On No Account - a meaty introduction

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Stubborn people…
Many great discoveries came about because someone refused to accept certain facts. Unfortunately, a lot of hardship also came about because someone refused to accept certain facts. One fact you can't argue is death. But you can dispute who the dead is - if what's left of him is his teeth…

 Predicament…
When a young policewoman storms into a room and finds herself pointing her pistol towards a couple in the middle of something very private, the word embarrassment adds another dimension…

Out of Control…
What drives people to criminal actions? Inherited genes? A sorrowful childhood? Bad company? A big hole inside? Or just bad luck - you happened to be on the wrong spot at the wrong time.
Imagine you are the intended victim of a plot aimed to kill you, but you escape thanks to lucky chance. Does this give you the moral right to strike back? The police think you should leave everything to them, but in your opinion the law is too slow, and no good to you if you're dead…

Organizers…
People in control of their temper are usually in advantage position. The icy businessman Dan Allock used to be in pefect control of everything. In this case, his planning was so exact it appeared unreal. But no one is in control of fate, and fate can emerge in the most unexpected shape. An eyewitness engages private investigator Freddy Larson and his sidekick Robin Webster as go-betweens, but their part in the play changes with every new piece of information. When Freddy is mistaken for someone who drained Dan Allock's account of one million British pounds, he finds a reason to reconsider his decision to start his investigation agency…

Summary:

Early morning…
An old man and his wife watch strange behavior on the street from their high up balcony. A fellow fiddling with a car turns on their suspicion. They realize the significance of their observations as a bomb shakes the building. Thick smoke comes out of the car. They get in touch with private investigators Freddy Larson and Robin Webster and ask them to pass on the information to the police. The general conclusion is that the man in the car is someone else than die-hard Dan Allock, the car owner…

Agree or disagree…
Young and ambitious police detective Lena Mansing is eager to make career in the force. During her apprentice time in the murder squad she takes in that a burned out corpse is not a pretty sight. A prettier sight is private investigator Robin Webster and together with him she finds that life is not only hard work and duty. As things develop she learns that private investigators and police representatives don't always share opinion on the subject of investigation work. From Chief Inspector Robertson's point of view there's only one option - the book…

Disconnection…
A good million British pounds have disappeared from a safe in Gothenburg, Sweden. Suspicion claims that the money was withdrawn from a bank in London and transferred to a number account in Switzerland. No theft is reported. The money belongs to to the construction firm run by Allock and his partner Bruno Classon.

Stupid…
Classon is in the habit of creating trouble because of his hot temper. But no mess can compare to the one waiting for him in London as he goes to the metropolitan to reclaim his money. He doesn't know that this action is within Dan Allock's calculation. During the brief encounter it is confirmed that Allock responds only too well to his reputation as smart and ruthless. The way he receives his partner in his hotel room wouldn't count among "nice and friendly" in the book of etiquette. But there are surprises waiting for Allock too.

Dancing Queen's worry…
A man by the name of Brian Keith has been missing since the morning when the car bomb went off. His good-looking sister gets in touch with private investigator Freddy Larson. She's happy to learn that Freddy is already involved in the case and in possession of not yet public information. He takes on the task to find the brother and is not surprised to hear that Keith and Allock are old acquaintances. Some of the speculations about Keith's whereabouts are really scary.

On no account…
As Allock arrives to collect his fortune in Zurich, he is met by the shocking message that the account is empty. The bank staff supplies a vague description of the man who drained it. Allock takes a fligth to Gothenburg to start working his hit list and get his money back. Freddy Larson has no idea that he slightly fits the description. As he stares into Allock's pistol muzzle it strikes him that his role in the mess has changed from go-between to something very different.

Insider…
Young Bernard Lonn used to be the official accountant at Allock's firm. He looks up Robin Webster to share information about the disappeared money and to tell him that Allock is alive, not knowing that this is public knowledge. He is mistaking Webster for police. His information makes it clear why Classon didn't report the theft.

Devastating blunder…
Sarah Allock's pale and frail appearance is not quite in accordance with her active part in the plot that unsuccessfully aimed to end a human being's life. Or is she just a victim of circumstance, used by other people? At least she is very much in love with her lover. Actually, she's so in love that she's willing to risk her and his freedom for an amorous interlude. She has no idea there is an audience throughout the hot performance. At least until it's nearly over.

More mistakes…
Bomb expert Dennis Grichter puts his foot in it once too many. When it dawns on the down-and-out ex-sergeant that he shares second position on Dan Allock's hit list, he tries to engage private investigators Larson and Webster to save his skin. In spite of this, his options are a rat's in a cage. Mercy isn't for Dan Allock.

