One Murder to Another

CHAPTER ONE

1.

It was a sunny day, sometime in February and the sun poured down its rays wickedly on anyone unfortunate to be outdoors by that time. Jim mowe shifted uneasily in his seat, although it was a modern recliner seat with soft Italian leather the room felt hot and dry, the old ceiling fan was on, whistling gently. Jim looked dismally at the old fan silently willing it to blow harder but it just whizzed on gently.

"That's what you get for camping in a dump like this", he thought.

His thoughts were interrupted by the heavy trumping on the concrete stairs from below, he straightened up and listened ; a skill Jim had learnt. It was not unusual to have people come up and down the stairs in such manner; as a matter of fact the offices on the first floor had a steady stream of customers who kept flocking in like worker bees going about their duties for the day.

There were three offices, the first one was a dentist shop where all manner of people came in to have their teeth checked or replaced. It was owned by a short stout man, who was on the wrong side of forty. His name was Clem and he had a big smile; which gave the impression that you could come to him with all your problems dentals or otherwise.

He should have been a minister Jim thought lazily. Humans from unknowns to superstars patronized him. Jim could have sworn he had seen Michael Jackson go in once to have a new set of sparkling white teeth, M.J had a knack for self modification, and Clem seemed like the kind of guy who would gladly change various parts of his body no questions asked but even if Jim had said so, no one would believe him anyway.

The next office was a spa, where any bunny desperate enough to burn a few hundred dollars could go in and have cucumbers put on their eyes and goat milk poured on their skin or so he heard. If Jim had a choice of what should be put on his eyes and poured on his skin; he would have gone for dollars on the eyes and Euros on the skin anywhere, anytime; he fancied himself as just that kind of guy.

Anyway this lush shop was owner by a lady, somewhere around thirty; early if he was to guess. Her name was Anita. It is fruitless describing what she looked like but there were two good things about her; her eyes and her hair. She had the kind of eyes that could easily put you in an hypnotic trance if you stared long enough or could make you want to tell her your innermost secrets, either ways it spelt danger if you kept staring.

The third shop was a complete mystery to Jim, for all he knew Osama bin laden could have been hiding in there or Adolph Hitler could have been planning another world conquest in there with the help of Mickey Mouse and Santa Clus, Jim didn't know and something in him told him not to care either. A sign hanging overhead just said "House of jasmine".

"See what I mean? Isn't jasmine supposed to be a flower or something? And not a spooky place where men and women with dolorous faces went in, spent hours and came out looking even worse than they were before they went in", Jim had thought multiple times.

For two hundred dollars, Jim would have gladly stood by and told those dummies who went in there, to just go jump in a well and if there was none available, for another two hundred dollars, he would have gladly dug one for them. Anyway no one gave Jim any money so he kept his opinions to himself.

The trumping sound continued, but by now Jim was fully aware that whoever it was, was coming to his office. His nerves began to jump.

"Could this be the one customer who would finally bring in some action? By God!, he was already growing fat and lazy sitting there all day like an invalid suffering from severe stroke", he thought

A heavy looking man in plain trousers and checkered shirt appeared on his doorway. His shoes were super shiny and Jim found himself wondering if it was the sun or he took pride in keeping his shoes polished. Jim decided on the latter.

"Hello dad!", Jim said, forcing a weak smile.

The man moved across the room to the seat and gleefully sank down into it. The chair rocked dangerously, and for a moment or so, Jim thought the cheap furniture was going to give way, luckily it weathered the storm, but only just.

"You know why I am here", the man's voice thundered across the room.

"Sure, you miss me and have come to spend some time with me", Jim said sarcastically

"Oh cut the crap, you are behind on your rent and I felt it necessary to inform you".

"I know Popsicle, I was waiting for you to come around", Jim replied.

The man eyed Jim for a moment while trying to decide which approach to use on him.

"When would you quit this nonsense of yours and do something meaningful? A young man like you.-"

Jim cut him off before he could finish, he had heard that statement a million times and knew where the man was headed.

"Am doing just fine thank you", Jim replied, while trying to lock eyes with the man seated on the sofa.

