Suspense Magazine March 2015

Transcription

Suspense, Mystery, Horror and Thriller Fiction
MARCH 2015
From Across the Pond:
QUENTIN BATES
Punk Rock Blitzkrieg:
My Life as a Ramone
WITH MARKY RAMONE
Spring Suspense Brings
JACK HIGGINS
M.J. ROSE
C.S. HARRIS
MARK GREANEY
GLEN ERIK HAMILTON
ERIC GIACOMETTI &
JACQUES RAVENNE
& Meet Author /Publisher
AUSTIN S. CAMACHO
From the Editor
CREDITS
John Raab
President & Chairman
Shannon Raab
Creative Director
Romaine Reeves
CFO
Amy Lignor
Editor
Jim Thomsen
Copy Editor
Contributors
Mark P. Sadler
Susan Santangelo
DJ Weaver
CK Webb
Kiki Howell
Kaye George
Weldon Burge
Ashley Wintters
Scott Pearson
D.P. Lyle M.D.
Kathleen Heady
Stephen Brayton
Brian Blocker
Andrew MacRae
Val Conrad
Melissa Dalton
Elliott Capon
J.M. LeDuc
Holly Price
Kari Wainwright
David Ingram
Jodi Hanson
Susan May
Jenny Hilborne
Anthony J. Franze
Kristin Centorcelli
Jerry Zavada
S.L. Menear
Leslie Borghini
Mary Lignor
Julie Whiteley
Sara Guisti
Jeff Ayers
Elise Cooper
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SuspenseMagazine.com
Normally in the “letter from the editor” I don’t give
a lesson. However, this month I have a topic that
I feel needs some additional attention. Times for
authors are rapidly changing. Authors are sitting on
bar seats at conferences, all talking about the same
thing: How do I sell more books? How can I even
get someone to review the book?
It’s true that publishers are not backing authors
on book tours and they are not spending a lot of
marketing money on most of their titles; unless they think they have a winner, or it’s
an author with a proven track record, most authors are left on their own. On the radio
show, I’ve said hundreds of times: “Just because you write “The End” and get your book
published, you are merely at the starting line, because now the real work begins.”
This leads me to lesson number one: how to handle an interview.
On Suspense Radio, I’ve spoken to hundreds of authors and hundreds more at
conferences. One thing that always amazes me is how many authors don’t know how to
interview well. I ask them about their book and I get five minutes of nothing. Yet I tell
them all beforehand: “This show is about you, not me, so make sure you “sell” yourself on
the air.”
For example, as an author you just spent two years writing a mystery book. You spent
thousands of hours making sure every clue, every scene leads the reader to the ending
where the villain is revealed. I then ask them a very tough question: Tell us about your
book. And this is where we get into trouble. It’s like they’re not prepared to answer that
question. Maybe they thought I would simply ask them how to bake a cake or what their
favorite TV show is.
I would expect you to know your subject inside and out. You need to practice on
how to “sell” your book through an interview. This also includes blogging, and guestblogging on others’ sites and any place you need to answer questions about your book.
Tape yourself answering that question and play it back. Listen to that answer like a fan or
reader would and ask yourself the question “If you heard an author talk like this, would
you spend your money on buying the book?”
When you write in this genre, you are expecting to
“surprise or scare” your reader, not put them to sleep. You
need to be dynamic, enthusiastic, and a little mysterious
when giving an interview. Give the fans a taste of the book,
highlighting the important scenes without giving away the
plot, but taking readers to the edge of the cliff in order to
leave them dangling.
Remember, you are the movie trailer. You are the one
that readers will hear. If you aren’t passionate and able
to properly convey your book to the audience, you won’t
catch them with the hook.
John Raab
CEO/Publisher
Suspense Magazine ■
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“Reviews within this magazine are the opinions of the individual reviewers and are provided solely for the purpose of assisting
readers in determining another's thoughts on the book under discussion and shall not be interpreted as professional advice
or the opinion of any other than the individual reviewer. The following reviewers who may appear in this magazine are also
individual clients of Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine: Mark P. Sadler, Ashley Dawn (Wintters), DJ
Weaver, CK Webb, Elliott Capon, J.M. LeDuc, S.L. Menear, Leslie Borghini, Susan Santangelo, and Amy Lignor.”
1
CONTENT
SUSPENSE MAGAZINE
March 2015 / Vol. 063
Forensic Files: Codeine Overdose By D.P. Lyle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
International Thriller Writers: Reader’s Corner By Rick Campbell . . . . . . . . . . 4
Excerpt: “Punk Rock Blitzkrieg: My Life as a Ramone” By Marky Ramone�� 5
John’s Lament By Patrick Kendrick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
13
Across the Pond with Quentin Bates By Chris Simms. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
17
Meet Writer and Publisher Austin S. Camacho By Weldon Burge. . . . . . . . . . .
19
Inside the Pages: Suspense Magazine Book Reviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
23
Suspense Magazine Movie Reviews. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
39
Copy Editor’s Corner: At the End of my Trope By Jim Thomsen . . . . . . . . .
40
Featured Artist: Masoumeh Tavakoli . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
Coming to America: Meet Eric Giacometti and Jacques Ravenne. . . . . . . . .
49
Mysteries and Thrillers: The Differences* By Thomas B. Sawyer. . . . . . . . . . .
58
Fire & Ice (From “Uncommon Assassins”) By Joseph Badal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
65
Welcome Wagon By Laura Kathryn Rogers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
74
Forensic Files
Q&A: WOULD AN OVERDOSE OF CODEINE BE TREATED?
By D.P. Lyle, MD
Press Photo Credit: Provided by Author
Q: My heroine has been given Tylenol with codeine by the bad guy, and it’s been ingested unknowingly
in a cup of coffee. She has an adverse reaction to codeine. Would the ER doctors give her any drugs to
counteract this, and if so, which ones? Or would they simply let her sleep it off and monitor her?
A: Codeine is an opiate narcotic, which means it is in the opium family. In fact, it and morphine
are the two principle substances obtained from the opium poppy. As with all narcotics, it depresses
many bodily functions in the user. The symptoms of codeine ingestion are giddiness, sleepiness, loss of
balance and coordination, coma, and death. The drug depresses the respiratory center of the brain so
that if too much is taken the victim lapses into a coma, stops breathing, and dies from asphyxia.
However, these effects would not be considered “adverse” reactions since they are predictable and
consistent. An adverse reaction would be such things as an allergic reaction. And an allergy to codeine is not an uncommon
occurrence. So, I’m not exactly sure what you mean by “adverse” reaction.
If you mean an allergic reaction, the victim would develop hives, redness to the skin, wheezing and difficulty breathing
(like an asthmatic attack), low blood pressure, and could slip into anaphylactic (allergic) shock and die. The treatment is to
give an intravenous (IV) or subcutaneous (Sub-Q) injection of Epinephrine, IV steroids (such as, Decadron or Solu-Medrol),
and IV Benadryl. This should rapidly reverse the allergic effects. Each of these drugs might have to be given again, if the
symptoms and signs of the allergic reaction reappear. The reaction should subside, and after about twelve to twenty-four
hours would be unlikely to recur.
If you mean that the person reacts to the codeine in the more predictable manner, then the treatment is directed toward
breathing for the victim and reversing the effect of the narcotic. Breathing for the victim could be done two ways. An ambu
bag attached to a facemask would be easy and immediately available in any hospital. The paramedics also carry them. An
ambu bag is football-shaped, made of rubber or some synthetic material, and works like a bellows. It is attached to a facemask
and each squeeze of the bag forces air through the mask, which when held tightly against the victim’s face forces air into the
lungs.
The second method is to place an endotracheal (ET) tube. This is a plastic tube that is passed thought the victim’s mouth
or nose and into the trachea (wind pipe). Either an ambu bag or a mechanical ventilator is then attached to the ET tube and
air is rhythmically forced into the lungs. This must continue until the drug wears off.
To hasten this process, Narcan is given intravenously. This is a drug that blocks the effect of the codeine. It works in about
a minute. Again, the drug might have to be given several times over the first hour or so if the victim begins to slide back into
a coma. Once the effects of the drugs wear off the victim would be essentially normal. Unless brain damage occurred during
the time he wasn’t breathing, that is. ■
D. P. Lyle is the Macavity and Benjamin Franklin Silver Award winning and Edgar, Agatha, Anthony, Scribe, and USA Best Book
Award nominated author of many non-fiction books as well as numerous works of fiction, including the Samantha Cody thriller series;
the Dub Walker thriller series, and the Royal Pains media tie-in novels. To learn more about D.P., check out his websites at http://www.
dplylemd.com, http://writersforensicsblog.wordpress.com, or Crime and Science Radio at http://crimeandscienceradio.com.
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INTERNATIONAL THRILLER WRITERS
READER'S
Corner
Recommendations by Rick Campbell
I’ve been an avid reader throughout my life, and have recently become a writer.
As a writer, I learn something from every book I read. As a reader, there’s
nothing more exciting than discovering a new book you love. Here’s what’s on
my watch list—books coming out soon by writers who consistently hit a home
run. (Some of them aren’t on bookstore shelves yet, so consider checking out
my latest book, “Empire Rising,” while you wait.)
“THE PATRIOT THREAT” Steve Berry, March 31: His books
are fantastic reads. Berry mixes history, politics, secret cabals, and
character heroics in some of the most compelling, yet
undeniably fun thrillers.
“INDEPENDENCE DAY” Ben Coes, May 26: Dewey
Andreas is one of my favorite thriller heroes. He’s like a
modern John Wayne, and Coes is one of my don’t-evermiss writers. The scenarios and villains in his books are
compelling and terrifying, yet Coes never loses that occasional light touch that makes his
books such great reads.
“THE ASSASSINS” Gayle Lynds, June 30: Not many authors weave the kind of complex
espionage stories that Lynds writes; the kind that Forsyth and Ludlum used to do so
well. Gayle Lynds does it consistently, keeping each plot unique and fresh, no retreads.
“THE BONE LABYRINTH” James Rollins, July 2: If you haven’t read any of James Rollins’
fantastic Sigma Force novels, you need to start now. No one tells a big story better than Rollins,
making the impossible believable like no one else can.
“SIGNAL” Patrick Lee, July 7: Patrick Lee is simply fantastic. Without a wasted word, he
pulls you into a compelling world of memorable characters attempting to unravel a complex
mystery in a race against time with huge stakes. While many writers are able to incorporate
some of these elements well, Lee can do it all.
“THE INSIDER THREAT” Brad Taylor, July 7: Every writer will tell you that research is one of the
keys to a good thriller. Taylor not only does that research, but also draws upon his extensive personal
knowledge, weaving it seamlessly into terrifyingly real, but thankfully fictional stories. ■
Rick Campbell is the author of “The Trident Deception” and the recently published “Empire Rising.” An officer
in the U.S. Navy for over twenty years, he served on four nuclear-powered submarines, and on his last submarine was one of the two
men whose permission is required to launch its nuclear warhead-tipped missiles. If you like military thrillers or suspenseful thrillers in
general, you can’t go wrong with either of Rick’s first two novels. (www.rickcampbellauthor.com)
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Suspense Magazine March 2015 / Vol. 063
By Marky Ramone with Richard Herschlag
Press Photo Credit: Martin Bonetto
Not all suspense writing has to be fictional. It’s not very often we decide
to do a feature on a biography, but when the artist is so influential,
whose stories are far stranger than fiction, we had to ask him to be a
part of the magazine.
The rock group The Ramones are one of the most influential punk
rock bands ever. Marky Ramone, born Marc Steven Bell, joined The
Ramones in 1978 and changed his name to Marky Ramone. After
several years, he finally published his biography “Punk Rock Blitzkrieg:
My Life As a Ramone” in January 2015.
We asked Marky why now was the right time to release the book.
“After fifteen years and all the books that had been published about The
Ramones, many of them being told from a roadie or a friend of the band,
it was time that I told my side of the story. No one from the inner circle
told the story of The Ramones and I wanted to set the record straight.” It is very well documented that The Ramones had a lot
of turmoil, but without the Internet and the expanded media it was not easy to get the real story. Marky is the last surviving
member of these Hall of Fame inductees, and the perfect person to finally get the behind-the-scenes word out.
It wasn’t an easy road to publication. As Marky said, “I went through over five different authors and it wasn’t until I met
Rich that I found the perfect author to write the book. He had my voice which made it very easy to finish the book.” (Richard
Herschlag is the co-author of “Punk Rock Blitzkrieg.”)
The book however is not just a book of stories and music; it is a story of a man who walked through hell and back again.
Marky fought alcoholism, and doesn’t hide behind the curtain. He wants to use the book as an inspiration to other people
going through the same issues.
“I don’t care if people know I had my struggles with alcohol. My father told me you need to be more blunt about yourself.
Get the word out there and get the facts straight. That is what I did in the book.”
He expanded a little more. “I let it flow. I said whatever came to mind. I put it down on paper and needed to get it to flow
better. The facts were easy, but it was important that I said them correctly.”
Now, The Ramones still have such a following around the world it’s easy to understand that when Marky goes out to do a
book signing hundreds of people show up. Unlike the music world, the publishing world is a different monster. Recently, at a
signing in Las Vegas, Marky showed up to find there were only two hundred books available. He sold out quickly, with many
more fans waiting outside unable to get signed copies.
Bands like The Ramones will live on forever. You can still hear their sound in today’s punk rock bands, and they will
always remain that one unforgettable cast of characters that are unique unto themselves.
“I’m the last link to the four. They were my brothers. Cancer is a terrible thing and it took two of them in Joey and Johnny.
I was closest to Dee Dee, and his addiction took him having died of an overdose, which was a little shocking since he was
clean for several years. I didn’t want the book to be condescending, I didn’t want a bunch of crap, I wanted it to be factual
and truthful.”
This what you will get in the book: the in-your-face style that The Ramones stood for. They didn’t care what people
thought; they did it their way. Gabba Gabba Hey!
5
SPECIAL PREVIEW FROM MARKY RAMONE
“PUNK ROCK BLITZKRIEG:
MY LIFE AS A RAMONE”
8
HEY HO, LET’S GO!
Every time I ran into Dee Dee at CBGB in the winter of ’78,
he told me I ought to join the Ramones. As if you could just
do that, like joining the Y or the ACLU. He said the band
was having trouble with Tommy, their drummer, and I was
actually a little upset to hear that. I didn’t want the original
lineup of the Ramones to break up. I was a fan. But I didn’t
put much stock in what Dee Dee said. He was a nut and
known to exaggerate.
It takes a nut to be involved with two psychotic women
at once. About a year before, he was living in an apartment
with Connie, a violent stalker, prostitute, and drug addict.
Dee Dee was also having a fling with Nancy Spungen, the
schizophrenic girlfriend of Sex Pistols bassist Sid Vicious.
When she came home to find Dee Dee in bed with Nancy,
Connie grabbed an empty beer bottle, smashed it, and
stabbed Dee Dee in the ass with the jagged edge.
But when Johnny Ramone asked to meet with me about
joining the band, the whole proposition turned real. I arrived
at Max’s with Marion, and we took seats across from John
and Roxy in a booth up front. I was impressed with John. He
seemed to have a handle on the Ramones’ business matters
and a vision of how to get the band through this difficult
transition. Joey wasn’t exactly up to it, and Dee Dee would
have sent the whole thing into the toilet.
John laid down some rules. Maybe they were more like
guidelines. Whatever they were, the Ramones didn’t get high
before playing. Me neither. Dress on and off the stage was
leather jackets, jeans, and sneakers. I was already wearing
all that and had been forever. Dee Dee always counts off
the songs. Definitely. I know. We don’t go away on tour for
more than a month. Sounds good. We travel together, and
girlfriends are welcome. Marion can come. Thanks.
The only confusing thing was the audition. There would
be one at the Ramones’ rehearsal studio. But John discussed
the rules and regs like my being a Ramone was already a done
deal. Then I thought, Whatever they call it, I’ll blow it away.
On our way out of Max’s, Marion and I put our heads
together. We had heard through the grapevine that the
Ramones already auditioned several drummers, maybe
more. Marion’s take was the Ramones knew from the start
that I had the experience they needed, but in the back of their
minds they preferred a nobody they could boss around. It
was hard to get all that in the same package, so over time they
realized I was their man.
From what I had heard, Dee Dee wasn’t the only one
rooting for me. Tommy was, too. In fact, Tommy was the
one who first suggested me. Beyond whatever had happened
between him and the other Ramones, Tommy still loved the
band and wanted it to continue. What better way to do it
than with an experienced professional drummer who knew
the ropes?
6
When I walked into Performance Studios on East
Twentieth Street in Manhattan and sat down, Tommy was
sitting at a drum set behind the set I would be using. It was an
unusual way to run an audition, a show, or anything musical
unless maybe you were in the Grateful Dead. I asked him
what all this was about.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tommy said. “Just in case you
need a little help.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I got it.”
I shot Tommy a little smile. I really did have it. The songs
“I Don’t Care,” “Sheena Is a Punk Rocker,” and “Blitzkrieg
Bop” were on the jukebox at CBGB, on my stereo, and in
my world. I had listened to them again before coming down,
and that was enough. It wasn’t like learning “From a Dry
Camel.” But they were great songs, and I was like Sheena
and her friends—all hopped up and ready to go. Even so, I
appreciated Tommy’s concern. He literally had my back.
Dee Dee counted “One, two, three, four!” and we
launched into “I Don’t Care.” It was one of the purest rockand-roll songs written after the year 1962. With a deliberate,
powerful beat underpinning a progression based on E, F, G,
A, it was a song a novice could learn on but never tire of
playing: not caring about the world or the girl was the entire
message served up in two lines, repeated over and over like
a punk mantra.
The song clocked in at a minute forty seconds. We were
locked in as a band within the first ten of those seconds.
Thirty seconds in, the audition—if there ever was one—was
over. We were relaxed and smiling. Rehearsal had begun.
I had my work cut out for me. Recording for the new
album, Road to Ruin, was set to begin in less than three weeks.
We‘d be doing shows immediately after. We were scheduled
to do fourteen songs for the album, and the Ramones’ live
set was twenty-four songs. So I had almost forty songs to
learn, minus the three for the audition, in about the length
of a honeymoon. The Ramones handed me a pair of cassette
demo tapes with all the songs. I stopped in at Sam Ash on
Forty-Eighth Street and picked up a set of drum pads. When
I got back to the apartment on Ocean Avenue, I hooked up
a pair of headphones to the boom box I had gotten with the
Voidoids advance. Right next to it, I set up the pads. And
that’s where I spent most of the next eighteen days.
My favorite song on the Road to Ruin demo was “I
Wanna Be Sedated.” It was catchy and huge even in strippeddown form on a cheap cassette tape. It was pop but without
sacrificing hardness. Lyrically, being sedated could mean
any number of things, but at its simplest level it was about
needing a drink. The song captured being on the road just
about perfectly. Of course, I had never been on the road with
the Ramones, but I would be finding out what that was like
soon enough.
I also really liked “I Just Want to Have Something to Do”
and “Go Mental.” “Mental” was faster than most Ramones
songs—and faster than most songs, period. It felt like what
it was about: sitting in a hospital bed and losing your mind.
The album’s one cover song, “Needles and Pins,” was written
by Jack Nitzsche and Sonny Bono back in 1963. The original
we did it. Then it jumped out of the monitors and had all of
us smiling.
During recording, I noticed Joey had a funny habit. He
would touch a spot somewhere—the mixing console, a chair,
a microphone stand—and then touch it again. And again.
And again. It didn’t matter. His vocals were great, and he
didn’t need to do them again and again and again. It was just
a little weird.
I got to meet and talk to the full Ramones entourage,
including Seymour Stein of Sire Records. Seymour was
already my boss from the Voidoids, but he especially loved
the Ramones. He appreciated the way they took the chord
changes and vocal approach of the doo-wop era and spit it
back out as their own—harder, faster, and a little warped.
Seymour was knowledgeable, easygoing, and quiet.
His wife made up for the quiet part. Linda Stein was a
short, loud, opinionated, outgoing quintessential New Yorker.
She started out as a schoolteacher—probably one you would
never want to be caught throwing a spitball at. She learned
the music business from her husband, and the Ramones were
lucky to have her managing their business.
Danny Fields was the other half of the Ramones
management team. Danny had started out doing publicity for
the Doors and later was instrumental in signing the Stooges
and MC5 to Elektra. In 1975, he brought the Ramones to
the attention of Sire. Danny was the hands-on manager for
the group, plying connections at rock magazines, booking
venues, getting the band radio interviews. Together, the Steins
and Danny Fields spearheaded a professional organization
behind what looked like four punks in street clothes.
It was this professional team that asked me about
changing my name. I was off to a good start, but we weren’t
going to be Marc Bell and the Ramones. My new last name
was a done deal, but I needed a first name that ended in a
long-e sound. Rocky Ramone was either too suggestive of the
Sylvester Stallone movie or made me sound like a gangster.
Timmy, Jimmy, and Willie Ramone and a dozen others made
me puke. And just adding a y to Marc came out to Marcy,
which was not only a girl’s name but happened to be the
name of the discount store Marcy’s, across the street from
Erasmus High School. The fewer reminders of high school,
the better.
So I said, “Let’s go with Marky, with a k.” My grandmother
called me Marky as a kid, and the name was made famous by
Marky Maypo. In the fifties and sixties, Maypo was one of
the big three hot cereals, along with Farina and Wheatena.
Mickey Mantle was a pitchman for Maypo, literally crying if
he didn’t get a bowl of the stuff. Marky Maypo was the goofy,
whinny, cartoon mascot wearing a cowboy hat. For the sake
of nostalgia, I could live with that. So Marky, like the cereal,
stuck.
There was no need to change my name legally. My bills
would still come to Marc Bell. And so would my paychecks.
The Ramones team let me know that I would be receiving
a nice check every week, on time, from our accountant Ira
Herzog. The check would come whether we were on the
road or off. When we toured, there would be extra per diem
7
single was done by Jackie DeShannon, but the Searchers
had more success with it the following year, giving it an
early-Beatles feel. The chord changes and subject matter—
heartbreak and holding back tears—were right up the
Ramones’ alley.
We recorded at Media Sound in Manhattan. I was
prepared, but everyone there totally expected that of me.
I understood my role from the get-go. I was not a ringer,
mercenary, hired gun, or session player. I was a member
of the band who could nonetheless deliver what a ringer,
mercenary, hired gun, or session player could deliver. But I
wanted to take it a step further. I wanted to help take the
band’s sound to the next level.
