Forever's Too Long: The Forever Detective, #1

By Helen Krummenacker

In 1947 Rafael Jones is opening his own private investigations business. After being a cop for several years, and then an MP turned War Crimes Investigator during WWII, he'd felt it was time to be his own boss and help people his own way. He was already off to a good start. He already had two cases on his plate. One involved working with a British Interpol agent investigating smuggled Russian art that had disappeared back in WWI. The other case, involved a mysterious cult, that seemed to be recruiting followers from Marshall Industries. 

 

These two seemingly unrelated cases, quickly combine into one which drops Rafael dropped not only into a world of danger unlike any he's faced before. For he soon finds himself coming face to face with the supernatural in the form of the living dead, one of whom chooses him to join their ranks.

 

Now he's the only thing that can save the world from this growing darkness. But can he save himself first?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Helen Krummenacker
• Release date: Dec 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223943648

Helen Krummenacker

Helen Krummenacker is uncomfortable talking about herself in the third person, so I won’t. I’ve always loved writing and helped create the Para-Earth Series with my husband Allan, though he has done most of the writing on it. Later, I started The Forever Detective series, and this is a spin-off from that. I have a B.S. in Mathematics, and hope that writing proofs has helped keep my fiction streamlined and without serious plot holes. Of course, like most people, I yell at characters who do stupid things when I’m reading or watching a movie, and thus try to avoid giving others reason to yell. Hobbies include gardening, dancing, and painting. Health issues limit my activity level, but I manage to work in accounting by day and escape into mystery and adventure genres at night.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Clara Thomas was almost finished packing when the phone rang. Good morning, she said.

So glad I caught you, Clara. You’re being sent to America on a case, aren’t you?

Sir Lynn! Do you need any errands taken care of while I’m there? She was being cautious. Lynn Fox was a spymaster, and ‘errands’ was a good word to use on a hotel phone, where the security of the line might be in question.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone. No need to be so formal. I’m your brother, after all, or married to your sister, which amounts to the same thing. Lynn will do just fine. I just called to give you a little advice. I know Interpol needs to recruit more people. Trying to rebuild such an organization is a major task. Well... they’ll have given you some files of people they’d like you to interview as possible options. Somewhere on that list there will be a Major Rafael Jones. Near the top if they’ve had the sense to prioritize them. I think you should read his file first thing. I think he could be a serious asset.

To Interpol?

To them, yes. Maybe in other ways, as well. He has a great deal of potential. I know one of his godmothers.

Is that all you’re going to tell me? Potential had room to mean all kind of things. But he’d seen potential in Clara, so she trusted him to be choosing well.

All I can right now. I’d have to meet him for myself to have a better idea. As far as Interpol goes, he’s very fluent in two languages, passable in four more. He has a reputation for getting along with very nearly everyone— he makes friends easily, and given that Interpol is all about local cooperation, you could use that. Law enforcement has been his career, and he has already worked with an international team. He’s ideal for Interpol’s needs.

But you’re also interested in him.

On a hunch, my dear, but my hunches are usually reliable.

I’m intrigued. Major Jones, you said.

Rafael, if there’s more than one.

Shall I call you after I’ve made contact?

That’s an excellent idea. I’d like to get your impression of him.

Until then. Give Susan my love.

I certainly will, and all of mine, too. Safe travels.

With the call over, Clara went to the window and took a moment to look over the city she was in, Brussels, on the continent. Just a few years ago, it seemed like war was everywhere and nothing was safe. Now she could turn her head and look toward England, her homeland, and know that ships were plying across the waters once more. She was soon boarding an aeroplane for America, one laden with passengers, not combatants or weapons. The world was at peace, but her own heart... she didn’t think she’d ever be as lucky as Susan, to find someone who was as real and kind as Sir Lynn Fox. He might be more than a decade older than his wife, but what was that when people were perfect for each other, as they were?

Work was better than love, if you didn’t have the right one. It gave you stability, purpose, and things to be interested in. Right now, she was interested in getting the file on Rafael Jones to find out what made him important enough to get Lynn’s attention.

