Three Detective Novels In A Package July 2023

By Alfred Bekker, Henry Rohmer and Neal Chadwick

This volume contains the following mystery novels:





Murder Mail (Henry Rohmer)

Trevellian And The Cop Killer (Neal Chadwick)

Marquanteur And The Contract Killer (Alfred Bekker)






The former policeman Gerard Larôche is murdered. It quickly becomes clear that the killer was a contract killer. Who is behind it? Larôche had made many enemies, and at least one of them continues to rule his clan even from prison. But then there are more murders, and the trail leads in another direction.
Commissaire Marquanteur and his colleagues from Marseille pick up the trail.

Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Jack Raymond, Jonas Herlin, Dave Branford, Chris Heller, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, and Janet Farell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alfredbooks
• Release date: Jul 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9783745232165

Book preview

Three Detective Novels In A Package July 2023

Alfred Bekker, Henry Rohmer, Neal Chadwick

This volume contains the following mystery novels:

Murder Mail (Henry Rohmer)

Trevellian And The Cop Killer (Neal Chadwick)

Marquanteur And The Contract Killer (Alfred Bekker)

The former policeman Gerard Larôche is murdered. It quickly becomes clear that the killer was a contract killer. Who is behind it? Larôche had made many enemies, and at least one of them continues to rule his clan even from prison. But then there are more murders, and the trail leads in another direction.

Commissaire Marquanteur and his colleagues from Marseille pick up the trail.

Alfred Bekker is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Jack Raymond, Jonas Herlin, Dave Branford, Chris Heller, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, and Janet Farell.

​Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

[e-mail]

Follow on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/alfred.bekker.758/

Follow on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/BekkerAlfred

Get the latest news here:

https://alfred-bekker-autor.business.site/

To the publisher's blog!

Be informed about new releases and backgrounds!

https://cassiopeia.press

Everything about fiction!

Murder Mail: Thriller

Henry Rohmer

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

[e-mail]

Follow on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/alfred.bekker.758/

Follow on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/BekkerAlfred

Get the latest news here:

https://alfred-bekker-autor.business.site/

To the publisher's blog!

Be informed about new releases and backgrounds!

https://cassiopeia.press

Everything about fiction!

Murder Mail: Thriller

Thriller by Henry Rohmer

The size of this ebook is equivalent to 140 paperback pages.

Attacks with explosive letters spread fear and terror. The victims are exclusively members of the New York Police Department. For the investigators, this is a tricky case. They encounter a wall of silence and violence. Are the syndicates waging a private war against unpopular cops? Or is someone seeking revenge for alleged or actual police injustice?

A gripping action thriller by Henry Rohmer (Alfred Bekker).

Henry Rohmer is the pseudonym of an author who, under the name Alfred Bekker, became known primarily as the author of fantasy novels and books for young people, as well as writing historical novels. In addition, he wrote novels for suspense series such as Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, Kommisar X, John Sinclair and Ren Dhark.

1

Go! said Milo.

With a mighty kick I let the door of the apartment burst open. I held the handle of my weapon in both hands and let my gaze wander around the room in a matter of seconds.

Nothing.

A dresser with a phone on it, a coat rack with two jackets on it, and a stained carpet where someone must have spilled half a bottle of red wine at some point.

A door led into an adjoining room.

It was half open.

Careful, murmured my friend and colleague, Special Agent Milo Tucker. He, too, held his gun at the ready.

With one leap I was next to the door and pressed myself against the wall. At the same time, a shot barked in my direction.

It was the tremendous firepower of a magnum revolver. The shooter simply fired through the door of the neighboring room. The projectile tore a fist-sized hole in the door before sending a mirror on the other side of the room flying to pieces.

With wide sentences Milo crossed the room and pulled open the door to the bathroom.

He looked in my direction and shook his head.

It's the FBI!, meanwhile, I shouted loudly. Nunez, we know you're in there! Give yourself up! The house is surrounded! You're not getting out of here!

No answer.

On the other side of the shot-up door, there didn't seem to be any movement, and the silence that reigned there seemed unreal.

I took a deep breath.

Milo stood on the other side of the door.

We exchanged a quick glance.

