Neil Ames, PI Mysteries

  THE DYEING PROCESS

  THE FOUR-BAR PROGRESSION

  THE SHARD OF REDEMPTION

  https://swintonwoolfe.com/

  The Shard of Redemption

  Swinton Woolfe

  Swinton Woolfe Books

  Copyright © 2026 by Swinton Woolfe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact https://swintonwoolfe.com.

  The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

  Book Cover by Stuart Bache Designs

  Print ISBN: 979-8-218-76230-8

  For The Class of '72

  Acknowledgements

  Writers spend hours of each day with our words and characters, but self-doubt often whispers in our ear. What keeps us going? Friends and family who give words of encouragement. Here are the people who have helped and inspired me:

  Natalia Leigh, Enchanted Ink Publishing; Stuart Bache Designs; P&T Mastermind Group: Emmy R. Bennett, K.C. Nuzum, Lori Cagle, Lacy Renee, & Brianna F. for their brilliant ideas and motivation;

  Julie Ciccarelli, my incredible critique partner for her indispensable feedback; Cathy Steiner, whose friendship is a treasure beyond words.

  I can't forget my dog, Sherlock, my constant companion and muse, and … my greatest inspirations: Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Galbraith, Patricia Highwater, Tana French, and John le Carré.

  "In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex."

  —Dr. Watson, A Scandal in Bohemia

  Contents

  1. Chapter 1

  2. Chapter 2

  3. Chapter 3

  4. Chapter 4

  5. Chapter 5

  6. Chapter 6

  7. Chapter 7

  8. Chapter 8

  9. Chapter 9

  10. Chapter 10

  11. Chapter 11

  12. Chapter 12

  13. Chapter 13

  14. Chapter 14

  15. Chapter 15

  16. Chapter 16

  17. Chapter 17

  18. Chapter 18

  19. Chapter 19

  20. Chapter 20

  21. Chapter 21

  22. Chapter 22

  23. Chapter 23

  24. Chapter 24

  25. Chapter 25

  26. Chapter 26

  27. Chapter 27

  28. Chapter 28

  29. Chapter 29

  30. Chapter 30

  31. Chapter 31

  32. Chapter 32

  33. Chapter 33

  34. Chapter 34

  35. Chapter 35

  36. Chapter 36

  37. Chapter 37

  38. Chapter 38

  39. Chapter 39

  40. Chapter 40

  41. Chapter 41

  42. Chapter 42

  43. Chapter 43

  44. Chapter 44

  45. Chapter 45

  46. Chapter 46

  47. Chapter 47

  48. Chapter 48

  49. Chapter 49

  50. Chapter 50

  51. Chapter 51

  52. Chapter 52

  53. Chapter 53

  54. Chapter 54

  55. Chapter 55

  56. Chapter 56

  57. Chapter 57

  58. Chapter 58

  59. Chapter 59

  Chapter 1

  The rain turned Destiny Pointe into a mirror, but Neil Ames knew what waited on the other side of the looking glass. From the passenger seat of the Uber, he watched the Summit District rise along the hillside, brick streets slick and immaculate, wealth polished to a quiet sheen. The midday sun never quite broke through the purple cloud cover, leaving the bay below to glow on its own, port lights stabbing through fog.

  The city looked calm on the surface. That was how it always began.

  This city, overshadowed by Seattle but still boasting its own success and wealth, served as both Neil’s refuge and his prison. He’d lived here for over twenty years; it was his town, and the city’s grim secrets were his bread and butter. But it was also where Emily Granger—the woman he loved—had been murdered, and where everything in his life had stopped.

  “I haven’t seen you in quite a while, Mr. Ames,” said the driver. “I thought you were mad at me or something.”

  “I’ve been out of town,” Neil replied.

  “Working a case?” the driver asked. “Man, you live the life.”

  “Hmm,” Neil grunted, his mind filled with images of clandestine meetings in Kazakhstan, somber funerals in New Orleans, and Octavia Clarke’s agonizing cries as she lay on the floor with bone splinters piercing through her mangled leg.

  “All I do is sit in the car and drive,” said the driver. “I drive to the airport. I drive from the airport. I drive to the office. I drive from the office. I drive to the doctor. I drive from the doctor. Every day, it’s the same. I drive, I wait, I drive again.” The driver sighed, then chuckled. “But today, I’m spending my day driving Mr. Neil Ames, Private Investigator, as he solves another front-page case. Now that’s a drive worth taking.”

  “You’re a master of anaphora, Winston, but I’d rather have silence.”

  “I hear you, Mr. Ames. I hear you … I’m a master of what?”

  “Drop me here,” said Neil as he pointed at a set of steps that led up a steep hill. “Wait for me. I won’t be long.”

  “I’m here for as long as you need me, Mr. Ames.”

  The moment he left the car’s warmth, Neil was assaulted by a powerful wave of frigid wind and rain. He turned up his collar and began climbing the slick, winding steps as the relentless rain flattened his unruly, graying ginger hair against his forehead. By the time he reached the Victorian era house atop the hill, the rain had escalated into a wet sleet. He rang the doorbell. When the door opened, the icy rain was dripping from his hair, down his face, and soaking the shoulders of his wool navy overcoat.

