Whiteley Worlds Issue 15: Trains, Scots And Private Eye A Bettie Private Eye Mystery Novella: Whiteley Worlds, #15

By Connor Whiteley

Over 52,000 words of gripping, enthralling fiction from best-selling writer Connor Whiteley in one amazing collection. Featuring two novellas and 5 short stories from some of his most popular series, you know you're in for an amazing treat and will be reading late into the night.

Issue 15's Intriguing Short Stories Includes:

• Love In The Corporate: A Spy Romantic Suspense Short Story
• Emperor Forgive Us: An Agents of The Emperor Science Fiction Short Story
• A Snowy Death: A Crime Mystery Short Story
• Killing For Women Kind
• Vigil

Also includes two addictive novellas:

• The Eight: A Science Fiction Assassin Novella
• Trains, Scots and Private Eyes: A Bettie Private Eye Novella

BUY NOW!

• Language: English
• Publisher: CGD Publishing
• Release date: Jul 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215841891

Connor Whiteley

Un autor creativo y divertido que ama la fantasía, la ciencia ficción, la psicología y los idiomas. Las historias y la creatividad es una de las cosas que hace que el mundo sea grande y quiero ayudar a compartirlo! Connor Whiteley Hola, soy Connor Whiteley, tengo 18 años y me encanta escribir creativamente, y escribí mi trilogía de Brownsea cuando tenía 14 años después de haber ido a Brownsea Island en un campamento de exploradores. En el campamento, empecé a pensar en cómo todos los mosaicos y cerámicas rotas llegaron allí y de alguna manera se creó una trilogía. Además, me encanta escribir novelas de fantasía y de ciencia ficción porque sólo estás limitado por tu imaginación. Además, fui explorador scout y me encanta acampar, navegar y otras actividades al aire libre, así como cocinar. Además, también hago bastante trabajo de caridad. Por ejemplo: a principios de 2018 yo formaba parte de un panel de jóvenes que estaba involucrado en la creación de un informe con investigación para tratar de obtener fondos del gobierno para grupos organizados de jóvenes y a través de este panel. Que fui invitado a la fiesta del 70 cumpleaños del Príncipe Carlos y cómo algunos de nosotros salimos en la foto real. Finalmente, voy a la universidad y espero obtener mi doctorado en Psicología Clínica en unos pocos años.

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WHITELEY WORLDS

ISSUE 15

––––––––

CONNOR WHITELEY

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means. Including information storage, and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is NOT legal, professional, medical, financial or any type of official advice.

Any questions about the book, rights licensing, or to contact the author, please email [e-mail]

Copyright © 2023 CONNOR WHITELEY

All rights reserved.

INTRODUCTION

As the editor and creator of the Whiteley Worlds magazine, and as we’re now past the first half of 2023 (that alone is just scary), I have to admit I am really amazed at how far this magazine has come so far in its life, because lots of people would have doubted I could do this, and lots of other people would (and still do) think I’m crazy for even attempting to trying to fill a magazine with my own fiction every month.

And a lot of that success has come down to you wonderful readers. Some of pick up every issue, some of you pick up the magazine every other month, and some of you only pick up an issue depending on the novellas included. It really doesn’t matter how often you buy the magazine, I’m just extremely grateful you do, so thank you.

Therefore, returning to the normal unthemed layout of the magazine after the really fun June issue, you really are into a great treat this month, because we have some brilliant stories lined up.

Including my absolute personal favourite, Trains, Scots and Private Eyes, for the penultimate Bettie English Private Eye book of the year, that contains a lot of my thoughts for supporting Scottish Independence as the main characters solve a gripping, complex mystery, after transporting you to my Agents of the Emperor world for a sensational assassin novella.

And we have some great short stories lined up too. Including two enthralling, unputdownable crime stories, an exciting romantic suspense story set in the nail-biting corporate world and then we’re back for a tragic but outstanding scifi story.

There are so many brilliant worlds to explore and enjoy and discover in this issue that you seriously don’t want to miss out.

Let’s turn over the page and start exploring some amazing Whiteley Worlds.

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A SNOWY DEATH

A Crime Mystery Short Story

On the day he died, bright crystal confetti showered down on the city of London, England, marking a strange almost supernatural phenomenon that some might consider an omen, a hint of what was to come or something else entirely, as the snowstorm lingered a little too past its official expiration date for the comfort of normal Londoners.

Reggie Lordwood with his black backpack filled with all sorts of gadgets and more, gently walked the streets of London with cold houses packed so tightly together they might have well of been stuck together like children's toys, the odd potted plant outside in some effort to make the street seem a little green was caked in snow almost a deadly blanket suffocating the plant to death. Not that the plants were out in the first place but they wouldn’t be now.