Our opponent was trapped - and he knew it. He didn't stand a chance of leaving this house in any other way than in handcuffs.

Anyone else would probably have given up under the circumstances, preferring to rely on the art of lawyers rather than their own shooting skills.

But Nunez was a very special case....

The man we were dealing with was a living fighting machine. A man who was perfectly trained to kill and had chosen murder as his profession.

In Chicago, he had killed a man with a rolled-up magazine with which he had crushed his opponent's Adam's apple. Nunez was a man to be wary of - just like those who had secured his services....

No one knew how many people had been killed by this guy, who had once been born under the name Gabriel Nunez and had since lived under dozens of identities. Most recently, he had held a position as a bartender.

A cover, both for himself and for the man whose dirty work Nunez had presumably done most recently: a certain Ray Tarantino.

Nunez was a kind of mixture of chameleon and bloodhound. He behaved as a chameleon towards us - he played the bloodhound for his clients.

It was a fact that even a multiple murderer could sit in the electric chair only once.

Nunez had nothing to lose.

And that made him unpredictable.

He would literally walk over dead bodies. In Pittsburgh two years ago, he had shot his way out of the way of four G-men who wanted to arrest him. He knew no consideration neither against himself nor against others.

I gripped my gun tighter when I heard a noise from the other side of the door. Something was being pushed...

Then I heard footsteps...

I looked at Milo.

My friend nodded.

Now, I hissed.

A kick opened the door. I rushed forward. Seconds between life and death, in which anything could happen.

A figure climbed through the window.

Wide-open, determined eyes looked at me. His hair fell low on his forehead. He bared two rows of flawless teeth like a predator.

And in his right hand he held the massive Magnum revolver, whose .45 caliber could blow half your head off.

Nunez was already halfway out the window. He was still hanging on the windowsill with the back of his right leg.

His muscles and tendons tensed. He probably wanted to escape via the fire escape.

Put the gun down, Nunez!, I yelled.

For fractions of a second, everything hung in the balance.

But Nunez was a professional in every respect.

He knew he wouldn't be able to yank his gun up and fire it before I put a fatal bullet in his torso.

He knew it and that's why the tension in his arm muscles relaxed a little. His face twisted into an ugly grin.

And then Nunez actually dropped his gun. It hit the parquet floor with a hard sound.

Satisfied, G-man? he growled.

His facial expression looked wolfish. It was not the features of a man who had just given up and was coming to terms with the idea that he would soon have to answer to a jury.

Come back in very slowly!, I demanded.

Milo was next to me and took the walkie-talkie out of his coat pocket.

This is Agent Tucker. We've got him.

I took a step forward and said, You are under arrest, Nunez. You have the right to remain silent. If you waive that right, anything you say from now on can go to court...

Save the litany, G-man! he grunted.

Something is wrong, it went through my head. I racked my brains in those seconds about what it might have been.... My instinct was sounding the alarm and I had always done well by listening to it. I let my eyes wander for a moment.

The furnishings were nothing special. Nunez had probably taken over the room furnished. Department store furniture that you had to assemble yourself. Imitation pine wood. The armchairs already looked quite worn and almost a bit worn out. On a low glass table lay some magazines whose covers mostly showed naked women with huge breasts.

Restlessness filled me.

I looked back at Nunez.

He moves too slowly!, it ran through me. But I didn't know how to interpret that. And then there was this sound...

A tick.

Damn it! exclaimed Milo.

In the same second, I understood.

With a deafening bang, everything seemed to explode. Glass shattered. The seating area flew apart in shreds.

A veritable inferno broke out.

I felt the murderous heat and the shock wave. I hit the ground hard. Through the chaos I heard Milo's hoarse scream.

Nunez had tricked us!

2

I rolled around on the floor. I struggled for breath.

Acrid smoke made me retch. I struggled to my feet and jerked the gun in the direction of the window.

There was nothing more to be seen of Nunez.

He had dumped us stone cold.

The small explosive charge with a timer had been quite powerful. Nunez had apparently simply placed it in an armchair. No wonder he had hesitated to come back into the room. He had known that the inferno would only be seconds away....

