matters you’ve been working on I promise I’ll stop hurting you.

What matters? the lawyer yelled as he was threatened with the knife again. This time it was pressed against his upper arm.

Andy, you know what I mean. It’s what you and I talked about a few days ago. Tell me where you got all of that material and who gave it to you. Finally, tell me where you are keeping the files. It’s that simple, said the man as he lit another cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling.

How can I answer that, I got my information from all different kinds of sources.

Andy, stop the bullshit. Answer my questions, said the man as he reached around and ground the red tip of the cigarette into the lawyer’s left forearm.

The lawyer screamed, I’m trying. I really don’t know what you mean. He started blabbering about anything and everything. As he pissed himself, he passed out.

A minute later the lawyer came to as the water was splashed in his face and a hand cuffed him on the side of the head.

Andy, you need to try harder. So far, you’re not doing too well.

Goddamnit, I just don’t know what you want, screamed the lawyer as he continued to cry like a baby. Whatever it is you are looking for would be in my office.

Listen, Andy, you and I both know what I’m talking about, the man said as he pressed the knife into Andy’s side.

I know you have a lot more information and I’m going to keep hurting you until I get it, he added as he blew cigarette smoke into the lawyer’s face.

After several cigarette burns on the lawyer’s torso and legs, the questioning began again. This time the lawyer became delirious.

Okay, let’s get back on track. Does anybody else know about your research?

Please stop hurting me. Nobody else knows about my research. I did it all myself and I haven’t talked to anyone about it other than you. I promise.

It was methodical the way the man went about his business, as if a delicate surgery were taking place. It was so bad at times that even the two men holding the flashlights had to turn away in disgust. It didn’t matter that the lawyer begged for mercy. His pleas were ignored.

As the night wore on it became clear that the lawyer was never going to see his family again. There was no way that the man would let him live. No matter what the lawyer said or disclosed, or how much he cooperated, he had seen the man’s face.

After about an hour of torture, the man had been told everything he wanted to know and then some; where the files were located, the location of the keys to his desk and the spare key to his office as well as where his notes could be found. The lawyer also told him how he went about getting the files in the first place and what he had intended to do with them.

As the knife cuts and cigarette burns continued the lawyer screamed for mercy. Just before he passed out again, the voice whispered in his ear. Okay I’ve had enough fun. It’s time to go.

When the knife pierced Andy’s heart, he whispered something about his wife and kids. The man couldn’t quite make it out but he didn’t really care. He had gotten what he needed and that was all that mattered.

After the lawyer bled out, the two men came out of the shadows and zipped the corpse in a body bag. The blood from the body had already seeped into the cracks of the wooden floor and started to coagulate and dry. After his pockets were emptied his clothes were unceremoniously piled in the corner of the room.

The two men dragged the body out the door, down the flight of stairs and into the trunk of their car. They then drove the three blocks and parked in the alley behind the strip joint. Once they were sure that the alley was deserted, they opened the Buick’s doors and quickly went to the back of the car. The only noise came from a police siren which was blocks away. Neither one said a word as they opened the trunk and pulled Andy’s body out of the bag.

Just as instructed, they dropped the mutilated dead lawyer next to the dumpster and purposely left his wallet and room key under the body. Whatever money was in his wallet was split evenly between the two men, but everything else was left untouched.

Thirty minutes later the killer was making a call to the West Coast reporting his success and telling them where the files and notes could be found. As he stood in the phone booth he couldn’t get over how much fun he had had. It would take him quite a while to come down from the high he was on. It was better than drugs.

After he finished his report, he hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He immediately tried to refocus because he knew he had a lot more work to do.

Chapter 2

Saturday, July 17, 1982-early morning

San Jose, California

FRANKIE HAD JUST WALKED BACK into his apartment when the phone started to ring.

After the fifth ring, he picked it up. What the fuck. Do you know what time it is? Who is this anyway?

You know who this is and this just might be your lucky night. So just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen, said the familiar voice.

Fine, Frankie replied. I’m listening. But this better be good.

Trust me, it is. I’ve got a job for you but it’s urgent and it’s got to be done tonight, said the voice on the other end of the line.

You can even get your buddy, Marvin, to help.

What’s it pay? asked Frankie without hesitating.

How about five grand each for about two hours of work. Sound good?

Hell yes, it sounds good. Marvin will have an orgasm over that kind of money, replied Frankie excitedly. So, what’s the job? We going to rob a bank or something?

No, not exactly. You’re just going to get some files out of a lawyer’s office, replied the voice on the other end of the phone as he took his time to explain all of the details.