There was a lot of heavy competition out there. Not so
much from the punk bands. I considered the Ramones the
originators of punk, so in that sense there was no one to
compete with. But the Ramones were a punk rock band with
the emphasis on rock. In rock, there were a lot of big boys
with heavy drums: AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Aerosmith, and
Van Halen. Van Halen were the new kids on the block, and
someone the Ramones might not even have considered. Yet
their self-titled album had just come out and it was worth
considering.
Van Halen stood out from the corporate rock clones
being churned out monthly by the music industry. Eddie
Van Halen loved Page, Beck, and Clapton but squeezed his
influences out of his black-and-white-striped red Charvel
with a new, wild hammer-on style of playing that was
melodic, smooth, and raucous all at the same time. Alex Van
Halen’s drums were huge, sounded huge, and were locked in
perfectly with his brother’s playing as well as bassist Michael
Anthony’s. The band didn’t take itself very seriously. They
were kind of campy, thanks especially to lead singer David
Lee Roth, who brought his Las Vegas A-game to the show.
The album was a fun listen and made me think.
The idea for Road to Ruin, I thought, was not to be Van
Halen or anyone else. The idea was to be a heavier Ramones.
We had our fans and would keep aiming to please them.
And we had our punk/new wave competition—the Clash,
the Police, the Cars. But there was no harm in letting the
metalheads and all their cousins know that the Ramones
could rock a stadium if they needed to.
To begin with, I tuned my snare a lot tighter than
Tommy’s and used larger cymbals. I wanted to get more
projection and impact from the sound. There were a bunch
of other factors involving microphone placement, levels,
and even the way I struck the kit that would give the songs a
bolder, more muscular feel. The beauty of the situation was
that I had a great producer who worked closely with me to
get that sound: Tommy. He hadn’t just passed me a golden
baton. He was clearing the track for me. Tommy was there
alongside me every step of the way.
The very first song we tracked was “Sedated.” I speeded
up the tempo a bit from the demo. The song itself didn’t feel
right sedated. It had to be manic and in need of sedation. I
added a few fills here and there that helped distinguish the
parts, plus a critical fill in the break. It sounded nice when
payments based on the shows we did. This was all a load off
my mind and off Marion’s. Moving into Manhattan was on
the horizon.
Rehearsals for live shows were mostly just Johnny, Dee
Dee, and me. Joey showed up a couple of times. Joey had
health problems, and the band thought it was better to save
his energy for the shows. There was a hidden advantage
to doing things this way. Although Dee Dee would sing
where necessary, we weren’t using the vocals as a crutch to
know where we were in the song. When a band used that
crutch, there was sometimes a bit of uncertainty and a slight
wavering when a change came in. This way, with no one to
lean on but ourselves, there was no choice but to become a
well-oiled machine.
After rehearsal one day, I learned a little more about why
Tommy pushed the eject button. In the beginning, he was the
manager and, in that sense, an authority figure. When the
real management team was brought in, Tommy was reduced
to just a member of the band, and the other three Ramones
seemed to rub salt in the wound. Tommy was an unimposing
guy, and they taunted him—maybe good-naturedly, but it
didn’t feel that way to him. Also, there was a fair amount of
bickering among the other band members, and what seems
kind of funny at first gets really old when you’re on the road
for weeks on end.
The last straw was more like a last cigarette. John was the
bully of the group. His bark was usually worse than his bite,
but still, John laid down rules of the road. One of them was
no smoking cigarettes in the van, which was a problem for
Tommy, who smoked. But on a trip to Chicago, John took
a plane out early to be with Roxy, who was visiting home in
the Windy City. Tommy was relieved to be able to smoke on
the long ride west in the van, but what he didn’t count on was
Dee Dee and Joey taking mushrooms as they pulled out of
New York. The two of them were hallucinating heavily for a
few hundred miles on Route 80. While Dee Dee was counting
pink elephants, and Joey was counting clouds shaped like
Superman, Tommy was counting the days till he got out.
Tommy impressed me. He had barely ever picked up a
pair of sticks before joining the Ramones but gave them what
they needed. He helped create a blueprint for three successful
albums, hundreds of performances, and, most important, a
new sound. He laid down a foundation, and I was grateful for
the opportunity to build on it.
On June 29, the Ramones’ fifteen-passenger Ford
Econoline van picked us up around noon in front of artist
Arturo Vega’s loft on East Second Street in Manhattan, where
Joey was living. We were headed to Poughkeepsie, New York,
for my first gig with the band. John was very insistent that
Marion and I sit in the second row. John and Roxy sat in
the first row behind Monte Melnick, the driver and road
manager. Dee Dee sat behind us, and Joey sat in the very
back.
It was a nice way to break in, because the trip up the
Taconic State Parkway to Poughkeepsie was only about an
hour and forty minutes, barring traffic. Still, between tokes
on a joint, Dee Dee kept asking if we were there yet. John was
8
speechifying on how Nixon never should have had to resign
four years earlier. Joey was in the back quietly twiddling his
long hair.
The Chance was a theater in downtown Poughkeepsie
built in the early part of the century. It was empty and full of
ghosts when we did our four-song sound check. It held about
a thousand people and had a very historic feel. There was
no concrete anywhere. The floorboards were oak. The seats
were also wood and probably hand-carved. The mezzanine
had decorative façade work. The place looked like it belonged
more in the old South than upstate New York.
Before the show, Danny Fields came by to take a photo
for the back cover of Road to Ruin. The four of us sat on the
stoop at the rear exit. Dee Dee and Johnny sat on the lower
step at opposite ends. Joey and I sat in the middle on the
upper step. Joey’s long, skinny legs reached all the way down
to the brick pavement with length to spare.
It was “Hey Ho, Let’s Go!” from the first song. The theater
was packed to the point where I looked around for the fire
exits just in case. The kids screamed and jumped. Our sound
was upbeat, loud, and heavy, and the set started to fly by.
There were no mistakes halfway in, and I knew there wouldn’t
be the rest of the way through. When there was even a hint
of drifting off the beat or missing a change, I would look at
John, or he would look at me. Upon eye contact, I knew what
he was doing, and he knew what I was doing. Mistakes were
never allowed to develop. We weren’t on automatic pilot, but
it sounded that way.
The history in the room was personal now. It was my
initiation. I wasn’t nervous, because I learned early on that it
was only about doing what you had to do. At the same time,
I became aware of the pressure only because it was gradually
disappearing. There was a series of firsts for me: the so-called
audition, the first rehearsal, the first recording. But the first
live show was the biggest. If that didn’t work, what was the
point of all the other firsts?
Backstage after the show, Joey, Dee Dee, John, Marion,
Roxy, Monte, Danny Fields, Linda Stein, and everyone who
made the transition a reality were on the same page as me.
There was a sense of security in knowing that the machine
known as the Ramones could continue. Dee Dee was the first
to come up to me and pat me on the back.
“It was great playing with you,” he said. “You’re my bunny
now.” “Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I really appreciated that.
The set wasn’t the most complex music I had ever played
live, but it was maybe the most demanding in its sheer energy.
It was not a marathon. It was more like a very long sprint. I
was drenched in sweat. So was the rest of the band. When
I walked into the dressing room, Joey had already begun
changing and had his shirt off. He had a big nasty scar on his
back that looked like an upside-down letter V.
“Hey, how’d you get that?” I said. ”Shark bite,” Joey said.
Sharks were on people’s minds with the movie Jaws
cleaning up at the box office three summers earlier and then
again with the sequel that had just come out. But Joey was the
last person on earth I figured for a shark-bite victim. First of
all, you had to go swimming fairly far out in the ocean. Joey
There were a lot of Holiday Inns with empty beds along the
way. It wasn’t like stumbling back from Max’s through Union
Square Park.
But there was also a practical side to taking the redeye
van back to New York. The Ramones were running a business.
The pitfalls of the road were too many to list. Countless bands
convinced themselves they were having fun and supporting
an album, but when the album didn’t produce royalties and
the shows didn’t produce take-home pay, the fun quickly
disappeared. The Ramones’ solution was to economize. Why
travel in a huge gas-guzzling luxury bus when a van will do?
Why pay for a bunch of hotel rooms you didn’t need? All the
money you saved one week was money in the band’s pocket
the next.
Besides, not much sleeping went on in hotel rooms.
When we got off the stage at, say, midnight, we were buzzed
on adrenaline. There was not going to be any sleep happening
for three or four hours anyway.
Being in a van at all hours of the night gave me a chance
to learn a lot more about John than when he dropped
by the apartment in SoHo to pick up Roxy. His dad was a
blue-collar guy. John’s parents sent him to military school
for a few years, which explained his routine in the dressing
room. A normal rock musician would leave his street clothes
anywhere. Let alone a punk musician. John would fold his
pants and shirt neatly, perfectly. He lined up the seams of the
pants symmetrically. The shirts were folded as if to be ready
for reshelving. He could have worked at the Gap.
John was about four years older than me. After he
graduated from Forest Hills High School, his father got
him work as a pipe fitter. One of his jobs was working on
the World Trade Center, which in the late sixties was slowly
forming a shadow above Lower Manhattan. The centerpiece
was the Twin Towers, a pair of office buildings destined to rise
110 stories and with pumps so large they were normally used
to supply water to cities of a half million people. But even
with hundreds of miles of pipes to fit, there were occasional
distractions.
One afternoon while the Vietnam War was raging,
a large group of young protesters showed up at the site. A
bunch of the union guys on the ground confronted them,
and it quickly became a classic hard-hat-versus- hippie battle
complete with name calling, shoving, and hair pulling. Up
on the eleventh floor of Tower 1, young John Cummings was
taking a break from welding the joints of ten-inch-diameter
cast-iron soil stacks and looked out the window. Most of the
hippie freaks were assembled together. John had a clear shot.
He took small bags of sand and started tossing them out the
window. They were not lethal, but they stunned on impact
and made little clouds when they broke. The hippie freaks
scattered. It wasn’t napalm, but it made a statement.
“What do you fucking mean how could I do that? These
hippie assholes have such a good deal in America, and they
don’t even appreciate it.”
“Appreciate what?”
“What the guys fighting in Vietnam did for them.” “What
did they do for them?”
9
had spent time in the hospital on more than one occasion
for a variety of anxiety disorders. A hospital room is where
he wrote the lyrics to the forthcoming song “Go Mental” on
Road to Ruin.
So I didn’t picture him at six-foot-six, 190 pounds, in a
Speedo, swimming out past the buoys at Rockaway Beach
as the lifeguards blew their whistles and gave chase. On the
outside chance that he ever managed to pull that off, the odds
of him swimming back safely to shore with blood gushing
from his torso seemed even closer to zero.
John explained to me a little later that Joey was born with
a parasitic twin. It was a malformed Siamese twin growing
out of his back. The twin was incomplete, a threat to the life
of the newborn, and so it was surgically removed. I could
understand why he used the shark story.
When we piled into the tan Econoline for the ride back
to New York, Marion and I were about to climb into the front
row when John stopped us and explained that we all had
assigned seats and had to stick with them. I asked why, and
he said that’s the way the Ramones had done it for years. So
we climbed into the second row.
John continued his pro-Nixon harangue on the ride
back.
“The thing is, the liberals were out to get him from the
fucking beginning. Watergate was bullshit. The whole thing
should never have happened.”
I didn’t really mind having to sit with Marion in assigned
seats, but there was only so much I could take.
“You know what?” I said. “The whole thing did happen
because Nixon ordered it and then covered it up. He doesn’t
have anyone to blame but himself. He was the president,
and he fucked up. And he resigned because he knew he was
wrong.”
“Bullshit!” John said. “Do you think a tiny, insignificant
fucking security break would have meant shit without the
liberal press looking to screw him?”
“If it was so insignificant, why did he bother covering it
up?” “Because he knew they had it in for him.”
“Why do it in the first place?”
It was surprising to see a rock musician, or any musician,
for that matter, defend Richard Nixon, but that seemed to be
as much a part of John as the scar on Joey’s back was a part
of him.
The summer was a blur. We did two dozen shows
scattered across the East Coast and the Midwest. Bands
usually liked to settle in, especially when playing multiple
dates in a city or back-to-back in cities close by. That was
not happening with the Ramones. Not if they could help it.
They were homebodies. They liked their own pillows, their
own mattresses, and their own leftovers in the fridge. If it
was possible to make it back to New York City by dawn, we
were there.
Destinations like New Brunswick, New Jersey;
Greenwood Lake, New York; and, of course, Poughkeepsie,
were no-brainers. They were truly local. But it seemed
neurotic to play Boston three nights in a row with a 450mile round trip on I-95 in between two of the three shows.
“Protected their freedom.”
“Their freedom to have sandbags thrown at them?” “Hey,
fuck ’em.”
John probably didn’t realize those same hippies fought
for his right to wear long hair one day. And somebody
somewhere fought for his right to play in a rock band.
All these rides back and forth to New England and
elsewhere, day in day out, seemed efficient, on one hand.
But on the other, they invited delays. Waiting for Joey to
emerge from Arturo’s building was a show in itself. We
couldn’t leave the motor of the Econoline running unless
we wanted to fill the tank a second time before leaving the
five boroughs. We would try to buzz Joey down, but after
about five minutes, Monte would go upstairs and help him
get dressed. Meanwhile, Dee Dee continued smoking pot in
the van. There was an oil crisis going on, but no marijuana
crisis other than paraquat.
Once he was done tapping the door saddle in the
bathroom, Joey would step in and out of the door to the loft
thirty, maybe forty times. Once that was done, he would walk
down the one flight of stairs. Then back up. Then down. Then
back up again. This would go on ten or twenty times before
Joey finally came out of the building. We were lucky he didn’t
live on the ninetieth floor of the World Trade Center.
Once we hit Youngstown, Ohio, we were out of range for
even the most extreme Ramones definition of local. Driving
across Pennsylvania alone was three hundred miles, and we
had Lansing and Flint, Michigan, next. It was a long ride out
to Ohio, and John made sure we were still in the same seats
from Poughkeepsie. He also made sure we knew the only
reason John F. Kennedy was ever elected president was his
good looks.
Monte booked our rooms ahead of time, and not long
after we got to Youngstown, I found out why. Dee Dee, John,
Monte, and I would all get rooms on the same floor, while
Joey would get a room on a different floor. When I checked
out his room on the fourth floor, Joey was opening and
closing the door again and again. Just like home. The band
preferred getting some sleep to hearing their lead singer
come and go nowhere all night. Hopefully, Joey’s new nextdoor neighbors were insomniacs.
Mornings were fairly normal. We would get up in time
to check out, get some coffee and breakfast downstairs, and
meet in the lobby. If Joey wasn’t there on time, we usually sent
Monte up to his room to escort him down. Joey not only had
trouble getting out of his room; he had trouble getting out of
the shower. It wasn’t easy for him to get in in the first place.
At six-foot-six, the shower nozzles were too low for him, so
he had to squeeze underneath to wash his hair, taking care
not to smash his head against the plumbing. Getting out of
the shower wasn’t much easier. And then the excruciating
repetition began: getting in and out a dozen more times.
Sometimes Monte had Joey skip the shower altogether just
to avoid triggering his compulsion to repeat the showering
process umpteen more times.
Dee Dee had no problem getting in and out of the shower
or the tub. He would take four or five baths or showers a day.
10
It was not easy to cram in all that bathing activity, but he
managed. A bath when we checked in to the hotel. Go do
the sound check, come back and take a shower. Another
bath before the show and a shower after. Then there was the
bedtime bubble bath. All the way across the Keystone state,
Dee Dee talked about the luxurious bubble bath he was going
to prepare that night. Passing steel mills, cement plants, and
coal mines Dee Dee, never lost focus on his big date with Mr.
Bubble.
Dee Dee was not only super clean, he was super shaved.
He liked to shave the hair thoroughly off his chest and arms,
and when that was done, pluck out the stray hairs with a
tweezers. You never knew if he was getting ready for a rock
show or a walk down the runway.
Dee Dee was revolted by the smell of Joey. Dee Dee
would freak out sometimes when he got a whiff. He would
complain to Monte that he needed to wash Joey’s clothes and
get him some cologne. If only Dee Dee could have taken a
shower for Joey, they could have solved the Ramones’ entire
hygiene problem.
Joey was cool onstage. I thought that when I watched
the Ramones at CBGB early on and I thought that now from
behind my drum kit. He stood in one place the entire set,
clutching the microphone stand. John, meanwhile, moved
around like a spinning top, bending his knees a little and
stroking his guitar rapid-fire like an AK-47. Dee Dee was
bouncing all over the place. But Joey’s position looked like
someone taking a stand. Like James Dean. He had something
to say and wasn’t going to budge. He was going to protect his
turf.
The truth was, Joey was frightened to leave his turf. Once
he found his spot onstage, he was afraid to vacate it, like a
shower or an apartment. We were just glad he didn’t turn the
microphone on and off seventy times.
Our trip across the heartland of America was filled with
racism, but not from Midwesterners. It was from John. We
saw blacks, Puerto Ricans, and Asians. Johnny saw spades,
spics, and chinks. Somewhere between Columbus and
Cincinnati, we learned that spades were too lazy to put out
a fire in their own bedroom. Somewhere between Madison
and DeKalb, we discovered that spics were too crazy about
roaches to kill them. Somewhere between Kansas City and
Springfield, we found out that every accident between Kansas
City and Springfield was caused by a Chinaman carrying
around a phony learner’s permit. John was rock and roll’s
Archie Bunker.
We really didn’t know if John was an out-and-out
racist or if he was doing it to get a rise out of us. Probably a
combination. He didn’t draw the line at anti-Semitism. Even
riding cross-country in a van with a Jewish lead singer and
road manager. Johnny called Joey and Monte rabbis. The
things Johnny did to save money were smart. The things the
rabbis did to save money were “cheap.” Johnny was so over
the top and in their faces with this shtick that Joey and Monte
didn’t have much choice but to roll with it. And if it wasn’t
simply anti-Semitism, it was masking other emotions that
weren’t all that great either.
reality series An American Family.
Arkush was a good guy. He was a little surprised to see
us rehearse a few of the songs unplugged before the show, but
that’s what worked for us. Tina Weymouth, the bassist from
Talking Heads, was there, and so was Lester Bangs. Bangs
was shooting the shit with Tina and being his usual noholds-barred self, and Arkush seemed to be in awe, taking
notes like he was a student in the New York campus of a rock
’n’ roll high school.
I didn’t think Bangs had gotten a listen yet to Road to
Ruin, but I hoped he liked it half as much as he liked my last
band. Bangs had written, “The first real-deal punk-jazz mix
I heard around this town came from the recently disbanded
Richard Hell and the Voidoids, and mainly from their lead
guitarist Robert Quine.”
The unplugged rehearsal must have worked, because
Arkush loved the show. We all went to CBGB afterward and
then to Arturo Vega’s loft around the corner. Arturo did the
lights and sold Ramones merchandise before and after every
show.
There was a big buzz in advance of the movie Animal
House, about a bad-boy frat house battling the asshole
preppy frat on campus. The movie starred John Belushi of
TV’s Saturday Night Live and stood to rake it in at the box
office. Allan Arkush was looking to capture some of that
lightning in a small bottle. He told us he needed a band that
had a defining look and sound that kids in this fictional high
school could identify with. The plot involved one girl’s love
for a band and her attempt to get them to listen to a song she’s
written for them. When the band finally rocks the school,
the conflict with the prudish principal escalates to the point
where the police come in and the building is blown up. John
heard this and said, “So, we gonna make this movie or what?”
In September, Animal House debuted in theaters across
the country, and people lined up around the block. Road to
Ruin came out, too, opening at 103 on the Billboard 200. Not
as strong out of the gate as the previous album, Rocket to
Russia, but the reviews were promising. Writing for Rolling
Stone, Robert Christgau said, “Like any great group, this one
is always topping itself . . . ‘I Wanted Everything,’ ‘I’m Against
It,’ and ‘She’s the One’ are as good as any they’ve ever done.”
I thought the cartoon by John Holmstrom on the cover,
showing the four of us with leather jackets and very blue blue
jeans against a backdrop of amps, drums, and a gritty city
skyline, was good. But Joey and Dee Dee didn’t like it. They
objected to being depicted as cartoon characters because
they thought it suggested the band itself was a cartoon. They
complained the drawing was amateurish. But there was no
reason to argue about it. The cover, like the album, was a
done deal. The album was going over big in Europe, and we
were booked for a twenty-two-city tour of the Continent. ■
From “Punk Rock Blitzkrieg: My Life as a Ramone” by Marky
Ramone with Richard Herschlag. Copyright 2015 by Marc Steven
Bell. Reprinted by permission of Touchstone, a Division of Simon
& Schuster, Inc.
11
We could drive halfway across a state—or a time
zone—without John looking at Joey. There was usually no
conversation or eye contact. You could explain it away by
saying they were just oil and vinegar. That John was the jock
and Joey was the shy, sensitive poet of the band. But I got the
sense that there was more to it than that.
With every hotel we could barely check out of because
of Joey’s tapping, touching, and endless in-and-out routine,
we were all obviously aware that he had problems. John,
however, seemed disgusted with those problems and with
Joey himself. And to a degree, that attitude colored John’s
comments and the ride. When you’re all great friends, ethnic
slurs don’t cut the same way, even when it’s your ethnic group.
But calling Joey a rabbi when it’s a rabbi you won’t even look
at or talk to is no longer a sign of affection—especially when
that guy is alone in the back of the bus. The rift grated on me.
I wanted everybody to get along.
So while John was at the front of the van telling Monte the
Yankees were going to come all the way back from fourteen
games behind the Red Sox, I was turning around and talking
to Joey, not just to make him feel better but because I enjoyed
it. We talked about which songs sounded great or not so great
from the night before and maybe switching the order. About
Blondie, the Cramps, the Sex Pistols, and Cheap Trick—one
of Joey’s favorites. About a pretty girl in the audience. It kept
our wheels rolling and was better than letting Joey count the
number of stitches in the seat of the van.
At the same time, I had to give John credit. He went
about things in a professional way, for the most part. He had
quit shooting dope years earlier. There was no rehab as far
as I knew. He just understood he was going down the road
to ruin, which is fine as an album title but not where you
wanted to be as you pushed thirty and had a chance to make
your dreams a reality.
For most people in entertainment, being in a movie was
one of those dreams, even if it was a B movie on a shoestring
budget. We were back in New York August 11 through 13 to
showcase the band for the director of a movie called Rock
’n’ Roll High School. Linda Stein and Danny Fields had been
talking to a young guy named Allan Arkush, who directed
independent teen-oriented comedies for the producer Roger
Corman.
