The Chronicles of Detective Spade

By Alexander A. Anderson

Once upon a time the land of Fabel was a peaceful home to all the worlds fairy tales. Recently, however, a series of unsolved murders and kidnappings have begun to plague the land, leaving Detective Nathaniel Spade to unravel an unprecedented mystery, the likes of which will prove one simple truth: when it comes to crime—everyone is a suspect, no one can be trusted, and nothing is as it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781532082405

Alexander A. Anderson

Hi, I’m Alex. Thanks for reading my book! So, here’s a little bit about me: I was born in Detroit, raised in New Orleans, and did some growing-up in Tennessee. I, however, have found a home like no other in Charlotte, NC. I studied English/Creative Writing at the University of TN, Emergency Medicine in St. Petersburg FL, attended (survived) Mercy School of Nursing in 2009, and graduated from WGU with an MSN in Informatics in 2019. I am currently touring schools with the goal of promoting creative writing, reading, and education. If you are a teacher and would like me to visit your students, drop me a line at [e-mail]. Also, check out my website at XanderAnderson.com. Much love!

Book preview

ALEXANDER A. ANDERSON

THE CHRONICLES OF

DETECTIVE SPADE

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THE CHRONICLES OF DETECTIVE SPADE

Copyright © 2020 Alexander A. Anderson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-8239-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-8240-5 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 02/05/2020

Contents

Prologue

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Epilogue

Prologue

(Narrated by Virgil)

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Epilogue

Prologue

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About the Author

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Prologue

Once upon a time in the land of Fabel, there was a city known far and wide as Cowatch—the nation of the trolls. The trolls were honest and hardworking farmers. They kept to themselves but were always amiable to their neighbors and loyal to the king. The land of Cowatch was vast and beautiful. The soil was rich. The crops were ubiquitous.

One day, the trolls were approached by the King’s Men, who delivered an edict signed by the king. The edict stated that the trolls were to be paid sixty million shekels, plus cancellation of debts worth eighteen million shekels, in exchange for their land. The king, according to the edict, had plans to expand the Imperial City—broadening its walls through the land of Cowatch and beyond. The trolls were to be relocated to Low Sneeran, a land situated miles downriver of the Imperial City. The King’s Men assured the trolls that Low Sneeran was equally as beautiful as Cowatch and that the land was ripe for harvest.

The trolls were reluctant to move but were also humble and did not want to offend the king by turning down his offer. They packed their homes, loaded their wagons, and left their land of Cowatch behind. Disillusioned, yet optimistic, the trolls underwent a grueling and treacherous journey toward Low Sneeran.

When the trolls arrived at their new home, they found the land of Low Sneeran to be nothing like what the King’s Men had promised. The land was barren. The soil was unfit for farming. Upriver from Low Sneeran was a dam that held back the waters of the River of Spectral Dawn. When the trolls realized they had been hoodwinked, there was much discontent among them. Talks of uprising were widespread. This went on for several months, until the trolls made a discovery that brought them more wealth than King Cole himself, or King Midas before him, had amassed.

The Emeraude Rouge.

The Emeraude Rouge were bright red emeralds—rare, sparkling, and magnificent. The emeralds were exclusive to the caves of Low Sneeran. They could not be found anywhere else in the land of Fabel. From then on, the trolls saw their unjust and untimely relocation as a blessing in disguise. As a nation, the trolls changed their primary export from produce to jewelry. Their occupation went from raising crops to sell in the Imperial Market to unearthing the Emeraude Rouge and selling them to the people of Fabel as the finest of adornment for rings, necklaces, and bracelets. Following the discovery of the Emeraude Rouge, the trolls changed the name of their new home from Low Sneeran to Newgrange. They did this as a tribute to an ancient monument they were forced to abandon in Cowatch upon their abrupt relocation.

One day, the dam that bordered Newgrange failed. That night, the city of Newgrange became flooded. When the waters finally receded, there was no sign of the trolls and the mines were completely barren of the Emeraude Rouge. Many searched but nothing was found until one year later when an archeologist unearthed ten Emeraude Rouge that were completely different from those that anyone had ever seen. These emeralds were larger, brighter, and possessed a uniquely enchanting sparkle.

The ten Emeraude Rouge are now all that is left of the nation of trolls and the city of Newgrange.

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1

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

All the king’s horses

And all the king’s men

Couldn’t put Humpty together again

—English nursery rhyme, original author unknown

26 September

I will never forget the first time I saw January.

