Money & Murder Read online

  Money & Murder

  a Matt Kile Mystery

  Short Story

  [Plus Bonus Content]

  By

  David Bishop

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  MONEY AND MURDER, A MATT KILE MYSTERY

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Copyright © 2012 David Bishop. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover Designed by Telemachus Press, LLC

  Cover art:

  Copyright © Thinkstock/tanning in a pool/#131616631/iStock

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  Published by Telemachus Press, LLC

  http://www.telemachuspress.com

  Visit the author website:

  http://www.davidbishopbooks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-938701-36-8 (eBook)

  Version 2012.11.14

  Table of Contents

  Praise for the Matt Kile Mystery Series

  Mysteries by David Bishop

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Bonus Content

  Who Murdered Garson Talmadge

  Chapter 1

  Six Years Later

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Special Insert

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Praise for the Matt Kile Mystery Series

  Below are comments from readers and other authors about David Bishop’s first two Matt Kile mysteries: Who Murdered Garson Talmadge, and The Original Alibi:

  There are many very good mystery writers out there, but in my view, Bishop is rapidly moving into the top rank. His work is detailed without being wordy, his plots appropriately twisted, yet subtle, and he is always accurate when it comes to police work. Mystery plots that hold a reader’s attention are very difficult to concoct, but Bishop seems to do it in his sleep. “The Original Alibi,” is his latest.

  Gerald Lane Summers, Author—Mobley’s Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel, and Curses, A Mobley Meadows Novel.

  This witty novel whisks readers into an expertly plotted story populated by well drawn characters with tantalizing glimpses of danger lurking just beneath the surface. Matt Kile is smart, human and very, very funny; a man with his own rules and sense of honor. Bishop leaves us hungering for the next installment in the Matt Kile mystery series.

  Kim Mellen, reader.

  The dialogue is crisp and distinct, breathing life and sincerity into each of the characters. This was my first foray into David’s work and I enjoyed it greatly. I can’t wait to read more. Recommended!

  Bishop does a great job in this murder/mystery, keeping you guessing until the very end. The characters are likeable and the pace is fast. Most importantly the ending is definitive and satisfying, leaving you yearning for what trouble Kile gets himself into next. Fans of JA Konrath, John Locke, and Rick Murcer will find Bishop’s style to their liking.

  Atul Kumar, author of Seven Patients.

  Five Stars for David Bishop’s carefully plotted and beautifully written mystery!

  I LOVED this book! It was refreshing. It was captivating; it was funny and had some twists I didn’t expect. I absolutely adored the style of writing!

  If Who Murdered Garson Talmadge is the first in a series of Kile novels, then all I can say is bring on the next one!

  John C. Berry, author—A Night of Horrors.

  Who Murdered Garson Talmadge is a spellbinding mystery told in an easy, entertaining style. Matt Kile is a character who is immediately likeable, even with his warts. The other characters are the kind you’d like to have at your next party, well, most of them. The author, David Bishop writes to keep you guessing and keep you reading.

  Bishop takes you from California to Paris at a non-stop pace and mixes in the dead man’s grown children, an ex-wife’s bitter sister, international arms dealers and the FBI. All presented from Matt’s point-to-view and written with dialogue that’s crisp, action that’s suspenseful and a plot filled with a few twists you’ll never see coming. It makes for a can’t put-it-down story you won’t want to miss.

  Cathi Stoler, author of Telling Lies.

  I really liked this book. Would give it 10 stars if I could. The characters are likeable, especially the main character, Matt Kile. I liked his doggedness in getting answers to his questions. I also liked his euphemisms for describing sex!

  Author David Bishop was recommended to me by a trusted friend and I am glad she did. While I don’t normally read mysteries, I decided to read Who Murdered Garson Talmadge. I was thoroughly drawn into the story and the life of the main character, Matthew Kile, and can’t wait to read more.

  At times I felt like answering him.

  You will love all the characters, especially the ones you are supposed to hate. Great job David Bishop, I will definitely be reading more of you in the near future.

  Mysteries by David Bishop

  For current information on new releases visit:

  www.davidbishopbooks.com

  Currently Available:

  The Beholder, a Maddie Richards Mystery

  Who Murdered Garson Talmadge, a Matt Kile Mystery

  The Woman, a story of an ordinary woman facing extraordinary circumstances

  The Third Coincidence, a Jack McCall Mystery

  The Blackmail Club, Jack McCall Mystery

  The Original Alibi, a Matt Kile Mystery

  Money & Murder, a Matt Kile Mystery, short story

  Future Working Titles

  Death of a Bankster, a Maddie Richards Mystery

  The Case of the Missing Mistress, a Matt Kile Mystery

  The Schroeder Protocol

  The Red Hat Murders, a Maddie Richards Mystery

  Murder by Choice

  To be notified when each of the above titles are available

  send your email address to, [email protected]

  For more information on books and characters visit: www.davidbishopbooks.com

  Acknowledgments

  With great appreciation I acknowledge the people who have provided invaluable assistance to the development of this particular novel: Jody Madden, Martha Paley Francescato, and Kim Mellen. My thanks also go to Steve Jackson, Steve Himes, Lorraine Hansen, Johnny Breeze, Terri Himes, and the rest of the fine staff at Telemachus
Press who helped in so many ways to enhance the presentation of this story.