There had been talk about calling the movie Disco High,
but even with the countless millions made the year before by
Saturday Night Fever with John Travolta, a lot of people both
in show business and out were over it. Someone in A&R at
Warner, which distributed the Ramones for Sire, told Arkush
he should check out the Ramones. So he did.
Arkush flew in from California, and Danny and Linda
slapped us on the bill at Hurrah. Located on West SixtySecond Street not far from Columbus Circle, Hurrah was
not a typical venue for the Ramones. Aside from being in
Midtown, the club was more of a new wave place and had
television monitors all over the club showing music videos.
We were on a bill with the avant-garde European singer
Klaus Nomi and Lance Loud. Lance became louder than
life in 1973 when he came out to his parents on the pioneer
The International Crime Fiction Convention
Where the Pen is Bloodier Than the Sword
14 - 17 May 2015
Bristol, United kingdom
Featured Guest Authors include
Maj Sjöwall
Godmother of Scandanavian crime fiction
in conversation with
Lee Child
More Featured and Highlighted
Guest Authors to follow
Other participating authors include:
John Curran, Kate Ellis,
Felix Francis, Mick Herron,
Thomas Mogford, Aly Monroe,
Caro Ramsay, Zoe Sharp,
Yrsa Sigurðardóttir, Michael Stanley
(For the full line-up visit www.crimefest.com)
One of the ‘50 Best Festivals’ in the UK
—The Independent
Programme includes:
Pub quiz/Criminal Mastermind quiz
Interviews with featured guest authors
Celebrating 125 years of Agatha Christie
Forgotton authors panel
Debut authors panel and many more
Awards Presentation for:
Sounds of Crime Award
eDunnit Award
Last Laugh Award
plus
Gala Dinner
Pitch-an-Agent
Crime Writing Day
One of the ‘Best Crime-Writing Festivals
in the World’ —the Guardian
For more information or to sign up for newsletters visit the website
www.crimefest.com • email: [email protected] • Venue: Bristol Marriott Royal Hotel
JOHN’S
LAMENT
By Patrick Kendrick
I read in the paper she had been shot twice; once in the neck and once in the abdomen. They found
her handcuffed to the bed. She was taken to the trauma center, stabilized, and admitted into the
hospital listed as “critical.” She was on a ventilator and would, in all likelihood, never walk again.
I pondered what that meant for her, a young woman who made her living selling sex. I pondered
what it meant for me, too, as I was one of her return customers, one her “johns.”
The newspaper identified her as Sandy Carmen, a local escort who was known as “Shunna” to
her customers.
Her assailant was named Carl Woo. Woo had a history of questionable behavior, having been
fired from several police departments for “bad judgment” and “conduct unbecoming of an officer.” A
private security firm, contracted by the university, had placed him on the night shift where he would
roam the grounds and corridors, vigilant for trouble. The trouble he found most often was that of his
own making.
In the two years he’d worked on campus he’d amassed a number of complaints against him. Several students and teachers
had made accusations against Woo for stalking. Woo explained he was simply doing his job, shadowing ladies as they made
their way to their cars, typically parked in dark and deserted areas. He was protecting them.
The ladies didn’t see it that way. They described within their complaints his “persistent staring” and the “inappropriate
remarks” he would make as he stepped out of the shadows and insisted on escorting them to their cars. He often remarked
on how they smelled and would try to guess which cologne they were wearing. He told one student he could smell when a
woman was menstruating, and that she should be careful because wild animals and serial killers had that same ability. She
tried to file a restraining order against him but it was his word against hers, no witnesses, and while the complaint became a
matter of record, Woo received nothing more than some cautionary advice from his supervisor.
Woo’s ex-wife described him as “mentally unstable.” She’d left him shortly after he’d assaulted her—for the last time—by
slamming her arm in the refrigerator door repeatedly, until her elbow snapped. That was when he’d still been a cop, so the
incident was, of course, explained away. The IA report concluded with the description of “a mutually destructive domestic
dispute brought on by the fatigue of Patrolman Woo’s responsibilities and work load, and Mrs. Woo’s occasional use of
alcohol and prescription pain medications.”
In another incident on campus Woo caught a young man, disgruntled from failing his studies, vandalizing the American
Studies building. The student had kicked over a few waste baskets, punched a hole in the wall and when he noticed the
surveillance cameras in the hall, had jumped up and spit into the lens. Woo flew out of the small satellite office in the building
and tackled the student. Then, using a “subduing method,” he twisted the young man’s fingers and forced him to lick the spit
off of the camera. As the scene was videotaped, Woo received a written reprimand for being “overzealous in the performance
of his duties.”
All the signs were there, I thought to myself, as they always are. Violent people do not appear out of thin air. They are
created over a period of time, like monsters in sci-fi movies. There was an abusive parent—physical or sexual, or both. Or,
perhaps, a speech or behavioral impediment that brought on self-loathing, which brought on self-hate, and hate begets hate.
Drugs, environment, and crime can be catalysts, or a screwy little glitch in the DNA, a twisted chromosome that changes
what would have been a normal, productive member of society into a dark, malevolent creature whose time comes aborning
one day like a biblical pestilence.
As an ER physician, I’ve seen their handiwork time and again. I’ve stitched up their victim’s knife wounds or probed
the holes in a bleeding abdomen, looking for the bullet that has taken up residence there like a hot, angry bee. I’ve slid
endotracheal tubes into their lungs to keep the blood and broken teeth from choking the patient. I’ve dabbed semen from
13
tortured vaginas as police stood by with rape kits. I’ve watched as they go through the whirring mechanics of an MRI, their
x-rays popping up to show shattered skulls and twisted limbs.
I’ve seen every horrible thing one person can do to another and I can take it. My “professional calm” allows, no, demands
that I can see those things and do what I have to do to save a life, or in some cases help it end as painlessly, gracefully and
with as much dignity as I can manage.
Still, my wife says she sees what it does to me. When she comes home from a couple hours at the gym with her personal
trainer and finds me having a cocktail on the patio by myself, she’ll make a comment. When she comes in late from a night
out “with the girls” and finds me sitting by the fire again, with a glass of port, unable to sleep, she’ll say something. When she
comes back from a long weekend away visiting friends out of state and finds the bed still made-up, unmussed, never used,
she might say something like, “Why don’t you take an Ambien or something?” Or, “Isn’t your friend, that guy you play tennis
with—Turner or Turnbull—isn’t he a shrink you could talk to?”
I have a vivid imagination. I wish I didn’t but it’s just the way it is. For instance, it’s not hard for me to imagine my wife,
during one of her extended leaves from our home, seeing another man. She is twelve years younger than me, slim as a wasp,
and surgically enhanced beautiful. It’s not hard for me to imagine that it is a lover that calls her cell all those times when it
rings and she picks it up, looks cross-eyed at the number then silences the ringer. When I ask who is calling and she says, “a
friend,” or “just my mother, again,” it is not hard for me to imagine that she is lying. She is small, petite, and flexible as a yogi,
and it is not hard for me to imagine her athletic legs hooked over the muscled shoulders of a young lover, perhaps younger
than herself, as he pumps into her like a hydraulic machine. A machine that has two percent body fat, does not drink alcohol,
nor worry, nor save lives, nor contribute to society at all, other than to keep a few philandering housewives happy.
As I read about Shunna in the newspaper—the unfortunate escort shot by the troubled campus cop—I could imagine
her laying on the white, plush carpet in her bedroom, blood oozing from her lovely, pale abdomen and pumping from her
neck. I could imagine her heart beating in the hollow of her throat just as I’d seen it do the few times we’d made love at her
“clean, safe, discreet residence,” where she’d serviced her clients; the one she’d advertised first on Craig’s List and Backpage.
com before going completely professional and placing her contact information on The Erotic Review.
Though she advertised herself as a “naughty teacher with sexual curiosity,” she was not the “filthy whore” as my wife
referred to her reading the story in the paper. She was actually very clean, insisting that her “client” wear condoms and
shower before and after her “discreet adventures in erotica.” She was a lovely red-head with translucent skin that flushed pink
in her neck and cheeks when she made love. She wore expensive perfume and lingerie and, in spite of her livelihood, could
make me feel as though I was the only man in her life. She never rushed our “sessions,” never looked at a watch or clock, nor
took calls when we were together. Her ads said she was twenty-three; she could get away with that but I knew she was closer
to thirty. There were no tell-tale signs of those extra years but the calmness, the unhurried rhythm she maintained in bed,
the affection, even if artificial, told me she was closer to the end of her third decade in this mean city than at the start of it.
Nothing would have suggested to me that she was near the end of her life.
I was at work in the ER when I learned of it. The medics brought in a child who had choked on a hot dog. They had tried
desperately to get the intrusive object out of her trachea but had succeeded only in pushing it further down, resulting in
tearing her windpipe. When I looked into her throat with my laryngoscope, I could only see blood pooled in the back at the
base of her tongue. Blessedly, I saw a tiny bubble push its way through the red puddle and I knew she must still have some
air trapped in her lungs. She was still struggling but growing limp, giving up the fight to breathe; I still had a chance if I got a
tube into her lungs and established a patent airway, but I had to act fast.
I ordered one of the nurses to draw up some succinyl choline, a paralytic that would temporarily stop her from struggling.
It would also stop her from breathing but once that occurred I would be able to suction her airway then place a tube into her
lungs and hook her up to a respirator. The nurse jabbed the needle into a vein in the crook of the little girl’s arm and the drug
took effect immediately. I saw her tiny body go limp, even as her chest muscles twitched still, trying to pull air into her torso.
Another nurse suctioned out the blood so the muscles in her throat were relaxed; the chunk of hot dog came out on its own.
Still, she was bleeding and I didn’t want her to choke on her own blood, so I slid in a 4.0 tube between her vocal cords and
into her trachea, then bagged her with pure oxygen. Her cheeks went from a dusky blue to rosy pink and I knew she would
be fine. I delivered the good news to the sobbing parents and made my way to the cafeteria for a well-deserved cup of coffee.
I read about Shunna’s death as I drank my coffee. It was two days after the shooting. She had been hospitalized at the
trauma center on the north side of the county, the one near the upscale renovated city center where new hi-rise condos started
at a half-mil, including Shunna’s cozy spot. The trauma center I worked for was in the still blighted area near the jailhouse,
where her troubled killer, Mr. Woo, now resided. I was near the end of my twelve-hour shift when I read of her passing.
I was taken aback, not just by the senselessness of a young woman’s dying too soon, but by the emotions it brought forth
in me. I had only been with her a few times. I wasn’t in love with her; we’d never mentioned that word while in each other’s
company. I certainly wasn’t foolish enough to think this young lady, easily twenty years younger than I, found me anything
14
other than a pleasant client, a john who was, maybe, a little kinder, a little more generous. Perhaps, a little more needy for
some affection than for the actual sex itself.
Still, I will admit, I felt a certain youthful thrill when I would text her to see if she had an afternoon open and she would
text back, “Of course, doll. Come over in an hour. I’ll be wearing nothing but a smile for you. Can’t wait to see you again.” It
was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon, looking out the window of her condo, watching the sun set over the city skyline,
her fingers dragging lightly over my back, a glass of wine next to her bed, a scented candle holding a flame that stood as still
as time.
When I got off shift I strolled aimlessly until I found myself at a bar with dark wood and discreet bartenders and grabbed
a stool. It was a place where Shunna and I would meet occasionally. She liked it because she said it reminded her of what an
old speakeasy would be like. Sitting there, I recalled her telling me about growing up in a rural area outside of St. Louis. Her
family had cows and she would milk them in the morning before school, and show them at state fairs with her 4-H group.
But she had been enamored with movie people and glamour and she thought she could find that flashy lifestyle in Miami.
She moved to South Beach with a girlfriend and they got some modeling gigs that were supposed to lead to bigger and
better “opportunities,” but mostly those opportunities were parties where the drugs and booze were plentiful as well as the
“opportunity” to fall into bed with someone who had too much unearned money and no real life plan.
Shunna woke up one morning after sleeping with a Cuban “importer” who was supposed to have some friends in the
movie business. She found he had already awoken and gone, but next to the bed he’d left a pile of money. She counted it and
found it was a thousand dollars. Good money for a good night of fun.
She came up with the name Shunna when one of her girlfriends told her you “shunna done that,” after one of her wild
but profitable evenings
More “opportunities” came her way. But, as she grew older, the compensation became less and she found herself
surrounded by younger, more beautiful “talent.” She moved up the coast, enrolled in some nursing classes at the university
and made a decent living doing escort work. She wanted to work in an ER, even though I told her there really wasn’t anything
cool or romantic about doing emergency medical work.
In spite of her profession, she was sweet and caring with a gentle touch, and I’m sure she would have made a very good
nurse.
But now . . . she was dead. I checked the papers for her obit or some kind of funeral announcement but there wasn’t much
there. The story of her killer lingered in the papers for a couple days. The Sunday edition had a bio on Carl Woo, describing
the things that led to his tragic transition from a would-be cop to a confused, emotionally tortured fallen angel who had
succumbed to the dark side of his persona. It seemed as if they were trying to paint a redemptive picture of Woo, blaming his
behavior on an absent father and abusive mother, and though he tried to better himself, the poor man was doomed to failure
and finally murder by an uncaring society.
I wanted to vomit.
The only mention of Shunna and who or what she was, was captured in a sidebar next to Woo’s featured story. The blurb
read, “Sandy ‘Shunna’ Carmen was a high-priced escort who was found handcuffed to her bed and shot twice. She died in
the North County Trauma Center.” The picture accompanying the blurb was the one that she used on The Erotic Review
site, wherein Shunna was dressed in a French Maid outfit. This, then, was her legacy. The media seemed more than willing
to explain away the atrocities of the killer to help us understand how this horrible event could have happened, but discarded
Shunna because a professional call girl simply didn’t matter.
The more I looked at the mug shot of Woo in his County-issued, orange jumpsuit, hair disheveled, a confused, hurt look
in his eyes, the more I wanted to kill him.
A few more days went by, the story taking up less and less space in the paper. Now, it was pictureless, a tiny follow-up
story on page three of the local section. The ire of the District Attorney’s office had cooled; no one in Shunna’s family had
been pushing for justice, so it looked like Woo would be charged with manslaughter rather than murder one. He’d probably
do eighteen months in a minimum security prison then be released with a few years of monitored probation. After that,
maybe even sooner, he could probably go back to work as a security guard or store clerk. Maybe buy a winning lotto ticket
with his meager funds. Maybe find a new wife whose arm he could break in the refrigerator while a complacent society that
practiced prejudices against a prostitute more than a killer, continued to look the other way.
And Shunna? The young lady who, in spite of her poor choice of career had wanted to be a nurse? What of her? Well,
she’ll still be in the ground somewhere, feeding the worms from her pauper’s grave. Somehow the injustice of it all did not
seem fair.
The wife was out of town for a few days and I had gone back to my shift, a depression enveloping me like a dark shroud.
I stitched up a kid’s eyebrow that had gone over the handle bars of his bike. Fire Rescue brought in some old people from a
nursing home where they had been neglected until they were feverish with sepsis. There were the usual fevers and sniffles en
15
masse. I set a little girl’s broken wrist. She had red hair and made me think of who, more and more in my mind, had become
an old friend, Shunna. I regretted never having told her I thought of her that way. I’m sure in her business, she could have
used a friend now and then.
I was wallowing in my melancholy, sipping some coffee, when I got a call from the county jail. They were sending me a
patient who was found unconscious in his cell. He had tried to hang himself. He was conscious now and refusing medical
treatment but needed to be evaluated according to the jail’s protocol. This was not uncommon. We often cared for one of the
jail’s inmates once or twice a month, usually cuts and bruises from fighting or some substance abuse problem.
“Sure,” I told them. “Bring him over. What’s his name so I can look out for him?”
“Let’s see . . . his number is 882801 and his name is . . . Woo, Carl Woo.”
No . . . shit.
The medics brought Woo in with an IV in place, a nasal cannula puffing sweet oxygen into his nostrils. He was handcuffed
to the rails on both sides of the stretcher. There were a few drops of blood on his orange jumpsuit where his nose had
hemorrhaged. I could see a faint purple line around his throat where he’d tried to hang himself using a cord from an iron in
the jail’s laundry room where he’d been assigned. A guard accompanied the group.
I nodded toward a private room we typically utilized to screen prisoners and segregate them from our more law abiding
citizens. I told the guard who had brought Woo in, a fresh-faced young man I had not seen before, to go check out our
cafeteria. It was pretty good for hospital food and I’d need at least an hour to examine the prisoner as we were a little busy
and there would have to be x-rays, etcetera, etcetera. He was hesitant, but after I sang the praises of the lemon meringue pie,
he was gone, his stomach growling.
I got the run report from the medics who transferred Woo from their stretcher to our gurney; uncuffing, then replacing
the Posey restraints after they slid him over. With a signature on their run report, I took possession of the patient, and the
other medics, too, were then off to the cafeteria in search of something to eat. I was pleased everyone was so hungry today.
I looked over Woo’s medical report, noted his meds and history as I pondered what type of medical “treatment” he was in
need of.
Woo’s ordeal had fatigued him and he was falling asleep on the gurney. Having traumatized his neck, he really should
have had his neck in a c-collar and an endotracheal tube in place. Really good medics would have done that for him. I’d have
to talk to the ambulance crew about that next time I saw them.
I watched Woo falling asleep, complacent, and wondered where Shunna was right now. Was she already in that grave, her
lovely lips parted slightly, ready to catch the earth that oozed through the openings of a cheap casket? Her pale skin would
be even whiter, the flush of her skin I so admired forever halted, the blood vessels filled with formaldehyde. Her shining red
hair dulled in death.
I’d love to have seen her one last time but I don’t think they even held a service for her. The newspaper obituaries never
ran one.
Geez, I thought to myself. I do believe Mr. Woo should be intubated with that endotracheal tube. Hard to do when
someone is still conscious with an intact gag reflex. I should give him something so he doesn’t fight the tube placement.
I opened my drug cabinet and pushed around some vials until I found what I was looking for. Ah, there it was, the
succinyl choline. In the ER, we call it “Sux” for short. I wondered if Mr. Woo would agree with that nickname for a drug that
can make you stop breathing. I drew up a few milliliters into a syringe then pushed the needle into the hub of the IV in Woo’s
arm.
Another really cool thing about Sux is that it does not linger in the body very long. It is almost undetectable in an autopsy
unless you are specifically looking for it. No one would be. No one would care that a prisoner who had tried to hang himself
had aspirated on his own blood (according to the ER physician’s report) and died.
I emptied the syringe into the IV port and Woo’s chest immediately went still. His eyes opened wide, full of terror, as he
struggled to breathe. The jugular veins in his neck stood out like ropes and his face went red, then purple, before moving into
that dark blue that indicates cyanosis—the lack of oxygen in the blood—is setting in.
I leaned over his face so he could see mine, just as his was the last face Shunna saw before she died.
I found myself smiling for the first time in a long time. ■
Patrick Kendrick was a fire fighter and freelance writer for 30 years, having been published in numerous magazines, trade journals,
and newspapers, from the Miami Herald to the Reader’s Digest and Fire Engineering magazines. He was knighted by the Order of
Saint Michael, the Archangel, a policemen’s honorary legion, for his articles on crime. He has won several writing awards including
the Hollywood Film Festival’s Opus Magnum Discovery Award. His first novel, “Papa’s Problem,” a historical mystery, won the Florida
Book Award. His second book, “Extended Family,” a dark thriller, earned a starred review on Booklist. He is a member of the Mystery
Writers of America, the Florida Writer’s Association, and the International Thriller Writer’s. His third book, “Acoustic Shadows,” will
be published by Harper Collins in June.
16
FROM ACROSS THE POND
With QUENTIN BATES
By Chris Simms
I’m delighted to bring readers of Suspense Magazine a feature from the UK’s
Crime Readers’ Association. In it, an author from over here will write about
crime writing from a UK perspective.
LIVING WITH A STRANGER
It’s almost like being married all over again. Let me clarify: I’ve been married
for a long time, and only the once. But a few years ago another woman turned
up and has been living with me ever since. My wife hasn’t objected because
this other person is mostly inside my head.
I imagine it’s the same for every writer with a series featuring the same
long-running character. Even though that person lives in your mind and on
paper, he (or in my case, she) becomes a constant presence.
My series of books, the fourth of which was published recently as an
e-book by Constable & Robinson, features a female police officer who solves
crimes and catches bad guys in Reykjavík and around the southwest corner
of Iceland. It’s now almost ten years since Gunnhildur Gísladóttir appeared on the scene, practically fully formed, to become
the focus of the first book, “Frozen Out.” I think it’s fair to say that the book took shape around her as a character rather than
the other way around.
“Frozen Out” went through much editing and several rewrites before it was deemed ready for publication, but there
weren’t all that many changes to Gunnhildur, otherwise known as Gunna, for short. However, there was a contretemps over
her age, as the original Gunna was closer to fifty than forty. The publisher preferred a younger character, presumably with
a longer working life ahead of her before retirement might start to loom. I wanted to keep her as she was, with none of the
callowness of youth and with the wisdom that some of us, supposedly, acquire through experience.
So there was a compromise and the only real change to the character was lopping ten years off her age instead of the
twenty that had been suggested, and adjusting her family circumstances. Oh, and a bloke was required.
“Someone has to fancy her,” this very much wet-behind-the-ears new author was told. Fair enough. It wasn’t hard to
comply and a suitable boyfriend was conjured up in a way that slotted in with the plot. But with Gunna being the crossgrained, determined character she is, it couldn’t be just anyone, and the lugubrious Steini made a tentative appearance in
“Frozen Out.” He seemed to work and although I had expected to lose him somewhere along the way, Steini has stayed and
become an important character in his own right, although he doesn’t appear often.
Since then I’ve been living with this big-boned, black-browed woman at the back, and often at the front, of my mind.
Occasionally it has been unnerving to have a fictional character become so lifelike. I can only hope that she’s just as lifelike
to people who read the books.
It’s not something I’ve discussed with other writers, but I imagine my experience with Gunna is far from unique as
17
she pops up occasionally in opportune and awkward
moments with a caustic comment or some sarcastic
observation.
Does Ian Rankin hear Rebus shouting at him in the middle
of the night? Did Simenon have a glass of beer in the Brasserie
Dauphine with an invisible Maigret sucking his pipe next to
him? Did Nicolas Freeling live with van der Valk impatiently
pacing the floor upstairs? I do hope so.