She was a slim hare with powdery brown fur and hazel eyes. A white fleece boa decorated her neck, which was complemented by a silver charm pendant paired with bronze pyramid stud earrings. She peered at me nervously through a slender pair of glasses—the kind of glasses that are so stylish you wonder if the lenses are even prescription. She fidgeted a great deal as I passed. I gave her a brief glance as I sauntered into my office and shut the door.

I was exhausted. I had just returned from an all-night stakeout in a tree outside the bungalow of an office clerk who had allegedly been selling counterfeit magic beans at the market, which only produced beanstalks that grew to be no larger than the average tree. My client was swindled out of two cows in exchange for a single bean. The transaction was brokered by a third party, who disappeared soon after the exchange. Eyewitness testimony placed a little black dog at the scene. According to onlookers, the dog was wearing a red collar with a gold pendant. Personally, I felt that the job was a waste of detective work, being that my client was paying me a fee that outweighed the value of what he lost; but it had been a slow month, so I took the case. My efforts paid off a tiresome twelve hours in, at 0700, when the office clerk returned home and was taken into custody. The office clerk caused quite a ruckus before being arrested, removing his clothes and shouting, RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN; YOU CAN’T CATCH ME! as he zig-zagged up and down the block in an effort to avoid apprehension. The commotion drew a large crowd of onlookers. Among the crowd was a small black terrier with short velvety hair who seemed to be amused by the clerk’s buffoonery. The little dog laughed to see such sport. Honestly, I thought it was pretty funny as well.

Being that the case was closed, my immediate goal was to finish my case-notes, have a drink, and take a nap. Virgil, my fellow detective and close friend, entered my office without knocking. Virgil is thirty years my senior and happens to be one of Fabel’s few remaining winged sea turtles, which makes him somewhat of a novelty. He flapped his wings once and shot me a disapproving glare. The young hare outside, that you so callously brushed past, has been awaiting an audience with you since seven this morning. Shall I have her take a number, or will you move her somewhere closer to the top of your busy to-do list? It was clear that he was disappointed in the inattention that I had just paid to our potential client in the waiting area.

I checked my watch. It was 0905. Fair enough, sleep is overrated anyway, I replied and stood from my chair. Show her in.

Virg.jpg

I expected her to be hopping as she entered my office, as this was the gait of every hare I had met to date. Contrary to my expectation, her movement was a smooth and upright stride. She seemed to float rather than to walk. She was wearing a pink corduroy minidress cinched with a matching belt—utilitarian, yet classy. I showed her to a seat, then took my usual place behind my desk.

Sorry to keep you waiting, I said. Her hazel eyes narrowed. I disregarded her look and went on. May I ask your name?

January, she replied. I need you to investigate a crime. She spoke with such conviction I could tell the matter was not only urgent but personal.

Have you gone to the police?

I have not. They are actually part of the problem. The thing is I—

Stop right there. The police have been on my case lately about my alleged habit of launching investigations into crimes that have yet to be reported through the proper channels.

I saw tears begin to form at the bottom of her eyes. "Oh, but you just have to help me! she replied. You’re the only one I can trust."

How can you be so sure of that? I asked matter-of-factly. You don’t even know me.

"But I know of you, she said, drying her eyes on a silk handkerchief. You alone are credited with finding Little Bo Peep’s missing sheep, and you also come highly recommended by a bird who works down at the docks. They call him—"

Jim Crow.

You guessed it, she said with a smile.

In this business, the first animals you talk to when you’re looking for possible witnesses are the birds and the turtles. No matter what the case, there’s always a bird or a turtle that’s seen something.

"When we spoke, he seemed to regard you as much more than an acquaintance. He literally began singing your praise."

I laughed. Jim and I go way back. You know that’s not his real name, right? She shrugged. He got the nickname a few years back when he hired me to look into a civil rights dispute. Long story.

I see. She repositioned herself in the chair. Well, he tells me that if anyone can help me, it’s an iguana PI named Nathan Spade.

I sighed deeply and leaned back in my chair. I guess if Jim sent you all the way out here, I can at least hear you out.

I saw her immediately perk up. She reached into her purse and laid an envelope on my desk. I have reason to believe my uncle was murdered and that all of the King’s Men are trying to cover it up.

Those are big accusations. Got any evidence to back those claims?

That’s why I’m hiring you.

I gritted my teeth. I never say it out loud, but I hate it when clients come to me with nothing and expect me to do something with it. They expect me to be able to pull evidence out of thin air. So tell me, who’s your uncle?

She opened the folder and slid a photo in front of me. Humpty Dumpty.

