Programed For Murder: Tommy Case mysteries, #1

Mystery Division

––––––––

––––––––

For other mystery, thriller and paranormal books by

David Burton go to:

https://davidburtonwriting.com

Original copyright © 1997 as Manmade for Murder

Second edition Copyright © 2016 David  Burton

Cover Copyright © 2015 David  Burton

––––––––

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Smashwords Edition

––––––––

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

––––––––

Acknowledgments

This book would not be what it is without: Leonard Adelman's creation of the first DNA computer; Sally Cook bringing it to my attention; Penpointers' valuable critiques; Dorrie O'Brien's editing, and the foundation of fiction writing and support from Elizabeth George.

To all the above, and all the unnamed who deserve it, thank you. Anything right with this novel is their fault. Anything wrong is mine.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to many people. To all those girls many years ago to whom I promised to dedicate my first book, and to my wife, Dee, the most supportive writer's widow on the planet. She took care of all the mundane, real life things while I got to sit alone and have adventures. Thanks Cutie.

Programed for Murder

1

Five minutes before he was murdered Brian Childress received a telephone call. He nodded in a slow, thoughtful manner, a tight-lipped frown on his smooth, handsome face.  Without enthusiasm, he said, Yeah, okay, I'll look it up. What is it again?

He took a yellow Post-it notepad from a tidy stack in the front left corner of his desk's center drawer. From the inside pocket of his tailored gray pinstripe he took a gold Cross pen and wrote as he listened, then said, Hang on. He pushed the hold button with a manicured finger, then set the receiver precisely in its cradle. He dropped the note pad on top of the stack it came from. It landed half on, half off, leaning against the top edge of the stack. Brian noticed its crookedness as he closed the drawer. His lips pressed together with annoyance, but he was in a hurry, so he didn't line it up with the others. He pushed the thought of the pad lying untidy in his drawer out of his mind as he picked up his briefcase, left his office and turned right through a set of heavy, metal swinging doors with small square windows set in them.

White-topped workbenches littered with electronic equipment ran along three, white concrete walls. Midway on the wall across from where he entered, tools hung patiently outlined in red against yellow peg board. The fourth wall, to his left, was glass. Behind the glass stood three rows of servers, tall boxes filled with thousands of silicon chips into which he had breathed life.

As Brian angled to the right, toward the far corner, a red light winked on underneath the clear plastic cover of the second server from the end of the middle row. Reaching the corner, he smiled at the robot waiting there. Hi DEX, he said. The robot did not respond. Brian set his briefcase on the workbench and reached for the third three-ring notebook in a row of eleven. He opened it, and finding what he wanted, picked up the receiver from the black telephone on the wall and pushed line one's blinking red button.

Still there? Receiving an affirmative answer, he leaned over the notebook and began reading off numbers. Fifteen seconds later he straightened up, sensing movement behind him. Frozen for a second, he watched a hand crafted in shiny metal swing around from his left and push hard on his chest, pinning him against what he knew to be DEX's metal body.

From the right, another hand came into view. It swung underneath Brian's chin, where the one-and-a-quarter inch diameter tube that formed the radius bone of Dex's forearm contacted his throat. He struggled to free himself but the pressure on his chest increased. Breathing became difficult as the strain on his neck forced his head back. Despite rapidly failing vision he noticed that a small orange light on the security camera glowed unblinking and uncaring, while the depthless lens patiently watched him die.

Before he stopped breathing Brian managed to whisper at the indifferent camera lens, You bastard.

The room became still, lifeless. The camera remained focused on the scene, its small light unwavering. Then, slowly, almost gently, DEX laid the body, face up, on the workbench and went through the pockets one by one, extracting a wallet, some keys, a plane ticket and fifty-five cents in change.

That task accomplished, DEX moved away from the body. There was no movement for ten seconds, then his video eyes whirred out and in. Focused now, his head dropped and in utter stillness he stared at Brian like a faithful dog wondering why his master wouldn’t wake up.