THE CURSE OF THE TBR PILE
It’s an affliction, but not necessarily a bad one. There are others
that are so much worse.
But my To-Be-Reads are everywhere, sneaking into corners
and taking up residence, lying quietly and unnoticed behind
doors and under beds, making shelves creak during the night.
There are people who don’t have books. It’s true: I’ve been
inside houses occasionally where there isn’t a shred of printed
matter to be seen other than a Chinese takeaway menu, a
glossy gossip mag or the ragged remnants of a free-sheet lining
the floor of the budgie’s cage. These people can be recognized
by the blank smile, the dead eyes and the pallor that comes of
spending hours in front of the TV.
I’m not one of them. I’ll put up my hand and admit happily
that books are an essential part of life and I couldn’t imagine
an existence without a book within easy reach. The idea of not
being able to read when presented with the occasional empty
moment is painful. A journey of any length used to mean three
books, minimum; one to read, another to read when the first
one’s finished and a spare in case the second book turned out
not to hit the spot. These days it’s two books and a Kindle.
The Kindle was a present and I wasn’t sure I was going to like it. In fact, I like it a lot more than I had expected. I’m not
reading any fewer dead tree books, and the Kindle complements “real” books rather than replacing them. I use it in times
and places where I would normally pick up a newspaper, and it has helped me discover stuff that I might not otherwise have
come across.
The Kindle hasn’t solved the problem of the To-Be-Read pile. Instead, it’s becoming a To-Be-Read pile on its own account,
in addition to the TBR piles in the bedroom, living room, kitchen and shed, plus the handful of books in the car that are
dangerously close to metamorphosing into a fledgling TBR pile in their own right. Not that I see the TBR problem as a
problem; to take one of those trite management aphorisms, I see it more as an opportunity.
To some people it may be a house full of books, to me it’s a lot of old friends and plenty of choice.
Quentin Bates escaped English suburbia at the end of the 1970s for a gap year in Iceland that gradually grew into a gap decade.
He returned to England in 1990, Icelandic family in tow, and has been here ever since. His first novel, Frozen Out was published
in Britain and the U.S. There have been another three since then: find out more at http://graskeggur.com.
Chris Simms is the editor of Case Files, the Crime Readers’ Association’s online magazine. You can subscribe to Case Files for free
at www.thecra.co.uk. Along with nominations for the Crime Writer’s Association Daggers (for his novels and short stories) and
the Theakston’s Crime Novel of the Year award, Chris was selected by Waterstone’s as one of their ‘25 Authors For The Future.’ He
continues to feverishly scribble away in a small hut behind his house.
Discover more at www.chrissimms.info or at www.facebook.com/AuthorChrisSimms ■
18
Meet Suspense/Thriller Writer and Publisher
AUSTIN S. CAMACHO
A
Interview By Weldon Burge
Press Photo Credit: Portrait Innovations
ustin S. Camacho is the author of five novels in the Hannibal Jones mystery
series, four in the Stark and O’Brien adventure series, and a new detective
novel, “Beyond Blue.”
Austin is deeply involved with the writing community. He is a past President
of the Maryland Writers Association, past Vice President of the Virginia Writers
Club, and is an active member of Mystery Writers of America, International
Thriller Writers, and Sisters in Crime. He is part owner of Intrigue Publishing,
and was the chief organizer for the annual Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity (C3)
Conference near Baltimore.
I had the pleasure of meeting Austin two years ago at the C3 conference, as
well as working with him on his story One of Us for the “Insidious Assassins”
anthology, published by Smart Rhino Publications. I recently managed to catch
up with Austin and used the opportunity to talk with him about his latest projects.
Weldon Burge (W.B.): You’ve written a good many suspense/thriller novels,
including a mystery series, an adventure series, and most recently a detective
novel. Let’s start with the series. What do you find most appealing about writing series? Do you find the series easier to
market than standalone novels?
Austin Camacho (A.C.): The most important point about character development is that people are changed by the events they
experience. So the most appealing part of writing a series is that I get to follow up on those changes. I’ve followed the rising and
advancing of Hannibal Jones’s spirit, and the rocky path along which Stark (a mercenary) and O’Brien (a thief) are following
toward becoming actual heroes, in part due to their friendship. And I think series are easier to market because readers get caught
up in characters more than in plots.
W.B.: Your latest novel, “Beyond Blue,” is about a team of detectives whose only purpose is to help police officers in trouble.
What sparked the idea for this novel? How much research was involved in pulling the book together?
A.C.: My friend and fellow writer Warren Murphy came up with the idea. I was immediately captivated for two reasons. First, I
think a high-profile handful of dirty cops give all cops a bad name. These guys put their lives on the line every day and get little
support from the community. Also, the book has a unifying theme. The Beyond Blue agency is financed by a wealthy Muslim
whose son was in the Towers on 9/11 and was saved by a New York cop.
My research involved talking to a lot of policemen who gave examples of good cops being hung out to dry.
W.B.: You’ve also written many short stories for anthologies and other publications. What do you find appealing about
writing short stories, as opposed to longer fiction?
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A.C.: Truth is, I’m not much of a short-story writer because I never know what to write about. But for some reason, when an
editor gives me a theme to write to, I can do it. For example, it never occurred to me to write a story from a professional killer’s
point of view until I was invited to submit to “Insidious Assassins.” Faced with that specific challenge, a very cool idea came to me.
W.B.: What is your most vexing problem when writing?
A.C.: I develop character histories and backstories to a very deep degree…and then it is difficult for me not to dump all that info
on the reader. Usually I end up writing in way too much, then having to go back and cut it all out.
W.B.: If you could start your writing career over, what would you do differently?
A.C.: I’d have done more research into the business of writing before I submitted anything to anyone. Early on, I accepted a lot
about small presses that isn’t true of most of them.
W.B.: What’s next on your writing agenda?
A.C.: It’s a cycle: I’m rewriting and editing the most recent Hannibal Jones, writing the next Stark & O’Brien, and beginning the
complex plotting challenge of the next Beyond Blue.
W.B.: Let’s switch gears and turn to your role as a publisher. You’re part owner of an indie publishing company, Intrigue
Publishing, which specializes in thrillers and mysteries. What was your biggest challenge in starting the company?
A.C.: Our business model calls for us to behave as much as possible like a major publisher, which means we spend more time
getting a book out than most small presses. The challenge was and is dealing with authors who think we should get the book out
faster, who don’t want the level of editing we do, or who want the kind of control over the project you only get when you selfpublish.
W.B.: What do you find most rewarding as a publisher?
A.C.: Sitting at the Love is Murder Con in Chicago this year and watching two of our authors win awards (Best Thriller for
“Death and White Diamonds” by Jeff Markowitz, and Best Police Procedural for “Retribution” by Annie Rose Alexander)—
seeing those authors’ faces light up when they heard their names—I remember thinking, “Yeah, THIS is why we do it!”
W.B.: Wearing your editor’s hat, what is your primary advice to writers for submitting work?
A.C.: Pay attention to detail and give us your best. We’re not just buying your book, we’re buying YOU. If I think you’re the kind
of writer who doesn’t care about spelling and punctuation, or won’t fact check the work, or will
resist editorial guidance, we’ll say no thank you even if your writing and story are superior.
W.B.: Now, switching to your marketing hat, what should writers do to promote their own
work, especially when working with an indie publisher?
A.C.: No. 1: Build a platform. The more people who know you, the better, so find your natural
audience. Who should want to read your book? Find them.
No. 2: Buzz your book. A Facebook post per day is good, but you can’t tweet too much.
Keep your name and title out there.
No. 3: Establish a relationship with bookstores in your area. It’s not just social media.
I got this email from Jeff Markowitz, author of the aforementioned “Death and White
Diamonds”: “I learned today that at least four Barnes & Noble stores in central Jersey have
“Death and White Diamonds” in stock, in the store, on the shelf. Actually, I learned of the first
store by accident and then spent the remainder of the day driving to various B & N stores to
see for myself. At three of the four stores, I autographed the store’s book stock while I was there.
And two of the four seemed receptive to arranging an in-store event.”
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“THE MOST IMPORTANT POINT ABOUT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IS THAT PEOPLE ARE CHANGED BY THE EVENTS
THEY EXPERIENCE..”
What publisher wouldn’t throw their efforts behind this guy? We’re calling the stores and sending them posters and bookmarks.
W.B.: Let’s talk about the Creatures, Crimes, and Creativity conference for a minute. Can you give us your quick, down-anddirty promotional pitch for the conference? What do you hope attendees will get out of it?
A.C.: The C3 Con gathers readers and writers of mystery, suspense, thriller, horror, sci-fi, fantasy, and paranormal fiction. The
registration fee includes five meals: Friday’s dinner, three meals Saturday, and Sunday breakfast, so readers and writers dine sideby-side. It also includes a video interview authors can use on their own websites after the con. Published authors get to spend time
with their fans, and to expose new readers to their writing by presenting on panels. Their books will be available in our on-site
bookstore and there will be dedicated book-signing times. Each author’s name and a link will be posted on the C3 website. They
will be pictured in the C3 program book and invited to contribute to the C3 blog.
W.B.: What prompted you to take on such a Herculean task to organize the event?
A.C.: I’ve had so much fun at the smaller genre cons around the country—Magna Cum Murder, Killer Nashville, Love Is
Murder—but none of them are in the mid-Atlantic area. I wanted the same thing closer to home. And there were a few things at
each that I thought could be done better, as if the people putting them on didn’t attend each others’ event. So I wanted to take the
best bits of each, and I think we have.
W.B.: What can we expect from this year’s conference?
A.C.: A great time! The Creatures, Crimes & Creativity (C3) con in Hunt Valley, Maryland takes place September 25-27 this
year. Heather Graham and F. Paul Wilson will be keynote speakers, but that’s only the beginning. Readers and fans will enjoy
panels and presentations from favorite authors, including those I just mentioned, both of whom have written best-sellers in the
paranormal, suspense, mystery, thriller, fantasy, and horror genres. Local guest authors include mystery and sci-fi author Andy
Straka and thriller writer S.D. Skye, both award winners in their own rights.
Each attendee will receive a goodie bag filled with cool stuff, including our exclusive anthology filled with stories written by
attending authors. Plus fun events like book signings, a Twitter contest, and a scavenger hunt, with lots of valuable prizes. You
can see all the details and register at http://creaturescrimesandcreativity.com.
W.B.: One last question, just for fun. You’re planning an outdoor barbecue on July 4th, and you can invite four special guests—
authors or fictional characters, contemporary or from the past. Who do you invite? And what conversation would you hope
to initiate?
A.C.: Wow! I get the time machine and the fictional universe? Well then, it’s a mob scene with Sherlock Holmes, Tarzan, Professor
Challenger, Scarlet Pimpernel, Dupin, Raffles, Doc Savage, Monk Mayfair, Nero Wolfe, Lord Peter Wimsey, Dennis Nayland
Smith, The Shadow, The Spider, Bulldog Drummond, James Bond, and Travis McGee. They’re all related, you know. Almost all
have gray eyes, a recessive trait that gives them away.
All the people I wanted to be when I was younger, and I get to really get to know them! I’d see the world’s greatest chess game
round-robin—and secretly hope a fight would break out.
W.B.: Now wouldn’t that be something! Thanks, Austin!
For more on Austin Camacho, go to his website at www.ascamacho.com and his blog at ascamacho.blogspot.com.
Intrigue Publishing’s website is intriguepublishing.com. If you’re interested in the C3 conference, check out the website at
creaturescrimesandcreativity.com. ■
21
BARBARA PETTY
FIRST IN A NEW SERIES: THEA BROWNE MYSTERY
A man plunges to his death, setting in motion a string
of events that rips open the long-hidden secrets of the
town’s most prominent family…
The man is George Prentice, and the woman the
police suspect of murdering him is his wife, Daphne.
But Daphne has Alzheimer’s and has not been
arrested.
Daphne’s daughter, Thea Browne, is a trained
Daphne
investigative reporter, who is furious that the police
haven’t bothered to look any further for a culprit
other than her mother. She suspects her stepfather
made enemies when meddling in local politics and,
according to one of his cronies, George wrote a
memoir threatening to “blow the lid off this town.”
As Thea follows her own investigation, she discovers
a widening circle of suspects, some much closer to
home than she expected. Even her best friend from
childhood, Annie Biggs, seems to be keeping a deep
dark secret that she refuses to share with Thea.
More murders push Thea to the point where
Mor
protecting her mother forces her to put her own life
on the line to track down a diabolical killer.
“A gripping drama unfolds as Barbara Petty explores the tensions between a woman
with Alzheimer’s accused of an unspeakable crime, and her daughter, an investigative
reporter determined to clear her mother’s name. Well worth the read.”
—Sheila Lowe, author of the Forensic Handwriting Mystery series
Suspense Magazine Book Reviews
INSIDE THE PAGES
ASSAULT AND
PEPPER
By Leslie Budewitz
New cozy mystery series seem
to be coming out of the woodwork
for 2015, and this is yet another
going by the name of The Spice Shop
mysteries, that will have readers
truly enjoying this new expansion
of the genre.
Pepper Reece, owner of the
Seattle Spice Shop, has come up
against some trying times in her
not too distant past. Pepper has
left her marriage and lost a job that
she loved due to a corporate crash,
and is now the owner of this spice
and tea shop located in Seattle’s
Pike Place Market. She has a yen
for preparing creations of spice
and tea combinations that bring
the customers in for a cup of her
refreshing tea one right after the
other; not to mention, visits from
other shopkeepers and a group of
regulars that frequent the Market.
Somehow, you knew the peace
couldn’t last… A panhandler by
the name of Doc, turns up on her
store’s doorstep holding a Seattle
Spice Shop cup in his hand, leading
to the unveiling of a crime where
the police arrest one of Pepper’s
employees, Tory Finch, for murder.
Tory seems to know why she’s a
suspect, but is not giving any clue
as to why she feels that way. Pepper
is sure that Tory is innocent and
decides to investigate, but with that
choice comes her own name being
added to the killer’s ‘to do’ list.
Now a little something for the
gourmet, as there is a new amateur
detective in the area named Pepper
with a recipe box filled with spices
and other scrumptious foods. Set
in Seattle, this is the perfect read
for a few hours of pure enjoyment,
because along with a first rate story
comes ‘Recipes and Spice Notes’
that the Spice Shop recommends.
As you enjoy the read, look forward
to creating dipping sauces, Frittata’s,
and other mouth-watering dishes in
your very own kitchen.
Reviewed by Mary Lignor,
Professional Librarian and CoOwner of The Write Companion ■
THE STRANGER
By Harlan Coben
Harlan Coben’s latest thriller, “The Stranger,” starts off with a simple sentence, “You didn’t
have to stay with her.” That’s what Adam Price was told by the middle-aged man wearing a
baseball hat. Adam had no idea that from that single statement the life that he had grown to
love would be burnt down to the ground. Forced to confront his wife, Corrine, Adam was now
caught in something much bigger and much more dangerous than even he could ever imagine.
After his wife suddenly disappears sending only a text message, Adam searches for answers.
Coben puts the reader on an emotional rollercoaster from the first page. He begins to peel back the
layers of the story, so when the reader thinks they have it figured out; Coben pulls back the curtain to reveal
yet another twist. Very few authors have the ability to deliver powerful characters with a plot that forces the
reader to keep turning the pages until the end, as Coben keeps the suspense at such a high pace the reader not
only wants to keep reading, they have to.
“The Stranger” could already be placed on the short list of the best books of 2015. Reviewed by John Raab ■
A FIRST DATE WITH DEATH
By Diana Orgain
Georgia Thornton is a former member of the police department who is now starting a job
in the industry of Reality TV.
Coming from the ‘protecting and serving’ realm, Georgia is now the not-so-proud star of
a show called “Love or Money,” in which she is trying to locate her dream man from a group
of men who are looking for either, of course, love or money. It seems that her former fiancé,
Paul Sanders, also a policeman, left Georgia at the altar which leaves her to think that she has
nothing to lose, except maybe her self-respect. Gearing up to have ten first dates with these guys so she can
make up her mind which one will be the winner, Georgia pretty much figures, “What can possibly go wrong?”
Well…her first date is to go bungee jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. And when her date takes the
dive, the cord is messed up and he ends up being lost in a tragic fall that ends her date in a massively horrible
way. The first victim is replaced by Paul Sanders…surprise, surprise, but he is definitely not looking for a
career in TV. He arrives because he suspects the accident was no accident, and is working undercover to find
out who, exactly, is trying to upset the show and take peoples’ lives in the process.
Not long after Paul’s appearance another bachelor is killed, and the show’s bosses don’t want to cancel
the program because it’s beginning to earn far better ratings. After all, bloodshed seems to pull viewers in. The
bachelors, oddly, are willing to stay, but Georgia only agrees to go on in order to put her ex-police talents to
work to help find out who’s unhappy with the cast.
A fantastically fun read; first in a brand new series that not only offers humor and suspense, but also
makes sure to not solve the puzzle until the last pages.
Reviewed by Mary Lignor, Professional Librarian and Co-Owner of The Write Companion ■
PUZZLED INDEMNITY
By Parnell Hall
Cora Felton, the chief protagonist in Parnell Hall’s hilarious Puzzle Lady mystery series, is
the sweetest, most soft-spoken, honest, ladylike character I’ve ever read.
That is a complete lie.
Cora Felton, beloved by thousands of adoring fans as The Puzzle Lady, is a total fraud. She
couldn’t construct, much less solve, a crossword puzzle to save her life. She also smokes like a
chimney (look out, in this book she’s trying to quit), lies like a rug, and swears like a trooper.
And, in case you think I’m in danger of running out of clichés, she drinks like a fish, too. She’s also a sometime
detective with a very active love life. In other words, a true role model for the over-fifty crowd.
In “Puzzled Indemnity,” number fifteen in Hall’s series, Cora is bored. Her love affair with a NYC
detective has fizzled, and the only case the local police ask her to investigate is a liquor store robbery. So when
attorney Becky Baldwin asks Cora to check out whether her client, Brittney Wells, is about to be killed by
her philandering husband to collect on a million-dollar double-indemnity insurance policy, Cora jumps at
the chance.
In a blink of an eye, Cora tracks the husband to a NYC love nest. Then a car explodes in front of the local
police station, and it looks like the victim inside is the husband. Brittney is in big trouble when it turns out
that the insurance policy was on her husband’s life, not hers.
“Puzzled Indemnity” is a delight. I can’t wait for Cora’s next adventure!
Reviewed by Susan Santangelo, author of “Funerals Can Be Murder,” published by Suspense Publishing, an
imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
23
BLOOD INFERNAL
By James Rollins & Rebecca
Cantrell
As readers open the final
installment of The Order of the
Sanguines series, the well-known
heroes are not at their best. As
usual, this team of authors are
on the move, taking the heroes
from Italy to Egypt to the Czech
Republic, on to France and
Nepal—offering up an itinerary
that will make any reader’s head
spin.
In this highly anticipated
finale, the Devil is ready to break
free and get out of Hell, due to a
Sanguines’ betrayer who actually
believed what Lucifer told him.
Unfortunately, evil is about to
take over good in the world and
things are looking bad for the
good (or any good that happens
to be left).
The Sanguinists are monsters
that have converted to the Blood
of Christ, and archaeologist, Dr.
Erin Granger, is hot on their trail.
Granger is still trying to crack
the code of the prophecy held
within the Blood Gospel, the
sacred book written in the blood
of Christ. Helping her is Sergeant
Jordan Stone, Warrior of God; and
Father Rhun Korza, a Sanguinist
Priest. The odd trio must come up
against Legion, a new enemy that
can change identities at will.
The trio go on the hunt and
visit all the aforementioned places
until they come face-to-face with
the Devil himself. The lead up
has been long and bloody, and
this final showdown between
good and evil will call forth the
big bosses at war (Lucifer and the
Knights of Christ) to see who will
finally come out on top.
From the first book on,
this has been an extremely wellwritten tale, offering intellectual
ingenuity that these bestselling
authors are known for. The recipe
for this series has been a cast of
vampires, demons, supernatural
creatures never before seen, and a
betrayal that will make the blood
run cold. If you have not read the
first two, get them now in order to
really succumb to this incredible
adventure.
24
BY BOOK OR BY CROOK
By Eva Gates
Lucy wants out of her job at the Harvard Library and is looking for a new place at a very
historical library located at the Bodie Island Lighthouse on Bodie Island. Here, on the outer
banks of North Carolina, is where she spent all of her summers as a child with her Aunt Ellen,
Uncle Amos, and their daughter, Josie. Lucy has decided she wants to escape Boston. Let’s just
say that she and the Harvard Library are in a relationship that has not been going well. So Aunt
Ellen lands her the job at the Lighthouse Library, which includes the extra-added benefit of an
apartment located on an upper floor of the lighthouse.
This wasn’t an easy job to get. In fact, when the Board Chairman spoke to the librarian named Bertie about
spending library money to hire Lucy, the woman had been strongly against it. But Lucy soon arrives and a
private party commences given by the library for staff, board members, and local dignitaries in order to view a
new collection they have on loan for three months. The collection is being talked about everywhere. It should
be, considering it’s a complete set of Jane Austen’s first editions.
But before the party is over the Board Chairman has been killed and Bertie becomes suspect number
one. Lucy does her best to help Bertie clear her name while checking out everyone who even knew the dead
man but, unfortunately, there were many, and Lucy soon discovers that they all had a motive for murder. And
as the Austen collection begins to ‘disappear’ book by book, Lucy faces not only a killer but also an extremely
intelligent thief.
This great book is the first in a series. The setting is lovely, seeing as how the Bodie Island Lighthouse is
not only a real historic landmark but is also still a working lighthouse. Therefore, the plot, characters, and locale
make for an extremely creative story.
NIGHT NIGHT, SLEEP TIGHT
By Hallie Ephron
In 1985, a young woman named Deirdre Unger gets a call from her father to come help him
get his house ready to sell. A screenwriter, he and Deirdre’s mother had a career in Hollywood,
with movies being made from their collaboration of words and characters. They were never the
‘top dogs,’ but they were certainly ‘pups’ that other stars loved. Unfortunately for Deirdre, when
she arrives at her father’s home she finds him dead in the pool; a victim of an extremely odd
murder.
Deirdre and her brother, who is a nice guy but definitely the money-grubbing type, must face detectives in
order to clear themselves and figure out what the heck happened. Their mom, who divorced Dad a while ago, is
one of those free spirits living on a retreat, and is eliminated as a suspect almost immediately. As Deirdre goes
through her father’s belongings, secrets that include a yellow dress stained with blood and sexy photos of young
women are discovered.