The entire street was caked in thick layers of snow and whilst other footprints patterned the snow and the cold did not cause other people to fear venturing outside on this coldest of mornings, Reggie didn’t watch, listen or paid any attention to them. They were as immaterial as the ghosts of his other victims to him.

The snow continued to shower down on the street turning the sky above a strange miserable grey until the snow descended down to the level of the little hooded street lamps, to become illuminated and turn a bright yellow before they descended more and only added to the snow veiling the street.

If today was any other day of the year then Reggie might have focused on more on the weather, but this was never going to be a normal day.

He was going to have to kill someone he normally forbade himself to kill.

Over the decades Reggie had of course killed a lot of people. Criminals that murdered innocent people, corrupt businessmen and politicians that were causing massive harm to innocent people and even some other high-profile targets that Reggie had investigated and deemed his employer was right to kill.

But he had never killed a charity worker before.

Reggie continued stalking down the snow covered street as he made his way towards the charity worker’s apartment but he was at least a little interested in hearing his side of the story before Reggie killed him, or did not.

He was open to anything these days.

Last night Reggie had been hired by a long-term employer (that in itself was dangerous and made him easier to track down) and the employer had wanted him to kill a seemingly perfect charity worker, Ryan Bailey, who worked caring for the elderly in their darkest hour.

It had taken hours of research for Reggie to finally discover why the employer had wanted the charity worker dead, it was because Ryan wasn’t the man he seemed to be.

On the surface, Ryan was a perfect man with a loving wife, two children and he sacrificed every hour of every day to help people in need. In reality, he was spending his time at the charity stealing from the elderly, stealing their medication and most importantly his actions of swapping out their pain relief drugs meant that there were a lot of elderly people in agony in their final days.

That was outrageous.

So when the employer had lost his mother, father and grandmother, all died in agony because of Ryan, Reggie was only too happy to help the employer find a little bit of justice.

A few moments later, Reggie forced himself to look at the massive glassy building ahead of him. The entire structure seemed to be made out of pure shiny glass on the outside that apparently made it look perfect, stylish and luscious.

Reggie completely disagreed but that was why he was an assassin and not a designer.

Reggie reached out for the cold metal door handle and almost hesitated before he entered, he was still a little unsure about the kill, but a job was a job. And it would be great to donate the money from the job to charities that actually helped people.

He went through the door.

Reggie entered a large very modern and spacious reception desk where everything was made from pure crystal and glass. Reggie felt the freezing cold bite from the cold seeping into the reception area from the glass behind him.

Reggie was hardly a fan of the crystal desk in the very centre of the reception area, then there was an immense solid red wall behind the desk that rose so high into the sky that Reggie was only now starting to grasp the sheer scale of the apartments.

Yet no one was behind the desk.

In fact, no one was here in the slightest. Reggie had developed excellent hearing over the decades, and that seriously helped with his killing, but he didn’t hear anything. No one was walking behind the bright red door that was led into whatever was behind the main door.

It was strange.

Reggie went over to the crystal desk and what was even stranger was that there was absolutely no computers, files or anything.

It was empty.

Reggie went over to the bright red door and it was locked.

He took out some lockpicks and unlocked the door only to find that more red brick laid behind the door.

The door was fake, there was nothing here and Reggie just knew that the damn charity and Ryan Bailey was a fake too.

He had been set up.

Freeze! someone shouted.

Reggie spun around. Five police officers in all black stormed in. Pointing their assault-rifles at him.

Reggie raised his arms as he weighed up his options. He should have seen this sooner, the weather, the charity and the actual strangeness of the request. It was all too perfect and now Reggie was going to pay the price.

Reggie looked at each of the police officers but with them being dressed in all black it was too hard to make out any differences between them. They were too good probably for an outright assault, Reggie was going to have to be careful.

The police officers fired.

Needles slammed into Reggie.

His world went black.

***

With all his decades of assassin training, Reggie had managed to learn how to keep track of time extremely well. He had thankfully only been out for four hours but that was a long time for anyone, even more so for an assassin.

Reggie’s eyes weakly opened and Reggie forced his beating heart to remain calm as he found himself in a small box-room with horrible walls that were as black as his soul (according to his ex-girlfriend) and there was nothing in the room at all.

Not a chair, not a desk, not any recording equipment for any police interviews.

I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here, someone said.

But clearly there was a microphone or something judging by the poor quality of the person’s voice.

We have a job for you, the voice said.

Reggie didn’t react.

How would you like your freedom in exchange for a simple killing?

