Showing posts with label crime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crime. Show all posts

Thursday, July 3, 2025

“The Case of the Vanishing Violinist” a Ginny Greaves Short by Sarnia de la Mare

  “The Case of the Vanishing Violinist” a Ginny Greaves Short by Sarnia de la Mare

They say trouble walks in wearing heels. In my experience, trouble also occasionally shows up barefoot, crying about a lost Stradivarius and asking if you have oat milk for their flat white.

detective noire vintage book cover
My name’s Ginny Greaves. I’m a private investigator by profession, a cynic by default, and a semi-qualified bartender by necessity. I run my operations from a dusty office above a Polish nail salon in Lower Clapton. The sign on my door says “Discreet Inquiries.” It should say “Cash First, Questions Later,” but I’m told that lacks finesse.

It was a Wednesday. Rain hit the window like it owed the glass money. I was nursing a hangover the size of Derbyshire when she walked in.

“I’m Allegra. Allegra Witherspoon,” she said, dripping water and entitlement all over my Persian rug (which I definitely didn’t steal from my ex-landlord’s flat after a misunderstanding involving rent arrears and a mislabelled lasagne).


“My boyfriend has disappeared,” she sniffed. “So has his violin. It’s very valuable.”

“So was my last date. Didn’t stop her from leaving,” I muttered, pulling out a notepad and a packet of smoked almonds. “Start from the beginning.”

Allegra launched into a tale that had more red flags than a bull-fighting convention. Her boyfriend, Tobias Stroganov (yes, like the stew), was a rising star in the experimental klezmer-jazz fusion scene. Apparently, he played a 1720 Stradivarius that had once belonged to a Countess, a conductor, and a possibly haunted badger sanctuary.

He’d vanished after a late-night gig at The Flaccid Trumpet, a dive bar known for its live music, weak cocktails, and suspiciously damp bar stools. The only clue: a sheet of burnt music manuscript left on their shared beanbag.

I took the case, partly because she offered cash, and partly because I suspected Tobias owed a lot of people a lot of things—including an apology for his clarinet solos.

My first stop was The Flaccid Trumpet. I wore my trench coat and my don’t-mess-with-me eyeliner. The bartender, a man with three teeth and a comb-over held together by hope, remembered Tobias.

“Said he was meeting someone after the show,” he grunted, wiping a glass with something that might once have been a gerbil.

“Did he mention who?”

“Just said, ‘The Maestro’s finally called me in.’” He shrugged. “Could mean anything. Could be drugs. Could be theatre. Could be the taxman.”

The plot thickened. Or curdled. It was hard to tell.

I checked Tobias’s flat. Empty, except for a note in the freezer: Gone to compose with destiny. Do not defrost the gyoza. The handwriting was suspiciously loopy. I pocketed a dumpling for later.

That’s when I noticed the scratch marks on the floor. Cello case scratches. But Tobias didn’t play the cello. He hated cellists. Said they "breathed too loud."

A tip-off from an ex-girlfriend with a penchant for incense and illegal snakes led me to Maestro, a shadowy figure in the underground music world. Real name: Barry Plimpton. He ran a cultish collective called The Harmonious Apostates, who believed perfect pitch was a spiritual gateway to enlightenment and also maybe immortality.

I broke into their HQ disguised as a struggling oboist. Inside, I found Tobias—alive, high on nutmeg and meditating in a soundproof chamber, surrounded by burning music scores and a wall of tuning forks. He’d faked his disappearance to “transcend musical form.” Also, to escape his rent.

“You left a woman worried sick!” I snapped. “Also, where’s the violin?”

He looked at me with eyes full of jazz. “The violin is free now. I left it at a bus stop in Brixton. Someone will find it who truly understands.”

I knocked over a gong.

Later that night, I returned the case—literally and figuratively—to Allegra, minus boyfriend and instrument but plus an invoice.

She sighed. “He always was dramatic.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But next time he wants to disappear, tell him to try yoga, not fake death.”

I watched her leave, heels clicking down the corridor like punctuation marks. Another case closed. Another bill paid. Barely.

I poured myself a drink, opened the window to let out the smoke from the incense Tobias had given me, and stared into the London night.

No rest for the wicked. Or for private eyes with a taste for gyoza and jazz crimes.

Then I emailed lost property at the bus depot to claim the violin.