Humpty Dumpty? I repeated in order to be certain I heard her correctly.

I was adopted, she said before I could question her as to how a hare is the niece of a giant egg.

I see, I replied, a little bewildered. I picked up the photo and examined it closely. I could not make heads or tails of it. I see an eye surrounded by white. What’s this supposed to be? A shot of the killer?

No—she shook her head— look closer.

I did, but to no avail. This picture’s a blur. Just tell me what it is … or … what you think it is.

You know how the story ends? she asked, making quotation marks with her fingers around the word story.

Yeah, you mean the whole bit about how they ‘couldn’t put Humpty together again?’

Yes, well, that is no more than propaganda circulated by the King’s Men.

So they put him back together?

"No, they gathered the pieces and took Humpty to the castle, where they’ve been working on putting him back together again for the past five years. They claim the job is taking so long because they don’t have all of the pieces. Apparently some have gone missing."

Big egg. Millions of tiny pieces. Maybe he’s just one hard jigsaw puzzle? I challenged, playing devil’s advocate.

I think not.

What makes you so sure?

This picture, she said, holding the photo in front of me, then rotating it clockwise. "It was taken from inside the castle and left on my porch with a note. The note explains that Humpty’s pieces are being kept in a private laboratory where no one is allowed except those who are supposedly putting him together. This photo is of Humpty’s face, minus his mouth, one eye, and a variety of assorted shell pieces."

Oh, I see it now. I scratched my head in contemplation. Eyes, ears, nose, mouth, I said to myself. You always put the easiest parts of the puzzle together first, and it seems to me the face would be the place to start. I paused. She nodded in agreement. So where are the missing pieces?

Again, she shifted in her seat. At that point I could tell her shifting was a sign that she had something more to say. She unstrapped her purse and sat it on my desk.

What is it? I asked.

With a quick flip of her paw, she tipped the purse over. Nothing could have prepared me for what came sliding out and lay spinning on the edge of my desk.

The eye of Humpty Dumpty.

I was greatly taken aback and a little disgusted. Is this his actual eye?

She shot me a quizzical look. Of course.

I thought maybe it was a replica or something. Did you have to drag this thing in here and spin it across my desk?

You asked me for evidence, and there it is.

You got me there, sister. I lifted the eggshell and gave it a once-over. What this tells us is that someone does not want to see Humpty Dumpty reassembled. What we need to find out is who had his pieces taken from the castle and why they would want to keep him from being put back together. So, where did you find this? And don’t tell me that all of the King’s Horses and all of the King’s Men accidentally left it, and a handful of other shell pieces, at the crime scene.

Believe it or not, I heard a banging on my door the other night and found it, the photo, and the note wrapped in a red cloth on my doorstep. Being that the only piece I received was Humpty’s eye, along with the note and the photo, whoever sent the package must still be holding on to the other shell pieces. Personally, I suspect the Riding Hood may have left it.

I took in a deep and aggravated breath through my nostrils. "Let me tell you something. The reason I come highly recommended by so many parties is because I’ve solved every case that’s come across my desk, except for one. Do you know which one that is?"

Pray tell.

"The business of tracking down and identifying the mysterious Riding Hood. And do you know why that is the one case I have yet to solve?"

Because the Riding Hood doesn’t exist, she said dryly, having figured out where I was going and simply trying to humor me.

"Precisely. The Riding Hood is a myth—a fairy tale. Someone may indeed have left you this priceless bit of evidence, but broadcasting the fact that a caped crusader riding atop a dire wolf left it on your porch is only going to make you seem crazier than you already do."

Fine. She said. So where do we go from here?

"You take it easy for a couple of days. If you’ve been buzzing around town with this conspiracy talk as long as I’m willing to bet you have, the king has likely got spies tailing you. Virgil and I will talk to the usual suspects."

She shifted in her chair.

What else have you got to tell me, January?

She looked puzzled. How do you know I have more to tell you?

You shift in your chair every time you have something important to say. It’s kinda like a nervous tic. Just do yourself a favor and stay away from the poker tables. I extended my hand. What else have you got?

She handed me a folded sheet of paper. This is a list of possible witnesses and suspects that I put together after doing a little detective work of my own. I thought it may save you some time.

You are most thoughtful, I said, forcing eye contact.

She smiled.

I unfolded the paper and ran down the list of names. Five were listed.

The paper read:

Persons of interest …

Virginia Muffet

Azariah the Black Sheep

Ugly Duckling

Dish

Spoon

One name in specific caught my eye. The Black Sheep, huh?