  “November, got to love it,” said Neil.

  Daniel Upton smiled broadly. The short, silver-haired man had the kind of smile juries trusted … wide, practiced, the corners of his eyes crinkling with easy warmth. Prosecuting attorney. Longtime client. A man who knew exactly how to make people feel seen before he dismantled their case.

  “Come in … come in. Sorry to drag you out in this,” Upton said, as he shut the door. “Stay there.”

  He returned with a large towel and handed it to Neil.

  “Thanks,” Neil said, wiping his face.

  “Give me the coat. And the shoes,” Upton added. “You’re still dripping.”

  Neil handed them over. Upton hung the coat and towel on the shower rod with habitual ease, then led him upstairs to his home office.

  The captain’s walk had been enclosed and heated, converted into an office space that overlooked Proem Bay. The house dated back to the 1890s, built by a sea captain who’d made his fortune shipping goods across the Pacific. Neil stood by the wraparound windows, looking northeast, watching the wind rake the troubled water below, the port lights blinking through the sleet.

  “You look exhausted. I’ll make this as quick as possible.” Upton gestured toward a sturdy nautical-themed oak chair.

  Neil shook his head. “I prefer to stand.”

  Upton put his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath.

  “Let’s get to it,” said Neil. “What happened?”

  “Detective John Wallace killed himself.”

  A long silence followed.

  “How?” Neil asked.

  “He slammed into a bridge embankment at full speed.”

  “John would never do that,” said Neil. “What reason could he possibly have?”

  Upton cleared his voice. “He was terminated … fired. He didn’t take it well.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t; he would have fought back,” said Neil. “He wouldn’t have killed himself. Why was he fired?”

  “He was up for promotion. New information came to light about a case he handled some years back. It was credible and actionable.”

  “What case?”

  “He left a note,” said Upton. “It was found in the breast pocket of his coat. It’s addressed to you.”

  “I’m the last person he would send a note to.”

  “Evidently, you were.” Upton opened the top drawer of his built-in cedar desk and pulled out a file. “You and Wallace used to be close, right?” he asked, handing it over to Neil.

  “Yes,” Neil replied as he opened the file. The first item was a copy of a white envelope, stained and smudged. The handwritten word “Ames” was barely legible.

  “What happened between you two?”

  “We were friends … until Emily’s murder,” Neil said, his eyes tracing the uneven, shaky lettering on the envelope. “The case fell apart because of Wallace’s incompetence. The killer walked.”

  “That must have been difficult for you to watch.”

  “I didn’t.” He held the envelope up to the light. “It looks like Wallace’s handwriting.”

  Upton continued to press. “During the trial, were you still in Afghanistan?”

&
nbsp; “No.” Neil pulled out the file’s second page and walked closer to the windows. “I was in the hospital.”

  He squinted as he read the copy. The image showed a note torn from a lined pocket notebook, and it appeared hastily scribbled with a pencil.

  Neil,

  You are in GRAVE danger

  I’ve already dug mine.

  Emily is not in hers.

  I hope I don’t see you soon.

  JW

  He frowned and photographed both the note and the envelope. “I need to see the backs of these; where are they?”

  “It was likely that nothing was on them.”

  “Likely is how murderers get off,” Neil’s voice rough with frustration. “This is unacceptable. I’m putting an end to it.”

  Upton frowned. “Explain what you mean by I’m putting an end to it.” His tone sharpened as he followed Neil down the stairs.

  Without breaking stride, Neil called over his shoulder, “Wallace didn’t take his own life. That was not a suicide note.”

  “But he says …”

  Neil paused mid-step, his hand gripping the railing as he turned to face Upton.

  “I’ve already dug mine. He knew he was done for. Someone was going to kill him.”

  Upton blinked. “All right, say I agree with you; it’s an odd note. But the initial reports indicate he crashed on purpose. There were eyewitnesses. They saw him drive into the bridge embankment at full speed.

  “Was tampering investigated?” Neil asked. “He was a discredited cop, so case closed?”

  “But why kill him?” Upton asked.

  A flicker of pain crossed Neil’s face. “Because of Emily.”

  “What? You believe this is about Emily? I’d say that if it was about anything, it’s about you. It sounds like he was warning you. Why would he do that?”

  “It’s all about Emily. She’s what connects John and me.” Neil’s posture stiffened. “It was Emily’s case, wasn’t it? He got fired because new information was discovered about her murder. What was it?”

  “I can’t discuss the case in question. It is being reviewed,” said Upton.

  “Get me the case files on Emily’s murder. They wouldn’t let me see them when I got out of the hospital. I’m calling in a favor. Get me access to everything. And I want to get a look at Wallace’s car.”

  Neil continued down the stairs, with Upton close behind.

  “I know it’s hard to accept, but he did himself in. The scandal ruined his reputation … His firing prompted a review of every case he’d handled … He and his girlfriend broke-up … Neil, stop!”

