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The Philanthropic Murders and One Other. von Finkenbinder, G. E. (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 01.12.2014
  • Verlag: BookBaby
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The Philanthropic Murders and One Other.

Someone is knocking off child molesters in Portland, Oregon and private eye John Peralta thinks he knows who's doing it. The problem is the police and the district attorney seem to be turning a blind eye to the crimes and no one will listen to him. .


    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: none
    Seitenzahl: 200
    Erscheinungsdatum: 01.12.2014
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9781483540344
    Verlag: BookBaby
    Größe: 271kBytes
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The Philanthropic Murders and One Other.

John Peralta parked his Cadillac in front of the old frame building and stepped out, looking around. It wasn't much of a town, he thought, as he surveyed the main street and one or two rather seedy looking side streets. All of the buildings, he noticed, looked like they were at least one hundred years old and most of them were made of wood. It might have been a ghost town, from the looks of it. But it was not. Aurora was a relic from Oregon's pioneer days that had been turned into a mecca for antique lovers. Nearly every store in town was an antique shop.

He double-checked the name on the two story shop he had parked in front of, then looked around until he found a sidewalk that led to the back of the building. It was a pleasant little walkway, festooned with trumpet vines clinging to lattices, made even more pleasant by the warmth of the spring sunshine. A sign indicated that there was a café in the rear.

Sure enough, he found a quaint little coffee house in a separate building behind the antique shop, with an inviting patio between the two. Sitting all alone beneath an umbrella at one of the tables was a young woman wearing sunglasses. No one else was around.

"Mrs. Lockhart, I presume?" Peralta asked, walking up to the table and extending his hand.

The young woman removed her sunglasses and smiled nervously as she took Peralta's hand. "Yes, and you are John Peralta? Sit down, please."

"It was nice to talk to you on the phone," Peralta said. "But I don't quite understand why you couldn't come in to my office?"

The young woman smiled again and averted her eyes in embarrassment. "It's just that my husband may have a detective watching me, and I wouldn't want him to know that I was trying to hire someone to watch him. Understand?"

Peralta smiled, without answering. He was wondering what made her think that a detective couldn't have followed her here? He glanced around the patio between the buildings - at least there was no one in sight.

"I'll get right to the point, Mr. Peralta. I suspect my husband of having an affair, and I want to hire you to find out if my suspicions are correct." She smiled uncomfortably. "You do that sort of thing, don't you? I mean, isn't that a staple of a detective's job?"

"I'm afraid it is," he replied, with a hint of distaste in his words. "What makes you think he's involved with another woman?" he asked. "Other than just a feeling, I mean? You got anything to go on? Any evidence, for instance?"

Mrs. Lockhart opened her purse and dug around in it for a minute. Then she rather reluctantly handed Peralta some bank statements. "Notice the substantial withdrawals my husband has made over the past four months? See here: $25,000 in February; $25,000 in March; another $25,000 in April and now $25,000 in this month. When I asked him about it, he just said it was for expenses."

"Expenses?" Peralta asked. "What sort of expenses? Didn't he say?" He perused the documents again. "Does he have a business? Does he gamble or play the market?"

"Well, that's what makes me so suspicious," the young woman said, wrinkling her brow. "Keith has always hated gambling, and he doesn't trust the stock market or investment brokers. And he doesn't have a business. So what else could it be? He must have a mistress, and be giving her money."

"He doesn't have a business? What does he do?"

Mrs. Lockhart hesitated, as though she were reluctant to discuss her husband's sources of income.

"Well?" Peralta asked, impatiently.

"He doesn't do anything," she said at last, somewhat sheepishly. "Six months ago, my husband won the New Hampshire Powerball lottery."

Peralta looked at her incredulously.

"Thirty two million dollars," the young woman said.

Just then, an ear-shattering, mind blowing wave of sound slammed into them, and they both jumped out of their chairs, startled, as the Amtrak train to Portl

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