A Tangled Web - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Seven: A Mystery Suspense Thriller Read online

  MARK KANE MYSTERIES

  BOOK SEVEN

  A TANGLED WEB

  Copyright © 2016 by John Hemmings

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by MKM Enterprises

  Acknowledgements

  My special thanks to Wayne Leininger, for his editorial assistance during the preparation of this book, and to Beth Ford, whose eagle eye spotted a number of errors, which I was able to correct for the benefit of future readers.

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR

  FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS

  Preface

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  A Word from the Author

  Book One: Forget Me Not

  Book Two: Ice

  Book Three: The Black Widow

  Book Four: Till Death

  Book Five: Missing

  Book Six: I Spy

  Book Seven: A Tangled Web

  About the Author

  John Hemmings is a lawyer and writer of crime fiction with a one hundred percent record; none of his clients has been executed ─ yet! Some of his stories are suggested by cases he has been involved with, but names have been changed to protect the innocent ─ and sometimes the guilty!

  Each of his books features Boston private investigator Mark Kane, or simply Kane as he is known to most people, and his longtime companion Lucy - a slightly oddball couple with a somewhat unconventional relationship.

  "I write for enjoyment − the sort of books that I hope have broad appeal in the mystery/detective genre; the kind of books I like to read myself − and as a family man I write for all ages − the sex private (even private eyes like a bit of privacy!), the language tempered. Take a look at those movies from the thirties and forties: Edward G. Robinson, Cagney, Bogart; the lack of strong language didn't take away anything from the air of menace those guys exuded. Of course, they wouldn’t have talked like that in real life, but then a movie or a novel is not ‘real life’."

  "I have used my experience to make the stories as authentic as possible, although these books are intended as entertainments, so a little 'poetic license' is sometimes necessary. As for 'character development', this is a series told in real time. While each book is a standalone story, as my readers progress through the books more is gradually revealed about my protagonist and his sidekick. My readers sometimes ask me what Kane & Lucy look like; but as to their physical appearance well, that's the beauty of books over movies - they look just like each reader imagines they look."

  ‘A Tangled Web’ is the seventh, and latest, book in the Mark Kane Mysteries series.

  You can contact the author at

  http://johnhemmings.net/contact

  THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR

  ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive’ – Sir Walter Scott

  For Julia, Jane, Sarah & Helen

  FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS

  Chapter One: Femme Fatale

  Chapter Two: The Gift

  Chapter Three: Jimmy’s Kitchen

  Chapter Four: Marjorie’s Blood

  Chapter Five: Kane’s Devils

  Chapter Six: The Blood in the Car

  Chapter Seven: Hampton

  Chapter Eight: The Optimist

  Chapter Nine: Helping with Inquiries

  Chapter Ten: A Private Matter

  Chapter Eleven: Jimmy

  Chapter Twelve: The Psychic

  Chapter Thirteen: A Revelation

  Chapter Fourteen: Something Terrible

  Chapter Fifteen: Mind Games

  Chapter Sixteen: In Control

  Chapter Seventeen: Hope Springs Eternal

  Chapter Eighteen: The Girl in the Motel

  Chapter Nineteen: Josh

  Chapter Twenty: The Exchange

  Chapter Twenty One: The Mugshot

  Chapter Twenty Two: Jimmy Again

  Chapter Twenty Three: The Wrong Guy

  Chapter Twenty Four: Back to Square One

  Chapter Twenty Five: The Team

  Chapter Twenty Six: My Box of Tricks

  Chapter Twenty Seven: A Welcome Distraction

  Chapter Twenty Eight: The Visitor

  A Word from the Author

  Mark Kane Mysteries Series

  Book One: Forget Me Not

  Book Two: Ice

  Book Three: The Black Widow

  Book Four: Till Death

  Book Five: Missing

  Book Six: I Spy

  Book Seven: A Tangled Web

  Preface

  In writing this series I think it only fair to acknowledge my debt to that master of the detective genre, Raymond Chandler. Whilst I could never hope to produce narratives of such accomplishment, nor produce such a memorable hero as Philip Marlowe, in writing this series of novels I have nevertheless tried to be true to Mr. Chandler’s concept of what a private detective novel should comprise. I have adopted his famous guidelines, not simply because I admire him as a peerless writer of private detective crime fiction but because I believe they truly encapsulate everything that a good crime novel should be, namely:

  It should be credibly motivated, both as to the original situation and the dénouement.