So, at about 4:00 A.M. Pacific Time, just about the same time as Andrew Winter’s body was being discovered in a Boston alley, Frankie and Marvin approached a downtown office building named the Rober Building. The building had been designated as a historical monument, having been built in the late 1800s. It had survived the 1906 earthquake and at one time had been the home of the Chamber of Commerce. Over the years it had also been a hotel and, at one time, even a whorehouse. Some joked that it had turned back into a whorehouse when the lawyers bought it and renovated it for their offices. It was a perfect location for a law firm, right across the street from the main courthouse.

The building was owned by Burt Chablis and Archie Rober, who were also the principals in the law firm. Even though Chablis had left the firm six years earlier to become the Attorney General of California, he still owned a major share of the building.

As instructed, Frankie and Marvin parked their car in the rear of the building and proceeded to the back door. This was the entry used by most of the staff and could not be seen from the main street. Marvin was able to pick the lock in seconds. They quickly swung the door open because they were warned that the security alarm would go off in 60 seconds unless the code was punched in on the keypad. The keypad was just above the light switch on the wall, around the corner from the back door. Frankie moved quickly and shined his pen light on the wall. There it was, just like it had been described.

He immediately typed in the code as Marvin closed the door. He just hoped he had remembered the code correctly. If not, this job would be over before they could even start. Thank God it worked.

Both men wore dark clothes, night vision glasses, and gloves. Given that the lights were not set to go on for the next two hours or so, they were sure they had enough time to get in and out without being seen.

Their instructions had been simple. Do not leave any evidence of a break-in, go directly to the office of Andrew Winter on the second floor and get all of the files and notes described on the list. All four files were supposed to be in the bottom locked drawer of Winter’s desk and the key was under his desk blotter. The only other item they were to grab was a manilla folder that contained his notes. That folder was supposed to be on the back of his credenza. Easy enough.

After they entered the building they took the interior stairs to the second floor. They could hear their shoes scraping on the old wooden stairs as they worked their way up from the first floor. It was pitch black, the only light was coming from Marvin’s cheap flashlight. Their shadows danced on the walls.

They had avoided the elevator because of potential noise but it couldn’t be any worse than the noise echoing in the stairwell. Frankie was getting more and more nervous with each step.

From the stairwell, they stepped into the atrium, their gazes continuing to flitter around on high alert. The atrium went up all three floors and was surrounded by marble and oak railings. On one side there was a large conference room with a long walnut table. On the other, there was an impressive law library. Both could be seen through large, sliding glass doors that opened up to the atrium. All of the offices were on the outside perimeter of the building.

Both men scurried past the library door and slunk toward the other end of the atrium where the target office was located. Both men looked anxiously at each other as the building creaked with age. Marvin could feel the sweat start to roll down his forehead as he jumped at every little sound.

This place gives me the creeps, he shivered to his partner.

Since all of the offices were on the perimeter, the architect had decided that each office had to have a private secretarial space and a small lounge area for clients. The main reception area, the accounting offices and kitchen were all on the first floor. It was only lawyer offices on the second and third floors.

The two men were keenly aware of the security camera on the second floor, neither one said a word, as they crawled around the corner on their stomachs. Amazing how cold the marble was this time of morning.

As they turned around the corner of the atrium, they noted the security camera was right in front of them, so they had to stay on their knees for about another twenty feet or so, to avoid being seen. When they were able to get to their feet, they made a quick left turn and were standing directly outside the client waiting area and the secretary’s work cubicle. The office door was supposed to be a few paces away from the secretary’s desk. To make sure they had the right office, Marvin flashed his light at the door. Winter’s name on the gold plate flashed back at them.

Just as they had been told, the door to the office was locked.

Its extra key was supposed to be in the top middle drawer of the secretary’s desk. Frankie opened the drawer and poked around but the key was not there.

What the fuck, Frankie whispered.

Let me look, said Marvin as he pushed Frankie aside and shined the light in the drawer.

Here it is you dumb shit, said Marvin. It was under her calendar. If it was a snake it would have bit you.

Marvin skulked to the door and unlocked it. The two men slid into the office, leaving the door slightly open, so they could hear any potential noise from outside. As they moved towards the desk, a passing car honked its horn, causing both of them to stop in their tracks.

Jesus Christ. That scared the shit out of me, said Frankie. Let’s get this over with and get the hell out of here.

The two of them grabbed what they were supposed to grab, no more, no less. They put everything back exactly where they had found it. No one would be the wiser.

After Marvin locked the door he went back to the secretaries desk and started to put the key back in the drawer. It was only then that he noticed the file on the chair and the note attached to it. He picked up the note and shined the light on it.

"Liz, I copied this file before I left for Boston. It is a copy of one of the original research files I got through the Freedom of Information Act. Please put it in my briefcase so I can pick it up when I return from Boston. I want to keep it at my house. I just ran out of time when I was leaving. I also copied some of the Curic file and Archie’s memo to me. Put those in a separate file folder and attach it to the research file. I want to take that home as well.

