Murder, Money and Mayhem

Book 16: A Luca Mystery

by Dan Petrosini

Genres: Crime Fiction; Mystery; Hard-Boiled; murder; hard boiled; police procedural Detective Thriller; murder mystery; Luca; Money; Mayhem

Synopsis

$100 Million Dollars…

…hidden for the taking.

Who would find it first?

It was shaping up to be a complex case. When David Beas, a designer and partner at a local firm, turns up strangled on the beach, the list of suspects is staggering. Would his business partner kill him or was it someone who didn’t like his lifestyle?

A jilted ex-lover was also on the table.

Before he could dig too deep into the case, Luca’s life got complicated when a friend of a friend told him a secret. It was the sort of thing he wished he didn’t know. It was a moral dilemma that wouldn’t hurt anyone, could solve his financial problems, and make life for him and his wife easier.

There was just one problem.

He would have to live with his decision.

You’ll love this 16th stand-alone book in the Luca Mystery series because his life is about to change in the most unexpected way and you won’t want to put the book down.

Get it now. 

**You can enter the Luca Mystery Series with any book.

Release date: March 15, 2023

Print pages: 350

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

 

Derrick was behind his desk, tapping on his keyboard.

“Morning, Frank.”

“Morning.”

I closed the office door.

Derrick said, “What’s the matter?”

"Nothing. I wanted to tell you something; it sounds crazy, but remember, I told you about that friend of Bilotti's, John Coburn, who was at the wedding."

"The guy who asked if he could trust you?"

"Yes. He suffered a stroke."

"Oh geez. A bad one?"

"Seems that way. Anyway, Coburn had his nurse call me, and she gave me the name of a DEA agent."

"What? This is getting strange."

"The agent's name is Gabe Withers. I did some checking around last night, and he committed suicide."

"Frigging terrible."

"I know, but what's interesting is Coburn said something about finding a ton of hidden money."

"I don't get it. What's the connection?"

"Withers' partner was a cousin of Coburn's, and the two DEA agents were assigned to a big dealer who was connected to a Mexican cartel."

"I still don't get it."

"The dealer, Julio Cabrerra, was assassinated, and the interesting thing was, they couldn't find any of his money."

"The cartel probably snagged it."

"They were looking for it too. Informants working for the DEA told them no one could find Cabrerra's stash."

"How much are we talking about?"

"Anywhere between a hundred and three hundred million."

"Holy shit!"

"In cash."

"Coburn's cousin knows where it is?"

"According to him."

"And he told Coburn where it is?"

"I'm not sure, but he's making out like he knows."

"Man, that would be some find. But could somebody keep it?"

"Pretty sure. Mary Ann said something about a finders-keepers law, that if you found it, you could keep it."

Derrick reached for his ringing desk phone. "Homicide, Detective Dickson."

He hung up. "We got a body in Lowdermilk Beach Park. The responding officer believes it's a homicide."

* * *

We turned off Route 41 onto Banyan Boulevard. Derrick said, "That new Four Seasons they're building, isn't it close to Lowdermilk Beach?"

"Just south of it."

"Where'd they get that name anyway?"

"It's named after Fred Lowdermilk, Naples' first city manager. It's an interesting story: the park was donated by a developer. Instead of providing beach access on every street, like the rest of downtown, he gave them a park."

"A park is much better."

"Definitely. The open space is nice, as is the parking."

We approached the entrance to Lowdermilk. There were more police officers than at a St. Patrick's Day parade.

A mass of people stood behind the yellow tape, running the length of the parking lot. As we put gloves and booties on, I scanned the area. A volleyball court, kid's playground, and two gazebos, fed by paver walkways, dominated the grassy area.

We headed to a wooden walkway arching to the beach. Several pairs of footwear were lined up near the entrance. Pointing to the trash cans on its grassy side, I said, "Make sure we take whatever is in them. You never know what we'll find."

"Killers make mistakes, just like the rest of us."

"Thank God, they do."

Two officers, backs to the Gulf of Mexico, were talking by one of the thatched umbrellas lining the beach. Behind the patrolmen, lay a corpse.

"Hey, Frank, Derrick."

"Hey, McQuire, Finley."

"What do we have?"

He turned to the body. "Male, in his late thirties. I'd say it looks like—"

I put up a hand. "Any witnesses?"

"Not that we know of."

"Who found the body?"

"Mario Vigo, he lives across the street. In that white condo building." The officer pointed to a set of three identical buildings.

"Where is he?"

"Grabbing a coffee at the Beach Café."

"Make sure he hangs around; we need to talk to him."

"You got it."

We approached the body. A thin, red bruise stretched across his neck. Derrick said, "He's been strangled."

"We need to make sure they comb through the dunes and mangroves. Whoever did this might have ditched what was used."

"Sure."

I scrunched up the back of my glove, knelt, and put a hand against his cheek. It was cool and firming. "My guess is it happened eight to ten hours ago."

"That'd put it around midnight."

"He looks under forty. Well-dressed." I stood. "What was he doing out here?"

"Meeting someone? Going for a walk?"

"We need Bilotti to give us a time of death."

Derrick looked over his shoulder. "He's pulling into the parking lot. Him and a forensics van."

"Good. Help me lift his hips. I want to check for a wallet and phone."

"Phone, maybe, but guys his age don't carry wallets."

It wasn't conscious, but he continually made references that made me feel old. Reaching under, I stuck fingers into both rear pockets. "Nothing."

"He didn't have a phone?"

I patted his front pockets. "Don't look like it. But there's something here." I slipped my hand in and pulled out a thin sheath of plastic wrapped in a hundred-dollar bill. I peeled back the hundred and two fifties. In the center was a silver Amex card and driver's license.

"David Beas. Born in 1989."

"He's thirty-four."

"Address is listed as 1910 Monte Rosso Lane, Naples."

"That's in Mediterra. Lynn has a friend who lives in one of those condos."

Lugging a large briefcase, Dr. Bilotti led the forensics team. "Hey, Doc."

"Hello, gents. Didn't get much of a break, did we?"

"It's like the homicide gods knew we filed our last report."

"Homicide gods? We're up against more than I'd imagined."

"Maybe not a god, but something is twisting minds."

Derrick said, "It's the culture, or lack thereof."

Bilotti said, "Maybe. But that is a conversation for another day. Let me get started."

"Going to need a time of death, Doc."

"As soon as we photograph the scene, I'll see what can be estimated."

"I still can't believe they let Gianelli go."

"All about budget cuts. Bean counters said we were at the scene anyway and should take the pictures."

Derrick said, "It's bullshit. They should get their asses in the real world, take them to crime scenes. If they don't barf, they'd see the need."

Bilotti pulled a glove on. "Maybe we should have them attend an autopsy."

Derrick said, "That would do it."

I chimed in, "Call me crazy, but if everyone past the age of sixteen had to witness the autopsy of a murder victim, I'd bet violence would tick down."

"And support for what we deal with, would rise."

"Enough bitching for now. Let's talk to the man who found this poor guy."