  It should be technically sound as to the methods of murder and detection.

  It should be realistic in character, setting and atmosphere. It must be about real people in a real world.

  It should have a sound story value apart from the mystery element: i.e., the investigation itself must be an adventure worth reading.

  It should have enough essential simplicity to be explained easily when the time comes.

  It must baffle a reasonably intelligent reader.

  The solution must seem inevitable once revealed.

  It should not try to do everything at once. If it is a puzzle story operating in a rather cool, reasonable atmosphere, it cannot also be a violent adventure or a passionate romance.

  It must punish the criminal in one way or another; not necessarily by operation of the law, but if the detective fails to resolve the consequences of the crime, the story is an unresolved chord and leaves irritation behind it.

  It must be honest with the reader.
r />   As for the hero, Chandler also had firm views. The morality of the detective is paramount. In his essay, ‘The Simple Art of Murder’, he wrote: ‘Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor – by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world’.

  If Mr. Chandler were alive today it is doubtful that he would be impressed by my clumsy attempts at writing crime fiction, but I hope he would be satisfied with my attempts to carry on a fine tradition.

  Chapter One

  Femme Fatale

  Marjorie hesitated as she approached the door of Hampton’s Private Inquiries, and she almost turned on her heel, before taking a deep breath and pressing the doorbell. At first she could see no one through the glass office door, but she heard the door buzz and click so she pushed it open and stepped inside. As she did so, a middle-aged gentleman, wearing a rather crumpled three-piece gray suit and a dark blue bow-tie, stepped out of the inner office to greet her. He was about six feet tall, and stout, with a round face, wearing a congenial and practiced welcoming smile. He smelled of rather cheap cologne, she thought, as he approached her holding out his hand.

  “Mrs. Griffiths, please come in. Dick Hampton. My secretary’s on her lunch break I’m afraid. I don’t normally see clients between one and two, but you did say it was urgent, so…”

  “That’s quite alright. It’s good of you to see me at short notice.”

  “Well, please come through to my office and tell me how I can help you.”

  Dick Hampton led her into a rather cramped room and motioned Marjorie to sit, as he slid behind an antique-looking mahogany desk, the top of which was liberally covered with box-files and papers. Behind him, a not very clean window framed a few distant clouds, white and fluffy, drifting lazily by in the distance in an otherwise clear, blue sky. Hampton looked at his client. She was a fine looking woman, he thought. He guessed she was about the same age as himself ― mid-forties or so; but she’d looked after herself; classy ─ that was the word. He clasped his hands together in front of his chest with a small clapping sound and then rubbed them together.

  “Now then, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, it’s rather awkward…”

  “Take your time. You asked me over the telephone if we conduct surveillance.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “I want my husband followed. I think he’s up to something…seeing someone…a woman.”

  “Yes, I see.” He paused. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about the background. You needn’t worry ― everything you tell me is in the strictest confidence.” He smiled reassuringly.

  Marjorie sighed and then frowned, as if gathering her thoughts.

  “I married my husband, Chuck, four years ago. I was married before that ― in my twenties, to a real estate broker. That marriage lasted for eleven years. He died in a sailing accident almost fourteen years ago now. He left me well off, but I was lonely, I guess. He was a lot older than me and we had no children. After ten years alone I met Chuck at the yacht club. He’s a little younger than me, and was single. We started seeing each other. After a few months he proposed to me and I accepted. It wasn’t a torrid romance, we were just two lonely people, I guess, who were tired of being alone.”

  Marjorie paused and stared out of the window over Hampton’s shoulder. After a few moments, Hampton said, “May I ask what your husband’s occupation is?”

  “He doesn’t have a regular job. He was employed as a barman when we met. As I told you, my first husband left me well provided for. The matrimonial home belongs to me, and Philip, my first husband, left me several investment properties ― apartments ― and Chuck manages them for me, dealing with the tenants, arranging for whatever needs to be done.”

  “And has the marriage been a happy one?”

  “Yes, so far. To be frank, it was a marriage of convenience for both of us, I guess; more a matter of companionship than anything else. But I’ve had no reason to regret it. We get along well, and he’s attentive and considerate. It’s not really love, but it’s a relationship that seems to work.”

  “But you think he’s seeing someone else?”

