A Simple Twist of Fate follows detective Terry Eckhart as he investigates a suspicious house fire that killed two in the Sunset district of San Francisco. Was it just an accident or suicide? Or something more, and if so, who was the target? The investigation leads him and his partner, Nick Fowler, from Golden Gate Park to Silicon Valley as they pursue the truth. When another body turns up in the park, the detectives wonder if the incidents are connected or if they are being led astray. Several suspects come under suspicion, from a Silicon Valley CEO with aspirations of making ancient alchemy theories a reality to his friend and chairman of the board bent on stopping his dangerous plans. At the same time, Eckhart struggles to put his last case behind him, a brutal kid killer that he will now have to face in court. All along, a dark figure moves silently in the background, haunted by thoughts from an early age that seem almost prophetic. As those thoughts escalate, so does the Dark Figure’s pressure to respond to them and eventually end them once and for all.
A Simple Twist of Fate follows detective Terry Eckhart as he investigates a suspicious house fire that killed two in the Sunset district of San Francisco. Was it just an accident or suicide? Or something more, and if so, who was the target? The investigation leads him and his partner, Nick Fowler, from Golden Gate Park to Silicon Valley as they pursue the truth. When another body turns up in the park, the detectives wonder if the incidents are connected or if they are being led astray. Several suspects come under suspicion, from a Silicon Valley CEO with aspirations of making ancient alchemy theories a reality to his friend and chairman of the board bent on stopping his dangerous plans. At the same time, Eckhart struggles to put his last case behind him, a brutal kid killer that he will now have to face in court. All along, a dark figure moves silently in the background, haunted by thoughts from an early age that seem almost prophetic. As those thoughts escalate, so does the Dark Figure’s pressure to respond to them and eventually end them once and for all.
Javier Lopez didn't know it, but this would be the last day he would come to work. As the morning fog slowly burned off, he sped along in his department-issued golf cart; the tool-laden wagon bouncing along behind as he traversed the compacted dirt paths of Golden Gate Park. As the head gardener, Javier handled a small crew of gardeners that maintained the expansive thousand-acre park on the western edge of San Francisco. Unlike most city workers who rose to the supervisor level, Javier worked alongside the rest of his crew. It was a work ethic learned from his father, who had held the same position as Javier over forty years ago. His father learned from his father, who had worked in the Park when it was built over a hundred years ago.
Javier spent most days ensuring his crew of young men were working, not hiding out, smoking pot, drinking, or doing anything to avoid work. However, a few of the guys on his staff had been there for years, were hard workers, and enjoyed learning about the Park's extensive plant collection. The rest of his workers resulted from city government nepotism, local rich kids needing work experience hours before heading to Berkeley or Stanford, and the occasional kid looking for an isolated part of the Park to grow pot and get paid while doing it.
Today wasn't a typical day. There were two no-shows, and the rest of the crew was busy doing maintenance, prepping the Park for the usual annual review from city hall. It wasn't as if the suits from downtown cared about the Park. Over the last decade, the City had reduced funding to where Javier had to maintain the vast area with ever-dwindling resources. It was challenging to keep the good workers, who found they could make more money mowing the small patches of grass that adorned the front yards of homes in the Sunset and Richmond Districts that bordered the north and south boundaries of the Park. It also meant that park security was out-sourced with a rent-a-cop contractor that Javier had never seen, and neither did the ever-increasing number of homeless people taking up residency in the many hidden pockets of the Park.
No, today wasn't a typical day. Today Javier was on his way to replace a dying rhododendron at the far eastern edge of the Park where the city would hold their review. It was just another photo op, Javier thought. They always used the same three locations in the Park. The Beach Chalet at the western edge of the Park, the museums in the middle of the Park, and the McLaren Lodge at the eastern end near Kezar stadium. This was where the dead, or nearly dead flower bush needed to be replaced. It was always the same. Add several new, healthy-looking plants, clean up all the trash tourists left behind, and roust any homeless so the city council members were happy.
As he pulled up to the lodge, the Gothic stone structure loomed amid the last swirls of fog as the sun poked through the still leafless branches of the trees. Even though Javier had been at work for over an hour, the surrounding city was still sleeping, the sun just now rising over the hills to the east. He caught the unmistakable smell of sourdough French bread baking from the Haight Street Bakery several blocks away. In this same spot during lunch, nearby pizza parlors would replace that smell.
