The Murder of Adonis

By Myrrah

When a Russian prostitute is found murdered in a Toronto hotel room, detectives John Finchley and Winston Mackenzie begin their investigation. What at first appears to be a simple case of a drug overdose soon spirals into something much darker. They realize that they have unwittingly entered a web of lies, deceit, and betrayal.

The detectives must deal with a scandal, police corruption, a dangerous narcotic, an evil cosmetics corporation, and an international conspiracy. Both men have sworn to serve justice, but this case pushes them to the limit both professionally and personally. It brings them to a confrontation with the face of evil, and with their own tragic pasts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781638298571

Myrrah

Myrrah is the author of the Murder of Adonis. He was born in Ottawa, Canada. He studied Archives Technician for two years at Algonquin College where he earned his degree in the year 2000. He worked for the Ottawa Jewish Archives, the City of Ottawa Archives and the National Museum of Science and Technology. He also performs Stand Up Comedy at Yuk Yuks, and he has also appeared on television including made for television movies and Canadian Idol. He lives in Ottawa.

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About the Author

Myrrah is the author of the Murder of Adonis. He was born in Ottawa, Canada. He studied Archives Technician for two years at Algonquin College where he earned his degree in the year 2000. He worked for the Ottawa Jewish Archives, the City of Ottawa Archives and the National Museum of Science and Technology. He also performs Stand Up Comedy at Yuk Yuks, and he has also appeared on television including made for television movies and Canadian Idol. He lives in Ottawa.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my beloved family and friends. It is also addressed to all readers for whom reading is like a long-term journey. May they find on each page of this book, a home base that will remind them a little of themselves.

Copyright Information ©

Myrrah 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Myrrah

The Murder of Adonis

ISBN 9781638298564 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781638298571 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023906281

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

The author would like to thank:

Susan Reid, my friend and mentor, who when I told her that I wanted to write a novel she encouraged me to write this novel. To Mrs. Golob, my fifth-grade teacher who always believed in my writing skill, to Mrs. Walsh Kennedy, my eighth grade teacher who always found writing skill in me and Mr. Dickinson, my English teacher in the ninth grade who said,

"this is what Doug is and he wrote Playwright."

I will never forget.

Chapter 1

An itch was what Detective John Finchley was thinking about, when he got the call. He felt an itch on his arms, and on his neck, and that itch interrupted his dreams about retirement. He imagined buying a new boat and enjoying his golden years with his wife of twenty-five years. But instead, he had to think about an itch and murder. Murder first entered his mind when he was driving home from work, and he received a call. A homicide had just been committed and it was seven in the evening. Most people in Toronto were eating dinner or watching the Jays©; he had to deal with a murder but, that was the job of a homicide detective.

It was his promotion from vice, while there he had seen many dead bodies, drug addicts that had overdosed, and John thought he had seen his share of bodies; but that was nothing compared to all the ones he would see in homicide and some of them were brutal. It was a luxury hotel on the Upper East Side; once he walked in, he went to the third-floor apartment 329 and found his colleagues. The room was full of police officers and forensic officers, they were busy taking photographs, and dusting for prints.

In the centre of the room was a young woman lying on the floor. Her eyes were wide open, and so was her mouth with a liquid pouring out. The woman was lying on the floor with her arms stretched out, her legs spread apart like she had died the moment she hit the floor; but her face was pointed straight at the ceiling with her big blue eyes. Leaning over the body was Dr. Carolyn Babinec, the Chief Coroner at the Twelfth Precinct. Both John and Carolyn had worked together for twelve years, and that was by far not the first time they had attended a murder scene together.

Hello, Carolyn.

John.

So what do we have here?

I’m not sure; it could be a suicide or it could be a homicide.

I’m here that means it must be a homicide.

Then, it’s the strangest one I’ve ever seen. There is no sign of forced entry or a struggle.

Then she probably knew her killer.

It’s very possible. John searched the entire room, and then he looked at the body carefully. The woman was young, but her body was well formed, but what really interested him was the fact that when he placed his hand on her leg it was still warm. That made him wonders just how long she had been dead and given the state of her body. The murder had to have been recent but, he had to know.

How long?

Well, I’ll ask Edwin here, my new intern. Edwin, how long has she been dead?

Maybe an hour.

Maybe? That’s not good enough; you have to be sure. Look into her mouth.

What?

You heard me, look in there. The young man looked inside, and then; he removed his head as quickly as he lowered it. Well?