DEX picked up the body with a few jerky movements and wheeled toward a set of swinging doors opposite the ones Brian had entered. DEX wheeled through a work area and through another set of doors into a storage room. At the far side of the room, he stopped by a corrugated roll-up door and waited for it to open. He turned left through the opening and rolled down a ramp to a fenced area containing two battered dumpsters. Brian Chambers' body disappeared into the black plastic trash bags of the closest one. DEX peered into the dumpster, then, delicately, reached in, picked up a flattened donut box, and laid it over a protruding brown loafer.

DEX returned the way he had come. He picked up the briefcase, wallet and keys and placed them in a drawer of a tool box. The notebook was returned to its proper place. The fifty-five cents lay undisturbed. Dex returned to his original position.

Again the room was still. The security camera light blinked out, followed a few seconds later by the red light on the second server from the end of the middle row.

2

A warm salt-scented breeze ruffled Tommy Case's unruly dark hair and caressed his tanned face as he maneuvered his sailboat up Newport Bay under a hazy, cloudless sky. Sailing single-handed, Tommy's movements were quick and sure. His hands, calloused and strong from years of sailing, lightly caressed the leather-covered wheel. He concentrated on the feel of the boat under his bare feet. His eyes, green like shallow tropical water, measured the distance to the sterns of the million-dollar yachts that lined the bay. At the last second he leaped into action, bringing his boat about under the critical eyes of watchful skippers.

As he guided his boat, under sail, toward his slip in the Leeward Marina he noticed a woman watching him from shore. A small woman with a well proportioned body and short brown hair underneath a floppy sun hat and dark glasses. Jessie.

They'd been on more or less amicable terms the last time they'd talked, considering the argument they'd had about closing the office. But something about the way she leaned against the rail, motionless, silently watching – Tommy imagined her eyes behind the sunglasses studying him, sizing him up, calculating the best way to get what she wanted from him – instead of waving and smiling in an oh-it's-so-good-to-see-you manner. On second thought, he knew Jessie, no need to imagine, he knew that's what she was doing.

He had a strong impulse to turn around and head back to sea and sail off to the South Pacific three months earlier than planned. He didn't have much in the way of stores aboard, but they had food in Tahiti, didn't they?

Breaking his concentration almost made him miss his slip. With a quick flip, he spun the wheel hard to port. The bow missed a concrete piling by inches. Too much speed! Tommy threw the wheel hard to starboard, released the main sheet with a flick of the wrist and scrambled out of the cockpit. On the dock, he grabbed a line fixed to the port side of the boat, and with a practiced roll, whipped it around a dock cleat. The line stretched taut. The cleat groaned against the wood dock, but held. Bucking like a wild horse, the boat stopped within inches of the dock.

Disgusted with himself for such a sloppy docking job, he shook his head and set about securing the boat instead of his usual Tadaaa, to an imaginary audience.

A few minutes later, a knock on the deck. Jessie. Come aboard.

She came down the companionway ladder backwards like a landlubber. Tommy smiled as he watched her big feet descend the ladder, followed by trim legs that disappeared into snug white shorts. He had forgotten how big her feet were, something he learned the hard way not to comment on.

At the bottom of the ladder she turned to face him. Though in shadow, he knew the cornflower blue blouse tied up underneath her breasts matched her eyes. She took off her hat and sunglasses and laid them on the counter to her right. Tommy continued to look her over, remembering the auburn hair, now drawn back in a loose braid, that framed a round, pale, freckled face that didn't like the sun. Not approaching the pneumatic build of Lucy down the dock, Jessie had a quality about her that made men look twice without quite knowing why. Tommy hated to admit it, but that was one reason he had hired her.

Three years after he left the Sheriff's Department and become a private investigator he was doing well enough to need a secretary. Jessie had been the first to apply, recommended by the wife of a cousin of somebody he didn't remember. Right out of Community College, she had little experience and so-so grades, but, he was busy; she was attractive; his marriage was on a downward spiral. She got the job.

So, are you going to stand there with that shit-eating grin on your face or are you going to say hello? she asked.

Startled, Tommy continued to stare; Jessie never swore. Well, she did once the last time he saw her, but that was a challenging time. She had changed somehow. More aggressive, judging by the way she said that one sentence and the way she stood, inviting, as well as daring him to look at her. Before, her aggression index had been close to zero.

I guess I'm going to stand here and look at you some more. You look great, he said, meaning it.

