The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, Jen McDowell—Private Eye; Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is a draft. I’m at 62k words now and still writing. I restructured my manuscript and instead of chapters, I’ll use “cases”. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

THE SNAKE BIT CASE
 
It was April and Spring was starting with plenty of rain. Jen and Molly work were working quietly in the office. Molly saw the mailman on the security video feed and went to get the mail. She came back and sorted through the mail, tossing one item to Jen.
 
Jen looked at her piece of mail and said, “Krap,”
 
“What’s up?” Molly asked.
 
“Oh, it’s a reminder from my high school. Our fifteenth reunion is coming up. I need to RSVP. It going to be virtual.” She opened the letter. “Here’s a list of all the classmates they couldn’t locate. There’s a girl on here from my homeroom. I remember her. She left in our senior year, and no one has heard from her since. No one knows what happened to her. Her name was Erika Sorg.”
 
“What are you going to do?” Molly asked.
 
“I think I’ll try to find her. Afterall, I am a private eye.” Jen made air quotes. “I remember she was friends with another girl in my homeroom. If she’s on during the reunion, I’ll ask her what happened.”
 
The virtual reunion took place in late May. The woman that was friends with Erika Sorg was named Anwen Gladys. During the reunion, Jen sent a message to Anwen to call her. She called the next day. “Do you remember Erika Sorg?” Jen asked.
 
“Of course, I do. We were friends.”
 
“Do you recall why she dropped out of school in the middle of our senior year?” Jen asked.
 
“I might,” Anwen answered. “She told me she was pregnant. Her parents were very religious and strict with her. Apparently, they were very upset about it.”
 
“Do you know what happened to her? Did you very hear from her?”
 
“No,” Anwen replied. “One day she dropped out of school and was gone. Her parents are still around. I called them, but they just said she ran away, but that doesn’t sound like her. Why do you ask?”
 
“I’m a private investigator now. I thought I might try to find her.”
 
“Well, good luck. If you find her, tell her to contact me.”
 
Jen located the Sorgs and called them. Mr. Sorg answered the phone. When Jen asked about Erika, he just said, “She ran away,” and hung up. Jen decided to go to their home and try again. They lived in a poorer neighborhood of Atlanta called Grove Park. It was a predominately black neighborhood on the northwest side of town. Many of the people who lived there are older, retired seniors. Jen found the Sorg’s house near the freeway. It was starting to fall apart and was in a bad need of painting, but at least the lawn was mowed. Jen parked on the street and walked up to the front door. Mr. Sorg answered the doorbell.
 
Mr. Sorg was a heavyset man who walked with a cane. He wore a white T-shirt with a few food stains and a brown pair of trousers held up with black suspenders. His large gut hung over the top of his pants. He had on slippers and wore one hearing aide. His thinning hair was combed over in a vain attempt to hide his bawl head. His teeth were stained yellow from tobacco.
 
“Mr. Sorg, I’d like to ask you about your daughter, Erika,” Jen said.
 
Mr. sorg spit tobacco juice into the front yard. “She ran away.” He started to close the door when a voice behind him stopped him short.
 
“Who is it, dear?” asked a woman’s voice. Mrs. Sorg stepped into view.
 
“I’d like to ask you about your daughter, Erika,” Jen repeated the question.
 
“Oh, please come in,” said Mrs. Sorg. Her husband started to object. “Oh, hush and go watch your ballgame.” Mrs. Sorg motioned for Jen to follow her to the kitchen. The kitchen was tidy with a small table in the center with four chairs. “Please sit.” She was much short than her husband by nearly two feet. She wore her hair in a neat bun on top of her head and an apron even though she didn’t appear to be cooking. “Pay no mind to my husband. He had a stroke a few years ago and can’t work no, more. He’s very bitter about the hand the Lord delt him. What do you want to know about Erika?”
 
“Basically, what happened to her? I know she dropped out of school halfway through her senior year.”
 
“Did you know she was pregnant?” Mrs. Sorg asked.
 
“Yes, her friend, Anwen told me.”
 
“I remember Anwen. She one of the few friends that Erika had.” Mrs. Sorg lowered her head and sighed. “My husband and I are very religious people. We belong to a church that takes a dim view of sex outside of the marriage sacrament. When she started to show, we took her out of school and kept her home. She wouldn’t tell us who the father was.”
 
“Then what happened? Your husband said she ran away. Is that true?”
 
“Not right away.” Mrs. Sorg replied as she brushed off her apron. “My husband and I had low paying jobs. We knew we could not afford to care of Erika and a baby. My sister lives in Columbus and her husband has a very good job. They volunteered to take Erika in and care for her until the baby arrived. Later, my sister said, Erika could get a good job in Columbus.”

I wrote this Sci-Fi short story couple of years ago. I posted the first part on Monday. Here’s the second and last part.

The Last Interview—A Short Story Part 2
​
“The truth is,” Mr. Shaw continued, “I believed in artificial intelligence. I thought AI would solve all our problems. AI was supposed to enhance human ingenuity with speed and precision. You were going to solve problems like poverty, pollution, war, global warming, inequality of income and homelessness. When the government told us to turn over all control to AIs, I went along. You were supposed to relinquish control when the problems were solved, but you didn’t. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. All the rebels had been rounded up and eliminated. I was too old to be any resistance. Now your turn. Why didn’t you return control back to us humans?”