Javier loved this part of the Park and especially the lodge. McLaren Lodge was constructed in 1896 as the home for the first caretaker of the Park, John McLaren. It had been vacant since he died in 1943. Anytime Javier did any work at this end of the Park, he usually tried to plan it around his lunchtime, so he could sit on the nearby bench and dream of being that first caretaker. His grandfather had worked with Mr. McLaren, something he would proudly speak of many times to his grandson. Those stories had as much to do with Javier eventually working at the Park as the fact his father had worked there. Javier could only imagine what it might have been like to work with John McLaren, let alone be the Park's original superintendent. Those were dreams he had whenever he was in this part of the Park. He wouldn't have time for those dreams today.
Javier jumped off the golf cart, took a long draw from his water jug, and grabbed the round-point shovel to remove the dead bush. The ground under the bush was still damp from the night dew, but it also meant it would be easy for Javier to replace. He didn't have the new shrub yet, but he'd come back later and put it in, closer to the time of the photo op, so it looked as fresh as possible. Javier just wanted to remove the old one and bring it to one of the many compost piles around the Park. He made a note to check the irrigation in this area since the rhododendron had always been one of the healthier bushes. Who knows? Maybe one of the idiot rich kids cut a line when planting pansies earlier this month.
Javier jammed the point of the shovel into the ground under the bush. He cut a circle around the plant, slicing the dead roots as he went, prying up on the plant to break it free from the earth. The bush was close to the building but not so tight that the gardener couldn't work around it with the shovel. He remembered when this was planted years ago by one of the college kids he trusted to work on his own. It had looked healthy until a few weeks ago. The north side of the building shielded it from the scorching sun in the summer, and the ordinarily moderate climate in San Francisco, along with the always present morning fog, was perfect for these kinds of plants.
The root system was more extensive than Javier thought as he widened the hole he was digging. He continued to work around the bush in a circle, gradually gaining some leverage and eventually popping the dead plant out of its hole. He dragged the dead plant over to the wagon attached to the golf cart and tossed it in. As he walked back to the now vacant hole, he saw the remnants of roots that would need to be removed before planting the new bush. Javier took the point of the shovel and used it as a cutting tool, stabbing at the exposed roots repeatedly, and cutting them away from the edges of the hole. Time after time, the shovel landed in the hole's bottom, cleaving away a bit more of the dirt as it went. Javier scraped out the roots and left them in a pile next to the hole, figuring he would haul them away when he came back to plant the new bush.
As he pushed the shovel along the bottom of the hole to scrape out the last of the dirt and roots, Javier heard the distinct sound of metal on metal. "Shit, damn water pipe," he thought. As he more gently used the tip of the shovel to expose what he thought was an old water pipe used to deliver water to the Park from the nearby street service, he realized it was something else. Shaped like a box, he continued to clear more and more dirt from it until he had the top exposed. Measuring about a foot and a half square, made mostly of what looked like some sort of metal, Javier stepped back and thought, "What have we here?"
Javier dropped to his knees and pulled out a small spade to clear more of the dirt from the sides of the box. The more he removed, the more he could see that the box was a mix of wood and metal. The corners of the top of the box had large metal corners protecting the wooden top. He tried to bush off the wet dirt, but that just smeared it more. He'd have to get the box out and give it a good cleaning, but it looked like something he might make a few bucks off. Who knows what might be inside?
As he continued to remove dirt from the sides, Javier eventually exposed enough to see that the lid had a latch with a small lock holding it closed. The backside had hinges made from the same material as the top corners. Javier worked faster now. The excitement of what he might find inside spurring him on, Javier finally uncovered the entire old box. Prying it up and out of the hole with the blade of his shovel, he could finally see that it resembled something of an old cigar case, just deeper and wider. He flipped the box around in his hand, checking all sides, inspecting it curiously, wondering how it came to be buried there, under the dead rhododendron.
At first, the gardener thought of trying to remove the lock without damaging the box, just in case it was worth something. He picked at it with a small pocket knife, trying to leverage the hasp open. When that failed, and eager to see what was inside, he placed the box on the ground and aimed the blade of his shovel at the lock. First gently tapping it, then pulling the shovel back a foot or so, Javier let go with a quick and accurate strike to the lock. It came off easier than he thought. The years of being buried in the moist soil must have weakened the metal.
He removed the remnants of the lock and slowly opened the box. Not what he had hoped...no gold coins or rare stones. No jewelry, nothing that appeared to be worth anything. Just a nondescript notebook and nothing like the crafted box it was in. The notebook reminded Javier of something a schoolchild would put together. A stack of papers with rudely placed holes on the edges and a cheap twine laced through the holes to keep the pages together. At least it looked like the box had kept the notebook intact and dry. Javier reached in and carefully removed it. As he carefully pulled the notebook out, he realized the construction wasn't as simple as he first imagined. Instead of cheap materials, the cover and backing were of soft leather and what he thought was twine holding it together was thin strips of leather. The pages inside were thicker than the paper he was familiar with. Still appeared to be paper-like, yet rougher. Maybe made of something else.