Just goes to show what makeup can do. I feel like shit.

She moved to him, put her head against his chest and arms tight around him. Close up she didn't look quite so good. She looked tired, with dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Again, he had the sinking feeling this was not a social call; that it was the first act of a tragedy; nevertheless, he returned her hug. Her familiar smell assaulted his senses, raising his heart rate a notch.

Might as well get to it, What's going on?

Backing away, she rubbed her eyes as if wiping tears. She sighed, laughed, shook her head. Sorry. I don't know why I'm getting so upset. It really doesn't matter to me what happened to that son of a bitch.

Jessie, come on. You've sworn more in five minutes than in the past five years. What's happened?

Jessie paced to the companionway ladder and back. She squeezed past him and sat at the built-in table on the starboard side, across from the settee, a long bench seat that ran fore and aft. She looked him right in the eye and said, I miss you, Tommy. I miss the office. I really liked that job, and I was good at it, too. Wasn't I?

Uncomfortable, Tommy agreed. Yeah, you were.

It really hurt when you quit. Everything was so right.

Tommy crossed arms over his chest and leaned against the table end. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. He was done with it. In three months, November first, more or less, he was sailing south with no particular plan to come back.

Jessie, I explained it before. After the BioData job I had plenty of money to go sailing which is all I wanted to do.

But you were good at it.

A throwaway shrug. Yeah, but I didn't like it so much then. He blew out an exasperated breath. That case made me lose any faith in people I ever had. They talk a lot about connecting with friends and family these days. The only thing that connected that family was greed, betrayal and violence. I had enough of that then and I haven't changed my mind since.

Jessie sighed. I do understand, Tommy. But I don't have to like it. She smiled to herself and said, You've changed, you know. You used to like all that fast-lane stuff. People and parties, business.

Tommy shrugged, Yeah, I did. But at the end it was a lot more people and parties than business. If it had kept on I'd be heading for Betty Ford's instead of Tahiti by now.

I'm not the woman you used to know, either.

I can see that.

She smiled sympathetically. Meek little secretary Jessie is gone. The real me is here now.

Yeah? So where was the real Jessie five years ago?

She was happy. For the first time people didn't think.... She waved that away. You trusted me. I helped you and you appreciated it. That was important to me and I didn't want to screw it up. She gave him an amused admonishing look. Which I probably would have if you hadn't been playing Mr. Righteous, trying to save a marriage that was already dead which everybody knew except the big-shot detective.

Uncomfortable with the memories seeping out of the dark places, Tommy asked, What happened to who?

She frowned at the table top as the flame in her eyes died. They found Brian. He's dead.

Brian? Who the hell was Brian? It had been almost two years since he quit the PI business. He'd had enough of the foibles of businesses and spouses. He'd been an MP in the Marines, a Deputy Sheriff and a private detective. Out on the ocean things were simpler. It was either trying to kill you or lulling you into a false sense of security before trying to kill you. Man against nature. Simple.

In those two years, one longer than he'd planned, he tried not to think about Bonnie or most any other bitch or bastard he'd been associated with. He finally had to ask, Brian?

She studied her fidgeting hands click fingernails together before saying, Brian Childs. We got engaged right after the last time I saw you. You met him once, just before you...,-she looked daggers at him-kicked me to the curb.

I didn't kick you to the curb. He blanked his mind for a moment, then, Brian, tall, long brown hair, baby bottom skin, good looking as hell.

Beautiful is what he was, though he didn't look so good Monday night when I saw him.

Something to drink? he asked.

He felt the heat when she smiled. A sexy crooked little smile that barely bent the corner of her mouth. There was something about it that men had a hard time ignoring. He thought he was over its affect, but he wasn't. 

You still ruining good scotch with ice?

Yep.

No ice.

Tommy poured and they sat on opposite sides of the table.

What happened? he asked again. I didn't know you were engaged.

Leaning back, she twirled the glass between her fingers. Do you believe it? Somebody good came into my life. I was so happy, we had everything taken care of, it was going to be great. She took a long drink, shivered, and continued. Then about six months ago I came back to my apartment and there was a message on my answering machine I'll never forget. 'Jessie. I'm really sorry, but it can't work out for us right now. Maybe later when I've got what I want. I'm really sorry. Goodbye.'