Yes, I hear he is a bit dangerous, so do be careful if you speak with him. I only put him on the list because I recall my uncle mentioning him from time to time, she spoke with sincere concern.

I’ll manage. Doesn’t he own property in Sky City?

"He does, which is beside me. I have always wondered how he manages to make so much money off of wool. He operates out of the Imperial City, that way his customers have easy access. He makes himself scarce, but you can always spot his assistant, the Ugly Duckling. You’ll have no trouble finding him that way."

Very well then. Virgil and I will pay him a visit. I will keep you in the loop at every turn.

She stood from her chair, gathered her things, and hugged me tightly. Thank you so much for helping me. I will pay you whatever you ask that is within my means.

We can discuss those matters later. For now, get home and take a load off.

She was giddy with excitement but masked it well. This meant a great deal to her, I could tell. I watched her leave my office and exit the building. I wanted to look away but found that I could not.

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2

A man and his wife had the good fortune to possess a goose which laid a

golden egg every day. Lucky though they were, they soon began to think

they were not getting rich fast enough, and, imagining the bird must be

made of gold inside, they decided to kill it. Then, they thought, they could

obtain the whole store of precious metal at once; however, upon cutting

the goose open, they found its innards to be like that of any other goose.

—Aesop

The land of Fabel is a uniquely charming and mysterious country where soaring mountains, spectacular waterfalls, rolling plains, picturesque glaciers, and volcanic plateaus are all within easy reach of each other. The Imperial City is situated in the center of the land and is incorporated into four different land regions: the beaches of the southern coast, the flat eastern grasslands, the northern sand plains, and the west central hills. I live on the west end, where the Lethie Valley meets the city. I alternate between fishing and swimming in the Snooker River, which winds through the Lethie Valley and cuts into the heart of the Black Forest. At the core of the Imperial City is the castle of King Cole. There are a number of city dwellers, but the Imperial City is mostly an economic hub. The majority of Fabel’s citizens live beyond the city’s borders in colonial-style towns which are separated by miles of woodlands.

Above us, is Airlann.

The kingdom of Airlann, called Sky City by most of Fabel’s residents, is a floating metropolis suspended high above the clouds. The city centre is a historic site built by nobility and is known for its prestigious architecture complete with gothic cathedrals, classical mansions, high-walled gardens, and elegant art galleries. The residential areas boast an abundance of bourgeois accommodations completed by charming streets lined with fine dining, book stores, antique shops, and upscale boutiques. Airlannders bear the mark of the clouds, a tattoo-like insignia burned into their skin at birth, which is the symbol of a cloud with an eye in the center. These insignias vary slightly in style and location upon each wearer and are unique to differing households. Some years ago, Sky City had been the subject of much discourse due to the fact that the queen and her daughters had all gone missing. To this day they have yet to be found. King Sennacherib, the ruler of Airlann, recently paid King Cole a visit to seek his aid in locating his family, although the scuttlebutt had it that he was actually visiting due to personal suspicions that someone in Fabel was responsible for their abduction. If this were the case, it would be seen as an act of war—hence all the buzz.

Virgil and I began our investigation at a public house in the Third Ward called the Golden Egg. The business is run by a goose whose mother was cut open by greedy humans. He took them to court and sued for the amount of one golden egg a day for the rest of his life. He won and is hence sitting on a small fortune. The Golden Egg gets all the top sugar. It is by far the hottest nightspot in the land, and where there is heavy traffic, there tends to be a wealth of information. I hate to fly but wanted to get as much done in one day as possible, so I rode on Virgil’s shell. As we landed, I noticed that a scruffy tabby cat spotted us; he had a small wooden fiddle tucked under his arm. When our eyes met, he made for a dark alley. I paid it no attention, as I was deep in thought on matters involving the case. In hindsight, I wish I had chased him down and questioned him then, as opposed to having had to do it later when time was of the essence … but that is getting ahead of my story.

Mackey, the owner of the Golden Egg, was wiping down the bar as we walked in. The place was completely empty, which was notably unusual. He gave us our usual greeting. Well, if it ain’t the flying turtle and the dick come to pay me a visit! How are ya, Spade? Wassup, Virg?

Virgil gave a half smile. He has never cared much for Mackey—says he is so caught up trying to be a big shot that he willingly turns a blind eye to a vast array of criminal dealings that take place within his establishment, and that one day his practice of catering to outlaws is going to catch up with him. I think he’s just a rich kid trying to fit in.

I’m solid, I replied, taking a seat at the bar. Virgil made a beeline for the pool tables. How’s business, Mack?