Reggie had never been a gambling man but his father was, a very good one actually, and he always said to Reggie literally whenever he got the chance, that if something sounded too good to be true. It probably was.

There would be a massive catch here but Reggie needed to buy himself time to escape.

He had all the money in the world in different countries, different accounts under different names. He only needed to escape this and he would disappear.

How would you like to kill the person who employed you?

Reggie actually laughed at that. He never knew exactly who employed him, all he knew them by was a number, but this particular employer had been good to him over the years. Given him a lot of jobs, a lot of kills and a lot of chances to make an illegal difference in the world.

What if I told you, you were not in a black room like you appear. You are actually in a wooden crate inside your employer’s warehouse where we want you to track him down and kill him, the voice said.

Reggie wasn’t sure. It sounded too strange and this person didn’t exactly sound like a cop.

Who are you? Reggie asked.

British Secret Service and I know you’ll disappear after this job, so I can get a guarantee for-

Reggie was thrown to one side.

His face smashed against something wooden.

The room or crate exploded around him.

Daylight poured in.

Someone grabbed him by the throat.

Someone threw him to the ground.

It took a few moments for Reggie’s eyes to adjust to the light of wherever he was, all Reggie could focus on for a few moments was the grey tone of the sky as the crystal snow kept descending and laying thickly on the ground.

Reggie looked around and just knew he wasn’t in a warehouse. He was in the middle of nowhere, a massive open field covered in a thick layer of snow and tons of footprints of silly people patterned it for no reason at all.

There was a thick group of dense oak trees in the distance that seemed to enshroud the entire field in a cloak of snowy white protection and at least Reggie knew that no reinforcements could ever hope to preach the field.

Reggie focused on the ten men around him dressed in all black, carrying assault rifles and standing in front of a small plane that was probably how they had gotten him to the field in the first place.

You’re growing slow old friend, someone said but Reggie couldn’t identify who the speaker was.

Reggie didn’t recognise anyone exactly.

You were distracted by us talking to you. That’s slow even for you, the man directly in front of Reggie said.

We should just kill him, someone else said.

As a small power-struggle of words broke out Reggie focused on the plane a little more, he knew nothing about planes except that he noticed the fuel tanks of the plane were on the outside facing him.

He only needed to shoot one to maybe save or kill himself and everyone here too.

Reggie stood up and everyone’s fingers tightened around the trigger.

You actually don’t recognise us do you? all the men said as one.

Reggie shrugged. He really didn’t. He had only wanted to do a job and go home and give some money to charity.

All the men took off the black masks that were hiding their faces and what they revealed shocked Reggie completely. All of the men looking at him had faces of himself.

It was like staring back in a mirror.

Reggie quickly realised that he actually couldn’t remember before a certain age, before a certain life event, before he was ten years old.

He knew exactly what he had been trained to do, love and enjoy past that age, but he couldn’t even truly remember his own father.

Reggie had always remembered his father loving gambling, loving him and his mother. But now he was actually thinking about it, those memories seemed distant, fake and almost implanted.

Then the memories simply faded away.

Whoever Reggie remembered as his father clearly wasn’t his father in reality.

Who are you? Reggie asked.

All the versions of himself laughed, their voices crackling like they weren’t even real or perfected yet.

Reggie actually focused on them all and realised that all of them were slightly different. The man closest to him had a nose that was too big to ever be called handsome or remotely attractive. Another man’s eyes were too diseased-ridden. Another version of himself walked with a limp and Reggie betted that most of him was deformed under the black clothes.

They were all experiments of someone trying to prefect the perfect assassin.

He was that perfect one and all these other ones were rejects, failures and whatever terms the creators decided to use.

Yet they clearly hadn’t been that bad if they were able to track him down.

Why can’t I remember the tests, the experiments, anything? Reggie asked.

The other men laughed before five of them dropped dead for no apparent reason.

The other five smiled and shook their heads.

What happened? Reggie asked.

They’re experiencing what will happen to all of us in a few moments. All of us were experiments by creators now long-dead or in prisons in such black holes they will never see the light of day again, the man standing right in front of Reggie said.

He was definitely the Leader.

All the different versions of Reggie lowered their rifles and threw them on the ground.

Reggie realised that these people were himself and they were never going to kill him. They were like identical brothers and brothers don’t kill brothers.

Another Reggie grabbed his chest and started breathing rapidly as he collapsed to the ground and died.

Reggie rushed over to help him but he just knew it was too late.

What’s going on? Reggie asked the Leader.

Our creators would never allow us to live beyond them too many years, the Leader said. "This is a simple failsafe mechanism that meant we