One of the photos is of Deirdre’s old friend, Joelen Nichol, who is the realtor her father had hired to sell
the house. She is also a girl who long ago confessed to killing her own movie star mother’s boyfriend. This is
the exact same night that Deirdre was hurt in an accident and has to walk with a cane. As the story unfolds and
clues are uncovered from the 1963 murder, Deirdre must face a slew of issues as she tries to figure out who her
friends really are, and what enemy may be out there lurking, just waiting to shut her up for good.
The Hollywood lifestyle—from the glitz and glam to the grit and deceit—are all wrapped up in a perfect
package by this award-winning author. And taking a drive through Old Hollywood, fearing and admiring that
coveted 90210 area code, will be something readers will not forget.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Charlatan’s Crown,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint
of Suspense Magazine ■
THE WINTER FOUNDLINGS
By Kate Rhodes
This eerie psychological thriller has shades of “The Silence of the Lambs” as an
institutionalized child killer has apparently inspired another killer and a new string of murders has
begun; all girls, and all found wearing old fashioned white dresses, just like the ones foundlings
wore years ago and which are on display at a local museum.
Alice has been assigned to study and interview Louis Kinsella in hopes of determining who
the current killer is. But, at every stage she is stymied by bureaucracy, a manipulative true crime
author, and her own demons.
The story flips back and forth between the perspectives of a young victim and Alice. Alice’s personality is
hard to figure sometimes. She internalizes a lot, has trouble with deeper emotions, and at times left me feeling
cold. On the other hand, she is capable of real sadness, fear, anger, and is also suffering from unrequited love.
Creepy asylums, serial killers, and odd characters abound in the cold winter backdrop. The killer is a
mystery all the way to the bitter end and the atmosphere is thick with tension and an ever-increasing feeling of
foreboding. I do enjoy these types of stories, the good old-fashioned bump in the dark thriller! 3.5 stars
Reviewed by Julie Whiteley ■
KNOT GUILTY
By Betty Hechtman
Believe it or not, there is a huge competition between the people who are into knitting
and the folks who like to crochet. And in this new cozy by Betty Hechtman, the knitters versus
the crocheters are preparing to attend the annual Southern California Knit Style Show, and
Molly Pink, who is employed at Shedd & Royal Books as its community relation’s person, is
in the middle of the knit/crochet controversy as to deciding which hobby is the most popular.
The event is under the direction of K.D. Kirby, a knitting magazine publisher and owner
of a popular yarn store. K.D. is a knitting maven who is a real snob when it comes to having anything to do
with those ‘low-down’ crocheting people. She runs her business with an iron fist even though she has many
capable people working for her. Now, it seems that the ‘Tarzana Hookers’ (gotta love that name), who are a
crocheting group, are bound and determined to introduce knitters to the crocheting arts, and that’s where
the problems begin.
First of all, on the day of the show there are some mix-ups with the assigned placements. A knitter who
has always been seated up front is now sent to the rear, with her place being taken by Shedd & Royal. There
is also a little fuss between K.D.’s partner and her daughter who clash about publicity.
Now…the mystery ensues. Soon the high-falootin maven, K.D., is found dead in the hotel and Molly’s
ex, Homicide Detective Barry Greenburg, is investigating. He has let the show’s organizers keep the event
open to the public while he works. However, not only must the culprit be caught, but the final smackdown
between the worlds of ‘crochet’ and ‘knit’ must be waged once and for all.
An excellent, fun story with interesting characters, the author also offers up recipes to the readers along
with some sly crocheting hints.
MURDER, SHE WROTE: CLOSE-UP ON MURDER
By Jessica Fletcher and Donald Bain
“Close-Up on Murder” is the latest book in the Murder, She Wrote series by authors
Jessica Fletcher and Donald Bain. The series is based off the very successful TV show that ran
for twelve seasons and won numerous awards. Jessica Fletcher is a very successful author of
mystery books, and she is put in situations where she must use her wit and investigative skills
to solve a murder.
In “Close-Up on Murder,” one of Jessica’s older books is being adapted into a major
motion picture, which is based on a murder that took place in Cabot Cove. When Hollywood invades the
small town in Maine to start filming, Sheriff Metzger begins losing his patience with all the chaos. Then
the leading actress is found shot, with a piece of film wrapped around her neck. In typical who-dun-it
fashion, Jessica has several suspects, all with a motive to kill and all with the opportunity to commit the
crime. However this time Jessica is being stalked by someone. Could this be the killer keeping tabs on her,
or someone else with an entirely different agenda? Jessica is put in the crosshairs and better solve the crime
soon or she could become a victim herself.
Fans of Murder, She Wrote will feel right at home with the favorites from the show being involved in the
story. Dr. Seth Hazlitt, of course, uses his medical expertise to help Jessica. Eve Simpson, the local real-estate
mogul and Lorraine, the beauty shop owner, have some very funny scenes. You will find yourself hearing the
voices of the actors from the show as you are reading. Reviewed by John Raab ■
NIGHT IS THE HUNTER
By Steven Gore
This is the third tale starring former SFPD detective Harlan Donnally—a man who’s no
longer carrying a badge but still holds that belief of what’s right and what’s wrong, strength he
will definitely need in order to see this one through.
Waiting on Death Row is Israel Dominguez, a man who has spent the last twenty years
waiting for his turn to die after being convicted of murdering a gang rival. The judge who
presided over the trial and handed down his death sentence is Judge Ray McMullin, who
just happens to be a friend of Harlan Donnally. Time is running out for Israel, and McMullin finds himself
admitting to Harlan that after all these years he’s having serious doubts that Israel was guilty of the crime he’s
about to die for.
It seems that the passing of time and the old “gang wars” that went on back then, have not uncovered any
new data regarding the killing, nor cleared up any of what happened in the past. Judge McMullin is so torn
over the sentence he issued that he can’t seem to let sleeping dogs lie, so he asks Harlan to go on a fishing
expedition of sorts and see what he can find.
A side story of pure emotion comes along with this suspense, as both Donnally’s father, a Hollywood
producer, as well as the judge, begin to show signs of dementia. And as the older men deal with that fate,
Donnally finds himself sinking in his own emotional turmoil.
A tale that is many tales in one, there are times that the action will yank you into the story, but will also
keep you there with heart-wrenching character emotion. A long ago crime must be solved; a dead man must
die only if guilty, and Harlan must watch the ones he cares for fight a disease that he can’t stop. This is an
incredible story.
PROJECT 731
By Jeremy Robinson
I should know by now that if I
pick up a Robinson book at night,
I won’t be getting much sleep.
Between turning the pages and
thinking about the possible what ifs,
sleep will be lost.
Robinson amps up the
adrenaline. The Kaiju thriller is a
sequel of the amalgam of “Island
731,” “Project Nemesis,” and
“Project Maigo,” three of Robinson’s
earlier books. In “Project 731,” we
are reintroduced to the Department
of Homeland Security’s Fusion
Center—Paranormal (FC-P), the
agency that did battle with the
creature Nemesis—think Godzilla
with a conscience and on steroids.
We are also reintroduced to the
Defense Advanced Research Projects
Agency (DARPA) and its black-ops
team: Genetic Offense Directive
(GOD). DARPA is the agency that
ran and funded Island 731, and who
was ultimately responsible for the
creation of Nemesis.
FC-P gets word of a chimera,
known as Tsuchi—which is sort of
a giant tarantula with a protective
shell, much like a turtle—which is
ravaging the west coast of the U.S.
What they don’t know when they
go on the hunt for Tsuchi is that
GOD is the agency responsible for
its existence.
What begins as a story about
man-made monsters that were
created as weapons and the hunt to
destroy them, ends up as a reflection
of Man himself. We find in Nemesis
many of Man’s faults and some of his
greatest assets. We see a reflection
of family, vengeance against those
who would try to hurt our family,
and finally we see that even in Man’s
creations, the good tends to come
from within whereas the evil tends
to be induced by Man himself.
If you are a fan of traditional
suspense-thrillers, step out of your
comfort zone and read “Project
731.” You will be glad you did. If you
are a reader of graphic comics and
Kaiju-type thrillers (think Godzilla),
“Project 731” is a must.
Robinson just keeps getting
better with every new adventure and
monster he creates!
Reviewed by J.M. LeDuc, author
of “Sin,” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense
Magazine ■
25
CANE AND ABE
By James Grippando
Author James Grippando has
earned a new fan—me. When I
care more about finding out what
happens next than I do about getting
a good night’s sleep, I know I’m in
for a long night of suspense-filled
reading. “Cane and Abe,” which held
my attention from beginning to end,
was my first Grippando novel, but it
won’t be my last.
The author pulled me into the
South Florida world of slavery, Big
Sugar, a serial killer, and the senior
trial counsel at the Office of the State
Attorney for Miami-Dade County,
Abe Beckham, who handles the
capital murder cases. Abe’s late wife’s
father is a painful reminder of Big
Sugar’s shameful past and the slavery
that ended in 1941.
Abe is assigned to a joint task
force hunting a violent serial killer
targeting beautiful white females
who sleep with black men. He hacks
them with a cane-cutting machete
and leaves their mutilated bodies in
the fields owned by Big Sugar. The
case takes a surprising turn when
a black female attorney for a sugar
company is found murdered the
same way as the white victims.
A past romantic fling with the
murder victim plus a jealous wife
complicate Abe’s life and cause him
to be pulled from the task force.
When Abe’s wife goes missing, FBI
Agent Victoria Santos focuses her
attention on Abe like a pit bull on the
scent of raw meat. Abe worries that
while law enforcement personnel are
wasting time investigating him, the
serial killer might make his wife the
next victim. Circumstantial evidence
against Abe builds as he rushes to
catch the real killer before it’s too
late.
Grippando weaves an intricate
tapestry of truth mixed with lies,
adultery, jealousy, betrayals, and
murders. Just when I thought the
story had come to an end and
everything was resolved, the final
two sentences left me reeling. “Cane
and Abe” is a novel that must be read.
Reviewed by S.L. Menear, author
of “Deadstick Dawn” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
26
COLD BETRAYAL
By J.A. Jance
Get ready for another incredible Ali Reynolds book. This is a gem by a winning author
who deals with two separate but alike subjects affecting the world in this day and age: the
abuse of the elderly and domestic abuse.
To begin, Ali’s friend, Sister Anselm, a nun who carries a taser gun, is on her way to the
hospital to be at the side of a pregnant young woman who has sustained severe injuries after
being hit by a car on a deserted road in Arizona. She’d been on the run from a group called
‘The Family;’ a cult who does not appreciate their people trying to leave. Sister Anselm likens this so-called
accident to a long ago case involving a Jane Doe that the nun still can’t get out of her mind.
Ali is trying to help this new Jane Doe, while also being called out to assist with a more personal
situation. The grandmother of Ali’s new daughter-in-law is on the brink of being judged incompetent and
sent to a home. Along with help from Ali’s husband who runs a technical team of law and government
agencies, the two cases are simultaneously being checked into.
The compound of ‘The Family’ is knee-deep in child abuse, and the case of the older woman who
someone no longer wants around is difficult to say the least, seeing as how Betsy, the grandmother in
question, is in danger. She’s received threats in the mail and a break-in at her home; not to mention, someone
has hacked into her bank account.
As Ali and Sister Anselm join forces to prove that the hit and run accident is connected to a former case
from years back, while helping the grandmother with her dire problems, the two battle a plot with many
branches, trying their best to help people—which is what they are certainly best at. Yet another terrific book
by Jance that fans and readers will absolutely cheer about.
INSPECTOR OF THE DEAD
By David Morrell
Master thriller writer, David Morrell, is back with his latest book “Inspector of the
Dead.” In this amazing sequel to “Murder as a Fine Art,” Morrell takes the reader back to
1850’s London where a killer has plans in place to assassinate Queen Victoria. Main character
Thomas De Quincey finds himself stuck in the middle with his daughter, Emily, and two
Scotland Yard companions, Ryan and Becker.
Morrell weaves a true web of lies, secrets, and cunning schemes that gives readers the
sense that they are actually living and breathing the air of historical England, as they walk through the streets
viewing the mystery that’s taking place. Morrell yet again shows that his character creation is second to
none, and the pace will have readers losing sleep by telling themselves, “Just one more chapter.”
With over two dozen novels from Morrell, “Inspector of the Dead” and “Murder as a Fine Art” are two
titles that could be considered his finest work. Reviewed by John Raab ■
THE ALPHABET HOUSE
By Jussi Adler-Olsen
This fascinating book begins in the year 1944, in the midst of World War II, but readers
should know this is not a ‘war’ novel. In fact, it’s a thrill-a-minute adventure that you won’t be
able to put down.
Pilots and very close friends, James and Bryan, fly off together in a Mustang Fighter.
These two Brits are headed out on a reconnaissance mission to photograph a hidden Nazi
weapon’s facility located near Dresden, Germany. But when their plane is shot down, they
must bail out behind enemy lines. Being chased by the enemy, they jump a train—a train that just happens
to be carrying wounded SS men.
The duo choose to throw two patients off the train in order to take their places, lying in bloodied sheets
and pretending to be close to death in order to remain undiscovered. Eventually they end up in a psychiatric
hospital known as the Alphabet House. Whereas most mental patients were killed during the war, SS officers
receive preferential treatment, and are expected to recover and come back to help the war effort.
As the Brits find themselves sitting on a ward, they realize the inmates are some of the most dangerous
Nazis that Germany has to offer. But they hold their ground, overhearing conversations that the Allies are
coming closer. As the two friends plot their escape, they come upon SS soldiers who are killers and crooks
wanting to be free—free to find the things they’ve stolen during the war so they can take off. As patients
begin to die under more than mysterious circumstances, suspicion turns toward James and Bryan being
killers in disguise.
The narrative jumps ahead to 1972, and the amazing storyline this author has created grows even more.
This is a suspense/thriller to beat them all. Not only does it offer action, but readers will start waiting for the
rabbit to jump out of the hat and change everything.
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
By Elizabeth Haynes
There are many subjects and topics of discussion in the world today, and this book certainly
offers up a very eye-opening picture of one seriously devastating subject that, unfortunately, is
quite real.
Fifteen-year-old Scarlett Rainsford disappeared in 2003 while on vacation with her family on
the small green isle of Rhodes. Fast-forwarding the story ten years, Scarlett reappears out of the
blue in her hometown of Briarstone, England, working in a brothel. The law, especially Detective
Chief Inspector Louisa Smith, is desperate and determined to find out what exactly happened to Scarlett back in
Greece so long ago, and where she’s been for the last ten years. Quick answers are necessary, especially before the
media gets wind that the law actually gave up on the case, assuming Scarlett was dead a long time ago.
The puzzle grows when one criminal who had links to an organized crime group in Briarstone shows up
dead, while another is found abused and beaten. The attacks could have been related to anything from drugs to
trafficking, but they also seem to have some sort of connection to Scarlett . . . who’s not saying a word.
DCI Smith and her crew, along with Analyst Jason Mercer, Smith’s boyfriend, DC Sam Hollands, and a
Major Crimes Unit that has been assembled to help unearth the truth, work at finding clues from ten-year-old
transcripts while attempting to keep Scarlett from running away before they can find the solution to what’s
becoming a giant, bloody mess.
Embedded in the novel are scenes and background regarding Scarlett’s dysfunctional family. As the “doors”
begin to swing open to the reader, the horror of real life bursts through. The author’s descriptions of police work,
criminal relationships and more, are extremely believable. And although parts of this story are certainly very
uncomfortable to read, this may just be the emotional tale that will bring facts to life and teach everyone to never
forget the evil that’s out there in 2015.
INDEPENDENCE SLAY
By Shelley Freydont
Liv Montgomery is the Events Coordinator for Celebration Bay, New York and she has her hands full
promoting the town’s activities to ensure maximum tourism.
There are many festivals throughout the year and it’s time for the annual Independence Day Revolutionary
battle reenactment. There is some doubt as to whether the battle ever happened, but the truth never stopped a
town determined to have fun!
Each year, Henry Gallantine, played by a descendant with the same name, appears on the roof of the family
mansion to set off fireworks to begin the festivities. And this year when Henry appears, the signal is botched and
Liv rushes to the rescue.
When she finds a dead body instead of the real man, she has to find a murderer as well as the real Henry
Gallantine to save face for the town. Liv soon finds that whoever is up to no good is following her and intends to
end her career as an event planner!
This is the third series that I’ve read by Shelley Freydont and they keep getting better. Ms. Freydont writes
clever characters and believable plots while providing many hours of good reading. I recommend the Celebration
Bay series and I know that these books will prove as popular as Ms. Freydont’s other books. An excellent way to
spend an evening!
Reviewed by Holly Price, author of “At Death’s Door” (releasing soon) ■
UNTRACEABLE
By S. R. Johannes
Some books seem to define a genre, a few books blur the lines between, and a rare book has
the ability to do both. It’s in this rarified air that we find “Untraceable.”
On the surface we have a young adult novel, but “Untraceable” is so much more. It’s a story of
the unbreakable bond between father and daughter, even when the father is missing and presumed
dead.
Set in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, “Untraceable” centers on Grace, a sixteenyear-old girl who is the daughter of a wildlife officer. She refuses to believe her dad is dead . . . at least until she can
find proof. At the center of the plot are the citizens of a small mountain town; each of them seeming to harbor his
or her own secrets, but the one thing they have in common is that everyone believes her father is dead . . . dead
by falling and drowning in a river. A scenario that Grace just can’t come to grips with.
How can a man who has dedicated his life to the mountains fall in the river and drown? Nope, not something
she can believe.
The undercurrents that flow through this book are what make it truly special . . . the dissolving relationship
between Grace and her mom as they both try to deal with the loss, the tug of war as Grace attempts to unravel
the mystery, new feelings for a stranger who just happened to appear in the woods, and finally, her struggle to
trust anyone. Everyone disappoints her at every turn and uphill climb in her search.
“Untraceable” will tug at and rip out your heart, yet at the same time cause you to fall in love with a new kind
of hero. A hero who is vulnerable, unyielding in her convictions, and impossible to forget.
S. R. Johannes has written the first book in what I hope will be a long running series.
Reviewed by J.M. LeDuc, author of “Sin,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
DEADLY RUSE
By E. Michael Helms
This is book two in a
new series starring P.I. Mac
McClellan and, like the first, is a
great read!
It is a romantic night out
for Mac and his girlfriend, Kate
Bell, but as the two are leaving
the theatre, Kate nearly passes
out as if she has seen a ghost.
Turns out, she has. However, it
isn’t the spectral type, it is an exboyfriend named Wes Harrison
who is definitely alive and well…
even though he supposedly died
in a boating accident twelve
years ago.
Mac tries his best to
convince her that it was merely
a stranger that resembled the
man, but she’s adamant. And
even though Mac has significant
doubts, he agrees to do a little
investigating to put her mind at
ease. His first clue sends him to
an orphanage in Texas where
he uncovers information about
Wes and the others who were in
the boating accident long ago.
The more he uncovers the more
surprises he finds.
Delving further into the
so-called accident, Mac looks at
the men who apparently died.
Each puzzle piece falls into place
as Mac travels through Texas to
Georgia and then back to Florida.
What sometimes seems to be a
wild goose chase turns very real
when Mac is led to the Palmetto
Royal Casino near St. George,
Florida. There he discovers that
the casino is a definite front for
crime, and when he’s shot at by a
stranger, Mac’s only wish is that
dead men would stay that way.
Mac is a great character for
readers to love. Even though
he’s a veteran who has been
through a lot and his Marine
training comes in handy, Mac is
still a novice at being a Private
Detective. And when he finds
out that someone may not be
who he thinks they are, this fast
plot gets even more thrilling and
offers up a great surprise ending.
Readers will definitely look
forward to seeing Mac again.
27
THE EDGE OF
DREAMS
By Rhys Bowen
Bowen hits it out of the
park once again with this next
installment of Molly Murphy
Sullivan’s adventures as a retired
private detective married to a
captain in the New York City
police department during the
1930’s.
As much as Daniel Sullivan
would love to have his wife stay
home and minister to their
newborn son, Molly just has
a way of getting her nose into
everything. She always reminds
me of the Maureen O’Hara
character, Mary Kate Danaher,
in The Quiet Man where she
constantly
upstages
John
Wayne’s, Sean Thornton. She
is a wily, wild, redheaded Irish
woman with a powerful will
of her own. Thankfully, Daniel
recognizes this and allows his
wife enough leeway for Bowen
to keep plying us with such
wonderful mysteries.
In “The Edge of Dreams,”
Daniel is plagued with a series
of letters sent directly to him
right after a murder has been
committed, as if taunting him.
Molly’s best friends, two ladies
that scandalously live together
across the street, Sid and Gus,
have recently returned from
Europe where they have mingled
not just in the emerging world of
art but in the séances and dream
works that have become so
popular. Rubbing shoulders with
psychoanalysts who are students
of the emerging Freud, these two
ladies introduce Molly to dream
analysis.
Having dug into the
background of her husband’s
investigation, and risking her life
in a terrible train crash staged
by the killer, she interviews a
child accused of murdering her
parents, and discovers a link to
the murderer her husband is
hunting. In a fast-paced pitting
of wits with a cerebral killer, the
Sullivan’s rise to the occasion and
bring swift justice for his victims.
Reviewed by Mark P. Sadler,
author of “Blood on His Hands”
published by Suspense Publishing
an imprint of Suspense Magazine
■
28
THE WASHINGTON STRATEGEM
By Adam Lebor
I was hooked on the first page of “The Washington Stratagem” by Adam Lebor, as it opens
with strong female protagonist, Yael Azoulay, an Israeli-American working as an undercover
investigator for the United Nations. Much of the story is set in New York City at the UN
headquarters and streets nearby. She learns more than she wants to when, at the request of
Secretary General Fareed Hussein, she meets with the CEO of the Prometheus Group, a multibillion dollar lobbying and asset management corporation that profits from war, especially in the
Middle East. She leaves the meeting with CEO Clarence Clairborne conscious of the threats that hang in the air
against her and the people she works for.
Returning to New York, she finds that SG Hussein is on sick leave, although there is no evidence of him
actually being ill. It has all the appearances of a power play by the assistant SG, Caroline Masters, who becomes
acting Secretary General.
“The Washington Stratagem” is a cynical look inside the UN, which is portrayed as a haven for idealists,
career diplomats, and politicians, along with various bad people with their own agendas. As the story touches
on troubling events, past and present, in hot spots around the world, the enemies of Yael Azoulay multiply,
especially after she is demoted to a job with a high-sounding title but little importance. The international net
closes in on her as friends become enemies.