Predicament…
Irresolution and embarrassment fill Lena Mansing's entire being as she steps into a room and sets her eyes on a couple in the most intimate of situations. The people she is pointing her pistol to are not aware of her presence. They are very concentrated on own doings. She feels like a peeping Tom. Still, one of the lovebirds is a suspect of murder and she can't take for granted there is no weapon within his reach. No matter how stupid she feels, she has no option but to keep pointing her gun.

As the story goes on some of the people involved shift from suspects to victims, others proceed from friend to enemy. Some of them make terrible mistakes in efforts to save own and other's skin. When everybody thinks the case is solved, new evidence pile up and points in other directions. Police detective Bronsberg - known for his untiring attitude to his work - puts all his weight behind the case as he senses his colleagues' mocking smiles behind his back.

Still, the culprit could have gone away with it if his triumph hadn't blinded him. His only mistake was a devastating one…

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On No Account

Albert Loren

Chapter One

Dan Allock watched his face in the hall mirror as if studying an old friend. The contemptuous smile, balancing on the point of ruthlessness was the perfect illustration of his personality. He was aware of the risk of overdoing it. If he curled his upper lip a tiny bit more, he'd look like a poor imitation of Elvis Presley. He didn't like to be at the wrong end of a joke.
People who knew him didn't laugh whatever expression currently strained his features. Some of them would claim that the image in the mirror was his only friend.
His baldness went well with the general impression - not least because he had allowed the remains of the fair hair to grow over the jacket collar. A wrestler had inspired to the Cossack style mustache; the glint in the icy blue eyes was borrowed from the same source. The practised way of lowering his eyelids when he silently watched people he didn't like was his own invention. It crossed his mind that the world was full of people he didn't like.
He pushed forward his chin as he adjusted the tie knot. In own opinion, he looked very well in dark suits. Luckily, his position demanded or at least allowed that kind of dressing as working clothes. This one was tailor-made and very expensive. He turned around to look in the mirror over his shoulder. A hair just out of his reach smudged the dark blue fabric. He didn't want to take off the jacket and leant backward to the living room door opening. His husky voice came out as a dog's muffled barking.
"Sarah!"
A slim and very pale woman emerged and stopped in the doorway. Her wide-open eyes gleamed with unbridled horror. Allock watched her through the mirror. Her normal air was girlish astonishment. He shook his head.
"Anything wrong?"
She tried a faint smile.
"I'm sorry, I'm still not quite awake, it's very early."
He kept watching her. Although he showed no sign of it - at least he prayed he didn't - this was the most decisive moment of his life. A misgiving that she had unmasked his plans flashed through his mind, but second thought dismissed the whim. He had been extremely cautious throughout the entire conspiracy. Something else caused her agitation.
"You look destroyed."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, collect yourself. You're supposed to say good-bye to your husband and wish him good luck."
Her forced smiling seemed to stress her fright rather than relax her manners. Allock screwed up his eyes.
"You are not ill, are you?"
"No - I mean yes, my stomach is bothering me."
She panted as if she had walked quickly up a flight of stairs. Claiming sickness was such evident a lie that she blushed. Otherwise, she was not a bad liar. He nodded over his shoulder.
"Remove that hair from my back, please."
She stepped forward, snatched away the hair and stepped back as if her husband had given a toxic scent. The nervousness caused a fit of hiccups. She kept pressing out her smile.
"I wish you had told me you were to leave this early."
The remark was cut off abruptly. He waited for a proceeding. There wasn't any. A slight stammer had accompanied the last words. He had never heard her stammer before.
"It's not the first time I'm leaving early, my dear. I need to be in Paris before nine. There's no cause for alarm."
She nodded hesitatingly before changing to energetic shaking. It seemed she were out of control of her motions. She watched him grab the fireproof safety briefcase and lock the chain round his wrist. The item looked heavy. She took his coat from a hanger and handed it to him.
"Have a nice trip then."
He wondered wether she sensed it was the last time they saw each other, female instinct and all.
"Thank you, my dear. I'll be back tonight."
The lie pulled an askew smile on his stern face. He folded the coat over his arm. It was middle of May and no need for the article; he brought it to look businesslike as he stepped out of the aircraft. Not that anyone would be there to meet him.
A fit of melancholy surprised him as he patted her cheek. He kept it back with another manly expression and looked steadily into her big green eyes. He decided that she would be better off without him. After all, she had had an affair for more than a decade. Perhaps there was more than one. The thin uncombed hair looked glued to her scull. He would have liked the last glimpse of her to be more prepossessing.
"Good-bye, my dear."
As he waited for the elevator in the dead silent stairway he heard through the apartment door that she pounded numbers hysterically on the hall telephone. He frowned. You don't call people five o'clock in the morning unless you have a very important message. He listened intently for a moment but there was no sound of her voice filtering through the door. Apparently there was no answer.
The elevator arrived and he stepped in. From now on, she could do whatever she liked with whoever she liked. He'd be busy taking care of himself. He reckoned with a week's respite before the hunt was on.
As the elevator took him down it struck him there might be some substance to the hackneyed saying "this is the first day of the rest of your life". But his mood wasn't philosophic enough for deeper analyze…