One step further and I would have been torn to shreds.

I looked at Milo.

He sat on the floor with his back against the wall.

Blood ran in streams down his forehead. It dripped onto his jacket and onto the floor. He groaned.

He looked at me.

It's nothing! he yelled. Some damn splinter!

He pressed the sleeve of his jacket on the wound to stop the bleeding.

I heard footsteps and whirled around.

Two colleagues came in with their guns drawn. They were Special Agent Medina and his partner Clive Caravaggio.

Milo stood up.

He's gone, he explained.

With two steps I was at the window. The smoke bit into my eyes and made them water. This guy had known exactly what he was doing. Everything on one card. It was just like Gabriel Nunez. A killer without mercy.

I looked out.

Nunez had apparently reached the balcony of the neighboring apartment via the window ledge. Breakneck!, I thought.

And from there he had reached the fire escape.

I heard his clattering footsteps on the metal grates, saw him stumble down as if in panic.

Nunez raised his head.

He fired without aiming. I ducked.

The bullet shredded the window frame close to me.

Apparently, Nunez had a second weapon with him.

With someone like him, I wasn't surprised. Judging by the bullet hole in the window frame, it was a smaller caliber iron.

A .22, perhaps. But these projectiles were also deadly.

I fired back. My bullet got caught somewhere between the metal grates of the fire escape and caused a spark there.

Nunez continued to run.

I climbed onto the windowsill.

Jesse, what are you up to? Are you insane?

That was Agent Medina. He looked at me quite astonished.

Meanwhile, I climbed out the window and began balancing myself along the ledge.

I looked down.

The fire escape led to a backyard. A passageway connected this to the main street. In this case, it was Rivington Street on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

Our people had cordoned off the block. Nunez would not get far.

I hoped.

I jumped from the window ledge onto the balcony of the neighboring apartment. Then, in one more leap, I was on the fire escape. I rushed down, two three steps at a time. Nunez fired an untargeted shot in my direction. The shot went into the void, scratched somewhere on the already not quite dewy plaster.

And then a squad car roared down the passageway from Rivington Street and into the yard. A second one followed.

Officers with submachine guns jumped out and got into position. They wore the FBI's blue tactical jackets and bulletproof vests.

Freeze, Nunez!, I shouted. Or you're a sieve.

The killer hesitated.

One more flight of stairs and he would have been downstairs.

But he knew that this no longer made sense. However, he didn't think about giving up either. Not in his dreams.

A quick movement, a jump...

He made a dash for the nearest window. The glass shattered. He protected his head with his arm. I knew what he was up to. He was hoping to find a hostage in one of the other apartments on the block. That was it.

His last chance. And he was unscrupulous enough to seize it.

I followed suit, stumbling down the steps. The task forces that had taken up positions in the courtyard were now also moving.

But I had reached the window through which Nunez had disappeared more quickly. I climbed through it. The apartment seemed to be deserted. There was no furniture in the room I entered. The floorboards creaked in a way that could be deadly in this situation. I looked at the door. It was standing open. The hallway beyond was in semi-darkness, from which it suddenly flashed.

A shot cracked.

I threw myself to the side and fired back. Then I picked myself up. I sprinted off and pressed myself against the wall next to the door.

I listened.

Nothing was heard.

Then it clicked.

The cock a gun was cocked.

I looked up and saw the barrel of a revolver. Nunez was pointing it at me. He had come through the door in a flash.

He put all his eggs in one basket. This apartment was uninhabited. So I was the only hostage he could take here.

He grinned wolfishly.

Stupid what G-man!

Give it up, Nunez!

To get to the chair and be roasted alive? I can do without that!

It's over!

He put the barrel of his gun to my head.

Drop it! he hissed.

I lowered the gun.

Meanwhile, our people had reached the shattered window. They froze.

I've got your man! shouted Nunez. If one of you moves, he won't have a head.

The barrel of his revolver pressed hard against my temple.

Nunez grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me with him behind the door into the semi-darkness.

We were out of the FBI people's field of fire.

Not a good choice to take a G-man hostage, I growled.

I couldn't be too picky. He chuckled like crazy. Strange isn't it? Actually, you should have just bitten the dust by now.... If you'd just taken one more step forward...