Thanks. I’ll see you on Monday when I get back. Have a great weekend. Oh, and great job on the Smyth petition.

What is that all about, asked Frankie as Marvin put the note back on the file and returned the key to the desk.

Nothing but lawyer gobbledy goop, whispered Marvin. Don’t worry about it. It’s not part of our assignment.

Marvin and Frankie quietly retraced their steps and left the building. It had taken all of 18 minutes to complete the entire job. It had gone off like clockwork.

Both men breathed a sigh of relief as they walked back to their car.

Man, we need more jobs like that, said Marvin, as he climbed into the front seat.

You said it, brother, replied Frankie. That was as close to a perfect job as it can get. Five grand each for less than an hour’s work? Maybe we should ask for a bonus.

Never hurts to ask, replied Marvin as they drove off.

Chapter 3

July 17-early morning

San Jose, California

FROM AS EARLY AS HE could remember, Max Knapp had always followed orders. Never a question and without hesitation. It was because of that reputation that he always got the more difficult, more important jobs.

Earlier he had received his instructions and the key to the warehouse. As he drove up and parked his car around the block he locked his new BMW and turned on the alarm. He couldn’t believe the neighborhood or the warehouse that was chosen. He didn’t even feel safe. He was just hoping his car was still there when he came out. Max grabbed the flashlight and the gas can from the trunk and headed towards the building.

The warehouse was obviously abandoned, with broken windows up high and graffiti on every outside wall. The overall theme was apparently that the Nortenos ruled and the Surenos sucked. Most of it was Spanish.

Max put the key in the door and swung it open. As he shined his light inside he could see stacks of pallets, some tipped over and some lying on their side. Papers were strewn all about. He carefully made a path over to the pallets and prepared himself a seat away from the door. He sat down being careful not to get his new slacks dirty. There was dust everywhere and he could feel his allergies starting to act up as he suppressed the beginning of a sneezing fit.

Max casually glanced at his watch. It was 4:30 in the morning and the two men would arrive at any minute. As he checked the silencer on his Glock 17, he heard the car drive up out front. He would be done in plenty of time to go to breakfast with his girlfriend.

As he sat waiting he made sure that the gas can was well hidden under the wooden pallets. The place will go up in minutes with all the wood and paper lying around, he thought.

As the door swung open and he shined the flashlight on the two men, they looked at him somewhat startled.

You Max? said the taller guy. I’m Frankie.

Did you get the files?

It went as smooth as shit through a goose, said the other man. They’re all here. He held up the bag. By the way, my name is Marvin.

So do you have our money? demanded Frankie. I think we should get a bonus for a job well done.

Oh, I definitely think you will get a bonus, Max replied as he took the bag from the smaller one’s outstretched hand. This is all of it?

You bet.

And now for your bonus, Max said, as he raised the Glock and shot them both in the forehead, leaving two perfectly round holes. They both looked so surprised. Max smiled as he thought back on the first time he had killed someone. It still gave him the same rush.

Max scooped up the spent shells off the floor and put them in his jacket pocket. He snatched the gas can from under the pallets and doused their bodies and the surrounding area. Then came Max’s very favorite part—lighting the match.

As the warehouse started to burn, Max strode through the door and over to their car. He stuffed a gasoline-soaked rag into the gas spout. After he lit the rag, he sprinted toward his car.

By the time Max got to the corner, the car exploded and burst into flames. He glanced back and flames were also coming out of the windows of the warehouse. Not much would be left by the time the Fire Department arrived.

He chucked the bag of files on the passenger seat of his car as he climbed in. His stomach grumbled as he shoved the key in the ignition and fired it up. As he pulled away from the curb, all he could think about was tucking into a plate of bacon and eggs.

Chapter 4

Boston

Saturday, July 17-9:00 A.M.

JESS CRUZ STIRRED FROM HIS slumber. He hadn’t been in bed long. In fact, he wasn’t in bed at all. He was sleeping on the couch in the living room of the two bedroom suite he and four other members of his California law firm had booked for a few days. A boys’ weekend visiting Fenway Park and drinking as much alcohol as their respective livers could safely tolerate.

Someone was banging on the hotel door. Loudly and incessantly.

Cruz rolled over and pulled himself up. He was dressed only in his boxers.

What the fuck? What time was it? Which one of his asshole partners had locked himself out of the room this time?

The knocking grew louder and then he heard the voice through the door, Police, open up.

Jesus Christ. Hold on. I’m coming. Okay, okay, just a minute.

When he opened the door, Cruz was not looking at one of his law partners. Rather, two uniformed police officers were staring at him along with a middle-aged man in an old sports coat.

Shit, Cruz thought. What the hell. Are they still screwing around with the ticket I scalped last night?

May we come in? asked the short guy. "My name is Detective