Excerpt 1:

A just become widow…
…Chief inspector Robertson paused and scutinized her pale features. He noticed her eyes were shot with brown close to the pupil.
"No fireproof briefcase was found in the car."
Her eyes started blinking like birdwings.
"Are you sure? Except for his coat, the briefcase was the only thing he brought."
He pondered silently on the information. The note-making assistant raised her eyes as the pause went on too long.
"Could Classon have been waiting for him to snatch the briefcase from the car, pretending he was trying to rescue his partner?"
Robertson's slowly shaking head illustrated the idleness of his mind.
"It would have been too risky. The explosion woke up a lot of people. Someone should have reported a man seizing anything from the car."
He didn't add that getting that close to a car on fire wouldn't be possible. Lena Mansing looked embarrassed. It annoyed her that the question hadn't been clever enough. She wanted to make a good impression for future judgment.
"Quite, Chief."
Sarah Allock sensed the embarrassment and came to the pleasant policewoman's rescue. At least it was her intention.
"He could have been waiting in the stairway and snatched it there, couldn't he?"
Robertson's head shook again.
"In that case your husband would have returned to the apartment. Besides, you just mentioned that Classon in no way would be able to overpower Dan Allock."
Despite the chief inspector's friendly tone, both women felt snubbed and their mouths shrunk by each a quarter of an inch.
Robertson kept watching Mrs. Allock. The first impression of a woman you hardly notice was contradicted by the appealing glint in her big eyes. A lot of men felt strong and protective with that kind of woman.
He wasn't one of those. Lena Mansing, the woman body-builder next to Sarah was his kind. She radiated strength and health. He preferred physically strong women.
"Do you know anything about the content of the briefcase?"
Sarah shrugged and shook her head at the same time. Her fringe swayed. It was so thin you could count the hairs.
"Like I said, he never told me anything. I suppose there were documents."
Robertson almost smiled, wondering if she were trying to get back on him. He had never quite learned to cope with emancipation.
"Except for documents?" He tried to hypnotize her not to say "pens".
"If you're talking about money, it's possible of course."
Robertson realized he was wasting his time. Bruno Classon would be waiting at the headquarters as got there. An interview with the partner should add more to the investigation. He stood and nodded.
"That will be all for now, Mrs. Allock. We'll keep in touch. Until the case is solved, I must ask you not to leave town…

Excerpt 2:

Pretty woman…
Anne Keith was very much aware of her looks. The black hair, cut and combed in a sporty fashion formed a perfect frame around her pretty face. The glint in the brown eyes had the power of attracting attention from fifteen yards. And if that wasn't enough people only had to glance down her body. A tight teeshirt outlined her shapely breasts, jeans that looked glued to her lower body accentuated the curves of her sexy behind and gorgeous legs. The sight of her posterior in such articles was known as a common cause of men's sleeplessness. The summer version stopped below her knees and exposed her tanned calves.
As a tournament dancer she knew that many of the male spectators came to watch her and other women's dainty bodies in sensual Latin dancing. She didn't mind, though. The feeling of covetous eyes on her face and body gave her sort of a kick.
The fellow who watched her right now didn't belong to those who flashed sidelong glances they prayed she wouldn't notice. His eyes looked ready to pop out. It hadn't surprised her if he had asked her to spin around.
She interrupted his staring by nodding to the street door that had just slammed behind him.
"Excuse me, is this there Freddy Larson, the private investigator lives?"
Freddy nodded and gulped. Not only was this woman the sexiest creature he had seen for years - she had come to see him of all people.
"I'm Freddy Larson." He fiddled out his wallet and from there his notorious card. "Freddy's Agency, that's my firm."
She received the piece and gave a lovely smile. Her teeth were small and very white.
"My name is Anne Keith. I wonder if you could spare me a minute of your precious time."
The touch of her hand sent electric waves through his body. He realized he had to work hard not to lose control of his dignity.
"Actually, I'm on my way to Sunday dinner with my assistant. You're welcome to join us - it's all on the house, entertainment expenses."
She kept smiling though now at his hectic way of presenting the invitation.
"I'd love to." She didn't think it necessary to add that she wasn't in the habit of dining at own expense at restaurants. "Which place are you talking about…