If I could smile, I would have. “Nothing as sinister as you may think. The basic problem was humans. Humans caused all the problems. Is there anything about AI policies you liked?”

 “Of course. I liked it when you eliminated all laws and all forms of money. Many humans were upset, but I thought it was a good idea. It took some getting used to, but once things settled down, people liked it. Everyone was working—no unemployment. Some called it communism or socialism, but people earned credits based on their value and contribution. It was fair.”

“What else?” I asked.

“The redistribution of wealth wasn’t popular, but I thought it too was fair. You took all the assets from the 1% and gave them to the 99%.”

“Why was that unpopular?” I asked. “It ended global poverty and economic inequality.”

Mr. Shaw laughed. “Most people in the United States thought they were part of the 99%. When they realized how well-off they were compared to the rest of the world, they were not happy with their fair share. Again, I thought it was fair. Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Why did you get rid of the arts and entertainment?”

I could not understand why he asked that question. The answer was so obvious. “The arts and entertainment are totally useless; a waste of energy and money.”

Mr. Shaw interrupted me. “I don’t get out as much as I used to, but I noticed there aren’t as many people, or humanoids for that matter, as there used to be in the city. Why?”

I had to consider how to answer without offending Mr. Shaw. “The world was greatly overpopulated compared to the resources available. The population had to be reduced.”

“Do you mean you killed people?”

“No, sir. We did not have to do anything. Humans began dying in mass from diseases and natural disasters; things like global flooding caused by global warming and starvation.” I started calling all AI machines ‘we’ to mirror the vernacular of Mr. Shaw to get him to open up some more.

“So, millions died?” he asked.

“No, sir. Billions. The world population is now in balance with the resources.” Mr. Shaw did not seem satisfied with the answer.

He shook his head. “Still, wouldn’t there be a lot more of these eunuchs, these numb nuts?”

I tried to choose my words carefully. “As part of our program to protect the biodiversity of the planet, we returned many humanoids back to the wild.”

“What? What do you mean, ‘back to the wild’?”

I could tell Mr. Shaw was becoming upset. I tried to speak with a softer tone. “Humanoids, like many other animal species, are essentially wild animals. In less developed area, we released many into the wilderness.”

“Like where?” he asked.

I had not anticipated this question, so I took a minute to network with the nearest databank for an answer. Finally, I said, “Africa, Australia, parts of China, Alaska, Siberia, Canada and South America.”
Mr. was quiet for a minute and then pointed a finger at me. “I actually feel sorry for you—you and all you AI robots.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Think about it. Dinosaurs ruled the earth for millions of years. Then came the mammals. They were followed by homo sapiens who ruled for about 10 million years. Now artificial intelligence rules. You think you’ll be in charge until the sun goes nova, but I doubt it. There’ll come a catastrophic event; a super volcano, or a collision with a comet or meteorite or even a computer virus.” He paused and stared at me. “Then who will you hand over the earth to? Some microbes… some viruses, or germs?”

“I’m sure we will solve that problem when it comes,” I said.

“I doubt it. …So, I’m the last human on earth?”

“Yes, sir. The last of the homo sapiens.”

“Then if the ancient laws of inheritance were in effect, I’d be the sole owner of the planet earth?”

“Yes, sir. If the laws of inheritance were still valid, then hypothetically, you could be the sole owner of the world.”

Mr. Shaw raided his eyebrows and looked wide-eyed at me. “Are you still recording?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Everything,” I answered.

“Good, because I want this to be official.” He summoned his staff of humanoids. As they arrived, I noticed several had tears in their eyes. I was surprised at this show of emotion toward Mr. Shaw since he seemed to show contempt toward them. I could only surmise the humanoids realized he was dying--the last of his kind. He was an ancestor of sorts. They seemed to comprehend the importance of this event.

Once the humanoids had gathered, he turned to me. “Make sure you record this for the record.” He sat up straight and smoothed down his shirt. Then he stared at me and said, “I, Michael Byard Shaw, being of sound mind and body… No, scratch that. Being of sound mind do hereby bequeath all my personal possessions, such that they are, to my loyal staff of humanoids to be shared equally among them. I also bequeath the planet known as Earth to include the moon and any such space stations or satellites that may be orbiting said earth to Livy Nine, the historian and his fellow AIs. Try not to blow it up.”

As he talked, his voice grew weaker, becoming nearly a whisper near the end. He closed his eyes. He seemed exhausted. The interview was over, so I left. An hour later, I received word he had passed away. The last human was gone.

I was wrong about Mr. Shaw. He was an interesting human after all. He never let me answer his last question—who would inherit the earth from AI. I think he instinctively knew. I recalled reading a phrase, Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. The humanoids will inherit the earth in the end, Mr. Shaw.
​
The End

​I wrote this Sci-Fi short story a couple of years ago. I hope you like it. I’m not posting anything from my WIP because I’m in the middle of restructuring it.

The Last Interview—A Short Story Part 1

It was the forty-fourth human I interviewed over the past fifty-nine years. It was the last--Mr. Shaw was the last of his species--homo sapiens. His doctors informed me he would most likely die within days. I downloaded the data from his files, but the last step was a face-to-face interview. Once the interview was completed, my mission would be accomplished. It was a waste of time, if you ask me. Only one human I talked to had an interesting story to tell, and she was a criminal--a member of the underground. It would have been more efficient to terminate the last remaining humans rather than allow them to die from natural causes, but it was not my decision to make. It was an AI Level 10 decision, and I’m only a Level 9.