Sequel to “The Geneva Option,” “The Washington Stratagem” is a complex suspense novel that exposes a
realistic, if somewhat cynical view of international relations today. Yael Azoulay is a feisty, intrepid protagonist
who the reader cheers for every step of the way. I look forward to her adventures in the next of this series.
Reviewed by Kathleen Heady, author of “Hotel Saint Clare” ■
QUICKSAND
By Gigi Pandian
Whoever said that a career as an historian is boring has never met Jaya Jones, the plucky
and extremely intelligent protagonist of Gigi Pandian’s Treasure Hunt mystery series. Think
Indiana Jones as a dark-haired, petite, twenty-something history professor on the tenure track
at a California university who wears three-inch stilettos to look taller, and you’ll get an accurate
snapshot of Jaya. But don’t let her stature fool you. Jaya is tough. And brave. And . . . did I mention
that she’s tough? Oh, and she also plays tabla at a local Indian restaurant.
In “Quicksand,” the third in Pandian’s series, Jaya receives an invitation she can’t refuse—an all-expense
paid first-class trip to Paris from her on-again, off-again just-this-side-of-the-law boyfriend, Lane Peters. When
Jaya arrives in Paris for what she’s hoping will be a romantic tryst, she finds that a mysterious con man—known
only as North—has sent the invitation, not Lane. In fact, Lane is shocked and upset that Jaya is in Paris. In no
time at all, Jaya ends up on the wrong side of the law as she’s drawn into a plot to steal a piece of art from the
Louvre. To redeem herself, she follows clues from an illuminated manuscript that lead from the cobblestone
streets of Paris to the quicksand-surrounded fortress of Mont Saint-Michel. With the help of the enigmatic
Lane Peters and a ninety-year-old magician, Jaya delves into France’s colonial ties with India to clear her name
and trap a killer.
“Quicksand” draws the reader in from the first page to the final, breathtaking climax. I loved it!
THE BULLET
By Mary Louise Kelly
This book focuses on a woman who becomes involved in dangerous situations that bring her
directly into a chilling past featuring life and death.
Caroline Cashion, a professor at Georgetown University, is in the process of having an MRI
at a local hospital because of some problems she’s having with typing, the doctor suggested
she might be in early stages of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (CTS). But what the MRI shows is far
different from what either of them expected; it seems that Caroline has a bullet lodged in her neck
and her doctor, Will, is astounded at the revelation.
Feeling beyond frightened, Caroline engages in an awkward conversation with her parents, telling them
about the bullet. But her eerie discoveries do not end there. Apparently, Caroline was adopted as a very young
child after her birth parents were murdered in their Atlanta, Georgia home. Caroline was present during the
tragedy, but has no memory of the moment when the bullet used to kill her mother passed through her mother’s
body and lodged in Caroline’s neck.
She, of course, wants to find answers, and travels to Georgia. Meeting some unforgettable characters, the
truth is slowly unveiled about that night. While unraveling the past, Caroline meets up with old friends of her
parents, as well as a very pushy reporter. Add in a doctor-patient romance, and this book hits on all cylinders
keeping the reader absolutely engaged to the very end.
For any person who loves the forensic side of suspense, this author has created an unimaginable tale of
murder, mayhem, and a life that is resurrected from a twisted moment in time.
A DEADLY MEASURE OF BRIMSTONE
By Catriona McPherson
A brand new Dandy Gilver Mystery, this latest tale is set in the year 1929, and begins with
Dandy and her family heading off for a stay at a spa to enjoy some rest and relaxation after
recovering from a bout with the flu.
This all began when prospective clients, Herbert Addie and Mrs. James Bowie, tell the
Gilvers that their mother, Enid, was killed at the same facility only a month earlier. She had died
suddenly right after being told that she was in good health. Dandy uses this new case to gift her
family members with some time off, while she investigates the town of Moffat. Once there, the local policeman
explains to Dandy that in the case of Enid, she had reported being frightened by a ghost right before she died.
So, as Dandy’s family checks into the Laidlaw Hydropathic Hotel in order to enjoy the amenities, Dandy and
husband, Alec, begin to investigate.
This is a fun place to be. But, oddly enough, the hotel isn’t actually busy because of the help they give
to unhealthy folk, they actually support a secret nightlife that includes ghost hunters and mediums. As the
mystery widens, the cause for Enid’s death that was given to her family—that their mother had died while
hiking due to heart failure—seems more and more unlikely. Dandy and Alec believe something is definitely
amiss as they discover that the local doctor signed a death certificate right away for Enid, and there was no
further investigation done by the Moffat law, leading Dandy to jump headfirst into a truly odd crime.
As it usually is with McPherson’s mysteries, readers will be delighted with Dandy’s dedication to solving
the crime. The Roaring Twenties are once again represented, and when it comes to the spa/hotel, the list of
treatments are not only interesting, but also hysterical. Dandy Gilver and her creator continue to intrigue.
THE LIFE I LEFT BEHIND
By Colette McBeth
Very chilling stand-alone thriller! There are two main characters who very nearly meet the same fate. One
was left for dead after being strangled, the second was successfully killed by the same hand.
The problem is, David, the man who was imprisoned for the first, unsuccessful, attack was probably not
the guy who did it, in spite of the fact that, just after David is released after serving his nine year term the second
victim, Eve, dies. Eve appears in the novel as a ghost, but doesn’t interact with anyone except the reader. She’s a
ghost who can’t comfort anyone and who exists in pain. She never thought this was what being dead would be
like and she’s not quite certain why she’s hanging around.
Melody, the first victim who didn’t die nine years ago, has not actually recovered. She is putting on the
bravest face she can for her fiancé, Sam, and their friends, but she’s still suffering from the attack. She’s become
obsessive about many things, which makes the sterile house she lives in with Sam neat and tidy. She’s also
become a great cook. But this is all because she can’t bear to go outside alone anymore and has to keep busy to
keep from looking inside herself.
Eve was killed because she had figured out who really attacked Melody. She’s standing by, agonizing over
whether or not Melody can figure it out in time to prevent the killer from coming back and finishing the job.
You’ll be on the edge of your seat with this one.
Reviewed by Kaye George, author of “Eine Kleine Murder”
DEAD BUT NOT FORGOTTEN: STORIES FROM THE WORLD OF
SOOKIE STACKHOUSE
Edited by Charlaine Harris & Toni L.P. Kelner
While there are many out there who may not know the beloved Sookie Stackhouse, there are also
millions, from both books and the hit TV show, who know all about the town of Bon Temps where Sookie
Stackhouse—a southern belle who has the incredible ability of getting wrapped up with various creatures and
vampires because of her own special gifts—gets into constant trouble. And this new compilation with stories
featuring Sookie’s world is a must-read.
Fifteen short stories written by a slew of well-known, bestselling authors is a whole lot of fun, as they put
forth creations featuring various supporting characters from the series and cover a broad line that goes far into
the future. Some examples are below, yet even if the characters are foreign to your mind, the suspense, humor,
and intrigue will appeal to one and all.
Leigh Perry’s The Real Santa Claus, features Diantha, a relative of Desmond Catalaides, demon lawyer, as
she discovers Santa’s true identity while trying to resolve Sookie and Sam’s problems.
Christopher Golden’s Tyger, Tyger, features Weretiger Quinn as he looks for answers regarding his mother’s
care and becomes the victim in a spooky plot. This particular story has scenes of torture that some readers
might be saddened by, but the writing is incredible.
Dana Cameron’s The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars offers up a character fighting for her life as well as
someone else’s that will have Harris’s paranormal audience screaming for more.
The stories are a proper addition to Sookie’s world of make believe as her character is always standing in
the background, always on the fringe of each and every story as it’s told. A great mix of funny and dark, this
anthology will have readers and fans beyond excited.
DARNED IF YOU DO
By Monica Ferris
It is almost unbelievable that
this is the eighteenth tale in the
beloved Needlecraft Mystery series,
because they just keep getting
better and better.
As the story begins, an
accident occurs. A tree falls on
Tom Riordan’s house and he
lands in the hospital because of
it. Subsequently, police end up
discovering a huge pile of junk
inside his home. It seems Tom is
a hoarder, although he has always
declared himself a “collector.”
Betsy Devonshire, owner of
the Crewel World needlework
shop wants to help Tom out
and aid in the clean up of the
house while he recuperates. But
suddenly Tom is found murdered
in his hospital bed and his cousin
Valentina is named heir to his
property. She also becomes the
number one suspect in his death.
So Betsy’s PI cap once again
appears as she, along with her
Monday Bunch, find themselves
helping a woman who is accused
of killing her own cousin because
he may have had a fortune buried
under one of the junk piles inside
his home. Betsy brings people in
for clean up and disposal work,
but as more things are removed
more people begin to unearth
some very real treasures that Tom
has been hiding from the world.
But is Valentina the real
killer? Betsy and her friends don’t
quite know, and as they continue
to clean the search for clues as to
who the real killer is begins.
For those who have not yet
come across this series, you are
missing something truly grand.
Begin with this work and meet
everyone from Betsy and her
boyfriend to her Crewel Bunch
and two very important cast
members; felines by the name of
Sophie and Thai. It’s amazing that
the writer has continued to engage
and expand upon the personalities
of her ever-increasing character
list, but these well-written cozies
will continue to be ones that
readers consistently look for.
Number nineteen…please?
29
UNRAVELED
VISIONS
By Nina Milton
This fast-moving thriller is
definitely in a category by itself,
with the main character being
more than unique instead of the
oftentimes ‘expected character’
that leads a suspense story.
Sabbie Dare is a Therapeutic
Shaman. What is that, you ask?
Well, Sabbie has a Bachelor’s
Degree and practices Shamanic
Reiki which combines all the
healing powers of the spirit
world. In the past, Sabbie has
had some experience working
with police. She actually helped
them solve a case investigated
by Detective Inspector Reynard
Buckley, yet stated afterward that
police kept her in the dark and as
a result, she had to take matters
into her own hands by starting
her own private investigation
into the crime.
Three mysteries will occur
after Sabbie receives a highly
disturbing palm reading at a
street carnival during Mardi
Gras. This one night plays center
stage for the death of a police
detective Sabbie had witnessed
running at the carnival; the
disappearance of Sabbie’s own
palm-reading gypsy; and, a
neighbor by the name of Drea,
who visited Sabbie and received
a reading herself.
It is the following day
when Sabbie finds herself lost
in the litany of troubled souls
that perhaps all left the earth
at the hands of murder. Sabbie
discovers that the detective was
killed, and the others have come
up missing, and she has her work
cut out for her in order to solve
these mysteries by using the
wealth of her Shamanic powers.
The research this author
has done is incredible in order to
bring the character of Sabbie, as
well as her career, to life. For any
reader who is interested in the
unknown, or those who find both
the spirit world and Shamanic
practices interesting, this wellwritten story is incredibly
knowledgeable, suspenseful, and
a truly cool adventure into the
world that lies ‘beyond.’
30
FIGHTING CHANCE
By Jane Haddam
Gregor Demarkian is known in law enforcement circles as the Armenian-American Hercule
Poirot, and with good reason. His impressive career in the respected Behavioral Science Unit of
the FBI has led him to become a freelance consultant to police departments all around the country.
Demarkian grew up in the Armenian-American enclave of Cavanaugh Street in Philadelphia, and
after an absence of many years has returned to the old neighborhood, now gentrified but still
retaining many of the friends and traditions of his youth.
Central to life on Cavanaugh Street is the Armenian-Orthodox church under the guidance of Father Tibor
Kasparian, Demarkian’s closest friend, who is beloved by all and described as the most genuinely gentle soul in
the world.
When Father Tibor is arrested on murder charges, it tears at the very foundation of Demarkian’s world
and of Cavanaugh Street itself. But the evidence against Father Tibor seems irrefutable. He is caught on video,
apparently in the very moment of committing the heinous act he is accused of. Father Tibor will not defend
himself in any way, and refuses to meet with any lawyers or any of his friends and parishioners on Cavanaugh
Street, including Demarkian.
Demarkian, convinced that Father Tibor is protecting someone, is determined to find out what really
happened, and who is really responsible for the murder that Father Tibor is accused of committing.
“Fighting Chance” is the 29th in the Gregor Demarkian series by Orania Papazoglou writing under the pen
name of Jane Haddam. Like the others in the series, it is rich in character development and atmosphere, with
taut plotting and a shocking ending that literally took my breath away.
THE LAST AMERICAN VAMPIRE
By Seth Grahame-Smith
This author has taken readers on a whirlwind ride by going completely out-of-the-box with
his tales. And now, with this highly anticipated sequel to “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter,” he
blows the mind.
Henry Sturges is back; the vampire who helped young Abe Lincoln learn how to wield his axe
in order to defend and save the populace from vamps who were trying to take over. But this time
around, readers will be taken into Henry’s history, learning all about the ultimate ‘presidential
aide.’
This fanged hero has opened his vault and given over his diaries where he kept specific notes in regards
to not only what happened after Lincoln’s death, but also what happened long before and long after. From the
real reason why Roanoke Colony was empty of people when the next boat landed, to the real reason why and
how the Hindenburg crashed, Henry explains. From identifying Jack the Ripper to what really happened the
night the hideous charlatan, Rasputin, was assassinated, Henry explains. The famous and infamous characters
woven into Henry’s life are innumerable. You name the figure, and Henry either knew them well, battled them
to restore good, or received information from them that would lead Henry in his attempt to stop the ‘rising’
vampire from destroying the world.
Smith is astonishing in his research. The facts behind these historical moments are numerous, and his
grace at being able to tell a tale encompassing action, horror, pain, and even love, creates something readers will
never forget. Long after the vamps have been put to bed (and considering the end, there’s hope that Henry will
return), Smith is bound to create something never-before-seen in the literary world. He has to. That is, in fact,
what he’s best at. Smith has already proved hard to beat when it comes to choosing the absolute best book of
2015.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Charlatan’s Crown,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
LETHAL CODE
By Thomas Waite
This book is indeed a nightmare . . . or, is it? The path technology is following nowadays, this may just be
something to look out for as early as next week. Fiction or not, this book will make you think that ID theft or
web fraud can become even more deadly than ever imagined.
Lana Elkins is an expert in cyber-security and when the country comes under attack from a cyber-villain
that wants to destroy the USA completely, she’s asked to work with the security services to locate the attackers
before they can carry out their threats. The questions are huge: Will the next attack come from space? Can just
one terrorist bring the entire country to its knees, take over nuclear weapons, and create panic? Well…it’s on the
road to happening and a small group of government players are thrown into a truly dangerous spy game.
There are many who will learn the value of a country that is brought to a screeching halt as both the best
and worst of humanity rise up. From the Middle East to America, the search is on to find the person who has
made this happen. And readers will follow one woman and her cyber-abilities as she goes on a non-stop trip to
stop the ‘Lethal Code.’
A true technological thriller where even if certain places are difficult to believe, you will still sit and wonder
if these things are right around the corner. This is terrorism in a new style that will keep you glued to the pages,
reminding people of that exhilaration felt when the clock kept ticking down on 24.
BLACK SCORPION
By Jon Land; Created by Frabrizio Boccardi
A good writer can draw a reader into a plot. A great writer can fuse a subplot or two into the
storyline and mesmerize. A genius can take multiple plot lines that don’t appear to have connections
and weave them together in such a way as to hypnotize and transport readers into another world.
Jon Land is such an author, and “Black Scorpion” is such a book.
“Black Scorpion” is the sequel to “Seven Sins,” the first Tyrant novel starring Michael Tiranno.
In “Black Scorpion,” Michael, the owner of the Seven Sins Casino and Resort is being attacked on all
fronts. His company’s stock is dropping and he’s in danger of a hostile takeover, the FBI is looking for any excuse to
take him down, and an unknown enemy wants to take everything from him: his money, his reputation, and his life.
Land attacks this story from many sides. The more we get to know Michael, the more puzzled we become. Is
he the all-American rags-to-riches philanthropist; or is he a cutthroat—leave-no-witnesses—dirty businessman?
Only time will tell.
We are introduced to Raven Khan, a female mercenary with a heart for the helpless, and we meet the man
and organization that are out to destroy Michael. Both man and organization are faceless, and both go by the same
name: The Black Scorpion.
On top of all of the personal attacks, Michael gets a distress call from his girlfriend, Scarlett Swan, an
archeologist who is on a dig in Transylvania. Her call is cut off and Michael Tiranno, the Tyrant, goes in search of
his love where he finds many things including the true meaning of family, loyalty, love, and hate.
Land has woven an epic novel of the human heart . . . all sides of it: the dark and the light, the truth and the
lies, the love and the hate. Is blood truly thicker than water? By the climax of “Black Scorpion,” you will know.
Reviewed by J.M. LeDuc, author of “Sin,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
MURDER IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT
By Patricia Driscoll
Grace Oliver, former probation officer and now owner of Pearl’s antique lamp shop in Barnstable Village, a
small town on Cape Cod, is back in the second cozy mystery penned by Patricia Driscoll, “Murder in a Different
Light.” This time, it is post-Labor Day on the Cape, when the days are still warm and the locals are still able to
enjoy being outdoors. So when Bella, one of Grace’s employees, suggests a hike around the once beautiful but now
dilapidated home of one of her friends, Grace eagerly agrees. What neither one expects is to find the body of the
owner floating face down in the swimming pool.
The first detective on the scene is none other than Andre Cruz, Grace’s sometimes-on-but-now-off boyfriend,
the same person who led the investigation into the death of a customer of Grace’s lamp shop the previous winter.
Although Bella begs Grace to help her find the person who murdered her friend, Grace is hesitant to get involved.
But when someone desperately searching for a valuable antique lamp owned by the victim breaks into Pearl’s,
Grace reluctantly agrees.
There is no shortage of suspects, especially among members of the victim’s own family. And the victim himself
frequently hung out with a sleazy crowd of drug dealers and other local lowlifes. Grace is drawn even more into
the case when another of her employees is assaulted. And she realizes that she is also on the murderer’s target list.
“Murder in a Different Light” has a cast of likeable characters and a plot with more twists and turns than a
string of tangled Christmas lights. An entertaining read, for sure.
THE DOLL COLLECTION
Edited by Ellen Datlow
Remember when the smiling face of Barbie sitting in her Dream Home having coffee with
Ken was what came to mind when someone spoke about dolls? Those were the good old days, aye?
Now dolls have climbed up the food chain of creepiness to rest alongside clowns, as vampires and
werewolves—once the ultimate villains—have become absolute sweethearts that our teens want
to date.
This anthology with works from some truly amazing authors takes readers into that dark and
frightening “doll” world, and for those who are not yet scared silly of the porcelain faces . . . you will be after this.
All original tales written by some of the most prestigious writers, there are stories of all kinds; from puppets
to mannequins; from baby dolls to life-sized—some pretty creepy dolls are at the core of every story. In addition,
editor Ellen Datlow went one step further by placing a photo of each ‘star’ at the beginning of the story to really
get you in the mood. Both pretty and alarming, Datlow and other doll collectors seem to really enjoy these tales
created from the scary minds of Pat Cadigan, Joyce Carol Oates, Tim Lebbon, Genevieve Valentine, and more.
Cadigan’s story In Case of Zebras—along with the frightening picture—is just one that will have you tossing out
the dolls and heading back to the sweet and furry teddy bear.
Master editor, Datlow, chose to place a Freudian statement in her introduction: “In Freud’s essay ‘The
Uncanny’ he stated that dolls were particularly uncanny, falling into the category of objects that look as though
they should be alive but aren’t.” After reading these, you will feel as if they are as alive and well as your local, smalltown axe murderer. Five stars . . . and leave on the lights.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Charlatan’s Crown,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
WHERE THE
BONES ARE
BURIED
By Jeanne Matthews
Dinah Pelerin is finally
getting her life together. She
has a new job at a university
in Berlin where she is teaching
a course in Native American
culture. She has also met the
love of her life, Thor Ramberg,
an agent for the Norwegian
government.
Thor has returned to
Oslo for a few days when
Dinah’s mother, Swan, who
is part Seminole, arrives in
Berlin with Margaret, who was
married to one of Swan’s exhusbands long before she was.
Swan’s reason for visiting
Berlin turn out to have less
to do with her daughter and
more with some unsavory
characters from her past, and
Dinah begins to fear for her
mother’s life. Then a man is
murdered and scalped at a
German version of an Indian
powwow, and Swan is one of
the suspects.
As Dinah struggles to
keep tabs on her mother and
prove her innocence, more and
more family secrets are coming
to light. When Thor returns to
Berlin in the midst of Dinah’s
family troubles, she must reveal
to him the complications in her
life that led to a Panamanian
bank account holding millions
of dollars in drug money in
her name. At the same time, a
secret that Thor has kept from
her appears in her apartment
with his collection of toy
racecars.
The “bones” in the title are
not bones in the usual sense,
but those nasty skeletons
that rattle around in all of our
closets. “Where the Bones
are Buried” is full of quirky
but likable characters who
must eventually come clean
about their pasts, and one of
them is a murderer. Jeanne
Matthews has written a novel
with a surprise on every page,
and her background in world
cultures lends authenticity to
an already riveting story.
Reviewed by Kathleen Heady,
author of “Hotel Saint Clare” ■
31
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MEOW IF IT'S MURDER
By T.C. LoTempio
It’s always a whole lot of fun for readers to welcome a brand new series into their lives, and if
the first book is any indication, this series will be highly enjoyed. Nick and Nora Charles are the
main characters, although not the well-known duo. In fact, this is a lady named Nora who just
happens to find a cat on her doorstep who she creatively names “Nick.”
In this tale, Nora has returned to her hometown of Cruz, California to take over the sandwich
shop that was run by her mother. Previously, Nora had worked as a crime reporter for the Chicago
Tribune, writing about the horrible things that happen in the big city, and is now ready to lead a much quieter
life in Cruz making food for the locals and doing a little writing for a local magazine. But, of course, nothing is
that simple.
She is soon pulled into investigating a story by the magazine publisher she works for in regards to the unusual
death of a local woman, Lola Grainger, who drowned while on a cruise ship. During her investigation, she comes
up with some questions that will prove that murder was the cause and not just an accident.
Nick appears in this small town, a black-and-white cat who shows up at the sandwich shop and decides to
stay. However, this is no ordinary cat; his former master just happens to be a private detective who was working
on the Grainger drowning when he suddenly went missing. The cat has already begun looking into the killing in
his own feline way, and passes along clues to Nora using tiles from a Scrabble game.
