Dead Man’s Debt
February 21, 2025
Detective Lucas Reed hated rich people’s problems. The dead man slumped over the mahogany desk in front of him was Vincent Carlisle, a real estate tycoon with a long list of enemies. Shot once in the head. No forced entry. No witnesses. A classic execution.
“Who found him?” Lucas asked, sipping his now-cold coffee.
Officer Miller flipped through his notes. “His assistant, Julia Hayes. Came in this morning, found him like this. Says she left the office at 8 p.m. last night, and he was alive then.”
Lucas glanced around the lavish office, his eyes landing on an empty whiskey glass near the victim’s right hand. “Security footage?”
Miller shook his head. “Nothing. Cameras conveniently stopped working around 10 p.m.”
Lucas exhaled through his nose. He hated convenient.
Julia Hayes stood in the hallway, arms wrapped around herself. Her mascara was slightly smudged, but her composure was otherwise intact. Lucas studied her as he approached. “Ms. Hayes, when was the last time you spoke to Mr. Carlisle?”
She swallowed. “Just before I left. He was in a meeting with a—” she hesitated, “—a private investor. But he asked me not to log it.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Did he give a name?”
“No.” She shifted. “But I recognized him. His name is Robert Langley. Vincent owed him money. A lot of it.”
Lucas exchanged a glance with Miller. “Where can I find Langley?”
Robert Langley didn’t even pretend to be surprised when Lucas showed up at his door. He was a lean man with sharp eyes and an expensive suit, sipping a glass of wine. “Detective, I assume this is about Vincent.”
Lucas leaned against the doorframe. “He’s dead.”
Langley sighed, swirling his drink. “I figured.”
Lucas’s jaw tightened. “You were the last person to see him alive. Care to explain?”
“I went to collect a debt,” Langley said smoothly. “Vincent was reckless. He borrowed money to fund a project that went belly-up. He promised to pay me back, but, well… words are cheap.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Did he pay you?”
Langley smirked. “No. And now I guess he never will.”
Lucas took a step forward. “Where were you between 10 and 11 p.m.?”
Langley chuckled. “At a poker game. Plenty of witnesses.”
Lucas studied him for a moment, then turned to leave. He wasn’t sure if Langley was a killer, but he was definitely a man who got what he wanted.
Back at the station, Miller handed Lucas a forensic report. “No gunpowder residue on Carlisle’s hands. Meaning…”
Lucas finished the sentence. “He didn’t shoot himself.”
Miller hesitated. “One more thing. The whiskey glass on his desk? It had traces of cyanide.”
Lucas stiffened. The bullet was just for show. Someone wanted Carlisle dead, no matter what.
And now, Lucas had to find out who.