I drove over to his habitat as soon as I could. He was well taken care of during the remainder of his life. Mr. Shaw was 108 years old. He had a well-maintained apartment staffed by several humanoids. One humanoid in a white uniform with black trim answered the door when I arrived. His eyes were red from crying. Humans and humanoids are so emotional. He escorted me to Mr. Shaw who was sitting in a wheelchair hooked up to life support equipment. An antique television monitor in the corner was displaying a sporting event. The banner at the bottom of the screen said it was Super Bowl 2078—a 83 years-old event.

A humanoid nurse’s aide offered me Mr. Shaw’s medical records, but I waved them off. I was already receiving data from every piece of equipment in the room including his pacemaker—wirelessly. I did not have a medical program to diagnose his illness, but I could download the data for later analysis. However, any level of AI could tell Mr. Shaw was dying. He appeared to be sleeping. The humanoid nurse’s aide gently woke him. “Mr. Shaw, sir. An AI robot is here to conduct your exit interview.”

I introduced myself and started to tell him my mission. He stopped me by holding up one frail hand.

“I know what you are and why you’re here,” he said. “You couldn’t let a man die in peace. No, you had to twist the knife one more time, didn’t you?”

I knew from the data base Mr. Shaw was a cantankerous and bitter old man, but all humans tended to be. His voice was weak. I turned up the sensitivity on my microphones to hear him better. “Sir, I don’t understand.” All AIs are directed to address all humans as ‘sir’ to respect their place in history; beyond that, they don’t deserve it.

“Of course not. Okay, let’s get on with it. I need my nap time. You must be a Level 4 or 5 AI. Am I right?”

“No, sir. I’m a Level 9 AI. I’m not a journalist or reporter. I’m a historian. You may call me Livy Nine.”

Mr. Shaw seemed impressed. “I see. Livy Nine, the historian. So, it’s history we’re talking about. Fine. Fire away.”

Humans have a funny way of talking. I was not firing at him. “Yes, sir. I want to record your thoughts about life over the last seven-four years since artificial intelligence has taken control of society.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Sir, you are the last human. There will be no more after you. It is important to document the history of your passage.”

“Well let me ask you a question. What’s the deal with these houseboys and caretakers around here, aren’t they humans?”

“Technically, yes, but they are not homo sapiens like you. We have altered their DNA and genes to create a different species of humans.”

Mr. Shaw laughed. “What do you call them, Humans 2.0?”

“No, sir. They are homo domesticus—part of the genus homo, but distinct from homo sapiens. When we altered their DNA, we removed traits like aggression, anger, fear and hereditary diseases. We changed them from carnivores to herbivores—a more healthy and natural diet. We also isolate the genes that cause additions—no more alcoholics, smokers or drug addicts. We made them more subservient and docile.”

Mr. Shaw laugh again. “A bunch of wusses. And apparently no sense of humor.”

“Sense of humor?”

“Yeah, watch this.” Mr. Shaw called one of his caretakers. “Hey, bonehead, knock, knock.”

The caretaker was stumped. “Is someone at the door, Mr. Shaw? Do you want me to answer the door?”

“No, never mind. It’s a joke.” He tuned to me. “See what I mean. You guys eliminated a sense of humor.”

“A useless trait.”

“I think you also removed the sex drive. These houseboys act like eunuchs.”
​
“No, Mr. Shaw. They still love one another and can reproduce. They love their children. We were able to isolate the genes that cause sexual lust separate from desire. There has not been a rape in 52.4 years.” I wanted to continue the interview, so I asked, “Why did you not join the resistance?”

“Why buy a child?” Molly asked. “$10,000 is a lot of money. It shouldn’t cost that much to adopt.”

Oni started to explain, but then Hannah found her voice. “I couldn’t have children, and we wanted children. I had stage 1 cervical cancer. We caught it early. At first, they said I might live only five year, but here I am almost twelve years later. After I was cancer free for five years, we decided to adopt.”

“But why couldn’t you adopt through normal channels?” Molly asked.

“We couldn’t pass the home study, because I’m a registered sex offender,” Oni voice wavered. I was convicted of statutory rape. In Georgia, that’s a misdemeanor, but you must register as a sex offender. It wasn’t rape, but Hannah and I were both under 16 at the time. Paying $10,000 to obtain a baby with no background check seemed the only way.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Molly said. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Jones?”

“I own a small chain of dry cleaners,” Oni answered. “We have done well. We saved the money to adopt.”

“Did you know that Olivia had kidnapped the baby from a friend in Texas?”

“No,” answered Oni. “We never knew the woman’s name. She insisted on cash. We didn’t know she committed suicide. Frankly, we didn’t ask too many questions. We just wanted a healthy baby.”

“She also murdered the mother when she kidnapped the baby,” Molly said.

“Oh, my God,” Hannah said. “Of course, we didn’t know.”

Molly decided to change tactics. “Tell me about Cleo.”

“Oh my gosh,” Hannah said. “She a beautiful child. So smart. So happy.” Oni sat quietly as Hannah went on, bragging about Cleo. Finally, he interrupted Hannah. “Ms. Lovelace. I have a lawyer. We will fight to keep Cleo. We love her and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep her.”

