Case # 88 by Gary Martinsky (thriller novels to read TXT) 📕

A real estate agent smiled broadly at him, frozen in time on a coroplast FOR SALE sign. In confusion and disbelief, Finn exited the car, feeling a tight knot forming in his stomach. His mind started grasping for optimistic explanations as the absurdity of such an intense reaction to a FOR SALE sign hit him.

Did they move and forget to tell me?

Did I take a wrong turn?

But Finn’s gut feeling told him that something was off. There was no way his folks would put their house up for sale without so much as a heads-up. No matter how distant and busy they’d been in recent years. And what reason could there be? Finn didn’t let his emotions get the best of him. He approached the house casually, remaining alert to every subtle sound. It would be a while before the sun would totally disappear behind the tiled roofs of the neighboring houses. He threw a quick glance into a narrow window. It was too dark inside to make out any detail. All he could see were several pieces of obscure furniture, concealed by some sort of plastic covers.

He knocked on the door cautiously and turned the knob gently after waiting for a response for a few seconds. The door was locked, unsurprisingly. Going any farther without any intel would be unwise, so he decided to step away carefully and walk back to his car. His parents were clearly not inside the empty house, and there was no sense in breaking in and getting himself arrested. He pulled out his phone, taking a picture of the deceptively innocent sign with the happy, well-dressed agent staring at him through his empty, two-dimensional eyes, mocking Finn’s helplessness with his perfect, cheerful smile. He then dialed Doug’s personal cell phone number.

“Finn? What’s going on?”

Finn was already backing out of the driveway and into the street. “I need your help….”

Doug had been sitting at his desk, slowly making his way through a pile of reports, when Finn called him.

Finn told him he was driving back to Manhattan. So far, there were no signs he was being followed.

“Look, Doug, let’s get this over with. Yes, I know where my parents live! It’s impossible… Come on, check again! Please.”

“Look, man…” Doug was cautiously peeking at the captain’s office from behind his computer screen. “I wasn’t supposed to check the first time! You’re not a cop anymore!”

“Please, Doug! My parents never lived in that house? They never paid taxes from that house? Never owned a car? You can see something’s going on here! We don’t have time to waste!”

“Okay…” Doug rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly tired. “I’ll find out everything I can. But I do need more time. How about you meet me at John Lennon Memorial at 11 tonight, and I’ll tell you what I’ve got?”

“Fine…” Finn sighed. “And…thank you.”

Doug hung up and tossed the phone onto the desk, moving the stacks of papers in front of him. It looked like the reports would have to wait.

The sun had long set by the time Finn arrived at Central Park. On his way, walking towards Strawberry Fields, he’d been considering one wild possibility after another, but nothing made sense. Doug hadn’t been able to find any information on his family. It was as though they’d never existed. The house had been under various owners’ names, but there was no mention whatsoever of the Petersons all the way back to its original inhabitants. Checking records from their workplace would take more time since it was a government-sponsored scientific facility. Had something happened to them because of the work they were doing? His father, Michael Peterson, was a geneticist. His mother, Clara, was a behavioral scientist. That much Finn knew, but now he wished he’d questioned them more about what exactly they’d been doing for Orthia Labs.

Consumed by these thoughts, Finn barely noticed the hour flying by. He was sitting on a bench at the memorial alone in the dark. He looked at his watch. It was past midnight. What in the world is Doug doing? There were no calls or messages from his friend. And Finn’s several attempts at contacting him throughout the evening had been unanswered. After waiting for a bit longer, Finn decided to move on to his next possible lead. No doubt, Doug had gotten caught up in something important back at the station. Finn was confident he would contact him as soon as he got any information. In the meantime, there was no point waiting around, so he walked back to his car and began driving downtown.

Working in the force for as long as Finn had, occasionally, you’d make unlikely friends. Max Marino was one such friend. He was definitely the lesser evil, compared to the folks Finn would routinely investigate and lock behind bars, with occasional help from Max himself.

If you asked Max, he didn’t consider himself any kind of evil at all. He was an entrepreneur. And, in business, you either played fair or made money. You had to grab every opportunity that came your way. Because if you didn’t, someone else would grab it first. Max lived in the concrete jungle, with all its brutal beauty and unending strife for survival. And he fancied himself the Tarzan of that jungle. If Tarzan had run an underground gambling ring, of course. And that was where Max was this evening, sipping a cocktail and having a lively discussion with a few business associates.

“Mr. Marino.” An attractive young waitress from the restaurant upstairs tactfully tapped him on the shoulder. “Mr. Peterson is here to see you.”

“Ah, my old friend! I wonder what good news he brings?” Max looked around the table at his guests. “Please continue, gentlemen. This will only take a moment.”

Max left the room, wondering what the retired cop could possibly want with him this time.

Finn was waiting for his drink in a comfortable booth when Max pushed himself gracefully into