  The characters who reside within this story were made smarter, tougher, sexier, or more villainous through your unselfish assistance. They join the author in saying thank you.

  Money & Murder takes place in Copper City, a fictional Arizona town.

  Dedication

  This story, as are all my stories and everything I do, is dedicated to my first grandchild, Brandi Bishop, whose love and encouragement continues to inspire me, my other grandchildren, Kristopher and Kaia, my sons, Todd and Dirk, all my nieces and nephews, and my various other in-laws and out-laws.

  I thank my loyal readers. Above all others, I could not call myself a novelist without your continuing interest in what I write. Thank you.

  Without the faith and encouragement of so many, this book, none of my books, would exist.

  Money & Murder

  a Matt Kile Mystery

  Short Story

  [Plus Bonus Content]

  Chapter One

  I’m sure you’ve heard the best way to get something done is to know someone who knows someone who knows someone. Well, that’s how I got my present case. An Arizona icon known as PQ Winston Rutledge knew the governor of his state, who knew the governor of California, who knew the local chief of police, who knew my best friend Fidge, officially homicide detective Sergeant Terrance Fidgery of the Long Beach, California, Police Department. If Fidge hadn’t convinced me to take the case he would have looked ineffective to his chief of police, not to mention two governors. Well, you know the rest. Friends, good friends, are hard to come by and Fidge was the best friend I had, so I started packing for an immediate trip to the Valley of the Sun, Phoenix, Arizona.

  Early the next morning, my assistant, friend, and case nanny, Axel, drove me to the airport for my six-thirty short flight to Phoenix. I had told Axel what I knew about the case and he had spent yesterday stuffing my portfolio with copies of articles and documents he had found on the Internet about PQ Rutledge, his family, and the things about rich folks that find their way into the newspapers and onto the Internet. He had more research to do; we would cover that later by phone.

  Axel was in his sixties and I’d never seen him wear glasses. “Have you ever wore glasses?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even as a kid?”

  “My ma had three rules for us kids and our eyes: Don’t look cross eyed, they might get stuck. Don’t sit too close to the TV, it’ll ruin your vision. Don’t masturbate, you’ll go blind.”

  * * *

  By ten that morning, with the sun not yet as high as the temperature, I was sitting in the front seat of a Chevy Suburban driven by my new client, PQ Winston Rutledge, the seventy-six-year-old patriarch of Copper City’s founding and richest family.

  Scar tissue over PQ’s eyes and his crooked nose called up images of the rough and tumble bars and bordellos of Arizona’s early copper towns. He’d gotten my name from a retired Marine bird colonel I met through a part military, part civilian case from my cop years. In those days, I partnered with Fidge to ramrod homicide cases for the Long Beach police department. After that, I spent four years in state prison for shooting a scoundrel everyone knew was guilty, but had been released by a judge more concerned with the technical rules of evidence than with justice. Fidge still refers to him as Judge No Balls.

  Four years after my matriculation at Prison University, definitely a school of higher learning, the governor issued a pardon with my name on it. During my years inside, Axel had been my roommate. Since his parole a few weeks ago he’s been my assistant, researcher, and houseman as well as case nanny and friend. I had used my prison years to develop myself as an author of murder mysteries. Book readers have been kind enough to conclude that, as an ex-homicide cop and ex-con, I would know about murders. My books sell well enough to provide a comfortable living.

  PQ believed someone would soon attempt to kill him. His life told me he wasn’t a man easily scared so I wanted to take him seriously, but he had nothing that pointed at anyone and no clear and convincing reasoning behind his belief. Still, PQ had never been a fool and clearly never a coward.

  For starters, he wanted me to meet those close to him and suggest steps to improve his personal protection. It seemed like a soft job, and I liked Arizona. But mostly this was a favor for Fidge who, like cops everywhere, wanted to curry favor with his chief of police.