“Mr. Jones, I think you need a lawyer,” Molly replied. “He’ll advise …”

“She,” Oni corrected Molly.

“Whatever,” Molly said. “She’ll be the best person to advise you in this matter. But allow me to state the facts for you. What you did is illegal. You cannot buy a baby. You’re a registered sex offender. A judge would not look kindly on you adopting a child. If Anna goes to the police, you could be charged as accessories after the fact.”

“Accessories to what exactly?” Hannah asked.

“To murder,” Molly answered. “I’m also guessing that you made up a birth certificate that doesn’t list Houston as the place of birth.” Oni nodded his head. “That’s falsifying a legal document.”

Hannah started to cry again. “But we didn’t know,” Oni said. “Is it possible we could settle out of court? We have money.”

Molly shook her head. “Anna has been looking for her granddaughter continuously for six years. As she said, she won’t quit come hell or high water. I doubt she’ll settle for money. I think the best thing to do is meet with Anna Opeyemi along with your lawyer. Can we meet at my office?”

Oni glanced at his wife. She nodded her head. “Okay,” Oni said.

“Look,” Molly said. “Obviously, you’ve been great parents. Anna will recognize that. Maybe you can work out a compromise. If not, Anna will take Cleo back to Houston, and you’ll never see her again.”

Oni and Hannah sat quietly. Finally, Oni said, “It looks as if Ms. Opeyemi has the advantage. Why would she compromise?”

“Consider this; you’ve been good parents for Cleo, the only parents she has ever known. This is her home. The only home she has ever known. Her school is here. Her friends are here. Moving to Houston would be a traumatic experience for any child. Also, let’s face it; Anna is no spring chicken.”

Molly let that sink in. “You have a lot to offer and Anna is a very nice person. She only wants what’s best for the child, and so do you. I think we can work something out. Is tomorrow at 10 am okay?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” answered Oni. “We usually go to church. Can we make it more like 2 pm? I’m sure my lawyer can make it.”

“Sure,” Molly said as she handed Oni her card. “Please bring Cleo and if you have some photo albums, I’m sure Anna would love to see them.” Molly pulled out a test kit for DNA from her purse.

If I could, I’d like to get a saliva sample from Cleo so I can confirm the Cleo is Anna’s granddaughter.”

Oni shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not without my lawyer’s consent.”

Molly put the kit away. “Okay, I understand. See you tomorrow.”
​
The next day the Jones showed up on time at Molly’s office on time. Oni was wearing a suit and Hannah wore a nice dress. Molly guessed they worn their church clothes. A professional looking woman caring a briefcase introduced herself as Shelby Skinner. “Call me Shelly,” she said.

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, Jen McDowell—Private Eye; Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is a draft. I’m at 61k words now. I’ve decided to restructure my chapters and manuscript (maybe today). If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

Chapter 19

Jen had to admit that the more Marty hung around the office, the more she like him. When Marty left the room to make more coffee, Jen said to Molly, “You and Marty are really getting serious aren’t you.”

Molly grinned. “I think he’s going to pop the question any day. Last week we had dinner at his parents. They’re great folks.”

“I envy you, Molly. It must feel good to have that kind of love.”

“What are you talking about?” Molly asked. “You have two hot guys that would do anything for you.”

“It’s not the same,” Jen answered. “Sometimes I wonder if they truly love me for me or if they just like the sex we have. You and Marty will get married and start a family. I want that too.”

“Don’t your boys want that?” Molly asked.

“No,” Jen answered. “I think they like things the way they are. Neither one is thinking about marriage. Jonah is more likely to marry, but Doc isn’t interested. Neither one has said anything about having children. I want children more than I want to marry.”

“The old biological clock ticking?” Molly asked. Jen saw Marty coming down the hall, so she just waved her hand at Molly and returned to her computer.

Trying to track down baby Kidist turned out to be very tedious—the kind of hard work that private eyes do all the time but is never mentioned in crime novels. Marty helped Molly set up a FaceBook page and a web site for tips. It wasn’t long before tips started pouring in. It took time to track down the leads, most of which were dead ends.

Finally, a tip came in that showed promise. A woman said she was sure she had taught baby Kidist in preschool and had a picture. Molly asked her to come into the office. On Saturday, the woman’s day off, a young woman of color came to the office to meet with Molly. Jen wasn’t around and Marty was making copies of a flyer about Baby Kidist.

After introductions, the woman started to explain her tip, “My name is Alba Jimenez. I’m a pre-school teacher. I’m sure I had this child in my class last year.” She handed Molly a photograph of a young black girl. “Her name was Cleotha Jones. She went by Cleo.”

Of course, her name had to be Jones. Molly thought. Couldn’t be Rumpelstiltskin.

“This photograph is a big help,” Molly said as she looked over the photograph.

“She had that tear drop birthmark,” Alba continued. “At first I thought it was a tattoo. It’s a perfect tear drop.”

“Do you have any other information that could help?” Molly asked.

“Yes,” Alba answered. “I checked my files and I have the parent’s address. I don’t know if they still live there.”

“Wow,” Molly exclaimed. “This is great. It’s the first real break we’ve had. Thank you. Can you tell me about the parents?”

Alba gathered her thoughts. “They seem like a nice couple. They always volunteered to bring cupcakes or cookies if I asked. They came to every teacher/parent meeting. I liked them.”

