GUMSHOES

Prelude

The tires delivered an ear-piercing squeal as the car slewed around the corner, mounted the curb, buried its front end in a stubborn dumpster, and burst into flames. The police car following, couldn't correct in time, and clipped the end of the wreck, sending it into a flaming, spinning tumble into oncoming traffic.

When the fire trucks and the ambulance finally left, and the detectives had spoken to their last witness, a couple of patrolmen were designated to wait until the wreckage had been towed away, and to take down the police tapes.

At the station, the son of the detective killed driving the police car, listened to condolences from the men in the office, and the circumstances that ended in the unfortunate fatality. The detective's partner was in hospital with two broken arms and a fractured leg and severe concussion. Both suspects died when their car hit the dumpster.

Chapter 1 - Aspirations

At his home, Wendell Dankworth listened to the Police Chaplain deliver his dutiful comfort. "We have always known him as a strong and courageous police officer, liked by all, and who has always motivated us . . . he is certainly a big loss to all and will be missed." A calming hand rested on Wendell's arm. "There will of course be a full service funeral by the department, and you will have nothing to worry about while you collect yourself. Do you have plans going forward, Wendell?"

A sneer formed on Wendell's lips as he envisioned the person or persons who employed the men his father died chasing, keelhauled under the carriage of the wrecked police car.

"I have a few things that need attending."

"Would you care to share those, my son?"

"No."

"Uh- oh . . . well, alright then . . ."

"Thanks for coming, and could you let me know when the service will take place." He steered the flummoxed Chaplain out the door, and with a brief wave, closed it.

"He was just doing his job, Wendy" The woman leaned in the kitchen doorway, arms folded across her chest.

"I know, I know . . . and don't call me Wendy."

"Fine - Wendell. Mind letting me in on those few things you need attending? It's been a week and all you've done is sit at your computer."

"Jerome and I are going to find the bastards that started this whole mess."

The laugh was really part shock, as the woman stumbled away from the door, hands moving to hips.

"You and Jerome are what?"

"Don't start, Audrey. We are licensed private investigators now and, perfectly within our rights to investigate."

"You got those licences on line!"

"They wouldn't have been allowed if they weren't legitimate." He huffed a pout.

"Oh, Wendy . . ."

"Never mind, oh, Wend-ell. Dad poured a lot of his life into tracking these people, and now he's empty. Gone. I'm not letting that be for nothing."

Audrey Hall sighed and sat on the arm of the sofa, looking at her friend with a sad compassion.

"Wendy," she began, ignoring his correction, "you have no experience, no resources, and you're throwing away a perfectly good job, which you should realize, means no income, and therefore no funds to pay for this." She waved a hand about the room.

"Jerome's still working. So are you."

"This was a joint venture," she bristled. "Jerome is now spending his time supposedly helping you, and my job does not pay enough to carry this house?"