I would say she’s been dead… He looked as if he was going to vomit. She’s been dead for…

Go vomit somewhere else.

Where?

Anywhere but here. Edwin got up and ran as fast as possible.

You know, you really shouldn’t have done that; he’s new, John said.

Hey, a girl has to have some fun!

Not at his expense.

You’re such a Catholic.

I take that as a compliment. John smiled and Babinec realized that the joke was on her. How old do you think she was?

Twenty-one to twenty-five; they’re getting younger every year.

That’s what makes it more tragic. John got down on his knees, started praying. Some of the officers were looking at him, thinking he was weird but, Babinec was not surprised. Edwin returned and looked at John with complete shock.

Don’t mind him, it’s his thing, Carolyn said. John was Catholic and he was proud of it. He was the only police officer on the force that was Christian or who had faith; and his fellow officers thought it would be a problem but for John it never was. Due to his faith and his hard work and determination, he worked his way up from being a beat cop on Yonge Street, to vice and to Homicide.

He loved his job but, at times it could be consuming and sometimes it came at the expense of his marriage. Abigail, his wife of twenty years, had endured many trials and tribulations that came with being married to a police officer. He would come home feeling tired or with a defeated attitude given what he had seen. When she asked him what was wrong, he could not tell her either because he was not allowed to or, it would be too disturbing. In spite of this, she never pushed him to open up, never threatened to leave him or divorce. She had given him three children. The secret was not that they loved each other, it was the fact that Abigail accepted to be married to the job as well as the man, and it was the reason that their marriage had lasted so long, contrary to many other Police couples.

And that particular night was a special one for John because it was his 20th wedding anniversary. He could not believe that it had lasted so long and to celebrate, he and Abigail had something special planned. While John was driving, images of the marriage were passing by his eyes; few of them were very unpleasant but most were happy. He considered himself to be a lucky man and wondered what good thing that he did that made God give her to him; he decided that it was better not to ask that question, and just be grateful. As soon as he walked through the front door, he found Abigail standing in the living room.

I have been waiting for you.

How long have you been standing there?

Until you arrived.

Are you ready?

Yes.

The dining room was dark but not empty. John and Abigail were sitting at the table eating their dinner by the candlelight. It was a special dinner consisting of rice pilaf, cream of mushroom, chicken supreme, and as a desert, chocolate rice cake. It was a French meal with a touch of Irish stew. But this meal had even more significance because they were celebrating 20 years of marriage. They ate many times together with their three children but on that evening they were happy to be alone. They were dressed in formal attire, with John in a tuxedo and Abigail a blue dress.

Abigail, it’s a supreme dinner. She grinned at the compliment and replied, It is because of the chicken supreme, you tease me?

No, darling, all is so marvellous! This is delicious.

It’s Irish, the recipe was passed down from my mother, and her mother before her.

Then, I thank her.

You already did by marrying her daughter and staying married for 20 years.

20 years, where did the time go?

Into the children. The two shared a laugh.

When we started, did you really think that we would make it this long?

John, we had our wedding in a run-down chapel; I was wearing my mother’s dress, and you were wearing a rental tux. Our first house was a one-bedroom apartment on West Hill, and we were broken but look where we are now. We now live in Bedford Park, and we have three beautiful children I couldn’t be happier. It’s like a fairy tale.

But you didn’t answer my question; did you ever doubt us?

John Patrick Finchley our love is a kind of love at first sight. I love you now and for always.

I tried to give you everything Abigail, I had a hard time doing that on a cop’s salary. Still do, I still haven’t paid off the mortgage and probably never will.

I love you John, not your money, you and you have given me the greatest gift I ever received.

The children?

No, you.

Abigail, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met; I thank God every day that he gave me you.

And I thank him as well for giving me you. John lifted his glass of wine and made a toast.

To 20 years of marriage and the bliss that came with it.

To our marriage and to the next 20 years. They looked into each other’s eyes as they drank the wine, they just gulped it down at the exact same moment, and they had the exact same thought on their minds.

I love you John Finchley. John and Abigail kissed, it was one kiss but, it was passionate, and when they withdrew their lips they kissed again, the second one was more passionate. There was a silence between them, and they looked at each other; and there was no force in the universe that could break their glance. Let’s go upstairs, John said. Abigail nodded they walked away from the table leaving the stew unfinished.