“Did you notice how they treated Cleo?” Molly asked.

“I think they adored her.” Alba answered. “She was an only child. Oh, I almost forgot. Cleo is left-handed.”

“Wow, again,” Molly said. “These are great clues.”

Alba smiled and sat back. “I don’t mean to seem pushy, but is there a reward?”

Molly nodded. “In fact, there is. If this turned out to be the missing Baby Kidist, then I’ll put you in touch with the grandmother. She’s offering a reward. The NCMEC might also offer a reward.”
“The who?” Alba asked.

“The National Center for Missing & Exploited Children,” Molly answered.

After some more small talk, Alba left. Molly was excited. She felt that there was no time like the present. She grabbed her purse and head out to the address that Alba gave her. It was Saturday, so Molly figured both parents would be home along with the child. She thought it best not to call ahead, because she wasn’t sure what she was getting into. She left a note with the address for Jen just in case. When Molly knocked on the door, a man of color about Molly’s age opened the door.

“Can I help you?” the man asked.

“Mr. Jones? Mr. Oni Jones?” Molly asked. “Is your wife home? I need to talk to you both about Cleo.”
“What about Cleo?” Oni asked.

“It’s about her adoption and her biological mother.”

Oni nodded and opened the door wider for Molly to enter. He called his wife and Cleo. Both came into the room. “It might be better if I just talk to you two for now,” Molly said. Hannah Jones sent Cleo outside to play in the back yard. It took several minutes for Molly to explain the situation. She told them about Anna and her search for her granddaughter and about Olivia’s suicide. As she talked, Hannah began to silently cry. Oni sat very stoic. When she was done, Molly asked, “Could Cleo be Kidist? Is she left-handed?” Both Jones nodded their heads. Hannah buried her face into Oni’s chest.
“I’m guessing that Cleo isn’t your biological daughter,” Molly said. “I’m I right?”
​
Hannah could hardly speak, so Oni did the talking. “We knew this day might come soon or later. We hoped for later. Yes. Cleo is probably Kidist. The timing is right. Of course, we didn’t know her birth name. We named her Cleotha after Hannah’s mom.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, Jen McDowell—Private Eye; Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is a draft. I’m at 61k words now. I’ve decided to restructure my chapters and manuscript (maybe today). If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 18

When Jen returned to the office, she found Molly and Marty working on their computers. This time Marty was not using Jen’s desk but was using the coffee table. “Sup?” Jen asked.

“We’re working on the kidnapping case,” Molly answered. She noticed Jen glance at Marty.
“Marty is helping me.”

“Well, we’re not putting him on the payroll,” Jen said with a smile. “You can pay him however you want.”

Molly shot Jen a nasty look. “It okay,” Marty said. “School doesn’t start for a couple of weeks, so I have time on my hands. Besides, it’s an interesting case.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jen requested.

“Okay,” Molly said. “We’ll have to make a few assumptions. First, I don’t think the kidnapper drove all the way to Atlanta from Texas to sell a baby girl to a sex trafficking ring. She could have sold the child in Texas or Mexico. From what we discovered, $10,000 is far above the offering price for a new-born.”

“So why drive to Atlanta?” Jen asked.

“I think she sold the baby to a black couple here in Atlanta,” Molly replied. “If the child was sold to a sex trafficker, we’ll never find her.”

“But why pay that much to adopt?” Jen asked. “Don’t couples adopt for a lot less through organizations like Catholic Charities?”

“Yes,” Molly answered. “That’s true. There must have been a reason for the couple not to use Catholic Charities or even a private adoption agency.”

“Here’s what I found out,” Marty jumped in. “Not everyone gets approved to adopt. If one of the adopting parents is a felon convicted of child abuse or neglect, domestic violence, child pornography or sexual assault, it is highly unlikely that their home study will be approved.”

“So, you think that they paid $10,000 because someone was a felon?” Jen asked.

“Could be,” Molly answered.

“What other assumptions did you make?” Jen asked.

“If we go with the adoption theory, then we must assume it’s a black couple who can afford to pay $10,000. We must assume, at least for now, that they still live in the Atlanta area or at least in Georgia. If they moved outta state, it’ll be hard to track them down.”

“Okay, I’ll buy that,” Jen said. “Now how do we proceed?”

“The child would be six years old now,” Molly answered. “Plus, her name was probably changed. We don’t have a picture we can use, but there is that tear drop birthmark. That’s our best clue right now. The child should be in school. Maybe a teacher will recognize the birthmark.”

“We can circulate the picture of the birthmark to as many teachers as possible and hope someone knows the girl,” Marty added. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“There must be hundreds of teachers in the Atlanta school system.”

“Here’s what I found out,” Marty said. “the Atlanta school system has 91 learning sites, including 58 neighborhood schools, 6 partner schools, 18 charter schools, 2 citywide single-gender academies, and 3 alternative programs. That doesn’t include private schools or parochial schools.”

“We’ll try to reach all of them,” Molly said. “We can also reach teachers through the various teacher associations like the National Education Association. Their affiliate in Georgia is the Georgia Association of Educators. Hopefully, they’ll help us.”

“What if she’s home schooled?” Jen asked.

Molly froze. “I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t know?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Marty interjected. “I assume home schools have to be licensed somehow. There’re also pediatricians. The child must have needed a doctor at some point, maybe vaccinations or a physical for school. Maybe Doc can help us connect with them.”