That's it? Why?

That's what I wanted to know. I tried to find him, I did learn some things from you, but he just vanished. Later, I was so pissed off I didn't want to see him anyway, so I had a last good cry and stopped looking. I was over him, too, until Monday. She sipped her whiskey and stared unseeing into a corner. "Monday when I got home from work-I work at Tim's Gym in Huntington Beach now, there was a Sergeant Cartwell from the Sheriff's Department waiting. He was very polite and all, but there's no good way to tell somebody that a body found in the landfill had your telephone number in his pocket."

Must have been a shock.

Jessie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Christ. I didn't know what to say. He wanted me to look at the body to see if could identify it and I figured I really didn't have much choice. I'd never seen a real dead body before and wasn't looking forward to it, believe me. She gulped her drink and continued. When the guy pulled that sheet back I just about fainted. It was Brian. Do you believe it? Christ!

Tommy refilled their glasses. Jessie relaxed a bit, flashed him a smile that reminded him of the years he had denied to himself he wanted her. It took about six months after she started working for him to admit it. She wanted him, too. One didn't have to be a detective to know that. Though he was still technically married, sleeping with Jessie wouldn't have made any difference. Bonnie was long gone.

Bonnie had taken her car and her stuff, there really wasn't anything else at that point, and gone to live with another man. That the guy was rich and handsome and generally a nice guy was a two edged sword for Tommy. That he couldn't give her the material things or the time she wanted, hurt him. Yet, he was happy that she was getting those things. Whether she deserved to get what she wanted was another story.

In any case, he'd loved her for a long time and though he really had nothing to lose, as long as he was married he had intended to honor the institution, even if she didn't. It gave him a temporary sense of moral superiority.

Then came Jessie. Over a few years they had a friendly, if slightly distant, business relationship. With her showing up out of the blue, though he wondered if it might be more out of the black and blue, he knew the desire was still there, and he didn't like it. A complication like that, he did not need.

So what happened then? he asked.

I got the third degree, is what happened. I was surprised at how little I really knew about Brian. He came from back East and had a degree in computer science. He built computers in a store in Newport. Anyway, this Cartwell wanted to know where I was last weekend and said not to leave town without telling him.

Jessie stared in to her whiskey, then seemed to come to a decision. She pursed her lips in a crooked way Tommy remembered fondly and said, Tommy, I know it's silly, but I loved Brian, maybe the only man I ever really loved. He did a shitty thing to me and I'm still angry, but I'd like to know what happened to him. I deserve to know, don't I? she said, eyes pleading.

Here we go. Sure, of course.

Tommy, could you talk to this Sergeant Cartwell? He didn't seem very enthusiastic, you know. He treated it like a stolen bicycle instead of a murder.

Murder? Tommy said, looking up. Well, yeah, I guess it would be murder if he was found at the dump. Not a likely place to commit suicide or have an accident. How did he die?

Jessie shivered. They told me his throat was crushed. She shrugged her shoulders with resignation. Would you just talk to him? Maybe you could find out what Brian was doing? Please, for the old Jessie.

She leaned across the table and took Tommy's hands, kneading them with a slow rhythm while she gazed directly into his eyes. Oh, boy. Closing his eyes slowly, his insides tightened and twisted. He did not want to want to get involved in any sort of investigation, especially a murder. That wasn't his field and besides, he liked his quiet, uninvolved, uncomplicated life while he prepared to sail off to the South Pacific and beyond. He started to say no, but she lifted his hands to lips that were soft and moist and warm. He remembered those lips.

He opened his eyes and instead of saying no, he said, I'll talk to him. I'll see what I can find out. But that's all. I owe you that much.

Oh Tommy, thank you. You promise?

He sighed, resigned. I promise.

Jessie moved around the table and put her arms around his neck. Thank you, Tommy. There might be hope for us yet. She kissed him, softly at first, then harder, then drew back. Breathing rapidly, voice hoarse, she, said, God, I've wanted you forever, Tommy. Jessie pulled him to her and kissed him again. He returned her kiss eagerly, knowing he was being used, not giving a damn.

