Free The Spinoza Trilogy by J.R. Rain

talking in a closet, or under covers. I figured maybe both. More likely a bathroom, though.
    “My mom was killed,” he said.
    “ I’m sorry to hear that.”
    “ She was killed two years ago.”
    “ I’m sorry,” I said again.
    “ Why do you keep saying that?”
    “ Because no boy should be without his mother.”
    There was a pause and I heard a choking sound on the other end. He muffled the phone so that I couldn’t hear him cry but he didn’t do a very good job of it and I heard the deep sobs and the pain and the immense heartache. As he wept I thought of my boy, but I did not cry. I would not cry with the young man on the phone. Alone, yes. But not now.
    I waited for him to get hold of himself and when he finally did, I asked him if there was anything I could do to help him. He sniffled some more, and told me his tale.
    And what a tale it was.
     
     
     
    Chapter Two
     
     
    I was at Astro’s Burgers in Silver Lake. I had just sat down and ordered an orange juice when Detective Hammer, my cop friend, stepped into the restaurant. He spotted me and came over.
    “ You’re late,” I said as Hammer sat.
    “ I’m a homicide detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. You’re lucky I even give you the time of day.”
    “ Private eyes are people, too,” I said.
    “ Yeah, but they ain’t real cops.” He waved the waitress over and put in his order. A milkshake, fries and double cheeseburger.
    “ Should I call 911 now?” I asked.
    “ You better hope I don’t keel over; otherwise, you would be minus your only cop friend in Los Angeles.”
    “ I can always make another cop friend.”
    Hammer snorted. “Not you, pal. You can barely look a waitress in the eye.”
    “I’m shy. You know that.”
    “ I thought only teen girls were shy.”
    “ Think again.”
    Our drinks came, although I was using the word “drink” loosely in his case. The milkshake might as well have been ice cream. In fact, Hammer quickly ditched the straw and used his spoon.
    He said, between slurps, “So how did you hear about the Evelyn case?”
    “ Her son hired me to find her.”
    Hammer choked on his milk shake. I could have been wrong, but I think some of it even came out of his nostrils. He covered his face and coughed some more and I handed him a napkin.
    “He does realize his mother is dead, right?”
    “ Yes,” I said. “He also understands that her body is missing.”
    “ He hired you to find a corpse?”
    “ Somebody has to.”
    Hammer continued shoveling in his shake. Some of it got into his cop mustache, where it was quickly absorbed. I wondered what else had been absorbed into his mustache.
    “Yeah,” said Hammer. “I suppose someone’s got to.” He shook his head. “My first grave robbing case. I mean, have you ever heard of such a thing?”
    “ Not since Frankenstein.”
    Hammer shook his head. “What the hell would anyone do with it?” He turned green and actually set aside his shake. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.”
    “Who worked the initial homicide?”
    “ Yours truly.”
    “ Full circle,” I said.
    “ Yeah. First we catch the killer—the husband, always the husband—and now I have to run down the fucking body. What are the chances?”
    “ Slim to none,” I said. “Where’s the husband now?”
    “ In San Quentin. Death Row.”
    “ Tell me about it,” I said.
    “ The usual story. An abusive bastard. Beat her up often. One day he doesn’t stop punching and brings a knife into play. A fucking butter knife that he kept near his bed.”
    “ Premeditative?”
    “ Yup. Stabbed her seventy-two times.”
    Now I nearly choked on my orange juice. “Jesus.”
    “Bloodiest crime scene I’ve ever seen.”
    “ So why was the body exhumed?” I asked.
    “ There’s a paternity case going on. Apparently, a son has appeared out of nowhere, claiming to be an heir. I’m assuming it’s the same son who hired you.”
    “ An heir to what?” I asked.
    “ A significant