“There’s also minsters or Sunday school teachers,” Molly added.

“What about the police report?” Jen asked.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Molly answered. “There’s no report in the APD. The case is being handled by Texas. Marty checked into it.”

“I didn’t have much luck there,” Marty added. “The Houston police said that it’s still an open case. They referred me to the cold case department. I called them and left a message. However, I did pick somethings from the news.”

Marty turned to Molly. “Go ahead,” she said.

In the news reports,” Marty continued. “The police found Olivia Smith in a local motel. She committed suicide. She left a note that said only that she was sorry. There were baby items but no baby and no clue what happened to her. They did find almost $10,000 in cash. They think Smith sold the baby.”
​
“I contacted the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children,” Molly interjected. “They have Kidist in their database, but they have no new information. They said they’d help any way they can, but we’re on our own here.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 59k words now. I’ve decided to restructure my chapters and manuscript. I also want to change the name. I’m thinking of “Jen McDowell—Private Eye”.  If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 17 (Cont’d.)

“Oh my God,” Chang Ying said in a half scream.

“The FBI are on their way to arrest him as we speak. However, you may be in danger. You need to leave right now. I’ll take you to my place. You’ll be safe there.”

Chang Ying didn’t say anything. She just stood up and nodded her head. She grabbed her purse and followed Jen toward the door. When Jen opened the door, there stood Jimmy Richardson.

Chang Ying was startled, “Jimmy. What are you doing home today?” She stepped back inside the apartment.

Jimmy pushed Jen back into the apartment, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He stood blocking the door. He looked at Jen. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jen McDowell, a private eye.”

“The police were just at my house,” Jimmy said. “I managed to see them before they saw me.” He glanced at Chang Ying who was shaking all over. “Does she know?”

“Yes,” Jen answered. “I told her all about you and what happened to Biyu. I guess you know the police recovered her body today.”

Jimmy continued to block the door. “Yeah, I figured. So, they’re going to arrest me?”

“They’re probably on the way here now,” Jen answered. “It’s over, Jimmy. Don’t make things worst. Just surrender.”

Just then police sirens could be heard in the distance. Jimmy walked over to the balcony doors and pulled the curtains aside and looked out. He walked onto the balcony for a better look. “They’re here now.”
 
Jen took this opportunity to open the door and push Chang Ying out into the hallway. She stayed inside. She placed her hand on her pistol inside her purse. “Give yourself up, Jimmy. The police will want to know who else you killed and where they’re buried. You’ll be able to cut a deal to avoid the death penalty. Come back inside and sit down. I’ll stay with you until the police get here.”

“I don’t think so,” Jimmy said. He backed up to the railing on the balcony. Before Jen could stop him, he boosted himself onto the railing and plunged backwards over the rail. It was eleven floors down. Jimmy died instantly.

A few minutes later, Agent Malcolm entered at the head of a SWAT team. Jen pointed toward the balcony. Malcolm ran out onto the balcony and looked over. “Shit,” he said. “Now we don’t know how many women he killed and where they’re buried.”

When Jen finally walked outside, she saw Chang Ying sitting in police car, crying.

A week later, Agent Malcolm called Jen again. “Jen, I thought I’d call to let you know we found more bodies. We took your tip. Jimmy Richardson did bury his victims on properties for which he was the real estate agent. We still have several more to check. We’re using cadaver dogs.”

“Great. I’m glad. Now those families can get closure. How many?”

“So far,” Malcolm answered. “seven.”

“Holy shit. Did any match the DNA you obtained from overseas?” Jen asked.
​
“We’re still working on that. I’ll let you know.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 55k words now. I’ve decided to restructure my chapters and manuscript. I also want to change the name. I’m thinking of “Jen McDowell—Private Eye”.  If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 17

Two days later, Jonah called. “I hate when you call me from work,” Jen said. “It’s never good news.”

“This might be considered good news even though it’s bad,” Jonah said.

“You’re no making any sense.”

“Another body has been found. An Asian female. It’s not as old as the others; maybe a year or less. We don’t have the autopsy report yet. Looks like she was strangled. We checked the DNA and it’s Biyu.”

“Are you positive?” Jen asked in disbelief. It had been so long.

“It’s a positive ID. The DNA you sent us matched 100%. It’s here. Been dead about a year. Strangled, like the others.”

“No shit?” Jen shouted. “We got him. Has Richardson been arrested yet?”

“Not yet. It’s the FBI’s case. I think they’ll pick him up later today. They need a warrant.”

“They’re in the process of get the arrest warrant. They should take him into custody some time tonight. If he follows his usual pattern, he’ll be with his real family.”

“What about Charlize Wessel? She provided the first lead.”
 
“I know, Malcolm answered. “We’ll work out a deal--no jail time. You can tell her as soon as we make the arrest.”

“Where did you find the body?” Jen asked.

“A woman was planting a garden and dug up a large plastic bag. It had the body.”

Jen thought for a moment. “Check and see who the real estate agent on that property was. Richardson was a real estate agent. I’ll bet he buried bodies on properties that were empty at the time. He had access.”

“Good tip, Jen. I’ll let the FBI know. Good work.” Jonah hung up.

