KERRY
I wrote Kerry after returning from Belgium, where I lived from 1989 - 1993. It is set in Ostend, Belgium, in 1991 and is based on a true story of someone who actually existed, although the names have been changed. I knew the lady in question and saw her dying body at the hospital. It is a fact that her insulin had gone missing from her place of work and her home, and also that her dog had been put down. However, I was not a party to the investigation and never found out the outcome, so this story is fictitious.
In the story, I bring in a private eye to investigate this possible murder or suicide.
CHAPTER 1
I’ll introduce myself. My name is Larry Fisher, and I’ve got my own little private eye business called Fisher Eye Ltd. I could say it’s a great business, doing brilliantly, with a near 100% cases solved, and having to employ more staff to deal with the number of cases presenting themselves to me. To be truthful, though, I’m living in a shabby bedsit in Ostend, Belgium and can’t even afford the cheapest of office spaces as a shop front. Definitely not in the same league as that well-known, refined and elegant Belgian detective, Poirot.
So here I am, sitting in my pied-à-terre, scanning the papers for anything or anyone that catches my eye as possibly worth chasing up, chasing work – an “ambulance chaser” to put it politely, offering my services, perhaps a cat has gone missing, a child has run away, someone’s wife has walked out on them. Of course, in the latter case, the person who’s disappeared either doesn’t want to be found, the client can’t pay, or they already have the police or other services involved. That leaves me waiting by the phone, silently begging, pleading for it to ring, and wondering where the next pay cheque is going to come from to pay the rent.
My card in the local shop window has almost lost its colour from being in the sun. I must get around to replacing it. My subscription for an ad. in the local paper has also run out.
My, what a sorry tale. I rummaged in my trouser pockets – a few supermarket receipts, a crumpled 1,000F note (about £20 in those days) and a few odd coins.
There’s a knock at the door. Luckily, my saviour, Cindy, still believes in me. I let her in, and the waft of Chinese takeaway accompanies her. At least I won’t starve as long as I keep on her good side, keep her buttered up.
“Hi love, who’s my honeybunch?”
“I am, sugar. Come on, get some plates out and get tucked in – that’s if you’ve got any clean plates. You should take five minutes out from your hectic day to clean this place up a bit. Come on, I know it’s great to give the bed a good seeing to - as well as me – but it’s nice to get into an uncrumpled bed. Anyway, let’s eat first.”
“Ok, love, after we’ve demolished this, I’ll get the rubber gloves on.”
“Now that’s a turn on, will it be just the rubber gloves? Come on, leave the sexy talk for later and eat.”
“Is there any chance you’ve had anything interesting come in today?” Cindy asked wistfully. “No, just that old geezer, who keeps pestering me to find his wife. Still, he’s paying me, even though it looks like she doesn’t want to be found, and I can’t blame her. If I were her, I’d have run away ages ago”.
“Still, as you said, you can’t turn away money”.
“Yes, but he looks a nasty piece of work, although he says he loves her. I suppose it takes all kinds to make a world”.
“Why do you think she ran away then?” “I don’t know, love, but I bet when, or if, I find her, she’ll have old bruises. I’m not really convinced I want to find her.”
DANNI
Danni is about a private eye, Larry Fisher, living in Ostend, Belgium, in 1991. He is aiding the police and, at one point, hears of the death, by hanging, of someone he had got to know, Danni. Larry won't accept that Danni committed suicide and his investigations lead him back to an event in the Second World War and an intriguing race against time.
The book is purely fictional and, although loosely based on an event that happened in real life, the characters and proceedings have no base on reality.
CHAPTER 1
I’ll introduce myself. My name is Larry Fisher and I’ve got my own little private eye business called Fisher Eye Ltd. I’ve seen bad times and even worse time but, even though I sometimes find myself living from hand to mouth, I can’t give it up and get a regular job, as some of the cases I manage to get, and solve, just give too much of a high to give up. At present, I’m living in a shabby bedsit in Ostend, Belgium, and can’t even afford the cheapest of office space as a shop front anymore. However, things are looking up a bit after a case I helped the police with – the mysterious death of a young, well-liked lady in Ostend. Following that case, the police have allowed me in on a few cases that they need some help with, which keeps the wolves from the door. Maybe, one day, I’ll get my own little office and have people coming to me rather than having to scour the papers for anything worth chasing up that could lead to a job.
Luckily, my girlfriend, Cindy, has stood by me and believes I’ll get there one day.
But here I am, 11 September 1991, still going through the morning papers, looking for something worth following up.
“Nothing much there,” I said out loud, best to take a walk around and see if something falls into my lap – perhaps someone’s posted a notice on a tree about a missing cat or such like. The answer phone can pick up any messages,
won’t you, I said, looking towards the phone. “With my luck, any message will be a wrong number or someone trying to sell me insurance, in which case, answer phone, you know your job – tell the wrong numbers to go …… somewhere else, and tell the cold callers to go take a hike.”
.I was looking in a newsagent’s window, looking at the wanted ads, when I felt something rub against my legs. I looked down and there was this beautiful, white cat weaving itself round my legs, purring. “Hello, cat.” I said softly, trying not to frighten it away, “Are you lost? Do you want me to find your owner?” She didn’t answer of course, just a purr, and she didn’t look lost anyway, too well groomed, especially for a white cat. “Shame”, I said, “another case that could have been intriguing – not.” The cat ran off, then ran back to me. “Hello again. Do you want to play?” I followed her – she turned into a narrow alleyway with a large service bin on wheels on the right-hand side. There was a pile of papers stacked beside it – obviously, the bin was too full for those to be put in. I tore a page off the top paper and rolled it into a ball, and threw it. The cat chased after and kicked it around a bit, pouncing on it, then jumping back and pouncing again. She was having fun, and I found this quite infectious and started to laugh. I picked up the ball of paper and threw it again. She ran after it and pounced again, and in doing so pushed the ball under the bin. She crawled under and shoved it out again with her paw. I was thinking she wouldn’t be so white for much longer when I heard a tinkle sound and something sparkling rolled from under the bin. I thought at first it was a piece of glass but, on closer inspection, the glass turned out to be an ornate gold ring with a diamond setting. “Nice find, thank you pussy. Surely someone will be missing this little gem and would be willing to reward the finder. I’d better go and see if I can find who this belongs to. Thanks for the game, puss, see you again.”