Dr. Babinec was standing alone in her laboratory. It was chilly to preserve the numerous dead bodies that surrounded her; each one had a name, a past, a life and as the Chief Coroner it was her job to find out what they were. Carolyn Babinec loved her job; she was just fascinated by dead bodies. Perhaps it was the way they look, how they feel, even how they smelled that interested her. Most people would prefer being with the living but Babinec preferred being with the dead. She liked the fact that they did not pass judgment or were preoccupied with the latest fashion trends or vanity. She had just finished examining the latest body to enter her world, the young lady. She was lying on the table and Babinec looked down at her and could not help but notice how pretty she was. Her long, blonde hair and her straight edged jaw were her most striking features; and Babinec thought she could have been a model, an actress or at the very least a wife and mother so, it was a real tragedy that she became a prostitute that led to her death.

John walked in, and he was whistling; he was not whistling anything in particular just whistling without a care in the world.

Hello Carolyn.

On a first name basis are we, John?

We always have been.

No we haven’t. I’ve always been Dr. Babinec and you’re Detective Finchley.

We weren’t born with those names were we?

What happened?

What are you talking about?

You’ve been coming into my lab for years and I’ve never seen you whistle or happy for that matter, so what happened?

Last night Abigail and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary.

Really, how did you celebrate?

A gentleman never tells.

Oh, come on you can tell me; what did you do?

So, what have we got?

You and Abigail were…

What have you got?

She was between 24 and 29 years old and she was from Eastern Europe or the former Soviet Union.

How do you know that?

"She was in rather poor health and her stomach is filled with Štrukli a popular dish in Croatia where she is probably from."

Was she murdered?

I believe she was. Come with me. Babinec showed John her neck. Do you see those marks, they’re bruises. She was strangled to death and given how apparent the bruises are it was a man.

Could it be a john?

Who else would it be?

It could be a jealous boyfriend.

She was a prostitute John?

Anything is possible.

A boyfriend following her from Croatia.

That might be true but I think she is from Ukraine.

Ukraine? Why do you say that?

If you look carefully on her small left toe there is a tattoo of the Nightingale, the national bird of the Ukraine. Babinec checked for the tattoo, and to her surprise, she found it just as John had described.

My God, it’s barely visible. How did you see that?

I am a Detective. Noticing little things is my bread and butter.

Well, I noticed something. In my examination, I discovered a liquid in her stomach.

A liquid; what kind of liquid?

That’s just it, I don’t know, I’ve never seen anything like it before.

Do you think that’s what killed her?

It is possible but I have yet to determine that.

Well, continue your investigation, and I will run her prints through the system, someone has to know this girl, Carolyn said.

Amongst the many police officers that were working on numerous crimes, John was sitting at his desk. No one was really paying attention to his case, because as far they were concerned, it was just another call girl or junkie that probably overdosed, John saw her for what she really was, a human being. Regardless of her past, her profession and her crimes she was still a person, and she deserved justice. John was searching all the Federal databases, Canada’s Missing©, Canada Border Services Agency or CBSA© and Interpol. When that produced no results, he then searched prostitution agencies both in Canada and Eastern Europe, and no sign of the young lady. He then, ran her prints, and nothing this meant that either her identity was erased or she never existed in the first place.

John came to a realization; the young lady was no doubt brought into the country illegally and there was only one man that would go to all that trouble to do that and hide her existence, he knew exactly whom it was.

Chapter 2

It was a traditional Russian wedding. The bride and groom stood on a rose-coloured cloth and the Priest gave them the benediction, they were crowned. Then, the bride and groom, each threw a wine glass given to them by their parents, and they smashed them to the ground to count the number of pieces. It symbolized how many years of happiness they were going to have, and there were many. It was truly a happy day for Vladik Stepanov a 54-year-old Russian man because not only did the wedding that he paid for, go off smoothly, but, because it was his daughter that was getting married. To have a traditional Russian wedding costed him a lot of money, but nothing was too expensive for his little Tatiana.

Vladik had made a good life for himself in Canada. In his old country he knew nothing but, poverty, he had his own business selling hats, but few were sold, and the government took the little money that he did make; any chance for him of promoting, flourishing and becoming wealthy. So Vladik took his savings, his wife and his dreams to Canada. He made a fortune but unfortunately it was in the criminal world. He started by selling drugs on the streets of Toronto, and then, he moved up from street dealing to being the head of a cartel, he made a fortune by selling to Russians.