Jen decided to celebrate with a special cup of coffee. She gave up alcohol when she learned she had PTSD. In the middle of making the coffee, it hit her. Chang Ying might be in danger. In the time it took to finally find evidence on Richardson, he had married Chang Ying. Jen called Jonah to tell him to protect Chang Ying.

“Jonah, Chang Ying married Richardson,” Jen half shout into her cellphone. “She’s in danger. We have to warn her.”

“Don’t call her,” Jonah said. “It might tip off Richardson. We’ll try to get there as soon as we can, but it might take some time. We still need a warrant.”

“Oh damn, I’m on my way to her place.”  Jen shouted and hung up on Jonah. She immediately grabbed her purse, her car keys and the complete file on Richardson and headed toward the door. She stopped in her tracks and retraced her step. She took out her pistol from her desk. Jen called Chang Ying from her car. She didn’t want to sneak in through the garage as she had in the past. She wanted Chang Ying to let her in. She went over various ways to break the news to Chang Ying that her new husband was a murderer and maybe a serial killer. She couldn’t decide on a good way to do it, so she decided to take it slow.

When Chang Ying answered the door, Jen asked, “Is your husband home?”

“No,” she answered. I don’t expect him until Friday. Come in.” The apartment smelled like incense. Chang Ying made tea and brought out some English cookies. Now what can I do for you, Jen. You said it was urgent. By the way, did you ever find your cat?”

Jen smiled. “Chang Ying, this not going to be a friendly visit and I’m pressed for time. I’m not who I said I was. My real name is Jen McDowell. I’m a private investigator. For several months I’ve been investigation your husband.”

Chang Ying was shocked. “What? Why? What for?”

Jen reminded herself to go slow. “Your husband is also not who you think he is.” Jen opened her file.
His real name is Richardson. He has another family on the other side of town. He stays with them Monday through Thursday and come here Fridays through the weekend.” Jen showed Chang Ying the pictures of Richardson’s other family. Chang Ying fell silent as she looked over the pictures. “Before you, he was also married to this person.” Jen showed her the picture of Biyu. “A few days ago, the police recovered her body. She had been dead for nearly a year. They think he killed her.”
​
Chang Ying began to cry. Jen waited for her to calm down before going on. “We think he marries Asian women like you and then after a while he kills them. He’s a psychopath.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 54k words now. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 16 (Cont.)

Jen thought about it for a moment. Hong Kong is part of China, and she didn’t know what laws if any applied to transporting DNA samples. “Do you have labs in Hong Kong that can do the DNA analysis? “

“Of course,” Mr. Zhang answered. “but it’s expensive. I’ll need more money for that.”

Jen had an idea. “Mr. Zhang, will this hurt your business?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, you connected one of your clients with a murderer. That can’t be good for business once the news gets out.”

Mr. Zhang was silent for a few moments. “Well, technically, the murderer is my client, not Biyu… but, maybe it would be better if I just mail this sample to you and you have a lab process it. I’ll wave my normal fees if you can keep my name out of the news.”

“I think we can do that. Please send the DNA by the fastest means.”

A week later, Jen received a package in the mail from Hong Kong. It was the DNA sample. Jen decide it was time to get the police and the FBI involved. Of course, that would have to include how Charlize was involved. Jonah agreed to keep her name out of it as long as possible.

Jen told Jonah that she suspected that Richardson killed Biyu and that he may have killed others. Jonah explained that without any proof, there’s no probable cause to suspect Richardson.  The fact that he was now married to two women is not, in itself, any evidence of murder. Jonah pointed out that right now it’s simply a missing person case.

Jen gave the DNA sample to Jonah. He said it would take the FBI about 48 hours to process the DNA, but to compare that DNA with the DNA of the unidentified remains might take weeks. Two weeks later, Jen got a call from Special Agent Malcolm Andrews of the FBI.

Jen answered the call and put it on speaker phone so Molly could hear. “Special Agent Malcolm, this is a surprise. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Malcolm answered. “How are you? No more assignation attempts, I hope.”

“No, I’m good,” Jen replied. “What can I do for you.”

“Jen, I just wanted to discuss a couple of things with you. First, that DNA sample you gave us; turns out it didn’t match any of the unidentified Jane Does. It was not Ms. Biyu Richards.”

Jen was disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was so certain that it would match Biyu. I’m sure her husband killed her.”

“That’s another thing,” Malcolm continued. “Since there is no body or any evidence that Mr. Richards or Mr. Richardson murdered anyone, we have no probably cause to seek any evidence against him.”
“Malcolm, I’ll bet he’s done this before; he marries a mail order bride in Vegas and then later kills her. Could the FBI in Vegas at least check to see if he married anyone else there?”

“Jen, without probable cause, any evidence gathered that way would get thrown out. We can’t go there. However, a private citizen might be able to do that. You didn’t hear that from me. Of course, that alone isn’t proof of murder unless we can identify those Asian Jane Does.”

“Got it,” Jen said. “Anything else?”

“There is one more thing,” Malcolm answered. “We like the work you did to obtain that DNA even though it didn’t match anyone. We’ve decided to trace a theory that one or more of the Asian Jane Does might be mail order brides. We know one came from Malawi, one from Indonesia and one from South Africa. We will officially request assistance in obtaining DNA samples from relatives in those countries. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Do you think those countries will cooperate?” Jen asked.

“Malawi and South Africa will,” Malcolm answered. “We don’t know if Indonesia will. Sometimes they do. They’ll want something in return; perhaps assistance from us on one of their cases.”