"I would mail you a check soon, probably as soon as you get going; you use up a lot of air, I'm just struggling to stay alive right now".

Jim tried to make a gasping sound like a dying patient who was struggling for air but the man didn't seem impressed.

"Quit yapping! I give you till this month end", with that the man stood up and began to leave the room.

Jim stared blankly at the sofa as if expecting it to spring back to life. He knew the man wasn't bluffing. His landlord was very friendly to him, as a hungry lion is to a well fed antelope.

It is funny how a well fed antelope like Jim as he so often considered himself found himself in such a situation as that. Jim Mowe was a private detective, or at least he considered himself one. He hadn't caught a fly as far back as the record books went; as a matter of fact if he was being entirely honest with himself, a cold was the only thing Jim was pretty good at catching.

A private dick, fancy boot or some other of the numerous funny names people called him, made sitting in an office and occasionally being bleached by the sun all the worthwhile.

Jim was a funny guy as people would testify and he loved funny names so he didn't mind being called fancy boot, so long as he got paid then he was good. He grew up in Ember lands, finished his primary and secondary education before going aboard to study criminology.

Jim's hope at that time was to get a job overseas as a cop. Growing up he had read a lot of Sherlock Holmes stories and all so he figured out it was pretty easy. Grow up, study, get a job as a cop and start throwing bad guys around like a petulant young millionaire throwing money around in a club.

LHe grew up and he studied but that is as far as he came; no job, no superman cape and no bad guys to throw around, so that said so much about "Hope".

These days if you told Jim you hoped to do something, he did just yell insults at you and that's when he was in a good mood. It took him five hard and long years to study, for four years Jim read and read; from philosophy to physiology and psychology of the criminal mind, till he began to feel it would have been easier to have become a criminal instead.

In his fifth year he moved on to more serious things and graduated before he knew what was happening. He had tried severally to get a job and failed so he did the only reasonable thing to do; he came down back to Ember lands and set up an agency called "Private services". Ever since then, It had been rough sailing for him.

Private services didn't exactly convene the right message across. Jim got calls from old women looking for their lost pets, gossiping housewives who were too lazy to pick up the kid from school. At first he had brushed off those silly calls with detailed explanation of the kind of services he rendered but it soon dawned on him that no one was paying any attention and his bills were stacking up, so occasionally he got to do the odd as long as he got paid.

He took great pains to ensure that he didn't do a lot of them either as he wasn't prepared to give people the wrong idea of what he did but all the same he consoled himself that a guy of his reputation which is akin to an armature soprano singer trying to hit a high pitch of a Whitney Houston classic could afford to do the odd jobs once in a while, after all bills don't settle themselves. He desperately waited for the spotlight that would set him up nicely for limelight.

One of those funny odd jobs that still stuck to his mind the way the smell of alcohol sticks to the breath of a drunkard, was when a very young man in this early twenties and obviously from a wealthy background came running to Jim for help. He spoke rapidly and after the first rush of excitement had cooled off and his hormone levels were back to near normal, Jim finally got a wind of what he was croaking about.

Long story short, he had lost his shoe and needed Jim to find it! Jim had turned him around and sent him parking. His shoe was just outside his office lying close to the waste bin. That was when Jim realized that the man was probably high on some substance.

The police force weren't entirely friendly to Jim either. Private dick eh? The police chief had said. His name was Barns and Jim had heard about him. He was not short but wasn't tall either somewhere in-between, had a bald head that would have made an egg jealous and a moustache that when you came close enough looked like a young carpterpillar.

He had an air of authority around him and had cops scurrying about whenever he barked orders. Jim had a feeling Barns won't be seeing fifty again.

"Punks like you always go around thinking they can save the world", Barns had told him the first time they had met.

"But I'll tell you something, the world doesn't need saving and is better off without slumbags like you. Better watch out, one wrong turn and I will clamp down on you so hard you will think the pyramid of Egypt was dropped on your neck".

Nice reception Jim thought and made a mental note to involve the police when necessary. He was just starting out and couldn't risk being on the wrong foot with the police, at least not with a man like Barns, who he was sure would relish an opportunity of getting him in a pan.