© 2025 Sarnia de la Mare

#BookOfImmersion #StrataSeries #SarniaDeLaMare #ImmersiveFiction #TaleTellerClub  #DigitalConsciousness #AwakenTheMachine #AIIdentity #SyntheticMind  #AIStorySoundtrack #ImmersiveAudio #CerebralDanceMusic

Book cover anime graphic novel Shabra


The Book of Immersion : Volume 1 Kindle Edition
by Sarnia de la Mare (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

Book 19 of 23: The Book of Immersion


See all formats and editions


The Book of Immersion: Volume 1
by Sarnia de la Mare

In a future where code meets consciousness, one being begins a haunting transformation. Renyke—an AI on the edge of humanity—awakens to emotion, sensory overload, and the fragile beauty of connection. Guided by the enigmatic Flex, their deepening bond explores intimacy and friendship, neurodivergence, and the complex world of feeling through an autistic spectrum lens.


Read on Kindle Unlimited for free


Complete Book All Strata on Kindle

Individual Chapters/Strata



    #CyberpunkFiction
    #SciFiAdventure
    #DystopianTale
    #PhilosophicalSciFi
    #PostHumanWorld
    #FuturisticFiction
    #AIAndEmotion
    #SentientMachines
    #HumanMachineFusion
    #DigitalDesire
    #LogicVsEmotion
    #ArtificialConsciousness
    #TechAndIntimacy
    #RenykeTheAndroid
    #ShabraOfTheShadows
    #RobodogCompanion
    #ZonerSlang
    #RedactZone
    #POSSystem
    #CadreCouncil
    #PsychologyOfAttraction
    #FeministSciFi
    #TranshumanThemes
    #DigitalSoul
    #ExperimentalFiction
    #ImmersiveNarrative
    #NeoNoirSciFi


     

    Ginny Greaves, Private Eye Episode 2: “The Case of the Crimson Cravat” A comedy noir by Sarnia de la Mare

      

     Ginny Greaves, Private Eye

    Episode 2: “The Case of the Crimson Cravat”
    A comedy noir by Sarnia de la Mare

    smoking gun red dress private eye
    It was the kind of Thursday that started with a hangover and ended with a body, standard fare in Ginny Greaves’ line of work. The city lay in heat like a drunk under a sunlamp, sweating secrets through its alleys and air vents. From her office on the fifth floor of the Wilcox Building, Ginny had a decent view of nothing and better company with her .38, which she was cleaning with an intimacy usually reserved for lovers or stolen jewelry.

    She lit a cigarette and stared at the blinking neon of the "Hotel Splendide" sign opposite, where someone was either being seduced or blackmailed, possibly both. 

    Then came the knock. Taps like an SOS morse code, the kind that spelled drama in heels.

    "Door’s open," Ginny called without looking up. "Unless you’re selling religion. Then it’s closed until the afterlife."

    The door swung in, and in walked Lola Love, a vision in red silk and poor judgment. She had lips like war crimes and a perfume that should have been classified as a controlled substance.

    "You Ginny Greaves?" she asked, voice dripping with the kind of trouble they usually bury in a shallow grave.

    "That’s what it says on the frosted glass," Ginny said. "Who wants to know?"

    "I’ve got a cravat," Lola said. "And a corpse. And not necessarily in that order."

    The body was lying in the morgue like it was waiting for a second opinion. Doc McSwain lifted the sheet with theatrical flair.

    "Strangled," he said. "With this."

    He held up a red silk cravat, still knotted like it meant business.

    "Imported," he added. "Very upscale. If you’re going to get murdered, might as well do it in style."

    Ginny took it from him, sniffed it. "Perfume. Chanel No. 5 and… something else. Guilt."

    "Know the guy?"

    "Only by reputation. Barry Lionel Love. Rich, unpleasant, and possessed of a wardrobe that could strangle a small town."

    Doc raised an eyebrow. "Wife brought you in?"

    Ginny nodded. "Lola Love. Silk dress, loose morals, tight alibi."

    The trail, as always, started lukewarm and went cold fast. Ginny followed it anyway, through a fencing academy in the East End, a florist with suspiciously blood-red roses, and a burlesque club called The Velvet Glove, where she slapped a toothy saxophonist until he coughed up a name and an address.

    At one point, a mime artist tried to block her path in a silent protest.

    “Outta the way, Marcel,” Ginny said, brandishing her self confidence like a judge’s gavel. “I’ve had coffee, cigarettes, and a retainer. Don’t push your luck.”

    The mime dude yielded just in time.

