The Case of the Running Bag: A Noir Detective Mystery Thriller (Jonas Watcher Book 1) by Gene Poschman

Author:Gene Poschman [Poschman, Gene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-07-17T23:00:00+00:00

What It's Like To Play The Palace

I headed into the office and grabbed Hart's reports. I wanted a closer look. Betty left coffee on the hot plate, so I poured myself a cup and turned it off. The coffee smelled great, and surprisingly, the aroma carried over into the taste. The mail mainly consisted of advertising, bills, and...

I opened the reports and settled behind the desk in the cushy chair. Most of the financial interactions were over my head. Still, Hart's notes were very comprehensive. By the time I had gotten to the end, I had a complete picture of Martin Stanton's movements, and while some things didn't add up, one thing was for sure. Martin Stanton died in New Orleans.

There was a knock at the door, and I got up to answer it, using my left hand to open the door while having my right hand on the butt of my Colt. It was Lieutenant Sanders at the door. He peered at me cautiously. In the last twenty-four hours, it had gone from being someone else's gun in a running bag to being mine.

"You expecting unwanted company?" he asked.

"No, just being cautious," I replied.

I closed and locked the door behind him. He turned and looked back at the door.

"Are you expecting additional uninvited company?" Lieutenant Sanders asked.

"Not really," I said. "Since we are going to be in the back office, I would prefer advanced warning if someone chose to barge in. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?"

He accepted. We fixed our coffee and went into what was becoming my office even more. He took a client chair and put his feet up on the desk.

"You've been busy today," he said.

"Picked up some clothes, had my Colt worked on, hired a receptionist, talked to Richard Hart, got the mail, and determined Martin Stanton is dead. My best guess is he was killed in New Orleans."

Sanders stopped in a mid-sip of his coffee, he didn't seem too surprised, but he wanted more information.

"Two questions, Sherlock. What did you do to the Colt? And just how the hell did you come to the conclusion that Stanton is dead?"

I figured Sanders was more interested in how I deduced Stanton was dead. I answered his first question before I went over Hart's report.

I took out the Colt and showed him how it opened. I removed the cylinder, put it back, and closed the gun. I handed it across the desk butt first. Sanders took it, slipped out the cartridges, and put them on the desk. The Lieutenant twirled the gun a couple of times so that the butt set into his hand. He opened the piece and pulled off the cylinder. He looked it over carefully, examining Fritz's workmanship. He smiled, put it all back together, and handed it to me.

"No loss of balance and quick to reload. Not bad.

"How the hell did you determine Stanton is dead. Is there any proof?" he asked.

"No proof as of yet," I said. "Hart is an impressive forensic accountant.

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