An army of lies, p.1
An Army of Lies, page 1
AN ARMY OF LIES
THE FIRST ANGELO BARSOTTI NOVEL
RYAN SPELL
Ryan Spell, LLC
CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Acknowledgments
About the Author
From the Author
An Army of Lies
Copyright © 2023 by Ryan Spell
All rights reserved.
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 as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Ryan Spell, LLC, at www.ryanspell.com.
Published in the United States by Ryan Spell, LLC, Lake St. Louis, Missouri.
First Edition
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, buildings, and products is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Edited by Karen L. Tucker, CommaQueenEditing.com
Book design: Peggy Nehmen, n-kcreative.com
Cover knife image: pikisuperstar on Freepik
ISBN979-8-9874618-0-8 (hard cover)
979-8-9874618-1-5 (paperback)
979-8-9874618-2-2 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022923466
BIASC
FIC022090 - FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Private Investigators
FIC022000 - FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
FIC031010 - FICTION / Thrillers / Crime
FIC050000 - FICTION / Crime
Created with Vellum
DEDICATION
I want to dedicate this book to my children, Carson and Oliver, to become whatever they truly want to be. It’s never too late to do what you want.
PROLOGUE
A bitter wind was knocking branches against the house as flurries fell, adding to the dusting of snow already on the ground. The second set of logs were crackling in the fireplace as she made coffee with a bit of Irish cream liqueur to calm her nerves. Her husband was due home soon, and she had a lot on her mind.
She carried two cups of hot coffee into the living room and set them on the table. She and her guest sat in silence before finally each reaching for their cups. Normally, conversation between the two was easy, but tonight was different. He could sense something was bothering her.
The night had begun like any other night they shared: cold drinks, always something strong, and straight into the bedroom. Usually, things proceeded slowly, and passionately, but tonight she seemed rushed, like she wanted to get it over with. This affair had been going on for just over two months, and tonight was the first time he felt that she was somewhere else, wanted to be anywhere else.
Finally, she broke the silence. “I’m telling my husband about us!”
He sat there stunned, unable to say anything. She said, “It’s over! I cannot go on living like this.”
Suddenly, he stood up, threw his coffee mug into the roaring fire and rushed into the kitchen. He began slamming cabinets and drawers. When she finally got the nerve to go into the kitchen, he was holding a knife. She screamed and ran toward the front door. But he was quicker. He grabbed her from behind and slit her throat.
As he stood over the body, he began to cry. He kept saying over and over, “He’s my best friend, my best friend, my best friend…”
CHAPTER ONE
If you stepped into my apartment, you wouldn’t describe it as a home or an office but a storage unit. Stacks of paper and binders cluttered every surface, and boxes spilled their contents onto the floor. But this was where the magic happens, where cases are solved…when I take them. I’ve had many cases over the years, but it has been slow lately. It’s not like I haven’t been getting calls, but I just haven’t wanted to take on a lot. I was in a bit of a slump, and I wanted something that sparks my interest, a slump buster.
As I searched through the before-mentioned heaps of paper, I found what I was looking for. I reread the news article from two years ago that I’ve read a thousand times when I hear a soft knock on the door. I knew who it was because I asked him to come by and help me out. “One second. I’ll be right there, Lewis.”
I neatly tucked the newspaper clipping back into the binder. I take in the bare walls, save for a clock, mismatched furniture, and the mess everywhere as I walked to the door. I used to live in a completely clean and color-coordinated house. My wife had done all the decorating, purchased furniture, and created feng shui for our harmonized living space. It’s not like that anymore.
There’s a man at the door, but he wasn’t Lewis. This man was tall and well-built. He wore a three-piece suit and tie, polished wingtip shoes, and didn’t have a hair out of place. “Are you Angelo Barsotti?”
“I am. May I help you?”
“I hope so.” Even his speech was perfect. What could this guy want from an investigator like me?
“I’m guessing you’re here because I’m a private investigator. But I’m not taking any new cases right now.” Why did I say that? I needed work. Sure, I paid the bills with my bartending job, but just barely. This work is what keeps me from needing to choose one meal a day instead of three.
“Look, just hear me out first. I’ll tell you what I need, and then you can tell me yes or no. Please, I beg that you at least hear what I have to say, and I’m not one for begging. Have you seen any of the local murder stories on the internet or watched the news lately?”