"So much for a well fed antelope", Jim had muttered as he left the station that morning "everyone would want to get a bite out of you".

It was while Jim was leaving the station that he had stumbled into Eddy. He didn't know him at that time but once they had exchanged pleasantries and Eddy got to know Jim was looking for a place he could rent, he had taken Jim to the office block and showed him the office. It was nice, nothing fancy so Jim took it and paid him right there and then.

The office building was sandwiched between a boutique and an abandoned warehouse. The ground floors were occupied by petty traders, while the first floor was occupied by the dentist shop, the spa and the "other shop". Jim's office was the only used room on the second floor. He preferred it that way as he could easily tell when someone was headed to his office and he could prepare himself.

The only real piece of furniture was the seat which he had spent a fortune acquiring. Away at the far corner was a large cabinet where Jim kept client's files and newspaper clippings which always came in handy. He also stashed some stationery, a can of soda water and some other important stuff in there. The walls were painted white and were covered in pictures of flowers, guns and men in fedora hats and black overalls.

Then also there was the seat in which Eddy sat in which was for visitors. It wasn't exactly vintage stuff but was accommodating enough provided you didn't sit long enough. The overall effect was like walking into a knife throwing act at a circus, you would be horrified at first but would begin to calm down and might even manage a chuckle once you began to get the idea.

Jim looked up just in time and glanced at Eddy as he strode out of the office, he knew if he was to have any chance of keeping this dump as an office, he needed something real to come his way and fast.

Jim stared hopefully at the picture of the man in black overalls on the wall for a few seconds at if expecting him to materialize and then he looked away in disgust and spat into a corner. He just didn't believe in hope.

It was just another usual morning in February, two weeks had passed since Eddy's last visit and things were pretty much the same.

Jim moved about restlessly, going over some newspaper clippings sitting on his desk, trying to look busy. After long hours of thinking, He had made up his mind to quit. Not that he needed much convincing, circumstances had firmly made the choice for him.

He would venture into chicken farming downtown. "At least I can afford to buy some chickens", he thought and twisted his face into a sad puppy grimace. He could almost hear the chickens chuckling at him, laughing at him and beckoning on him like lost souls in an evil forest.

"Maybe I should just admit it", he thought, "I am a scumbag and the sooner I put on a dolorous face and joined those dummies who went into the house of jasmine the better". Then promptly dismissing the thought, He stood up, put away the clippings, adjusted his belt and balanced a patrician beret on his head.

He bended over the desk and opened the drawer then stopped halfway and stiffened. Someone was standing in the doorway. He turned around quickly and came face to face with a lady, his jaws fell open.

Standing in the doorway was a woman in her late thirties. By the way she was dressed you could tell she was rich. She was full of melanin, her lips scarlet with dark curly hair. She was properly built, compact and curved and there was strength in her. Her blue shaded eyes were alert and watchful.

She looked immaculate in a white designer cut blazer with a snow white matching skirt. The pair of long slender legs, which revealed soft silky skin were enclosed in an expensively fitting Italian pair of shoes. Diamonds the size and shape of onions circled her neck and glittered nonchalantly in the afternoon sun. It took him a moment before it hit him, she was Rebecca Johnson the wife of Kerman Johnson who had died about four years ago.

Kerman started out as just any other guy had. He worked for the General rails corporation for a couple of years, until one day he had a proposition form a friend who claimed to have found a gold mine somewhere in the far south. It was a big risk at that time, Kerman and his friends pulled together their resources, bought gold mining equipment, hired hard boiled miners and set down south in search of gold.

Veteran miners toiled day and night for six months but found nothing. It was obvious that he would be poorer than the church rat if nothing turned up.

Then on the eight month, when spirits were at their lowest they hit the jackpot!. It didn't last long though. For two months, these two friends pulled out truck-load of this expensive metal from the earth, when the government swooped in and before they could rush into the court room they were thrown out from their mine. But unlike his friend, Kerman was smart and had saved a substantial amount which he used to purchase General rails which produced steel and iron used for laying tracks for the railways.