Tommy asked, Is this the old Jessie, or the new?

New to you, she said, breathless.

She stood up, pulled her blouse over her head and threw it on the table. Her small, pert breasts with upturned nipples, jiggled slightly as she helped Tommy pull off his shirt.

At first Tommy thought the noise he heard was the beat of his own pulse, then he realized somebody was pounding on the outside of the boat. They separated, looked at each other with wide-eyed surprise, chests heaving, arms stiff by their sides.

A man's angry voice called, Jessie! Jessie are you in there? JESSIE!.

To herself Jessie whispered, Damn. George.

The boat heeled over as a heavy body stepped on deck.

Jessie grabbed her blouse and slipped it on. Tommy, just beginning to get his wits about him, struggled with his red Hawaiian shirt. He started aft to confront the untimely visitor, but Jessie's hand on his arm stopped him.

Stay back, let me talk to him, she commanded.

Confused, Tommy stepped back. He gaped as the man dropped easily through the companionway hatch. The interior of the boat was too small for him; his sand-colored flattop skimmed the cabin support beams. That made him six foot three. His muscles filled the cabin, every lat, delt and pec conspicuous underneath a tight black T-shirt and smooth, bronzed skin. Despite the angry expression on the guy's face, directed at him, Tommy almost laughed aloud. George stood slightly bow-legged, his shoulders hunched forward. His thick-jawed face reminded Tommy of Popeye. All he needed was a pipe and a sailor's hat.

Jessie spoke first, anger in her voice. George, what the hell are you doing here?

Cindy told me where you went. His squinted eyes never left Tommy's face.

That bitch, Jessie muttered.

She said you'd gone to see an old boyfriend. He stuck a muscled finger in Tommy's direction. And that must be you.

Before Tommy could react, George pounced. He lifted Tommy by the throat with one hand and slammed him against the bulkhead. Wild eyes only inches from his face, George's fingers closed on Tommy's throat.

Tommy could take care of himself. He'd never been in actual shooting combat, but he'd handled plenty of drunk Marines and methed up dopeheads. He'd been stabbed, once, almost stabbed more than once, shot at, been in a couple all out brawls, and been chased down by a guy with a baseball bat and nothing to lose. He could take his lumps and give'em back doubled. But as George's fingers squeezed his windpipe shut, fear grabbed Tommy also.

He struck at George to no effect. Bright flashes of light streaked across the insides of his eyes. His lungs screamed for air. Through the roar in his ears he heard Jessie yelling as her fists beat ineffectually on George's massive back.

As blackness descended over him, Tommy heard a sharp smack as Jessie punched George full on the face. The pressure lifted from his throat. His feet felt like they were two miles away when they touched the floorboards. Chest heaving, he slid down against the bulkhead, sucking in fiery gulps of air.

After a few minutes his breathing slowed, his pulse fell back to almost normal. Jessie helped him stand, but he immediately had to sit again. She held a cool, wet towel to his burning face. George fidgeted meekly by the companionway ladder, like a naughty schoolboy.

He tried to kill me.

Tommy, I'm so sorry. He wouldn't have, really.

Yes, he would have, really, his foggy brain told him.

He gets so jealous sometimes he can't control himself. She shot George an angry look.

Who is he? Tommy managed.

George Stanis. He's the assistant manager at the gym. We go out together sometimes. She leaned close. I guess he thinks I'm his girlfriend more than I think he's my boyfriend. I'm really sorry this happened. She whispered quickly in his ear, At least he could have waited an hour or so.

Tommy had to smile. George didn't like seeing them smiling together, Hey, what are you...?

Eyes flashing, Jessie turned on him. Stay away from him, George, she warned. If you even think about touching him you'll never see me again, ever. Do you understand?

Tommy watched with astonishment as George, a foot taller and three times heavier than Jessie, backed down with almost a whimper. He stepped back to the ladder, but his dark unblinking eyes never left Jessie's back.

Are you sure you're all right? Jessie asked. Tommy grunted. I think we should go.

Tommy agreed. Popeye, lurking by the ladder, frightened him more than he cared to admit.

Be careful of him, Tommy warned quietly.

I'll be fine, she said. "You'll still talk to Sergeant