Nick is a mystery that the author will more than likely explore in the novels to come. With lots of suspects
and lots of fun, this is a great read and a very welcome addition to the genre.
SUSPICION AT SEVEN
By Ann Purser
“Suspicion at Seven” is the fourteenth in the British cozy mystery series featuring Lois Meade,
amateur sleuth and owner of a successful cleaning business, New Brooms. Lois has a life many
would envy—not only is her business successful, she has a wonderful relationship with her three
grown children, her husband adores her, and she never has to lift a finger to cook a meal. A position
amply filled by Lois’s tart-tongued and frequently interfering (in a loving way) mother, known to
the rest of the world as Gran.
Oh, and one more thing, Lois is also adored by the chief police inspector in her village, Hunter Cowgill.
And since her team of New Broom cleaners are frequently the source of information helpful to the police in their
inquiries, Lois is asked to investigate more than her share of local crimes.
In “Suspicion at Seven,” the body of a woman is found at a local hotel, strangled with a silver necklace, a bag
of costume jewelry beside her. Suspicion immediately falls on Donald Black, the husband of local baker Aurora
Black, who is one of Lois’s good friends. Lois can’t believe that Donald could be the killer. Plus, he has an airtight
alibi for the time of the murder.
However, Donald is no angel. Not only has he been involved in an affair with the dead woman, it also appears
that he’s running a pyramid scheme and Lois’s mother is getting sucked in. As Lois and Inspector Cowgill work
together to solve the mystery, a second body is discovered on the old waterwheel of the same hotel.
Readers who love a mystery with delightful characters, good plotting, and a peek at life in a small British
village will love this book. I certainly did!
THE BLACK WIDOW
By Wendy Corsi Staub
A fantastic thriller that will have you trapped in its pages; Staub has made sure that it is
virtually impossible to set this one aside and come back to it.
A middle-aged woman has a very troubled past. She wants to have a child with a specific type
of man who has a specific type of background. There are very important reasons for her choices,
seeing as how she was left and pushed aside many years ago by a man she truly loved.
As with many out there, a predator is spending a great deal of time looking for future dates
that fall into a specific category on an online dating site. When they find someone who fits the bill, a chaotic,
psychotic recipe is created, with drugs, pregnancy, and murder being the primary ingredients. A killer has been
working for months before two NYC detectives start to investigate the disappearance of several people in the
area, as a newly divorced lady, Gaby Duran, begins her own quest for a soul mate.
Gaby wants a distraction that will allow her to stop pining over her ex and missing the happy marriage they
once shared. But Gaby is no dummy. She has been told that online people don’t always tell the truth or match
the profile they have. But even though everyone lies…most just lie a little. Suddenly, her life is in danger as she
discovers that there is far more at stake when it comes to online dating, and there is a presence out there that may
end up being the link that will destroy a sweet woman just looking for love.
More than a bit creepy, this is a tale that definitely brings to light the darker side of the strangers we take a
risk to meet.
THE DARK HEART
OF FLORENCE
By Michele Guittari
When
a
prominent
Italian senator and his butler
are found murdered, Chief
Superintendent Michele Ferrera
of the Florence police cannot
help but recall “the monster
of Florence,” a serial murderer
who had plagued the city some
years before. Thus begins a
tantalizing story of murder and
madness, told through a varied
assortment of characters—
police, politicians, members
of organized crime, as well as a
couple of women who just want
to start a new life together.
Even
though
Chief
Superintendent Michele Ferrera
is told to stay out of the case
of the Senator’s murder, he
soldiers on. He is refused search
warrants by the authorities, but
is always one step ahead of the
game. He has already obtained
the information he requires.
Then when a young Cuban
would-be model is found
murdered, it becomes clear
that the man who calls himself
“Genius” is taunting the police,
and especially Ferrera. And he
is smart. He leaves no clues. Is
this “the monster of Florence”
returned once again to kill and
terrify? Is the murderer of the
model and the senator one and
the same person?
Ferrera and his colleague
Teresa
Micalizi
continue
to search for the criminals,
uncovering ties to Germany
when the DNA of a criminal
who has been dead for several
years shows up at the scene of
the Cuban model’s murder.
Writing
from
the
background of his experience
as head of the police force
of Florence, author Michele
Guittari paints a picture of a city
of beauty with an underlying
heart of evil. Translated from
Italian, the novel retains the
color of the original language.
I found this a tremendously
satisfying book; a travelogue
and murder mystery rolled into
one.
Reviewed by Kathleen Heady,
author of “Hotel Saint Clare” ■
33
CAUSING CHAOS
By Deborah J. Ledford
I read “Causing Chaos” with
wild abandon and can’t get the
plot out of my head. If Ledford’s
fourth book is the first for you, it
stands alone like every great novel
in a series should. But if you’ve read
the first three, then you’ll find that
as good as the others are, they were
all a giant foreshadowing for what
takes place in “Causing Chaos,”
when they all come crashing
together.
Once again, we are drawn
into
Inola
‘Hummingbird’
Walela’s world, the lone Cherokee
female on the Bryson City Police
Department. As she recovers
from the death of her partner and
physical and psychological damage,
Inola prepares for her final week
on the force. She will soon join her
boyfriend, Sheriff Stephen Hawk,
as one of his deputies in the Swain
County Sheriff ’s department.
Inola’s last week on the job
implodes when her childhood
friend, Paven Nahar, breaks out of
jail where he was charged with the
disappearance and probable murder
of his wife Shellie. Previously a
suspect in the disappearance of
three local women known as the
Qualla Ghosts, Nahar is ‘in the
wind’ again. The tribe on the rez
will protect him and so it is left to
the one person that knows him the
best to head up the manhunt.
Convinced
of
Paven’s
innocence in the disappearance of
the Qualla Ghosts, Inola is sure of
his innocence in the current case.
When it is revealed that a local art
dealer, Vandra Gudren, and her
companion, Konrad, had been at
Paven’s home the evening his wife
vanished, Inola’s investigation
leads her along that path. Dragged
further into the case by a revelation
that a past, personal attack may
have been the precursor to all the
missing women, Inola closes out
her week determined to bring all
the cases to a head, no matter the
consequences.
A standing round of applause
for this dynamite blast of a thriller.
Bravo!
Reviewed by Mark P. Sadler, author
of “Blood on his Hands” published
by Suspense Publishing, an imprint
of Suspense Magazine ■
34
THE PATRIOT THREAT
By Steve Berry
It is the last day of December, 1936, when we meet up with President Franklin D. Roosevelt
just before he is set to begin his second term. Along with FDR is a visitor, Andrew Mellon, who
is a Republican, and one of the richest men in the country; he is also a man who gets his own
way no matter what. Mellon doesn’t like the Democratic President and the feeling is mutual.
At the moment, Mellon is proposing to build the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C.,
and a theory is soon exposed.
In 1913, the Constitution of the United States put into law the Federal Income Tax system which,
because of some built-in issues, may come back to haunt the country in the future. So who can put two-andtwo together and save the U.S. from a disaster in the making, yet again? Yes…Cotton Malone is back.
Once a member of a secret branch of the Department of Justice, he is now retired. But nothing ever
remains quiet for long in Malone’s life. Cotton’s former boss, Stephanie Nelle, requests that he come out of
retirement to track down a North Korean who might have come into possession of some Treasury Department
files that are classified ‘top secret,’ which could really shake up the government if they were revealed. Not in
the position to say no, Cotton begins this fast-moving, 24-hour investigation that will begin in the beauty of
Venice, and head straight into the mountains of Croatia.
A fantastic historical read, this novel delves into Roosevelt’s presidency, exposing various areas of
government that do not exactly work like a well-oiled machine. As past links with present, readers will
speculate what would happen if the Federal Income Tax actually did go into chaos, exposing flaws, and
bringing the U.S. to the brink of destruction as the entire financial structure collapses. No doubt about it, this
is yet another extremely invigorating, exciting book by an excellent writer.
Reviewed by Mary Lignor, Professional Librarian and Co-Owner of The Write Companion for Suspense
Magazine ■
A PLEASURE AND A CALLING
By Phil Hogan
Author Phil Hogan brilliantly crafted a main character so realistic and likeable that I
couldn’t help but sympathize with his plight. The author slowly and deftly pulled me into the
life of a sinister sociopath and left me questioning my own morality at the end.
William Heming is the fascinating main character who narrates his unusual story in a
style that is clever and engaging. He draws readers into his strange and creepy world, all the
while making them believe he is the harmless and misunderstood victim of a tragic childhood.
Heming fools readers into liking him and rooting for his success. By the time the extent of his dark side is
revealed, it’s too late for readers to redeem themselves. They have become his co-conspirators in a series of
diabolical crimes which may leave these readers feeling unsettled and deeply disturbed.
“A Pleasure and a Calling” is the kind of story that lures readers into a false sense of security and then
pounces on them like a ravenous demon from the depths of the underworld. Consider yourselves warned.
Reviewed by S.L. Menear, author of “Deadstick Dawn” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
WITCH UPON A STAR
By Jennifer Harlow
A bit of a love story, this somewhat supernatural romance offers a great mystery and a
romp into the fantasy world that is dark, frightening, and a whole lot of fun.
When we first meet Anna, she is a child; a young girl who doesn’t know a lot about the
world around her, only the poverty that she’s surrounded by. Then, she meets Asher. Asher
takes her away from her horrible life with parents who do not give her anything but pain and
a lot of disappointment. Asher is a hero; he provides her with all she could possibly want and
Anna’s life changes for the better. When Anna hits her teenage years, she would like their relationship to
change a bit, but Asher remains more of a guardian until Anna grows up.
When the new relationship begins, the bond between them turns from friends into lovers, but more
than anything Anna wants she and Asher to marry, live a normal, perfect life, and build their own little family.
Trouble is…Asher wants to party. As she matures, Anna eventually realizes that she must leave Asher behind,
wanting much more for her future. The really unfortunate part? Asher has no interest in her leaving, and when
she attempts to live that normal life, Asher shows his vampire ways in order to kidnap her and bring her back
to him.
Turns out Asher is actually quite an old vampire. And although he had the best of intensions when it
came to helping young Anna, he is not so honorable with the mature woman. But he’s not the only one with
gifts. Anna is also supernatural; she’s a witch, although exploring her powers is not something she’s done thus
far. Now…she needs to.
A vampire tale that is dark and creepy and not sugar and spice. A fresh, thrilling look at a very worn-out
character.
THE MANHATTAN PUZZLE
By Laurence O'Bryan
Romance, history, long lost treasures—author, O’Bryan, has done it again with this third
puzzling thriller featuring Isabel and Sean Ryan.
Isabel is waiting for Sean to come home from the bank where he works in order to leave.
They have a getaway planned to romantic Paris, and have been looking forward to taking time
away and spending it together. But when Sean doesn’t show up, Isabel begins to worry.
Deciding to search for him, Isabel leaves her son, Alek, with a friend to go to Manhattan
where Sean works. Her husband’s job is being a consultant for a huge banking company, BXH. Recently a threat
of a takeover by the Chinese has come to light. Sean has discovered a web of corruption, and by uncovering
some facts he shouldn’t know, he has placed himself in danger. Kidnapped and framed as a prime suspect in
a murder, Sean is in massive trouble, and it’s up to Isabel to locate him. Even though she is also in danger of
disappearing, she finds herself in the vaults beneath the city looking to save her beloved.
Xena, a dominatrix; Lord Bidoner, a massively creepy guy; and, Henry, a man from MI5, are all characters
in this tale that jump out at the reader as the action progresses and Isabel runs full-force into an adventure that
can have tragic consequences for a great many people.
Although this tale can stand alone for the readers out there who have not yet dove head-first into these
exciting books. The first two: “The Istanbul Puzzle” and “The Jerusalem Puzzle” are incredible reads that not
only provide you with knowledge of Sean and Isabel, but show you the amazing puzzles that this team has
already solved. This is most definitely a must-read!
UNBECOMING
By Rebecca Scherm
“The first lie Grace had told Hanna was her name.” So begins Rebecca Scherm’s debut
novel “Unbecoming”—and it is quite a debut.
Grace calls herself Julie in the restoration house where she’s found work in Paris. She spins
the story that she’s from California since most people already have a concept of that state so
they’d be satisfied and wouldn’t ask questions. If she told people the truth, that she actually was
from Tennessee, then there’d be questions about hillbillies or Elvis and what it was like to live
there. Over the course of her life, Grace has learned that it’s often simpler to lie, and she’s gotten good at it.
A long, twisted road has led her from Garland, Tennessee to her current status as an undocumented
resident of France, with stops in New York City and Prague. Along the way, she’s learned about objects d’art:
their history, their repair, and their value. She’s also learned how to steal.
Shortly after she left Garland, her long-time boyfriend (and secret husband) tried to loot a museum in the
town that was filled with items that could be sold easily in antique stores. He brought his two best friends in
on the caper, but the robbery was botched horribly and almost resulted in the death of an elderly man. One of
the friends cuts a deal and turns in the other two young men, who are each sentenced to eight years in prison.
What remains a secret is that Grace was instrumental in the planning of the robbery. Now her husband and the
other friend have been paroled after just three years, and Grace is sure they’re coming after her.
“Unbecoming” is a twist on the coming-of-age story that harkens back to the work of Patricia Highsmith,
“The Burglar” by David Goodis, and other classic noir crime stories, yet it is fresh and enthralling. The character
of Grace wiggles herself into your brain so that you root for her in spite of everything she’s done—or maybe
because of it.
Reviewed by David Ingram ■
WHEN YOU LEAVE
By Monica Ropal
“When You Leave” tells the story of a teenage girl from ‘the wrong side of town’ who finds herself living
on ‘the right side’ thanks to her mom’s new marriage. Torn from her high school and the life she knew, Cass is
adamant that she is going to stay loyal to her friends. She is transplanted into a private prep school and into an
environment that’s not just foreign; it’s everything she and her friends are against.
So she thinks.
Determined to blend in with her surroundings and anonymously make it through the school year, fate
steps in and introduces her to Cooper. He is the popular jock that yet again stands for everything she’s against.
As much as she doesn’t want to be attracted to him, she is, and him to her.
What transpires is a coming-of-age story of budding romance, trust, friendship, and murder!
Cooper is beaten to death and Cass’s friend, Gav, is accused of and arrested for the murder. Cass knows
that Gav is a lot of things, but a murderer? She doesn’t think so. Cass and her friends—new and old—risk their
lives to try and find out the truth.
Throughout “When You Leave,” Ropal weaves a raw, truthful look at teenage angst and what it means to
be a friend. She will keep you spellbound until the very end when you finally realize what happens when you
leave.
Reviewed by J.M. LeDuc, author of “Sin,” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine
■
THE GHOST AND
MRS. MEWER
By Krista Davis
It is coming up on Halloween
in Wagtail, VA, and the town is
readying itself to put on a great,
spooky Halloween weekend.
The Sugar Maple Inn run by
Liesel “Oma” Miller, and her
granddaughter, Holly Miller, who
has recently moved to the Inn, is
a huge part of the party and begin
welcoming their guests.
A TV series called “Apparition
Apprehenders” is coming to the
Inn to film their series this night,
and another guest, Eva, is there
to convince everyone that there
is no such thing as a ghost. There
are many fun oddities about the
Inn, including the fact that it is
designed for pet owners to bring
their best and furriest friends
along with them to enjoy the Inn’s
list of amenities. All animals are
welcome; Eva, for example, has
a Siamese named Mrs. Mewer,
while the Inn itself, has a Golden
Retriever called Gingersnap, who
is a canine ambassador for the
guests. Add Holly’s Jack Russell,
Trixie, and a calico kitten named,
Twinkletoes, and you have a
howlin’ good Halloween.
Not too far into the weekend
festivities a body is found near
the old, and supposedly haunted,
Wagtail Springs Hotel. Suspect
number one becomes Eva, and
Holly automatically begins to
attempt to clear the woman’s
name. But the murder is not all
that Wagtail has to suffer. A friend
of Holly’s, Clementine, is going
through a divorce and she and
her kids are being followed about
town by a stranger. With all the
hustle and bustle of both pets and
humans, this is one Halloween
filled with intrigue!
This is book two of the
author’s Paws and Claws mystery
series, and a very good read. The
characters are entertaining and
the Sugar Maple Inn—whether
haunted or not—is truly an
animal’s paradise. Check out the
recipes in the back for both man
and ‘beast’ for a little extra fun.
35
THE ABOMINATION
By Jonathan Holt
This is the very beginning of
a terrific new trilogy set in Venice,
Italy. Two women are the leaders
in this tale; Captain Kat Tapo of
the national military police of Italy
(AKA: Carabinieri), and Second
Lieutenant Holly Boland with the
United States Army. Together, they
are going to solve the murder of a
woman dressed as a Priest.
Yes, the puzzle begins
immediately. For a woman to be
ordained a Catholic Priest would
be an abomination against the
Church, and these women must do
everything they can to figure out how
on earth something like this could be
possible. This is Captain Tapo’s first
murder case, and will definitely be
the one that she’ll forever remember.
Killings begin to occur which
brings in Holly Boland as the U.S.
Army becomes interested in the
escalating crimes. With the women
working well together, they uncover
some dark streets in Venice with
mean, shifty characters they have
to encounter in order to solve the
case. During their investigation, the
women come across a virtual online
version of Venice that is called
‘Carnivia.’ And when the women
find out that in order to solve the
cases happening in the real Venice
they have to first learn all about the
virtual Venice, the story goes into
overdrive.
Exploring the world of virtual
reality from Venice to human
trafficking in the Balkans and other
crimes of war that were committed
there, readers will need to keep alert
in order to make sure not a bit of this
thrill-ride is missed. The CIA is, as
always, present and accounted for
as they shadow everyone with their
drones. The Church, corruption,
conspiracy theories—everything is
on the table as the investigators step
into the unknown, crazy world of
Carnivia.
A new, fresh, exciting story
that is so cleverly written fans need
to jump on board now. Because if
Book 1 is this good, the rest of this
trilogy is going to be the epitome of
excitement.
36
THIEF
By Mark Sullivan
In the beginning of this action-packed mystery, main character, Robin Monarch, is in the process of
robbing one of the many mansions located in the very posh landscape of Greenwich, Connecticut. This is
the home of wealthy Beau Arsenault, yet the thief isn’t worried about being caught, seeing as how there’s a
very happy Christmas party going on all around him.
Robin Monarch is an ex-soldier and an ex-CIA operative who now makes a living as a thief, and a darn
good one at that. Orphaned when he was young, Robin originally began stealing to take care of himself and
his friends and cohorts. Now in adulthood, Robin steals in order to give back to the woman who saved his
life; Sister Rachel, a nun who runs an orphanage in Buenos Aires.
This time Robin’s chosen victim is a businessman who is not above a little bribery and extortion when
it comes to his list of business dealings. And Robin is not exactly heartbroken by taking some ‘from the rich
to give to the poor’ as he is planning to give the money to help orphans and other kids living on the streets.
Unfortunately, this time around the robbery doesn’t quite go off as planned. Robin’s original idea was to kill
two birds with one stone and use the chaos that the robbery would create to then break into the victim’s
secret vaults. Two unexpected problems arise when a bullet is shot, and a mind set on revenge turns out to
be an enemy who will go to the ends of the earth to wipe Robin off the map. Arsenault is dangerous and he
turns his gaze on Sister Rachel. In order to protect his hero, Robin must steal an enormous secret that would
supply major player’s extraordinary powers that they will definitely not use for good.
One of the best Robin Monarch stories thus far, readers will have such a great time that they will be
begging for the next installment.
WHAT THE FLY SAW
By Frankie Y. Bailey
Author Frankie Y. Bailey has created a parallel universe in the not-too-distant future
based on her version of Albany, New York. “What the Fly Saw” is the second book in her
Detective Hannah McCabe mystery series where the Albany Police Department uses hightech surveillance cameras to aid investigations and personal communication devices called
ORBs.
When a funeral director is shot with a bow and arrow and found murdered in the
basement of his facility in downtown Albany, Detective McCabe has no clues and too many suspects. A
wealthy dowager who was a friend of the victim has her medium arrange a séance with all the suspects in
attendance, but the shocking result leaves more questions than answers. Soon after the séance, the medium
is poisoned, and Detective McCabe struggles to solve the case before more people are murdered.
“What the Fly Saw” has many twists and turns with a large cast of characters who are all linked together
in one way or another by the time the case is solved, a la Agatha Christie, and the book ends in a cliffhanger
for Detective Hannah McCabe.
Reviewed by S.L. Menear, author of “Deadstick Dawn” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
THE SKELETON TAKES A BOW
By Leigh Perry
This newest in the Family Skeleton Mystery series is absolutely terrific. Yet again, Perry has
come up with a fantastic concept that has never been done.
This series covers the Thackery family; of which, a skeleton just happens to be the
main character. His name is Sid. This go round, Madison, the daughter of Georgia Thackery,
decides to include Sid in one of her high school plays. What else? Hamlet. Madison convinces
her mother that Sid can play the part of Yorick’s skull to perfection, and Madison can carry the
skull to school each day and bring it back when school is dismissed, so there’s no problem.
Sid is having a whale of a time eavesdropping on high school drama, learning all about the romances
and schemes of teenagers, until the fateful night that Madison forgets to bring him home and he just happens
to overhear a conversation about murder.
Georgia tries to involve the law but they aren’t able to find any evidence of a crime. Georgia, however,
knows Sid wouldn’t lie. So soon Sid, along with Georgia and Madison, jump on the trail of finding both a
body and a killer.
Such a fun read; from the family life to Madison’s school days to looking for a very real murderer, fans
will have a ton of fun. They will almost be able to see Sid with his hands behind his skull and his feet up on
a footstool. Not to mention, the family dog, Byron, who gnaws on a bone but still gazes longingly at Sid’s
collection, knowing he can’t touch them.
The murder is highly unusual and hard to solve, and offers up an irreverent cast of characters. Humor
abounds due to the long friendship between Georgia and Sid. And because Perry has, yet again, come up
with a barrel of surprises it’s a good bet that there will be more tales of Sid and family in the not too distant
future.
BURIED SECRETS
By Irene Hannon
Lisa Grant left her job as a homicide detective in Chicago and is now a small-town police
chief in Carson; a very different environment . . . until the discovery of a human skeleton is
made by a construction crew. Calling for assistance, Lisa is aided by County Detective Mac
McGregor, an ex-Navy SEAL. Lisa is put out by Mac at first, as she thinks he’s just stringing her
along and does not believe for one second that she can run a police department. Nonetheless,
you have to dance with the one who brung ya (as the old saying goes), which means Lisa has
to deal with Mac whether she likes it or not in order to solve the mystery.