  A tense silence hung in the air as Neil halted on the stairs, his shoulders stiffening before he turned.

  “There are things coming to light about Emily’s case,” Upton said. For half a second, he looked as if he might say more, but then he shut his mouth.

  Neil’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What things?”

  Upton hesitated.

  “What things?” Neil demanded.

  “There were irregularities.”

  “Irregularities? Of course, there were irregularities. John Wallace made mistakes, and the guy walked,” Neil snapped.

  Upton’s unease vanished, replaced with practiced neutrality. “We are reopening the case because of the discovery of significant irregularities.”

  Neil squared his shoulders and shifted his weight forward. “Well, that’s a step in the right direction. But double jeopardy’s a problem. What’s your plan for that?”

  Upton’s tone was careful, deliberate. “The law has its nuances. So does this case.”

  Neil’s head cocked, as if dissecting Upton’s words. “Cut the legal riddles. If you’ve got something, say it.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say.”

  Neil leaned in. “You reopened Emily’s case for a reason. Get me access to the case files.”

  “The case’s reopening prevents me from doing that. A new detective handles it now. He’s also tasked with reviewing all of Wallace’s previous cases.”

  “What detective?” Neil demanded.

  “We brought in a new captain for the Criminal Investigation Division, and he’s a by-the-book kind of guy. We need someone like him to sort things out after the news got out about Wallace’s mess, and I’m not going to interfere with his investigation … and neither will you.”

  “Like hell,” Neil growled.

  “Gentlemen.”

  Upton’s wife and their two young children were at the base of the stairs.

  “I apologize,” Upton said, “Mr. Ames just received upsetting news. His friend died.”

  “I’m sorry your friend died, Mr. Ames,” Upton’s little girl offered softly. “You must be very sad. Do you need a hug?”

  Neil responded with a firm, “No.” Upton leveled a pointed look at him. Neil hesitated before a barely audible "Thank you" left his mouth.

  “Let me get your coat, Neil.” Upton gestured toward the door.

  Neil slipped on his coat and shoes. Upton stepped outside with him. “Look, there is a lot to be sorted through, and you can’t be involved in the current investigation.”

  “Daniel, I’m asking you as a favor. Please,” Neil almost choked on the word, “I want to see the original evidence and Emily's case files. I can get the court records myself. What I want is what’s not in those records, the things that were judged inadmissible.”

  Upton rubbed the back of his neck. He closed his eyes in thought. “All right. I’ll consider it. But you won’t have access to the ongoing investigation of the murder of Emily Granger.”

  Neil was too weary to argue, and his head began to pound. He nodded. The storm had let up, and a sunbeam streamed through a single slit in the sky, surrounded by deep purple clouds.

  He paused just before starting down the steps to the Uber. “I want to look into John’s death. Can you manage to arrange that?” Neil’s voice dripped with contempt.

  Upton nodded. “All right, I’ll put you on the payroll. But only to consult on the investigation of John Wallace’s death. You will report to me directly.”

  “I’ll send you the invoice for my deposit.” With a turn, Neil faced the steps and started his slippery journey downward.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Ames?” asked Winston as Neil climbed back into the car. “Did something happen? You don’t look so good.”

  Neil pushed his fingers through his wet hair. “I’m fine. I got news about a frien—” He rubbed his face and sighed. “Suddenly, I’m exhausted.”

  A notification pinged from his phone. He glanced at the message and tapped the screen.

  ATHENA

  The police found a body in Singapore. They think it’s Kurt.

  NEIL

  I’ll be there in ten minutes.

  Chapter 2

  Ignoring the fiery ache in his legs, Neil bypassed his own apartment and climbed the remaining seven flights to Athena Sailto’s loft. Weary and burdened, he dropped his backpack to the floor before leaning against her door for support, closing his eyes.

  “Stay focused on the present,” he mumbled to himself, trying to drown out the storm of troubling thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. Hearing footsteps, he straightened, and the door flew open.

  “Neil! I thought I heard you talking out here. Come inside.”

  Former Marine captain Athena Sailto, his commanding officer in Afghanistan, now a civilian security consultant and owner of the Alber Towers building where he lived, stood before him. Her paint-splattered overalls and the terracotta smear on her cheekbone hinted at a recent art project. She hugged him, then grabbed his backpack as she motioned for him to sit at the dining table.

  “I have cookies for you,” she said as she dropped his backpack by his chair and pushed a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies toward him. “It’s safe, they’re not vegan.”

  “Thanks.” He bit into one and closed his eyes to savor it. “It’s good to be back.”

  “Would you like coffee?”

  “Yes, I’ve got a long day ahead of me.”

  “By the looks of you, what you need to get is a good night’s sleep.”

  Athena brewed coffee and made a cup of chamomile tea for herself. With a contented sigh, Neil continued eating the sweet, sugary cookies. She brought the steaming cups to the table and pulled a small carton of half-and-half out of the refrigerator. She sat and took a slow sip of tea. “We have a lot to talk about.”