Slow day, as you can see. It’s all good, though. Gives me more time to clean the place up before the weekend.

I reached into my trench coat and pulled out five shekels. Mackey right away slid me a bowl of peanuts and a Golden Porter. For as long as I can remember the Golden Porter has been the Golden Egg’s flagship brew. It is a rich and flavorful creamed soda brewed with substantial malt character and hand selected Fabel hops. I have always been a fan of the Golden Porter’s spicy aroma and distinctively earthy flavor.

You seen ol’ Benny lately? I asked. I always warm Mackey up with small talk before I cut to the chase. He gets offended otherwise.

Naw, man, no one’s seen him since the paper printed that story saying his latest stunt was a hoax. I hear he totaled his motorcycle when he landed.

His latest stunt? How do you top jumping the moon?

Mackey’s eyes lit up. "You jump the sun."

No way.

"Apparently so, or then again, apparently not if you ask the Fabel Times."

So what proof have they got that the stunt was a hoax?

Mackey laughed. You and your obsession with proof. That’s the first place you always go, huh?

I’m a detective, I replied. I paused to take a gulp from my glass mug. If my mother told me she loved me, I’d go lookin’ for evidence.

The goose shook his head. The paper said all the proof they need is the fact that Benny landed in one piece. They’re saying there is no way he could have gotten that close to the sun and not been incinerated. I think they’re just bein’ salty.

I’m not so sure about that, I said. "There’s no way ol’ Benny could have left the atmosphere and not been sucked into oblivion. There’s no gravity in outer space, Mack. So obviously, not only was this stunt a hoax, but so was the last one."

Mackey’s face took on a forlorn expression. He looked as if he had been hustled at a hand of cards. I imagine he felt similar to the way a child would had he just been informed that Santa Claus does not exist. Maybe he’s got antigravity built into his bike, Mackey suggested. He was in denial.

I felt bad for bursting the kid’s bubble, so I refrained from making any further scrutinizing remarks about Benny. I remember back when the old cow jumped the moon—I would say it was about four summers ago. All the kids were inspired, especially the less fortunate. It gave them hope that anyone could accomplish anything if they put their mind to it. Benny became a modern-day Daniel Boone—a common man’s hero. Better to leave it that way.

I need you to look at something for me, I changed the subject.

What y’ got?

I showed him January’s list of names. On a hunch, I directed his attention to the name of Virginia Muffet.

Yeah, I know the broad. She’s a real piece o’ work. Comes in here ‘bout once a month actin’ all hoity-toity and tellin’ me my glasses and tables ain’t clean. She always goes out of her way to see to it that I notice the Sky City insignia on her wrist. I pretend not to notice. I got half a mind to put up a ‘no humans allowed’ sign just to keep her out.

That would go over well.

Mackey could tell I was joking. Tell me about it, the goose sighed and rolled his eyes.

So where can I find her?

Not sure exactly. She always has a few drinks, then orders curds and whey to go. I overheard her say there is a tuffet she likes to sit on while she eats. Apparently there’s a good view of both Sky City and the Imperial City. I’d be willing to bet it’s somewhere east of here.

Gotcha. Say, will you be willing to ring me if anyone else on that list passes through?

Sure thing, Spade. He pointed to Virgil. Guess now you gotta fill your partner in. He assumed Virgil could not have possibly heard anything that was just said between the two of us.

Virgil racked the balls and laid his stick atop the pool table. On his way out, he stopped at the bar. No need to fill me in, he said. "We are flying east. You are going to phone us next time anyone on that list pays you a visit."

Mackey was dumbfounded.

If his ears got any better he’d be able to hear your thoughts, I said as we strolled out of the Golden Egg. Once we walked a safe distance from the building, Virgil and I both stopped and faced one another. Somethin’ not feel right about all that to you, Virg?

He nodded. It was too quiet. And I felt as if we were being watched.

In all the years I have known Virgil, he has yet to be off on a hunch. Without a doubt, the old sea turtle is the most sagacious soul I have ever met.

The fact that we both felt uneasy sent a shiver down my tail.

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3

"Trust me, people are very gullible. They’ll

believe anything they see in print."

—Charlotte’s Web, E.B. White

Virgil and I came upon the tuffet at 1203. It was situated beneath a weeping willow tree. The tree and the tuffet stood at the peak of a soaring hill, like a pair of lovers dreaming of running away into the vastness before them. The hill was paved with the lushest green grass I had seen in years, being that most of my work is done in the city. I sat upon the tuffet and