From drugs, he moved on to prostitution; he would recruit young girls, most of them drug addicts, and runaways, then, would sell them on Yonge Street. He then, started smuggling sex workers from his native Russia. He would lure them by promising either a career as a model or, just the promise of a better life in Canada in exchange for a fee. Once they arrive, he would hold their passports, and their documents, claiming that they would have to pay off their debt by being his prostitutes. The business grew in employees and the number of clients and locations. By the end of the 90s, Vladik had a brothel on every corner of the city. This not only fuelled Vladik’s fortune but also his ego; he felt that no one could touch him; not rivals or the Police. For years, the Police had been trying to place Vladik under arrest; but, each time they came close, evidence would disappear or a witness would and Vladik would escape.

A tear dripped from his left eye as he looked upon Tatiana who yelled Gorko with their guests, Vladik watched her dance with her new husband, and perhaps he was imagining his future grandchildren.

In the midst of the celebration, Russian folk music was playing in the air and the afternoon sun was shining over the party, and then John walked in and two bodyguards blocked the Detective.

What do you want Finchley?

I want to speak to you.

I have nothing to say to you.

Vladik, how long have we known each other? You know that if I am here it must be important. Vladik nodded his head, and the bodyguards let him through.

How may I help you John?

I need to ask you about a prostitute who was murdered.

What concern is that of mine?

She might be one of yours.

Do you know how many girls I have?

More than I would like to know; I need you to identify her.

I always liked you Finchley. You always had respect but, to come to me now at the wedding of my Tatiana. You have crossed the line, and I will not tolerate it.

Just answer my question and I will be on my way.

Why should I do that?

Or else I will arrest you.

For what? You have been trying for years unsuccessfully.

I see you have many guests Vladik no doubt most of them are criminals like you or have outstanding visas. Oh look, there’s Dimitri Smirnov he’s wanted for murder in Quebec, I should arrest him.

You can’t do that; this is my daughter’s svad’ba I will not let you ruin it.

Are you protecting a known fugitive?

He is my guest.

Then perhaps I should arrest you for harbouring a fugitive; let’s see how your daughter’s svad’ba goes then. John took out his handcuffs.

All right; what do you want to know?

Do you know this girl? John said as he showed him the photo.

No, I don’t.

Look again.

Excuse me?

She’s from Eastern Europe. Every prostitute from there you bring here so look again.

Her name is Valeriya Volkov, I brought her in last year.

From where? Ukraine.

Yes.

Is there anyone who wants to kill her?

How the hell would I know?

Did you kill her?

No, I take good care of my girls.

You mean your slaves, and when you’re done with them you toss them on the street.

How I run my business is none of your concern, Finchley.

Someday I will put you out of business and that is a promise.

I have answered your questions Finchley now, get out, I want to attend my daughters’ wedding.

You know, you stand here watching your daughter while you traffic young girls, many of them, the same age or younger. How do you live with yourself? John walked out of the restaurant without incident.

At the Precinct, John was in the men’s room, and he was standing at the urinal. When he was finished, he started washing his hands, and he could see two men in the mirror. He had not seen them before but they were looking at him. The senior detective kept his eye on them as they came closer. John made a fist, and waited for them to come closer, and then, one of them left. There was only one man left, and he was young, perhaps 25 to 34 years old, and he was in good shape. He stood there staring at John, and the two men were alone together and there was a silence between them.

All right, who are you and what do you want? John asked when he turned around and faced him.

Are you John Finchley?

Yes.

Detective John Finchley?

Yes.

Good.

Are you with Internal Affairs? John asked.

No. I am Constable Winston Mackenzie and I am your new partner.

I did not ask for one.

I know you didn’t but, I just transferred here from Sarnia and I was assigned to you.

I was never notified.

Good to meet you too. I look forward to working with you and… John walked out in a fury, and he marched through the main floor right into Clarke’s office.

You gave me a partner Reg.

Yes, you’re going to need one for this case.

I work better alone.

Not this time John.

I don’t have time to babysit. I am conducting a murder investigation and…

That is precisely why he is going to work with you. I can’t think of a better training ground than to work on the field on a murder investigation. These rookies need to know that what we do here is real, and he needs the first-hand experience.

A murder is not the case for a baby straight out of the academy. These kids haven’t seen the inside of a Police Station let alone seen the real thing.

That’s why you’re going to train him. You are my best detective John, and I cannot think of anyone better for this assignment.

Superintendent; you know I can’t be responsible for another life, remember?

