Beholden - 1950s style Noir Mystery
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Synopsis:
New York City 1950
The first Marlowe Black Mystery.
When Marlowe discovers a stranger's mangled body in his office after a long 4th of July weekend, he ignores the advice of New York cops and sets out to learn who the man is and why his body was left in his office.
He becomes involved with two New York families seeking stolen gold Russian coins worth millions. The patriarch of one family was a Nazi banker during the war. The banker’s daughter seeks Marlowe’s help finding the coins, which inadvertently leads him on a hunt for SS Chief Heinrich Himmler’s missing silver Death’s Head belt buckle.
Marlowe works around restrictive Federal agents seeking to control his efforts to locate the mysterious silver belt buckle that he subsequently learns contains a deadly secret. He kills several fugitive Nazi SS willing to kill him and anyone else to keep them from getting the buckle first.
Before he finds the answers, Marlowe makes a heart-wrenching discovery, and wrestles with a decision to adhere to personal principles that reach beyond love and death while he blurs the limits of justice. Answers that will haunt him far into the future.
Book Excerpt:
Chapter Four
The next morning I saw a woman I did not know propped against the building outside the front door, reading the Daily News. Then, I thought, she does look vaguely familiar in some way.
I stopped when I reached her location. “Something I can do for you?”
“If you're the detective from upstairs.”
“I'm the only private cop in the building as far as I know.” I held out my hand.
We shook. Her hand felt warm and firm. She had that look of strength you would expect from a line dancer from Radio City Music Hall.
I led the way up to my office, pointed to the straight back chair and sat on the edge of my desk.
“Have a seat. Sorry I can't offer you some coffee.”
She glanced around casually and smiled knowingly. “Doesn't look like you spend much time here.”
“No, I don't. Most of my work is outside on the street.”
“I'll get some coffee later.” She sat and crossed her legs, kept her knees covered.
“Now, how can I help you, miss?”
“Miss Twiggs. I think I need to hire you to look into my brother Gregory's death.” She re-examined my office as if she'd lost something. “This where they found him?”
I'm getting short-changed on female Twiggs' first names, I thought, examined her more closely, saw the resemblance, and understood why she looked familiar.
I really did not want to deal with her right then, but the coincidence of Gregory's sister showing up at my door, and her steady composure got me curious.
“Sorry for your lose, miss.” I was glad I wasn't the guy who had to tell her about her brother's death.
“Please call me Kate.”
Ah, a name at last! I hated formality.
“Why come to me, Kate?” I stared at her face.
“I read about you in today's paper.” She held it up to reveal a crummy photo of my face on page three.
Who takes these horrible photos? I looked like I was trying to choke down sour milk.
“The article made you sound like a determined man who does not waste time, gets the answers fast.” She smiled audaciously. “Besides, the cops don't seem to like you very much.”
Flattery will get you nowhere, sweetheart, I thought.
“I know a lot of cops. Some like me some don't. When did you last see your brother, Kate?”
“Three days ago. I went up to that horrible place in the Bronx where he'd been living and, for the second time, offered him the spare room in the house where I live in New Jersey.”
“What part of Jersey?”
“Union City. Are you familiar with it?”
“Drove through it once, but that's about it.” I took off my hat and heard her gasp. “It's nothing. Backed into a guy with a good aim and a brick.”
She stood as if she wanted to examine my injury. I waved her off. “Why didn't your brother want to live in Union City?”
“He did for about a year, but said he got tired of the commute and wanted to move back into Manhattan.”
“Soundview is about as far from Manhattan as Trenton, New Jersey in a lot of ways.”
“Yes.” Her eyes expressed a flat wry kind of humor. “What are your rates? Is that the right word for it?”
“It is, but I'm already being paid to find his killer.”
“Can you tell me by whom?” She sounded genuinely surprised, and perhaps a bit alarmed.
“Afraid not.” I stood and went to the window, pulled the sash down and leaned against the wall. “You have any ideas where he might've gone after you left him in Soundview?”
“Not really. He talked about meeting up with a bunch of old Army buddies who owed him money.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“To collect the money, I suppose.”
“No. I mean why they owed him, and how much.”
“Gregory didn't say, but from the way he sounded they owed him a lot.”
“How'd he sound?” I wondered about her resistance to detailed answers. Some people are not good at conversation. I did not think that was her problem. She held back, but why?
“He said he'd be set for years once he'd gotten paid, maybe for life.”
“Know any family here in town where he might have stayed?”
“No. I don’t know of anyone living in the city he would even call a friend. Gregory had been having some personal troubles lately. He went through some real hard times after he came home.”
“Okay. Why don't you leave me a phone number where I can reach you and I'll let you know what I find out.”
“I'll give you my other brother's number. He's a lawyer.”
I wrote the information on a pad, watched her leave after a quick firm handshake, went to the window, saw her cross Twenty-third, and enter Madison Square Park. She carried herself with the class of refinement. Like a cotillion queen.
My head felt too jammed with thoughts and questions for me to do more than watch her depart. I had the strange feeling that the Twiggs' were gathering forces, as if they prepared for the siege guns to encircle them and blast holes through their castle walls.
I could not explain why I felt that way, but I knew I should keep an eye on them. Something was not right. The woman came to the place where her brother had died and did not show a glimmer of remorse, did not shed a tear. In fact, she had been flirtatious. Hell of a gal.
Topics/Categories:
fugitives, gold coins, Mystery, New York mystery 1950, Noir mystery, private detective, private eye, private investigator
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Original Publish Date:
August 1, 2006
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