A noise made him wince. It came from the other side of the apartment, where there was probably a hallway. Probably some of our people were working their way from there to the scene. I hoped.

Give up!, I hissed.

He was sweating. Fear flickered in his eyes. He looked like a cornered wild animal.

Take your handcuffs off your belt! But slowly.

I obeyed.

Give it to me!

I gave it to him. He took it with his left.

What's your name? he asks.

Trevellian. Jesse Trevellian.

I think I've heard of you!

It's possible.

Can you do something for me, G-man?

A deal?

He nodded. Yes.

It's plenty late for that, Nunez. But ultimately, that's up to the prosecutor.

What if I put a really big one on your knife?

Let's hear it!

Ray Tarantino. That's one of the big shots you're all after. You're just too stupid to really pin anything on him...

Like this?

Chatter, I thought. Nothing but chatter.

He was really afraid. He saw the noose tightening. And I wanted to buy time. My own handcuffs he now put around my right wrist with his left. Now the other arm! he demanded.

In that second, I let my left hand fly out. With a well-aimed, well-placed blow, I knocked his weapon aside. The right that followed hit him square in the face and sent him crashing to the boards. He staggered backwards and crashed into the bare wall from which the plaster was peeling. Mold ate into the stone.

Nunez wanted to yank the gun up immediately, but I was quick enough to get to him. My hand clamped around his gun arm and pushed him to the side. I slammed my hand against the wall and the gun fell away from him. The next moment I received a terrible and quite unexpected blow in the pit of my stomach. My eyes went black. I staggered backwards and could only barely avoid the next blow.

Nunez rushed to the gun lying on the ground.

He grabbed her, yanked her around.

His finger tightened around the trigger.

He aimed at my eyes.

And pulled the trigger.

I looked directly into the muzzle flash, which in this semi-darkness seemed like a sudden flash.

3

A jolt went through Nunez's body. The barrel of his gun slid upward, his eyes were fixed. The fabric of his shirt turned blood red. Nunez stopped moving. It was a clean shot to the heart that had caught him. I turned around.

One of our people stood in the doorway and lowered his gun.

It was Special Agent Mike Sutter, a broad-shouldered man around fifty with short hair and a very angular face.

I knew him well. He used to be with the City Police. He had worked his way up there. For a while he was in narcotics, and later he was recommended by his superiors for FBI training.

He looked at me.

Are you okay, Jesse?

I nodded.

Yes, with me it is, I murmured.

Sutter took a deep breath. Then he put the gun back in its holster and walked toward the dead killer. I had no choice, he said.

I know, I replied. You saved my life, Mike!

4

You have nothing to reproach yourself for, Agent Sutter, Jonathan D. McKee, the chief of the FBI's New York District, said later as we sat in his office.

Sutter shrugged his shoulders.

Milo was also there. A wound dressing adorned his forehead.

But it looked much worse than it was. A piece of glass had touched him. The wound had been disinfected and stitched. At best, he would be left with a barely visible scar. He had been lucky. The thing could literally have gone in his eye.

You shot Gabriel Nunez in a self-defense situation, Mister McKee clarified. He left you no other choice...

I know, Sutter said. And yet...

McKee looked at him and nodded in understanding.

I think I know what you mean.

Anyway, the last time I did it, it took me quite a while to get over it.

You've shot someone before, Mike?, I asked.

He turned around to me. Before he spoke, he brought the cup of steaming coffee to his mouth. Mandy had made it, Mister McKee's secretary. Her coffee was not world-famous, but those who were on duty at the FBI District headquarters on Federal Plaza and had ever tasted this dark brew were delighted.

Sutter's eyes narrowed.

His eyes flickered uneasily.

It's been a long time, Jesse, he said then. And I don't really feel like talking about it, either.

I raised my hands.

I didn't mean it that way.

Sutter nodded.

He looked very serious. Not only since this incident. He had always been like that as long as I knew him. He was someone who had worked his way up from the bottom. He had started as an NYPD patrol officer, taking classes, training. His superiors had always recommended him for promotions and additional training.