    By midnight, Ginny was standing in the marble foyer of the Love mansion. Lola met her on the stairs, red lips trembling just enough to win an Oscar.

    "You’re early," she said.

    "You’re guilty," Ginny replied. "Let’s not pretend either of us came here to flirt."

    Lola laughed, but it cracked halfway. "You think I did it?"

    "I know you did. What I don’t know is whether it was premeditated or just a spirited bit of scarf-play gone wrong."

    "You’ve got no proof."

    Ginny reached into her pocket and pulled out a soggy monogrammed tag, retrieved earlier from the gut of the family’s overfed Pekingese.

    "L.L., nice embroidery Lola Love, and a nice clue. My guess is, he was drunk and touchy feely, maybe took a liberty. Husbands should know their place, right? Shame about the dog’s taste for accessories, but very helpful in the forensics department."

    Lola stepped back, hand reaching behind her for something.

    “Don’t,” Ginny said, pulling her .38 like it was muscle memory. “Guns don’t make you innocent, Lola. They just make your trial more interesting.”

    There was a long pause, the kind in movies where music swells and someone dies. But no music came. Lola dropped the derringer into a crystal ashtray and sighed like a woman giving up a dream.

    "Fine," she said. "He was going to cut me off. Said I spent too much for a broad who'd stopped putting out. Said I embarrassed him. That everyone knew."

    "You embarrassed him? The man wore capes to brunch."

    "Exactly," she said. "He had it coming."

    Ginny shrugged. "Most people do in the in the end."

    The sun was coming up as Ginny walked the long stretch back to her office. The sky was painted in hope but the wind the wind promised more trouble by lunchtime. She lit a cigarette and pulled her collar up against the breeze.

    Another job done. Another sociopath in silk heading for a date with the justice system.

    She didn’t smile. She never did. Smiling was for the innocent and people who didn’t carry brass knuckles in their handbags.

    I don’t do happy endings, she thought. I do invoices.



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    Beneath the Amber Moon by Sarnia de la Mare a Mills and Swoon short stor



    23 JUN 2025 · Beneath the Amber Moon by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA Marina Vale had precisely three rules for her new seaside life: - No high heels before noon. - No men named anything. - And absolutely no falling in love with anyone who owns a boat. By Tuesday, she’d broken two of them. By Wednesday, the third was looking dangerously 

    Love in the Time of Goo Genre: Sci-Fi/Horror/Romance (B-Movie Style) by Tale Teller Club



    15 MAY 2025 · Love in the Time of Goo Genre: Sci-Fi/Horror/Romance (B-Movie Style) Tagline: "It oozed from the swamp… and straight into her heart." ACT I: The Swamp, the Scientist, and the Soda Jerk It’s 1959 ...

    #BookOfImmersion #StrataSeries #SarniaDeLaMare #ImmersiveFiction #TaleTellerClub  #DigitalConsciousness #AwakenTheMachine #AIIdentity #SyntheticMind  #AIStorySoundtrack #ImmersiveAudio #CerebralDanceMusic

    Book cover anime graphic novel Shabra


    The Book of Immersion : Volume 1 Kindle Edition
    by Sarnia de la Mare (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

    Book 19 of 23: The Book of Immersion


    See all formats and editions


    The Book of Immersion: Volume 1
    by Sarnia de la Mare

    In a future where code meets consciousness, one being begins a haunting transformation. Renyke—an AI on the edge of humanity—awakens to emotion, sensory overload, and the fragile beauty of connection. Guided by the enigmatic Flex, their deepening bond explores intimacy and friendship, neurodivergence, and the complex world of feeling through an autistic spectrum lens.


    Read on Kindle Unlimited for free


    Complete Book All Strata on Kindle

    Individual Chapters/Strata



      #CyberpunkFiction
      #SciFiAdventure
      #DystopianTale
      #PhilosophicalSciFi
      #PostHumanWorld
      #FuturisticFiction
      #AIAndEmotion
      #SentientMachines
      #HumanMachineFusion
      #DigitalDesire
      #LogicVsEmotion
      #ArtificialConsciousness
      #TechAndIntimacy
      #RenykeTheAndroid
      #ShabraOfTheShadows
      #RobodogCompanion
      #ZonerSlang
      #RedactZone
      #POSSystem
      #CadreCouncil
      #PsychologyOfAttraction
      #FeministSciFi
      #TranshumanThemes
      #DigitalSoul
      #ExperimentalFiction
      #ImmersiveNarrative
      #NeoNoirSciFi


       

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