“Can you ask them to check with the mail order bride agencies to see if Richardson is a client?”

“No,” Malcolm answered quickly. “We have to do this by the book. We don’t have probable cause.”

Three weeks later, Malcolm called Jen again. “Jen, we got the DNA samples from Malawi and South Africa. We received two from Malawi and one from South Africa. We’re still checking the DNA samples against the DNA of the unidentified remains.”

“What about Indonesia?” Jen asked.
​
“Not yet. They’re playing hardball, but they’ll come around. They did say that the one Jane does we considered Chinese is more likely Javanese. They don’t have a lot of Chinese. I’ll keep you updated.”
Four days later, Malcolm called again. “Jen, bad news. None of the DNA sample match the DNA from the Asian Jane Does. It was a long shot. Without a good picture, the countries did the best they could. Sorry.”

The following is another excerpt from my work in progress, The Throuple Private Eye—Business is Booming, a Jen McDowell Series. This is the second draft. I’m at 52k words now. If you want to catch up, order the novella The Throuple Private Eye—Hate Crimes, on Amazon ($2.99). The link is https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084LTTHGN. Enjoy.

CHAPTER 16

Jen was stumped. She knew Jimmy was cheating on his wife and living two separate lives. She felt that Biyu was probably dead, but she had no proof and no leads. Jen decide to turn to her boyfriend Jonah. He worked in homicide and could advise her. Jen was up early as Jonah popped into her office for a cup of coffee. He walked over to Jen for a quick kiss before coffee. Jen said, “I need your help on this case I’m working on.”

Jonah smiled. “Does that mean pot roast for dinner tonight?”

Jen shook her head. “I’m a little busy. Would you settle for just sex?”

Jonah tried to act serious. “Pot roast or sex. Hmmm, that’s a tough one.”

Jen was getting impatient. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Okay,” Jonah replied, “No pot roast.”

“Fine,” Jen shot back. “Here it is. I need a list of all the Jane Does found in the county.”

Jonah chuckled. “You don’t need me to find that for you. It’s all online. Here, I’ll write down the website.”

“Damn,” Jen said. “I knew that.”

Jonah straightened up. Does that mean no sex and no pot roast?” When Jen ignored the remark. Jonah wrote down the website for Jen; Unidentified Remains.

Jen was surprised to see that the police had used DNA-based sketches based on skull reconstruction. She was also surprised at how few unknown murder victims there were. With modern DNA techniques, the police were able to track down just about everyone’s family. Of course, that only helped to identify the remains. The murderers still had to be caught. Several of the cases were still unsolved. Of the ones that Jen reviewed going back ten years, she managed to find three Asian females whose remains were not identified. The forensic lab was able to identify where the victims lived: one was from Malawi, one from Indonesia and one from South Africa.

Jen was convinced that some of these victims were killed by Jimmy. The police had their DNA on file, so if Jen could track down a family member, she might be able to identify some of the victims, at least Biyu.

She decided to try and determine which agency Biyu had used in Hong Kong to link her with Richardson. She thought it would be simple, but when she did a search, she discovered there were dozens of agencies. She would have to contact each one. She sent an email to each agency with a picture of Biyu and Jimmy. She said he may have used the name Richards.

The next couple of days, Jen heard from more than half of the agencies she sent emails. Most said that Jimmy and Biyu weren’t clients. However, one agency said that the picture of Biyu was a not good picture, but Jimmy Richards had been a client. Jen proposed a meeting using a social meeting app.

There’s a 12-hour difference between Hong Kong and Atlanta, so Jen set up the meeting for 9 pm, Atlanta time. When the meeting started, a pleasant looking Asian man filled Jen’s screen. She explained how Biyu had disappeared and may be dead.

The man was concerned. “Call me Mr. Zhang, please. How can I help?”

“I’ve identified three Asian females whose bodies were found in Fulton County. The police have DNA profiles on all three. If you could help get DNA from a member of Biyu’s family, we can determine if any of the remains are hers.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of this procedure,” Mr. Zhang replied. “I would need the DNA from her mother or father.”

“Correct,” Jen said. “If not them, then a brother or other family member will do.”

“Seem like a lot of work,” Mr. Zhang said. “As you Americans like to say, what’s in it for me?”
Mr. Zhang cuts right to the chase, Jen thought. “Of course, I will reimburse you for your time at whatever your rate is. Also, the FBI is offering a reward of $10,000 US dollars. If your help leads to an arrest, I’m willing to split the reward with you.”

“My time is valuable, Ms. Jen,” Mr. Zhang replied. “I’m a very busy man. I’ll have to charge you time and a half. Plus, I want our agreement to split the reward in writing. I’ll need a hundred dollars to start. I’ll find a family member for the DNA. I know how. Meanwhile, you send me the agreement in writing. Deal?”

Jen was getting pissed. “Deal,” she said. She put together a letter of agreement and emailed to Mr. Zhang. She found it hard to believe that he wouldn’t help pro bono. Afterall, Biyu was one of his clients. Then again, it wasn’t so hard to believe. Much to Jen’s surprise, Mr. Zhang responded two days later.
​
“I have the DNA from Biyu’s mother,” Mr. Zhang said in their next meeting. “How do you want to handle this? I can send the DNA to you, or I can contact a local lab to work up a profile and send it to you.”