A WOMAN FOR A PARTNER

1947 seemed like it was going to be a excellent year, but I’m no vintner. My name is Rafael Jones, and this was the year I was going into business for myself. I felt strongly about it; I’d worked for the government for 17 years, between joining the police and then the Army when the war started. I’d learned a lot doing it, like what I was good at and what I wasn’t. I could talk to people, getting inside their heads. Sometimes, I could find a missing person like they’d sent me a postcard. I was good at keeping track of rules, too. I just had my own way of dealing with them. Some needed to be followed, even if it was inconvenient or even risky, because they protected the public. Others needed to be ignored, for the same reason; missing persons had ended up being my specialty, and I left some cases ‘unsolved’ if I found out they’d had a good reason to disappear, like an abusive home. So you can see why I wanted to go independent.

I even had a regular business client lined up already, Eugene Marshall who was an investor, inventor, and industrialist in that chronological order. Thanks to him, I hadn’t hesitated to lay down the six months advance rent (which included an apartment on the second floor) and insurance. It was my mom, though, who sent me a brass plate for the door: Harmony Investigations. That had raised my client’s eyebrows, not that he minded, but he didn’t see how the name would work as a sales pitch until I pointed out to him that a background check isn’t just to find out if someone has ties to foreign powers, but also if they work well with others. I love a missing person case that ends in a joyful reunion, but I’m not tracking down a battered wife who got away. If I do my job right, I’m going to solve problems, straighten out chaos, and bring people’s lives back into harmony. For some reason, I didn’t tell him that the main reason I came up with that name is because music is my first love. It hadn’t taken me much longer to discover girls, though.

While I was putting the brass plate on, I noticed there was a faint design etched lightly into the surface. It was odd... there was a shape in each corner, birds or something. They had wings, but I thought one looked   more like a bull. I sighed. It had probably gotten placed facing something that still had etching fluid on it and picked up a faint design. It was only visible from the right angle in the right light, so it wasn’t really a problem, but if I was going to have a logo I wanted to plan it.

I heard an echoing sigh from behind me. Excuse me, said a rich contralto voice, is this the office of Raphael Jones? Her accent could read for the BBC, and so she got the stresses and vowels on the name just off enough that I heard it spelled the English way in my head.

Close enough, I said, turning around and switching the screwdriver to my left hand so I could offer her a handshake.

She was worth looking at. She wore a dark blue suit with a cream blouse, very professional. A little cream beret perched on her head looked a bit like a meringue. I suspected she had a sense of humor.  Her hair was dark, and so were her eyes, but they had a sparkle to them. I couldn’t easily estimate her height because there were a couple of steps up to the brownstone and she leaned forward to shake my hand rather than finish climbing. Well, there wasn’t a handrail so I kept her hand  and gave a slight lift to it which she read correctly and came up. I smiled. She’d be a good dance partner, I thought briefly, but I still caught her name as she said it. Clara Thomas, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you prefer Mr. Jones or Ma—

I’m a civilian now, I said a little gruffly. You can call me Mr. Jones if you like, but I’m usually just Jones or Rafael.

Rafael, she said it right this time.

Clara, the pleasure is mine. I said it the way she had, broad vowel on the first syllable, rhyming with car, not care.

Miss Thomas, I think, Mr. Jones. I’m here on business. I just wanted to make sure I was saying your name right.

I opened the door to my new office. I’m still getting set up, but come on in and tell me what you need. As she passed me, I thought I caught a hint of sandalwood and violets.  Her height, by the way. was just about an inch off from mine with her heels on. She glanced around the room, taking in the second-hand furnishings, the windows not yet washed after the last rain, and the boxes waiting to be unpacked. She casually pushed a chair into place across from the desk.

Don’t be in a rush to unpack, she said. Not exactly the conversation starter I expected, but then I didn’t expect someone showing up with my rank at time of discharge on the tip of her tongue.  I hadn’t even written to my parents about the promotions, not after First Lieutenant. I hadn’t seen real combat in the war and the ranks felt like stolen valor, even if it was necessary considering how many people and and cases I was handling in the war crimes aftermath. Yes. I’d had to quit my job with the civilian police in order to join the military because I’d been labeled essential personnel, only to find myself stuck in military police: enforcement at first and then the CID.