I was old school, and I read the newspaper every day, hoping that one day I’ll see what I’m looking for. But that’s not why he’s asking, so I simply said, “Yes.”
“Then I’m sure you’ve read about the Helen Mazer murder. And that their main suspect is Craig Mazer, her husband. I’ve known Craig a long time, and he wouldn’t have done this. He did not do this!” he shouted. “I know he didn’t! I owe Craig my life, Mr. Barsotti, and the cops aren’t looking at anyone but him. I need your help. Please, again, I ask you to look at his case.”
As I stood there listening to this man, I kept wondering why he’s here and not Mr. Mazer himself. Also, this man obviously had serious cash and could probably hire a team of high-priced investigators. Why me? So, I ask him, “If Mr. Mazer isn’t guilty and needs my help, then why isn’t he here? Why isn’t he pleading his case to me? Why is he not talking to a lawyer, or the cops? Why does this fall to you? And what, exactly, do you want me to do about it?”
“Craig is still in jail with his lawyer, but he asked for my help. He’s grieving and can’t comprehend that they think he is the killer. I want you to find the actual person who murdered Helen.”
“Look, Mister…?”
“Dogon, Grant Dogon.”
“Look, Mr. Dogon, as I’ve stated, I’m not taking any new cases at this time. But I am expecting someone, and I must get back to what I was doing.”
“Please, Mr. Barsotti, I know you understand what Craig is going through! He just lost his wife and is being blamed for it. I know that…” Grant hesitated, “that you lost your wife. That someone took her from you, and they still haven’t found who did it. Wouldn’t you want to know?”
So that’s why he came to me. Of course, I wanted to know! I’ve been trying to figure that out for the last two years! Every day I agonized over what I could have missed. So yes, Mr. Dogon, I do want to know! But all I said was, “Yes, but I’m not taking any new cases. I’m sorry.”
“I have money. I’ll pay double what you normally charge. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
I told him, “It’s not about the money, Mr. Dogon. We’re just not taking this on right now.”
“OK, but if you change your mind…” he said as he handed me one of his cards. It was shiny and heavy, like a credit card.
I put the card in my pocket as he turned to make his exit, then Lewis walked in.
“Who was that? Do we have a new case? What can I do?”
Lewis is my best friend, has the best intentions, and is always ready to go. He grew up here in New York, just like me. Well, not just like me. He was and is very well off, never having to work a day in his life. We walked two very different paths to end up where we are today. Lewis Pollard was loyal, a little eccentric, and always willing to go the extra mile. He’s what most people call a trust fund kid. He even had the look of a trust fund baby, with good looks and an air of confidence, but he has a heart of gold. His family has money and continues to make it. His family has been a part of the largest diamond company in the world, De Beers. He is well off.
“That was Grant Dogon, and no, we do not have a new case. Let’s finish up what you came over here for.”
“Grant Dogon? As in Dogon Tech? As in, one of the wealthiest people in the U.S., the world? Do you know that he was one of the first to mine crypto currency? What was he doing here?”
Lewis knows a lot. Usually, it’s all about the latest fads or the hottest new product trends. I didn’t pay much attention most of the time because I had enough useless information in my head already. But every now in then, he would catch me off guard on how much he actually knows about everything.
“He wanted help solving a murder case. Have you seen the news about the Helen Mazer murder?”
“Of course. Craig Mazer is the number two guy at Dogon Tech, Grant’s right hand. It’s been all over the internet how he murdered his wife.”
“Well, Mr. Dogon says that Craig didn’t do it, and he wants me to find out who did. I told him no, and that’s that. Can we please get back to what you came over for?”
Lewis wanted to talk more, but like I said, he knew everything, including when to not push me further.
CHAPTER TWO
As the day went on, I couldn’t help but to think about Craig Mazer, Helen Mazer, and Grant Dogon. I did not want to get involved in this case, but something Grant said got to me: Wouldn’t you want to know?
Two years ago, my wife was murdered in our home. I was out on a case, and someone broke into our house. The police claimed it was a robbery gone wrong and that they probably didn’t expect anyone to be home. But she was. They took everything from me that night. I haven’t taken many cases since—partly because I blame myself for not being there, and partly because they still haven’t found who did it. I’ve been pursuing my own investigation and moonlighting as a bartender at a friend’s bar to pay the bills. I haven’t found many leads, but I can’t give up.