Sutter seemed to be one of those men who had devoted his life entirely to fighting crime. A straight-A cop. We were glad to have him with us. Personally, I hadn't had that much to do with him.

But Medina and Caravaggio worked with him more often.

You want a day off? asked McKee.

Sutter shrugged. Might not be bad

But don't brood too much, Mike.

Don't worry. He grinned. Janice will stop that from happening.

Well, then...

I sipped my coffee.

He was still pretty hot.

Strange, I then said thoughtfully.

McKee looked at me intently and took a step toward me. I was sitting in one of the armchairs in Mister McKee's office with my legs crossed.

What are you thinking about, Jesse? he asked.

I looked up.

About this Nunez trying to talk to me just before he died...

Talk? That what Sutter. He suddenly seemed very attentive.

I nodded.

Yes, he wanted a deal. And he wanted me to go for it.

Well, it's been established that Gabriel Nunez murdered for the big boys, Mister McKee stated. However, he was always very discreet about who he worked for.

They probably appreciated that side of him in particular, Milo Tucker interjected.

He was talking about Ray Tarantino, I said.

What? McKee raised his eyebrows.

I nodded.

Yes, he was going to deliver him to the knife, as he said.... Shortly before, he had noticed that apparently our people were also stalking from the other side of the apartment. He must have sensed that even for an ice-cold shark like him, the skins were now swimming away...

We had been after Tarantino for a long time. He owned some posh discos and nightclubs, which we suspected were in fact transshipment points for designer drugs. However, various raids by our colleagues from the DEA and various special units for drug tracing, which the individual police stations maintained, had led to no results.

Caravaggio, a blond-haired Italian-American, placed his empty paper cup on the table.

Wouldn't surprise me if this Nunez guy had something to do with the Gordon case, too.

Harry Gordon had been a general manager at a Tarantino nightclub until he was shot in his car a week ago.

So far, no one can prove it, Sutter said.

Caravaggio raised his hand. But that may change once our colleagues from the Scientific Research Division have taken a closer look at the weapons that were in Nunez's apartment...

While Clive Caravaggio talked, I watched Sutter.

His eyes were still flickering restlessly. I wondered what was going on inside him.

He stood up.

He stroked his face with his hand. When he noticed my glance, a tense smile crossed his face. Something made him embarrassed and I wondered what it was.

Tough day today, huh, Jesse?

Indeed!

At least this living fighting machine won't be able to kill anyone now...

Yes.

But this fighting machine called Nunez was just a tool, I added in my mind. A weapon in the hands of completely different people, who acted in the background...

Still.

5

When Mike Sutter reached next to him the next morning, the other half of the bed was empty. Vague and somewhat hazy memories of a hot night surfaced in him, during which he had slept rather little. Janice had been insatiable. And it had helped him forget and clear his head.

Sutter flipped the covers aside and stood up. He put on a robe and walked out of the bedroom, yawning.

The living room was furnished ultra-modern. Everything was in black and white. Table, sitting area, cupboards. Janice had chosen the things.

Hello, darling, she said in her crooning, siren-like voice.

She stood there, completely naked. Her smile was seductive. Sutter thought about the previous night.

Hello, he said.

You're still worried, she said as she studied his face.

I don't.

She laughed. You're lying, Mike. And you know it's completely pointless!

Oh, yeah?

Because I can read minds. At least yours!

Mike Sutter's smile was thin. Janice came toward him. Her heavy breasts bobbed up and down provocatively as she did so. She stopped in front of him, braced her slender arm on her curved hip. Then she threw back the thick, dark hair.

This guy wasn't worth it!

I know.

But...

It's been that way with me ever since, Janice. You know?

She came a little closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her breasts pressed against him. She kissed him with passion and finally he pulled her to him.

Breathless, she broke away from him.

There was a challenging flash in her eyes. She stroked his shoulder with her fingertips, then said. I'm going to take a shower. Are you coming?

Sutter nodded. Yes.

With catlike movements she walked towards the door of the bathroom.

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

Just a moment, Sutter murmured, addressing Janice. But she was no longer in the room.

Sutter walked down a hallway to the door.

He opened the door. The letter carrier was standing in front