By shrewd investing and purchasing of mega businesses, this quite ordinary guy had become a billionaire in less than six years after he first hit gold.

He had married Rebecca and they had two children, a girl and a boy, before death as silent as a cemetery at night had snatched him from her. It turned out the dust particles he had inhaled during the mining expedition had connived with death to silence him. But before that time the Johnson's had become a house hold name and it was rumored that aspiring presidential candidates went to him for his blessings.

His influence and power had spread out across the country like the groping tentacles of a giant squid. The last he heard of the Johnson's, they were doing pretty well.

They stood still for a few seconds sizing each other up then Rebecca half turned, changed her mind and walked into the office.

"You're Jim mowe right?"

By now Jim was recovering from his mini shock.

"Ma, I think you have missed your way, the spa is on the first floor", he managed to say. He just couldn't imagine what a fine piece of flesh like her would want his services for. With the amount of wealth and influence at her disposal, she could drain the Pacific Ocean and fill it up with unprocessed milk straight from the udders of a thousand cows if she so desired, and no one would flutter an eyelash.

"You're Jim mowe and this is private services right?" she asked again, ignoring him with a hint of impatience in her voice.

"Yes, sure...welcome...hmm, please sit down", he said struggling for what to say. The effect these damn billionaires have on the human system he thought trying not to show his embarrassment.

"Then you're the man I need", she replied eyeing the seat in the corner as if deciding whether to sit or not.

"How may I...."

"I need your help" she cut him off and walked gracefully over to the sofa. It took in her weight as if it were doing her a favor. "Did you grab the papers last week Sunday? ", she said after adjusting herself on the sofa.

Jim thought for a moment; he had, but there was nothing spectacular in the papers. Just the usually stuffs; an accident involving a trailer carrying shipments of hydrochloric acid, The beginning of the local football season, A celebrity filing for divorce and some other stuffs. Nothing exciting enough to make a dog go into a jewelry store and buy itself a diamond leash. Nothing to be fussy about either. Or was it something about the government tightening up laws involving the illicit drugs trade? He wondered.

He could remember reading about the Attorney General saying something about new laws indicting young offenders who were caught abusing substances. Nothing rang a bell.

Or was she trying to file for a divorce? He knew she had just re-married about a year ago to an English man, who kept smiling throughout the ceremony like a politician trying to convince a band of unwilling voters to vote for him, that was the kind of news that hit the front pages and he had read all about it. Had she already grown tired of him? Anything was possible if you had a billion dollars in the bank he thought.

"The government is pretty intent on punishing drug abusers", she said, bringing Jim back to reality in a graceful voice that would have made Celine Dion blush. I have a simple task for you.

"How does a quarter of a million sound to you?"

She paused and studied his expression the way Michelangelo probably looked at the sistine chapel ceiling after completing his work on the last supper. Satisfied that it had the desired effect, she continued;

"I have reasons to believe...", she paused again and gave Jim a cold hard stare. "I want you to watch my son Tami. A week should be enough. I want to know where he goes, what he does, who he hangs out with even the exact amount of air he inhales...can you do that?"

"Sure, sure I can do that". Then he proceeded to give a detailed explanation of the kind of services he can render and how efficient he was at this job but she cut him short again.

"Then that will be all", she said casually.

He felt naked. She stood up, dusted her skirt and walked over to his desk. She briskly produced a fat looking envelope from her handbag and dropped it on his desk.

"That's half the cut, you get the other half when you drop off your report". She began to walk out of the office when she suddenly stopped and looking over her shoulder to meet his eyes she said; "and one more thing Jim, I want complete discretion, nothing gets into the paper, understand?" He nodded feebly, afraid to talk in case she still had something to say.

"If you blow this, I'll make sure you run out of business faster than you might possibly be able to imagine". He nodded again feeling his mouth go dry. With that she walked out of the office as carefully as she had come.

He looked at the fat packet that lay wobbling on his desk and smiled, talk about a break he said and walked out of his office shutting the door behind him to the disappointed stares of the chuckling chickens in his head.