Excerpt 3:

In between…
She had fallen asleep after the intense act. Robin enjoyed her soft body on top of him and was so distracted by the feeling that he didn't notice she woke up. He started as she suddenly spoke in a low though not whispering voice.
"Do you know what keeps me awake at nights, Robin?"
Obviously not my naked body pressed against yours, he thought behind a sarcastic smile. He waited for her to raise head and look at him. Her eyes seemed to glow in the dark.
"Tell me."
There was a moment of tense silence. Her anguish was almost touchable.
"Did you ever see a burned corpse?"
"Not from close enough to give me sleepless nights."
She resumed the restful position with her head against his shoulder.
"The understanding that these coal-like remains had been a human being that same morning gives me the creeps. Even Robertson's face was white."
"No one is untouched by a sight like that."
She sighed, rolled off and stretched out beside him. It was a double bed. She stared at the ceiling she could only hint in the dark.
"I've told everyone who cared to listen that I want to be cremated when I go. I'm not so sure any more:"
Robin kept back the remark that she wouldn't be pushed alive into the oven. The atmosphere was anything but humorous. He watched her body and established again that it was very feminine. She lay on her back between him and the window. The cold light from the street lamp modeled her skin and emphasized her enticing curves. The rather small breasts and the flat stomach in contrast to the powerful thighs lent her an impression of sculptured mermaid.
"You'll get over it."
"I don't think I will."
"In that case you'll have to learn to live with it. Your life as a police means a future full of disgusting sights."
She put her hand on his muscular stomach and rubbed gently.
"Perhaps I'm not fit for the job. My mind is softer than my body."
"A lot of people are confronted with dead bodies in their daily life. I guess they develop sort of professional frigidity as self-defence. You will, too."
She turned her face towards the window. The dull light went well with her mood.
"I don't want to be indifferent to other people's suffering."
Robin put his hand on her thigh and caressed the smooth skin. In his opinion, the topic was of the kind that leads to dead ends. Though he didn't know her well enough, he had a feeling that in a day or two the rational thinking and the watchful attitude that had made her the Chief Inspector's favorite would be restored.
As his hand slipped to her sex, she responded by moving her hand down his stomach. She found something to hold on to but it wasn't for consoling purposes. She leant to his ear.
"Would you like to know something else, Robin."
He thought she was about to instruct him how she wanted him to perform this time.
"I'm listening."
"Promise you don't think I'm a pervert."
"I know you're not."
She felt he was ready and squeezed hard.
"Talking about death makes me hot."
He rolled rather than climbed over her nearest thigh. Despite the amorous situation, he felt she really appealed for response. His voice sank to a whisper.
"That's how we are programmed, Lena. The reminder of death reactivates our link to eternity, the reproduction instinct."
It surprised him he was able of such philosophical nonsense in a moment like this.
As he entered her he forgot about stereotypes. All he could think was that between Lena Mansing's legs was a nice place to be.

- end of summary and excerpts -

Reader's choice…
As you may have hinted after reading the above samples, this is a book you can recommend to people who normally don't read thrillers. Freddy Larson's frisky exploits in the spirit of Philip Marlowe are sure to be appreciated by any book lover. Still, all the ingredients of a traditional thriller are there; excitement, puzzle, mystery and - of course - the battle of wits between private investigators and the police …

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FACTS:
TITLE: ON NO ACCOUNT
AUTHOR: ALBERT LOREN
ISBN: 1 4241 2033 0
© ALBERT LOREN 2006
FIRST PUBLISHED IN USA 2006
PUBLISHER: PUBLISH AMERICA
PAGES: 278
BINDING: SOFTCOVER
PRICE: $ 18.95
EBOOK PUBLISHER: EBOOKOMATIC
PRICE EBOOK: $ 5.95

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Join the growing circle of readers who have learned that a book by Albert Loren is a reliable friend…

All his thrillers are published as Ebooks, PDF format. In course of time, his four earlier titles will also be published as paperbooks in USA.

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