Rejection: Publishing Murder Mystery (Lou Drake Mysteries) (34 page)

“Oh yes,” Robin said, “I definitely could.”

Drake was glad to put the heavy gift down as soon as they walked into the small apartment. He turned to take Robin in his arms but she pushed him back.

“Open the present first,” she said.

Drake feigned disappointment as he ripped into the paper. The cardboard box was plain and innocuous. He pulled the tape and lifted the lid. Inside were dozens of manila envelopes, each labeled and dated. Drake opened the first and thumbed through the photocopies of documents and memos, files and printouts. He put it aside and examined two more.

“My God,” he whispered.

“What honey?” Robin asked.

She picked up a sheet and glanced over it.

“Know what this is?” Drake asked.

She shook her head.

“This is a copy of the entire file on the Hennings case.”

“What?”

“I have access. That’s what Serena told me the day she gave me the letter from the old Chief. Well apparently she wasn’t kidding.”

“What can you do with this?” Robin asked.

“Oh baby, I can write my book. Oh my Lord, I can write one for the ages. I can write the truth.”

C
HAPTER
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ORTY-
T
WO –
L
OU
D
RAKE

New York City
Present Day 3:35 PM

CHANG FINISHED HIS last note, sat back and tapped his pen on the tabletop. He wore an expression of contented exhaustion as he smiled at Drake.

“Holy shit,” he said. “That’s really how it went down?”

“Pretty much,” Drake said. “I may have forgotten a thing or two, embellished a detail here and there, but, yeah, that’s basically it.”

“And Hennings?”

“After all those years he was finally put on trial. The prosecutors did an amazing job reconstructing the evidence from the archives and finding people to testify. In the end he got life in prison.”

“Did you attend the trial?”

“Are you kidding me? After all the years I waited to see him go down? I was in the front row every day. Same thing for Andrade’s trial.”

“I heard he died in prison.”

“Yeah,” Drake said, “murdered. Inmates don’t like cops much.”

“No kidding. And is it true you still keep in touch with Shakespeare?”

“I send Christmas cards and he gets a copy of my books when they come out. I’ve even visited him a couple of times.”

“So would you say you guys are friends?”

“Not friends. We were never friends. More like conspirators. Strange bedfellows at the most. I owe him a lot and he feels the same about me. As much as I despise what he did and hate that his actions helped me become who I am, neither of us would have accomplished what we have if fate hadn’t brought us together. I hate say I’ll always be grateful for his role in my success, but friends? Never.”

“That’s wild,” Chang said, and he turned off the recorder.

“To say the least. Funny thing, after my doctor told me that protein diet would kill me with cholesterol, I went back to my old weight and I don’t care. I’m big but healthy. What would the world do with a skinny Lou Drake?”

“It just wouldn’t be you, would it?”

“Afraid not.”

Chang gestured toward the recorder.

“I have a pile of work to do here, sorting through all this and getting the story down. Can I call if I need clarification?”

“Of course.”

Drake stretched his arms above his head. His suit coat was draped over the next chair and his tie was loose. Four empty soda cans were lined up on the wooden table and the light showed it was late afternoon. He glanced at his watch.

“Oh, man, I have to go.”

His knees complained when he stood up. He rotated his thick neck.

“Have to be somewhere?” Chang asked as he gathered his notes.

“Book signing at this place near Times Square.”

“I’ll walk you down to the lobby.”

Five minutes later Drake settled once more into the leather decadence of the limo. Josh pulled smoothly away from the curb.

“Sorry that took so long,” Drake said.

“No worries. We can still get you to the bookstore on time. How’d the interview go?”

“Absolutely great.”

Drake looked back at the building.

“Amazing,” he said. “I’m going to be in Rolling Stone magazine.”

He pulled out his cell and dialed Robin.

“I’m done,” he said.

“What took you so long? Did it go okay?”

“I finally told the whole story about me and Shakespeare. Now the world will know I became famous because I made a deal with a killer.”