Let’s be frank, I said. Do you have something I can do for you as a private investigator?

She hesitated. Yes.

You also want something else from me.

I’m with an organization and I was hoping you might be persuaded to come work for us.

Not likely.

You’d travel the world.

Military recruiters tell everyone that.

I’m not military, Mr. Jones. I’m Interpol.

What? I didn’t believe what I was hearing. I thought they were defunct and couldn’t imagine how they restarted after Berlin was split.

We’re a new organization. Not the one the Nazis took over. Surely you can see that with greater mobility has come greater opportunities for crime to go international, and therefore police need an international resource to fight back. You’ve already developed a reputation of being able to work with teammates from multiple countries and organize them based on abilities.

Assume I’m not signing up. What else can I do for you?

She switched her pitch pretty smoothly as she explained her current case. Some pre-Revolutionary Russian art, jewelry, and other valuables have been fenced in this city. We believe a small criminal ring has smuggled out a large cache and want to catch them.

So Russia can get their treasures back.

Theoretically that’s why we been asked to get involved, but I’m interested mainly because there have been corpses showing up in the same cities that similar artifacts have been sold in before.

Oh.

Are you interested?

I am. But aren’t you more about getting cooperation from the local police?

The idiot assigned as our liaison officer thinks it’s likely a legitimate collector fallen on hard times and should be a low priority unless we can provide more evidence of wrongdoing.

Evidence you’d like me to find for you.

"Evidence I’d like you to find with me. I’m used to field work myself."

I was getting more interested again. If there were killers loose in the city, getting enough evidence to get the police interested could save lives. Plus, I’d be spending time with Clara Thomas, and I’d always wanted to have a woman for a partner, to be honest. It’s just an opinion, but I suspect women, at least the kind of women who would be interested in police work, are going to be more observant, less trigger-happy, and more inclined to the right kind of teamwork, compared to the male of the species. Fine. Do you have a list of missing items that we can take around to the fences, or...?

She shook her head. I’m afraid they didn’t disappear from a single source. And the times they disappeared in were not the best for records being kept. However, I studied up on Russian art styles and I think I’ll be able to spot items we should be suspicious of.

Got it. You’ll know it when you see it. I have some vague ideas about jeweled eggs and religious figures or birds painted on black backgrounds, but I might do best providing the distraction while you nose around.

Try showing them a little leg, she joked.

I don’t think Big Ricky over on Main Street’s going to fancy that, but it just might work over at Duvall’s Estate and Auction House. I opened one box and grabbed a notebook, tossing it to her. Here’s a list of known fences and dealers who are none too particular where goods come from. I presume we can eliminate things like auto shops as irrelevant to your art thieves, but we can figure out how to prioritize the others. Art dealers before low-end pawn shops, that kind of thing.

She started running an eye over the list. About flirting. I didn’t actually mean—

I held up a hand. I get it. You’re usually the distraction and couldn’t resist making the wisecrack you usually hear. I smiled, It gives me an idea, though.

AN ENCOURAGING SMILE

My car was nicer than my office, bought new a couple of months ago when I came back from Europe. I’d chosen a tan paint job so it wouldn’t be too hot in summer if I had to sit in it while on a stake out, and even on a new car tan was boring. Boring is good when you want to go unnoticed. As I held the door open for Clara, she tried again, You know, if you did come work for Interpol, we’d pay moving costs. That would include shipping the car.

I got into the driver’s seat. If you even want to talk to me about going to work for Interpol again, you’ll need to do it while we’re on a date.

She frowned. That’s not a deal. I’ll only go out with you if I want to go out with you. She couldn’t help but look me up and down, though. The possibility of her wanting to was in the air, and I let her think about it while I got the car in gear.  Not to sound vain, but I knew my profile wouldn’t count