I know John, I know. But this decision comes straight from the top, are you refusing a direct order?

No.

Good. Constable Mackenzie is waiting. John saw the young man standing outside of the office waiting impatiently.

Hello, Detective Finchley it is a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you, and I know I can learn a great deal from you.

What is your name?

Constable Winston Mackenzie.

Constable I do not know your experience but, if you work with me, you need to keep up with me; do you think you can do that?

I know I can.

If you take that attitude out there, you’ll get killed, do you understand?

Yeah.

That’s ‘yes sir’.

Yes sir.

You follow my lead no questions asked or I drop you understand?

Yes.

Good.

At the lobby of the Royal Fairmont Hotel© sitting at his desk was Douglas a young man who was doing his job. He had been working as the receptionist for two years. His plan was to earn enough money in order to make his oldest dream come true, becoming a doctor. According to him, he will reach his goal with effort and courage. Even if it meant, studying at his desk, and that was precisely what he was doing. In the middle of his studies he heard footsteps approaching him; he could tell by their sound that there were four feet. It was two people but who were they? Perhaps it was a new couple coming to celebrate their honeymoon, or coming also to escape their children or simply wanting to have a romantic evening. He looked up and saw two men walking toward them. Speaking to the two officers that were John and Winston.

How may I help you gentlemen?

Yes, can you tell us who was in room 329 last night? John asked.

Sorry, but it is against hotel policy to give out that kind of information.

Oh, I’m sure you can make an exception for us; we’re police, John said as he and Winston showed their badges.

Do you have a warrant?

No.

Then I cannot help you.

Young man, what is your name?

Douglas.

Douglas, you seem like a decent young man, a young woman was murdered here. It is your obligation as a citizen, and as a human being to help us with our investigation and to bring her murderer to justice. If you do so, you will feel good about helping your fellow man. So what do you say? Let us in?

No. Douglas withdrew his attention faster than a bolt of lightning, and he resumed reading his book. John and Winston were left standing there wondering what to do next.

You know we can always come back here with a warrant, and I am sure that would be a problem for your superiors, John said.

You’re free to call for my supervisor, if you want but, he will just repeat what I just told you, so go away. The conversation seemed to be over, and John admitted defeat. He and Winston were about to walk away when Winston turned around.

Tell us.

What did you say?

Tell us right now.

Like I told your partner not without a warrant.

If you don’t let us in right now, I will arrest you on the spot for ingesting an illegal substance in public.

What are you talking about?

"That puncture mark on your wrist it could only have been made by a needle and it is recent. And since you are studying a medical textbook I know you are a medical student, second year. Medical students usually take Ritalin© to study all night. Do your bosses know that you are getting high on their time?"

So? What if I do? It’s not illegal.

"No, but it’s not Ritalin© that you are taking but, cocaine. I would recognize it anywhere, and not only is the drug illegal but, it is also illegal to take it in a public place like a hotel."

A hotel is private property.

Open to the public, and in front of two officers of the law. I should arrest you right now.

Please don’t. I only do it to keep awake; I’m working two jobs, and studying during the day. Give me a break. You make a fool of me.

Tell us who was in the room last night and I’ll let this go. With the impatience of a two-year-old, Douglas typed on the keyboard, and searched his database; with sweat pouring down his cheek as he typed.

I can’t tell you.

Didn’t we just go through this? I want that name.

No, I can’t tell you because it is not here. Whoever it was paid in cash therefore there is no name.

Do you have a recording?

No.

Douglas, do not play stupid with me. A luxurious hotel like this is filled with security cameras on every level.

We respect the privacy of our guests.

I’m sure you do, but, the cameras are smaller than my fingertip, now do you have a recording?

Yes.

We would like to see it please, Winston scornfully said while smiling, and his teeth barely hid his arrogance.

John and Winston stood behind the young receptionist as they watched the security footage on the monitor. Their eyes were fixed as they watched hours of footage of the door to room 329. For most of the evening the door was untouched because no one came in or out, but at exactly seven-thirty the young lady Valeriya, entered the room. She was wearing an overcoat; it was October, and therefore it made sense that she wore one. Three men knew that underneath was a provocative outfit or perhaps, she was not wearing anything at all. She entered the room and half an hour passed and then a figure appeared. The figure’s gender was undeterminable. He had the shoulders of a male but, the walk of a female. A hood hid the face along with keeping the head down. The mysterious figure opened the door,