Lewis and I were wrapping up an investigation that we had done for a defense team that was trying to prove their client had not robbed a convenience store. We had found video surveillance that proved that they had the wrong guy. We just needed to finish putting together our files and the bill to send off for payment. I needed Lewis to take these things over to the defense team today so that we would be paid quickly. I was heading to work at the bar soon.
Lewis gathered all the necessary paperwork and headed out. I jumped on my computer and began researching Grant Dogon. I learned that he had started his first tech company when he was only twenty-three and fresh out of the military. He essentially made a better homing missile for the Department of Defense and then it sold for a lot of money. He went on to create a few other tech inventions and eventually to mining the first crypto currency. Lewis was right, but I hadn’t doubted him.
I dug deeper into his military life and accolades. That’s when I found the picture of his battalion and in it was Craig Mazer. Craig and Grant looked like an impossible pairing of friends. Grant was a square-jawed, well-built physical specimen, while Craig just wasn’t. He was a little on the shorter side and had a puppy dog look to him. He was a little on the pudgier side with a hairline that was already receding when this picture had been taken. It was obvious even from the photo that Grant was the leader, the one everyone looked up to.
As I continued researching, it seemed that Grant never had any kind of love life. All the stories stated the same thing over and over, that he was too busy developing new things, and basically printing money, to ever sustain a relationship. And from the outside, it looked as if Craig had continued riding his coattails, moving on with Grant from company to company. The only other information I could find on Craig was about the murder.
I glanced up at the clock—6:15! I had lost myself in the stories and now was going to be late.
CHAPTER THREE
I arrived at McGinty’s at 6:45 p.m., fifteen minutes late. I ran to the back room, looking for my boss and friend, Roy McGinty. I needed to apologize, but he wasn’t back there. Then I heard, “Angelo! I didn’t hire you for your good looks or because you’re a great bartender, because you are neither! Now get out here so I don’t have to do your job anymore!”
Roy was at the bar having a good laugh at my expense, but I guess I deserved it for being late. Luckily, he did hire me because we’ve been friends since the second grade when I helped him figure out who kept stealing the cookies from his lunch every day. Seems crazy, but I’ve always been investigating. Even crazier, it was our second-grade teacher Mr. Hambrel. Basically, we set up a stakeout of Roy’s lunch bag, always with someone keeping watch. It worked out perfectly because the first day that we were watching, as the rest of the class went out for recess, we said that we needed to use the restroom then watched as Mr. Hambrel went through the lunch bag and took the cookies. We decided that instead of telling on him, we would set him up. The next day, we had made a special batch of cookies with laxatives. And after Mr. Hambrel spent the entire second half of the day in the restroom, he never touched Roy’s cookies again! We remained best friends all the way through high school. During college and adulthood, we remained close and kept in touch. When he opened a bar, he told me that it was a cop hangout. I asked if I could help out here and there, aiding me in my investigations as I chatted up the cops.
I jumped behind the bar and apologized, but Roy just laughed and said, “Get to work and grab me a beer.” I did just that. I’ve worked at McGinty’s for right under ten years now. I didn’t always need the money, but I always needed the information. When cops drink, they get a little talkative, and I can usually get more information from them there than I could in a normal working relationship. So, as long as I was doing my job, Roy let me keep working there.
McGinty’s was a typical dive bar. Dark lighting, pool table, dartboards, small wooden tables and chairs, and a lot of charm. Roy also has a wall of fallen policeman that he calls “Cheers to Service: Fallen, not Forgotten.” Roy has a plaque made for any fallen cop that has ever been in the bar, even if they had moved on.
This night was like any other night at the bar, but all the conversations seemed to be about the Craig Mazer murder. Maybe they had been for a while, but tonight I paid more attention. They all believed they had their guy. No one in there thought any differently than that Craig had murdered his wife. They said he had motive but wouldn’t tell me what it was and that he had no alibi. I tried to listen more closely, and serve more drinks, but I couldn’t get any more answers.
About an hour before last call, in walks Grant Dogon. He didn’t fit in here, and everyone took notice. He strolled right up to the bar and said, “So, Mr. Barsotti, have you changed your mind yet? I have money, like I said before. I can pay you whatever. Just say you’ll take this case.”