  While driving, PQ squirmed several times, his jaw tight when he did. He said nothing about it; I respected his privacy and didn’t ask. After some preliminaries, he filled me in on his family and some of the key people who worked for PQ Industries, a conglomerate that included his copper mining operation, a cattle ranch, and scattered investments in land, stocks, and bonds. He had no basis for suspecting anyone at his company. His top management had all been with him for more than ten years. PQ married in his youth, had three children, and divorced nearly twenty years ago. He remarried a few years ago during a troubling period. His oldest son, Cord, had been discovered embezzling from PQ Industries. PQ had Cord arrested and, during the trial, met his new wife. His son was convicted and did several years in prison.

  “My new wife, Robyn,” PQ explained, “kept carrying on about, ‘he’s your son.’ So, after my attorneys recovered my money from some offshore bank, I got my black sheep out of the hoosegow and put ‘im back to work, this time away from the company checkbook.”

  After we arrived, PQ drove me around what he called his little spread: eight thousand acres dotted with cattle. He pointed just beyond the stables at a Sante Fe-style-stucco house faded dusty pink by the relentless desert sun. “That there’s the original ranch house. Cord bunks in it now.” He also showed me two prize bulls. A stallion and a few mares, together with two colts and a filly were kept in a paddock with its own horse barn, which included stalls and water PQ said was kept cooler than it could stay outdoors.

  PQ walked me through his seven-thousand square-foot hacienda, showing me a spare computer in the study which I could use if I wanted to get online. After that he took me out to a casita that sat between the main house and a large swimming pool. I hadn’t brought trunks, but the casita came stocked, including a pair my current size: thirty-six. The whole scene felt more like a resort than being on the job.

  * * *

  That night I walked over to the main house and went into PQ’s study. The fragrance of a burning cinnamon candle on a sofa table gentled the room. A doublewide gun cabinet featured a collection of classic American and European handguns, including a German police pistol, Walther PPK. A rack of poker chips and a stack of games sat atop the gun display cases. The walls were dressed in wallpaper depicting old western towns and copper mines, along with wanted posters and badges from famous cow towns, including a Pinkerton Detective Agency badge. The Pinkertons, often operating as if they were the official law, were really a private detective firm that chased Jesse James and many of the desperadoes of the American West. His badge collection also held a brothel inspectors badge from Kansas City. An oil painting of a young woman dressed as a western saloon girl held center stage over an Old-Time roll-player piano, like those in common use soon after the turn of the century.

  I used the computer on the far side of the room to catch up on some emails, including one from my publisher. I also wanted to make some notes from my earlier conversations with PQ. His daughter, Tedy, went to Las Vegas one weekend a month. PQ had never asked why. His first wife, Rebecca, the mother of his three children, had, nineteen years before, signed off any rights she might have had to his estate. She did this before leaving to do the Lord’s work in Brazil.

  “Rebecca was a bone-skinny woman,” PQ had said during our approximate two-hour drive from Phoenix. “In all likelihood, she would a’ ended up an old maid if I hadn’t married her. I told her that once, she never forgave me. I said it in a moment of anger. I regretted it then, still do. While true, it was heartless. I’ve never forgiven myself for saying it.”


  “Where is Rebecca now? Still in Brazil?”

  “Oh, no, although, I admit, she lasted at that much longer than I imagined she would. But after, I don’t know exactly, maybe fifteen years or so in Brazil, the woman abruptly ended her do-gooding. When she got back to the states, she up and hired herself an attorney to try to reinstate the claim on my holdings she’d given up. Had she come to me, I would likely have treated her differently, but she never did, just sent her attorney. Well, sir, she ended up drilling one of them dry holes. When my attorney finished with her, she had zip. Well, almost zip, I did agree to pay her medical costs. A couple years later, the authorities finally learned what I always knew. Rebecca was a bonafide nut job. She got herself tossed in one of them hospitals with padded cells. I ‘spose we’re talking four years back, or thereabouts.”

  “She never sees her kids?”

  “Never tried,” he had said. “She just skedaddled to South America. Last thing I knew, she was in that psycho ward in Tennessee. She may be out now. The bills for all that stopped a few months ago.”

  After finishing up my notes, I decided that tomorrow morning I’d chat with a few of the ranch hands. I hadn’t ridden a horse in a lot of years, but it had to be like a bicycle, once you knew how you knew how. PQ’s son, Cord, functioned as foreman, but I would wander on my own so he wouldn’t be there to intimidate the workers I spoke with. Tomorrow afternoon I’d go into Copper City to talk with the editor of the town newspaper, PQ’s banker and accountant, and the county sheriff. I’d also check with the barkeep at the tavern PQ had pointed out while we drove through town. “The local watering hole,” he had called it. PQ had signed and given me a letter of introduction requesting that people cooperate by answering my questions. The economy of Copper City depended, not solely, but significantly upon PQ Industries so when PQ asked for anything he generally got it.