  “One of my friends saw him at a motel, called The Beeches. He was with a young woman; a very young woman. My friend described her as about five seven with a mass of wavy, auburn hair. There were some signs of intimacy between them. They were at the bar together and then they went to a room. Her room, I guess. They stayed there for more than an hour. They were still inside the room when my friend left. Chuck never mentioned it to me. I’m not suspicious by nature, but I’m not a fool either.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last Friday.”

  “Did you ask him about it?”

  “Not directly. That evening I asked him about his day. He said he’d been to some of the apartments to check that everything was okay. He didn’t mention the visit to the motel.”

  “You say there were signs of intimacy between them. Was your friend a little more specific?”

  “Not really. He was holding her hand, in an affectionate kind of way. She said they were behaving as if they were close. Not like a couple who had just met casually; nor like a…working girl and her customer.”

  “So I take it that you want me to have your husband tailed; to see if they meet again?”

  “Mr. Hampton, I’m quite a wealthy woman. I think I’m entitled to know if something’s going on behind my back.”

  “Was there any prenuptial agreement between you and you husband prior to the marriage?”

  “No, there wasn’t. If my husband is about to leave me for some…floozy…”

  “Yes, I quite understand your concern.”

  “I’ve been mulling things over for the past couple of days. I realize that I don’t really know anything much about Chuck at all. Only that he grew up in Maine, and he’d not been married before.”

  “Okay; I can arrange surveillance of your husband. I can use an assistant to undertake this work if you like. I have two very experienced operatives. Or I can do the work myself, if you prefer, although that will be more expensive.”

  “I’d like you to do it yourself, please. I want things to be kept totally discreet. Ideally, I’d prefer the matter to be kept entirely confidential. I’m not suggesting that your staff members aren’t trustworthy, but…”

  “I understand.”

  “And I want you to start as soon as possible.”

  “Okay. Let’s deal with the formalities and I’ll begin tomorrow.”

  *

  Marjorie watched through the open window of her rental as her husband left the motel room and headed to the parking lot. She watched as he got into his dark blue BMW; her dark blue BMW. It had been her gift to Chuck on their second wedding anniversary. She realized that her teeth were clenched as she watched him drive away. She took a deep breath, got out of her car and walked over to the motel room; then she took another deep breath and knocked on the door.

  The door was opened by a woman who matched the description her friend had given her. She was dressed casually in jeans and a loose-fitting cotton blouse. She was about five feet six or seven, with a clear complexion, green eyes and a bit too much makeup. She couldn’t have been more than early twenties. She stared at Marjorie, but said nothing.

  “May I come in?” Marjorie said.

  “I’m sorry, I…”

  “No, you don’t know me. I’m Mrs. Griffiths; Chuck’s wife.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  Marjorie brushed past her and walked into the room. The girl swiveled round to face her.

  “I think we need to talk, young lady; don’t you?”


  The girl said nothing, but frowned and quietly closed the door.

  “What have you been doing with my husband?”

  The girl looked at her, blankly, and said nothing.

  “I suppose you know he’s married; or has he told you otherwise?”

  “Look, I…”

  Marjorie sighed. “I’m not here to pick a fight with you. I just want to know what’s been going on between you and my husband. I have a right to know that, don’t you think? May I sit down?”

  “Sure; of course.”

  Marjorie sat down in one of two rather worn armchairs. She motioned to the other chair. “I think you’d better sit down, too.”

  The girl remained standing.

  “May I at least know your name?” Marjorie said.

  The girl stared at Marjorie, but said nothing.

  “Don’t you think you at least owe me some kind of explanation? Perhaps you didn’t know that Chuck’s a married man. Are you two having some kind of affair?”

  “No.”

  “Is that it? No? Is that all you have to say?”

  “I really don’t want to discuss this with you,” she said. “I’d like you to leave now.” The girl turned her back on Marjorie and walked over to the window.

  “Well, I just bet you would; but I’m not going anywhere until you at least have the courtesy to tell me what you have been doing with my husband. I may as well tell you that I know you’ve met him before today.”

  The girl glanced towards the door. “I’m sorry; I really don’t want to have this discussion. I want you to leave now…”

  “Good God, have you no shame? He’s old enough to be your father.”

  The girl stood motionless for a while, occasionally glancing towards the door; then she turned and stared at Marjorie again, but said nothing. She looked earnestly at Marjorie, ran her tongue over her bottom lip and frowned as if deep in thought. After a while she looked towards the door again and then looked Marjorie straight in the eye.

  “Look, this conversation is over, right? I want you out of here. Now.”