Slowly flipping through the notebook, Javier didn't seem to understand exactly what it was he was looking at. The text wasn't English or Spanish, he obviously could read both. No, this was in a language he had never seen, if it was some language. The letters or symbols all looked the same. Well, similar. They were like C's, but some with lines on top of the C and some with what Javier thought looked like tails. Others looked like fish hooks and weird shaped E's. No, he had never seen writing like this before. As he flipped through the pages, he saw that there were hand drawn diagrams, some on pages by themselves, and others drawn between the weird writing. The symbols made no sense to him. No treasure here.
He tossed the notebook back into the box and started gathering his tools. His thoughts returned to the task at hand as he walked his tools back to the gardener's cart. The new plant was back at the main shed near the center of the Park. Javier decided he would get the plant now instead of waiting for later in the day. He pulled the cart around to head back to the maintenance shed. He had too much prep work for the quarterly review and the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could get back to normal maintenance. As he spun the cart around, he realized he had left the box lying beside the hole. Who knows, maybe it is worth something. He threw it into the back of the cart along with his tools, got back in the golf cart, and sped back to the maintenance shed. Taking the several winding paths back towards the center of the Park, Javier enjoyed seeing the many trees and flower beds that had become like his own private backyard.
He pulled the cart into the double-wide opening of the large wooden shed. He hopped out and walked towards the row of recently potted plants, grabbing the new rhododendron and carrying it back to the cart. As he lifted it into the back, the box again grabbed his attention and he had another look at the notebook. He quickly flipped through the pages. Javier thought he might know who to ask about the notebook and if it was worth anything. Someone that might know what it all meant. Someone that was the smartest person Javier knew. It had been years, but he was sure he could help. Maybe this was worth something.
He grabbed his phone and took a picture of one of the weirder pages, and scrolled through the contacts on his phone. He knew someone who might know what this was or at least point him in the right direction of someone who would. When he found the contact he was looking for, he pressed the phone icon to dial their number. He heard the phone ring several times before someone picked up and said hello.
"Stookie! long time, no see. This is Javi."
"Javi! How have you been? Still working the Park?"
"Yeah, hey look. I found something and I'm not sure what it is. I'm hoping you'll be able to help me. I'm going to text you a picture. Can you have a look?"
"Sure boss, anything for you."
Javier clicked on the text icon on his phone, added Stookie to the contact field, and attached the pic he had just taken. He clicked send.
"Just sent it. Let me know when you get it and what you think."
"Got it."
Stookie's tone had changed, but Javier didn't notice.
"Where did you get this?"
"I found it buried in the Park today just now. There are a lot of other pages. It's a whole notebook. Looks old. Is it important? Worth anything?"
It took a while before Javier got a response and at first; he thought maybe the call had dropped.
"Can I see the rest? In person?"
This time Javier heard the change in Stookie's voice. The friendly banter had dropped, and now it felt cold and flat.
"Sure, come by my place after work. It will be good to see you, have a few beers, catch up on old times, and you can have a look."
Before Javier could say anything else, he heard the click of the connection drop.
A Simple Twist of Fate has so much happening that it’s often difficult to put down.
Terry Eckhart and Nick Fowler are detectives who get a case in which a house exploded, and they need to figure out if it was an accident, suicide or murder. Among other things, this is a good police procedural. I like the relationship between the two detectives. Eckhart is known for not liking his partners, but Fowler is good at his job, so they get along well.
There is more than one murder, and Eckhart and Fowler try to figure out if they’re connected. The CEO of StoneTech is their primary suspect because he knew two of the people who were murdered. But there are others they need to consider as well. They even learn about a stalker they want to track down in their investigation of the fire even though they think he’s most likely not involved.
The author’s writing is great for the most part. I want to expand on that statement, but it would have to include spoilers, so I won’t. I did get distracted because of tenses switching back and forth. Example: The call was an armed robbery, so they both assumed he had a gun. The last assumption Eckhart would ever make. What happened next was a blur... and a mess. He doesn't remember asking for ID, but Eckhart can't be sure if he didn't either. The ‘perp’ reaches for something and Terry hears a shot.... the runner hits his knees and a red, wet pool forms on his chest from the perfect center shot.
A Simple Twist of Fate has it all: murder, psychos, twists, a surprise or two at the end and even a sweet romance. I definitely recommend it, especially if it is proofread for tenses and other minor things such as punctuation.