“Shakespeare didn’t make you. You were destined to be a successful writer, with or without him.”

“If you say so. We’ll be at the bookstore in a few minutes.”

“I’m already here,” Robin said. Drake could hear the excitement in her voice. “You have quite a crowd waiting for you.”

C
HAPTER
F
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K
ILLER

THE PUNGENT ODOR of the Sharpie filled the small cell as Brian Shakespeare opened a copy of REJECTION and scribbled his name across the title page. He was only allowed to write his name, nothing more, and each book was inspected before it left the prison. The warden did not want any cryptic messages leaving the premises.

The book had been published for ten years, and people still sent copies to be signed. The guards got a kick out of the steady flow of packages that arrived addressed to Shakespeare. Even the warden had a signed copy on his desk.

Some readers included photos of themselves, mostly women. Some sent letters telling him how much they enjoyed the book. Some offered prayers and even declarations of love. Three had offered to marry him.

Since its original publication, REJECTION had gone into eight printings and was released through mass-market paperback. He and Drake shared a film option and the movie grossed over two hundred million dollars. Shakespeare was thrilled when his character was played by a handsome and popular actor who, he felt, did a wonderful job. A relative unknown played Drake and found himself in great demand after the film’s release. He won an Oscar for his role.

Shakespeare signed the last book and placed it with four others in the egg crate to be collected by a guard.

Shakespeare received not a single cent from the book or the film, since federal law prohibits a convicted murderer from profiting from a book written about his actions. Shakespeare was fine with that. He made arrangements for much of his share of the money to be paid to the families of his victims. The rest was donated to needy charities. It gave him a sense of redemption and purpose. On his cell wall he taped the magazine covers that his face adorned as a result of his conviction and eventual celebrity. He was content. He was somebody.

Sandy once joked that you knew you had made it when your face appeared on the National Enquirer. Shakespeare’s mug shots had been featured there three times.

“Shakespeare,” the guard said through the bars.

“Hey,” he answered. He stood and put his hands on the wall, feet apart.

“Open 234,” the guard said into his radio and the cell door slid back.

The guard collected the box of signed books.

“I have another one for you,” he said.

“Thanks,” Shakespeare said. “How was the vacation?”

“It was great. The kids had fun.”

The guard handed him a padded envelope already opened on one end. All incoming parcels were scanned, opened and searched to avoid the delivery of weapons or contraband. The door closed and the guard wished him a good night. Shakespeare smiled at the return address. Lou Drake, Greenwich New York. He turned the envelope upside down and a book dropped onto his cot.

“This is great,” Shakespeare whispered and stared at the cover.

A skyline was embossed into the dust jacket, which also showed a police badge stamped in gold foil. Deep red letters in bold print appeared across the top of the dark city sky. Shakespeare thought it would look great next to his copies of Drake’s other books, which crowded the small bookshelf in his cell.

CITY BEAT it read. A LOU DRAKE TRUE CRIME NOVEL.

Shakespeare flipped the book over and smiled at the photo of Drake, looking distinguished in a black turtleneck and herringbone jacket. Shakespeare’s eyes were eager as he opened the book and turned to the title page. Drake’s awkward scrawl was unmistakable.

Brian, it read, as always, thanks for everything — Lou Drake.

“Back at you,” Shakespeare said.

He opened the new book and began reading. By lights out he was at page fifty-three.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

THANK YOU STACY and Ian for your unwavering faith in my literary quest.

My special thanks to Andrew McAllister for his editing skills, guidance and undying friendship. My regards to Greg McCarthy for his support and keen eye. Thanks Chris! Heartfelt appreciation for Jerry Shapiro for his constant nagging and Garrett Colbert for his daily ear and unwavering support.

The borough of Malcolm New York is fictitious, but inspired by the many coastal burgs my wife and I visited on our journeys.

Thanks Dad and Mom.

A
BOUT
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UTHOR