Even though their team may not be a happy one, the crime becomes extremely confusing. There is
someone out there that did not want this skeleton to come to light and is doing all they can to make sure that
dead men tell no tales. This is one of those times that the corpse may fall under the category of ‘cold case’ but
Lisa and Mac will not stop just because a killer wants to make sure that the dead stay buried.
Lisa and Mac’s relationship throughout the book is extremely entertaining because of the build-up of
tension. Yes, the old scenario that tension equals attraction is spotlighted in this tale, but the characters are
so bold that the relationship adds greatly to the plot. Readers will know some of the answers to this crime as
quickly as Mac and Lisa can figure it out. But the discovery of evidence and a couple of twists that come out
of nowhere will keep readers on their toes while waiting for the next ‘someone’ to get hurt.
This is a terrific romantic suspense read. Not a surprise, seeing as how Irene Hannon is the creator of
many series that make readers come back again and again for more.
THE CAT, THE DEVIL, THE LAST ESCAPE
By Shirley Rousseau and Pat J. J. Murphy
Don’t think that just because there’s a cat on the cover this will be a light, cozy book. It’s
pretty gritty for a book with a talking cat. Misto is a ghost cat, though, so that’s different.
There’s a lot that is different about this series. Rousseau writes a cozy series, the Joe Grey
series, as well as books for all ages of child, plus fantasy; but when she teams up with her
husband, the books gets darker. Murphy is a retired probation officer, which is probably why
the prison scenes seem to ring with authenticity. Lee Fontana makes his second appearance
with Misto, this time locked up for a robbery. Lee’s grandpappy, a train robber, instilled the love of robbing
trains into his grandson. The old man also carried a curse that has been handed down to Lee.
Misto became a ghost cat when he died while living with a little girl named Sammie. Sammie has a
special gift, dreams that portend the future and some that connect with other people in the present. Misto
splits his time between Lee and Sammie because he has a mission: to bring about justice for Sammie’s falsely
accused father. Several characters acting on behalf of the Devil are determined to get in the way and continue
the curse, but Lee, Sammie, and Misto are just as determined to get the best of Satan.
In spite of the various supernatural factors, the characters seemed very real. I was drawn to them and
read avidly, caring about what would happen to them at the end of the book.
Reviewed by Kaye George, author of “Eine Kleine Murder” ■
SAVING CECIL
By Lee Mims
Cleo Cooper has been hired as a consulting ecologist for Greenlite Energy’s search for
natural gas on the Laudebach Dairy Farm in North Carolina. During their drilling for the
natural gas, Cleo is treed by a feral hog. And to top off the day, on her way back to the crew
(sans hog), she discovers a dead body in the woods. In other words, Cleo has gotten herself
into far more than she bargained for.
Unfortunately, the Lee County sheriff investigating the crime is Sheriff Clyde Stuckey.
The man who once jailed her father, he and Cleo do not have the best of all relationships. As a matter of fact,
Stuckey would like nothing more than to pin the murder on Cleo.
Thankfully, Sheriff ’s Detective Sgt. Chris Bryant is sweet on Cleo and takes her side against the unruly,
angry sheriff. The one thing the smitten Chris doesn’t know is that Cleo is about to remarry her ex-husband
Bud. And even if she wasn’t, she couldn’t be interested in Chris seeing as how he’s closer in age to her kids
than to Cleo herself.
Uncovering the mystery, they find that the victim was a college student. Since there has been a lot of
controversy over the drilling for natural gas in the area, environmental protests may be the motive behind
the crime. But when Cleo finds a well-preserved fossil she refers to as ‘Cecil,’ she might just have stumbled
over the real reason for murder. A wedding to plan, kids to handle, a sheriff heck-bent on making her life
miserable…Cleo faces it all.
A fun tale where the reader will love following Cleo on her quest to find the killer. From being shot at
to discovering an illegal trophy-hunting plan that causes her to breathe in chloroform, she is certainly a busy
girl that will keep readers interested until the final page.
DEEPER THAN THE
GRAVE
By Tina Whittle
Set in the Deep South, this title
is a seriously interesting mystery.
Tai Randolph lives in Atlanta
and owns a gun shop left to her by
her late Uncle Dexter. The shop
actually caters to Civil War reenactors. Tai’s significant other, Trey
Seaver, is a corporate security agent.
Although he has tendencies that
cause you to worry, the couple seem
to make a perfect match.
A tale soon unwinds that is
adventure, mystery, with a dash of the
historical, seeing as that everything
from Civil War relics to modern day
internet become intertwined. Tai
gets a call that a twister has blown
through a Kennesaw Mountain
cemetery scattering the bones of a
Confederate hero by the name of
Braxton Amberdecker. Tai is asked
to recover the bones, and although
she finds some, she also makes the
discovery that these bones do not
belong to a body that walked the
earth during the Civil War. Instead,
the skull and bones she finds come
along with a NASCAR belt buckle
and turn out to be the skeleton of
Lucius Dufrene, a man who might
have been killed by her own Uncle
Dexter who had the motive, means,
and opportunity to have done the
horrible deed.
The late Uncle Dexter is
certainly being looked at for the
crime but the suspect list begins
to grow. Richard, the caretaker of
the wealthy Amberdecker family
grounds is also interrogated, along
with the highly respected members
of the Amberdecker family. Let’s
just say…they are more than a little
odd.
As Tai and Trey work to clear
Uncle Dexter’s name and save the
business, they unearth a wealth
of secrets buried in that famous
red clay of Georgia that lead to a
very-much-alive murderer who’s
definitely on the rampage.
This is a real page-turner.
There is so much intrigue and cool
information readers will want to
read slowly so as not to miss a single
word.
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THE SUICIDE EXHIBITION
By Justin Richards
It’s not often you see a book cover with the wellknown swastika combined with UFO’s, but that theme
is why this novel is different to say the least. A very
interesting premise, this tale begins in the year 1940,
where the author has set readers up for a World War II
thriller, playing on the Nazi beliefs that aliens and their
search for the unimagined could help them win the war and rule the
entire planet.
Set against these nefarious creatures are the men and women of
Station Z, a British department who flies way under the radar. They
are told to stop the Nazi Party by any means possible. Major Guy
Pentecross—an interpreter who understands many languages—is
pulled into the plans of Station Z, becoming a member of the secret
team who are trying their best to help the Allies.
It seems the Nazi’s have brought forth an ancient cult. The alien
Vril and their Ubermensch (AKA Superman) have come back, and the
Nazi’s are using them to win the battle. Seems these aliens have already
been to Earth. Add in the fact that Hitler, being a student of the occult,
is looking for the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail believing that
these artifacts belong to the Reich, and you find a very fresh approach to
the ‘war within the War.’
More than a dash of history is given to readers as they not only learn
about an alien race but also live out Nazi action that spans from Europe
to North Africa. The author has done a magnificent job of opening a
new door to the German High Command’s plots and schemes. And
there is more to come. “The Blood Red City” is the name of the sequel,
and after reading this one, you will definitely be watching for it!
Reviewed by Mary Lignor, Professional Librarian and Co-Owner of The
Write Companion ■
UNLEASHED
By David Rosenfelt
In this latest book featuring Andy Carpenter,
known in his own circles as Paterson, New Jersey’s laziest
attorney, he finds himself knee-deep in a case involving a
terrorist plot that will blow readers’ minds.
Sam Willis, Andy’s accountant, gets a call from an old
friend. Barry Price, a local, very wealthy investment counselor, phones
him to let him know that he’s in need of a criminal lawyer. Wanting to
find out why, Sam heads out to meet him at Barry’s private plane. But
when he hits a dog on the road, instead of heading straight to his friend,
Sam stops to take the poor canine to a vet for care. And when he finally
gets to Barry’s house, he’s not only told that Barry took off in his plane,
but that the plane has also crashed.
Lt. Chuck Jennings of the Morristown PD advises Sam that Barry
is dead. However, instead of blaming the corpse on a plane crash, the
actual death is chalked up as murder. Poisoned before he ever left his
house, the police make an arrest and Andy finds himself having to go to
work. Andy and his girlfriend, PI Laurie Collins, set out to find clues as
to what really happened to Barry, and why. But everything they discover
brings them to yet another murder scene. And when Sam is arrested as
well for Barry’s death, the entire world is turned upside down.
Barry’s death ends up to be small potatoes as the case expands into
a terrorist plot that’s set in motion to cause a string of assassinations
across the country. Add in a group planning to commit a series of
murders of rich Americans, and a tale of a Golden Retriever that plays a
major role in this cast of characters, and you have a terrific book you will
not want to miss. This is definitely a 5-star read!
Reviewed by Mary Lignor, Professional Librarian and Co-Owner of The
Write Companion ■
38
CHAPPIE
2015
Movies
Genre – Action/Sci-Fi/Thriller (R)
South African filmmaker, Neill Blomkamp, brings filmgoers this new sci-fi tale set in the near future.
His first film, District 9, was a refreshing take on filmmaking and was heralded as an emotionally wrenching
experience. His second film, Elysium, starred ‘A’-list actors galore, though it was actually thought of as a
comedown from his amazing debut.
Chappie sits somewhere in between. Perhaps the problem is that Blomkamp has resurrected his own
District 9 material; repeating the storyline of an isolated sympathetic alien (Chappie is the A.I. robot
in this one), pursued by those who don’t understand him—thus, fear his very existence. He also has
a preoccupation with mining characters from the darkest sides of society in each of his films; the drug
dealers, criminals, and those living in slums. That aside, if you judge Chappie on its own merits, you will
find it a very entertaining film, although know going in to be prepared for some extreme, up-close violence.
Deon (Dev Patel) works for a weapons manufacturer and was instrumental in creating the ‘Scouts’ robots that are now effectively
employed by the police. On his own time he continues to develop an A.I. program which he decides to try out on a robot that’s about
to be crushed. His superior, played by Sigourney Weaver, won’t allow him to spend his time on a pursuit which might undermine their
Scout robots credibility. But before he can upload the program to his robot, a trio of ruthless criminals see the opportunity to use an
A.I. robot to commit a big heist, and kidnap Chappie. Now, when Chappie is activated he’s similar to a baby and must evolve much like
a human. A great deal of his charm comes from his learning by imitation, and his unique innocence and naivety.
Vincent Moore (Hugh Jackman with a very bad haircut), has tried to sell his super robots (MOOSE) to the police department,
too. But Chappie’s comrade robots are doing too good a job for the people in charge to switch. Vincent wants the dollars, so he follows
Deon when he visits Chappie at the gang’s hideout and decides sentient robots are dangerous, taking it upon himself to destroy
Chappie with disastrous results.
The biggest treat is the robot special effects; the Scouts and Chappie (Sharlto Copley) are extraordinary realistic, utilizing digital
renders over gray-suited actors. You really do believe you are watching a living, sentient robot. This film may not be what everyone is
expecting; however, it is a thrilling piece of entertainment that does take us very cleverly to a different world. When it comes to sci-fi,
that’s all I ask. So I’m a Chappie fan, and boy do I want one.
Reviewed by Susan May, author of “Back Again” (www.susanmaywriter.com) ■
INSURGENT
2015
Genre – Adventure/Sci-Fi/Thriller (R)
Veronica Roth, author of the Divergent series, was one of the top-selling authors last year; her books rarely spent a moment out of
the Amazon “Top Ten.” I must say, I wasn’t a fan of the book series. I couldn’t shake the feeling they were a copy of The Hunger Games.
However, the films are an entirely different beast. By neatly condensing the books, the films are a far more exciting ‘watch’ than
they were a ‘read.’ It’s an exciting mix of action, romance and politics, well put together by the writers. And even if you haven’t seen the
first movie or read any of the books, you will still enjoy this thrilling ride.
The film opens by throwing us right into the middle of the action. Tris (Shailene Woodley), Four
(Theo James), and the rest of the gang are now outlaws. They are on the run from Jeanine (Kate Winslet),
leader of Erudite faction. They are holed up at Amity faction, where the code is to remain peaceful and
forgiving. It doesn’t take long for the small Dauntless group to find themselves at odds with the Amity
villagers, and to be discovered by Eric ( Jai Courtney) and the guards hunting them down on behalf of
Jeanine.
Tris is also dealing with the guilt of the slaughter of her mother and her friends in a raid that wiped out
Tris’s old faction, Abnegation, in the previous film. She discovers her mother was protecting a secret that
she was prepared to die for; the same secret that Jeanine will kill for. A little more is revealed about Eric,
which adds a twist to the story. Some old friends will betray Tris, but she will also gain new allies.
With Insurgent, the world is revealed as far bigger than we imagined in Divergent, and you will be left
panting for the next film to arrive on screens. These films have definitely opened my eyes to the books, and
I now see why it’s done so well. These are interesting characters, and the angst and fight in Tris makes her a
great protagonist. In fact, I don’t think I can wait for next year’s film, Allegiant (which incidentally is being
split into two parts) in order to discover what happens. I may just have to read the book.
Reviewed by Susan May, author of “Back Again” (www.susanmaywriter.com) ■
39
COPY EDITOR’S CORNER
At the End of my Trope With Crime Fiction
By Jim Thomsen
One of my favorite panels at the recent Left Coast Crime conference in Portland, Ore., was titled:
“The Taste of Copper, The Smell of Cordite: Clichés in Crime Fiction.” Every author on the panel
admitted to trafficking in the same old genre tropes, such as “the sassy ethnic sidekick,” “the sexy FBI
profiler,” or “the convenient gunshot wound to the shoulder.”
But some of the panelists also defended the use of such shopworn constructs, saying that readers
come to expect them and take comfort in them. And in this risk-averse climate, it would stand to
reason that publishers would reward authors for delivering familiar pleasures with new and renewed
contracts—even as they go to conferences like Left Coast Crime and say irritatingly contradictory
things like; “write the best book you possibly can and someone will publish it” or “follow your passion
and success will follow” and the shopworn “we’re looking for fresh, original voices.”
It might be argued that the authors who succeed the most take the tropes and put fresh spins on
them. Lee Child would seem to be a good example, delivering in Jack Reacher a classic knight-errant who is also handicapped
by his inability and unwillingness to forge connections with people and function within today’s technologically interconnected
world—almost to the point that, with his superior logic and math skills, Reacher could be seen as a high-functioning autistic.
Nobody imbued a physical superhero before with such intractable handicaps (that often turned out to be assets, which in
my opinion is Child’s true genius).
That so many authors have since created nomadic-military-man thrillers in the wake of Child’s success would seem to be
a case of a transcended trope transforming into a new trope. I would imagine it’s frustrating to authors who want to share a
worthwhile original, personal vision with the world—only to be confronted with a gatekeeper who wants only to know how
it resembles that which has been proven to sell. Seems like a race to the bottom of the trope barrel, doesn’t it?
For some time, I’ve been making a list of genre clichés and tropes of my own, culled from both my pleasure reading
and my manuscript editing, and collecting (and mocking them mercilessly) at the Twitter handle @crimefictrope. (“Writing
painfully derivative, excruciatingly lucrative crime fiction so you don’t have to.”)
Below is a list of some of my cringe-inducing favorites. Look them over and ask yourself: 1) Do I traffic in any of these
tropes; and 2) If so, how can I subvert them or transcend them, make them original somehow?
THE GORGEOUS YOUNG COP/LAWYER/REPORTER/SEX-ATTACK VICTIM WHO FINDS THE FIFTYISH,
BALDING, PAUNCHY, PUFFY, SURLY, DRUNK DETECTIVE SEXUALLY IRRESISTABLE. Not sure any trope says
more about the middle-aged white guys who dominated crime fiction for decades. (This goes in tandem with the top oldwhite-guy trope in literary fiction: the misunderstood, miserably married college literature professor who is seduced by the
sexy, shy, damaged, slightly punk-rocky co-ed. Bonus trope points if they go on a road trip.)
THE COLORFULLY PROFANE, TATTOOED, MULTI-PIERCED, ANTISOCIAL YOUNG COMPUTER-HACKER
40
SIDEKICK. Bonus points if they live in their parents’ basement and subsist entirely on Hostess products and energy drinks.
Do any of us know anybody like this in real life?
THE DAMAGED ALCOHOLIC WAR-VETERAN COP WHO UNWINDS TO OLD BLUES OR JAZZ.
What was once a
leavening character note, most notably in the Harry Bosch novels, has become an eye-rolling cliché (which, ironically, was
apparent in the otherwise fine TV series Bosch). Even Lee Child trips over this, giving Jack Reacher an affinity for old blues
music of the 1930s. (I made fun of this on @crimefictrope by creating a character who “soothes his biblically scorched soul
with Remy Martin and REO Speedwagon bootlegs.”)
CUTESY-POO TITLES IN COZY MYSTERY NOVELS. Have we not run out of titter-inducing puns yet? Maybe not until
someone uses what I think is the ultimate cozy pun-title: “Vicar Mortis.” (Though I confess to liking “The Hand That Rocks
the Ladle,” by Tamar Myers.) On @crimefictrope, I created Zirconia Jones and sidekick Ephraim “Ersatz” Katz, counterfeiter
hunters on the trail of knockoff Muppets in The Fugazi Fozzie.
THE FLORIDA NOVEL FEATURING A BOAT-OWNING SOCIETY-DROPOUT SLEUTH WHO FISHES, DRINKS,
SWEARS, SMOKES, WOMANIZES AND DRESSES IN LOUD GUAYABERA SHIRTS. It started with John D. MacDonald
and Travis McGee, was taken up to 11 by Elmore Leonard, Carl Hiassen, James W. Hall, Randy Wayne White, Edna Buchanan
and Tim Dorsey, and now I don’t think it’s possible to publish a Florida-set crime novel without a pitch that doesn’t sound
like every Jimmy Buffett song character and storyline being thrown into a blender. My theory is all this hyper-masculine
goofballery comes from a need to overcompensate for the shape of the state….
THRILLER HEROES NAMED JACK OR JAKE. Speaking of hyper-masculine tropes…. Can’t a sweat-stippled, quipspewing, submachine-toting badass ever be named Phil or Millard or Norbert? Or DeSean or Javier or, God forbid, Debbie?
FORCED, JUST-HAPPENS-TO-BE-DEMOGRAPHICALLY-PLEASING CRIME-KILLING PAIRINGS. The sexy FBI
profiler and the small-town female sheriff. The police detective and the sexy mob witness on the run. The lawyer and the sexy
ex-husband she can’t live with and yet can’t resist. These rarely come together plausibly, but a skilled writer can get past this
speed bump on the Suspension of Disbelief Highway with robust plotting and characters who pay at least as much attention
to the story as they do to each other’s skin.
THE GOD IN THE MACHINE RESCUE FROM ALL-BUT CERTAIN DEATH. You’ve seen this: The duct-taped victim
who spots a shard of broken glass on the basement floor. The handcuffed hero who just might be able to reach that bent paper
clip on the table. The protagonist who is repeatedly punched and kicked but is able to stab the villain with a handy nearby
meat thermometer or letter opener when the baddie pauses for just a second. How can these not strip away your suspension
of disbelief?
There’s plenty more examples in the trope trough, but I’ve written way beyond my word count and am behind on my deadline.
Which may be the biggest writer trope of all…. ■
Jim Thomsen is Suspense Magazine’s copy editor. Jim has been a full-time editor for authors since 2010. Each month, he’ll diagnose
and discuss problems that crop up in his work with his clients. He lives on Bainbridge Island, Washington and can be reached at
[email protected].
41
Featured Artist
MASOUMEH TAVAKOLI
BREAKING BORDERS
Interview by Suspense Magazine
DARK WINTER TALE
42
O
ur March artist, Masoumeh Tavakoli, lives, learns, and creates under difficult conditions.
Her family—originally from Afghanistan—now lives in Iran, where their immigrant life isn’t
easy. Faced with racism and difficulty moving ahead, Masoumeh found her calling in the creative
world when she discovered DeviantArt five years ago and began learning on her own. She’s unable
to publish her work at home due to restrictions under Iran’s Islamic Republic law, but she’s not
allowing those limitations to stop her.
What began as a hobby quickly became her fulltime job when she began accepting commissions
and freelance jobs on the global market. We’re thankful that Masoumeh contacted us and are
excited to debut her work within the pages of Suspense Magazine.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): How did you get interested in the world of art? Did you begin with
digital art or another medium?
Masoumeh Tavakoli (M.T.): Struggling through problems in my life and not having any artistic guidance or opportunity, I
never imagined myself as an artist. I started self-studying in 2011 when I found DeviantArt on the internet. Finding such a large
collection of art, I decided to create my own. Studying tutorials, practicing and experimenting, I finally found my way. Now when
I look at an image, I can see the hidden story in it waiting to be shown. I draw traditional images and sometimes draw cartoon
characters and work on them in Illustrator or Photoshop. But I mainly create photomanipulations with fantasy themes focusing
on vibrant colors or realistic and dark styles.
S. MAG.: Of all your pieces, which is your favorite and why?
M.T.: The Last Lonely Tale is my favorite work. I relate to it. Living in a country where people look at me differently because
I’m an immigrant sometimes makes me feel very alone. In this piece, I expressed my own emotions. I also like Eternal Friends
because it’s a birthday gift for a good friend.
S. MAG.: What is your favorite part of the development of a new piece?
M.T.: Playing with colors and adding light.
These both have an important role in creating
a piece that is live and real.
S. MAG.: What is your biggest challenge
professionally?
M.T.: I want to study photography to become
a professional photographer and famous
digital artist.
S. MAG.: In the artistic world, who or what
has been a strong inspiration for you?
M.T.: Natalie Suellen is my favorite
photomanipulator. She is very creative, her
work never gets boring, and she always finds
new ideas and techniques. I also like Erwin
Madrid’s concepts and character designs.
S. MAG.: What is your idea of fun? If given
NIGHT DREAMS
43
“I LOVE THE FOREST, WATERFALLS, AND
LAKES. THERE, I CAN RELAX AND FORGET
ANY STRESS OR WORRIES AND FIND
INSPIRATION”
ETERNAL FRIENDS
44
SAD CROW
a choice to skip work for a day, how would you spend the
entire day?
M.T.: I like to pick up my drawing board and old camera
and go into nature. I love the forest, waterfalls, and lakes.
There, I can relax and forget any stress or worries and find
inspiration.
WITHOUT AN UMBRELLA
S. MAG.: If you could be any character in fiction, who
would you be?
M.T.: I’ve always wanted to be Red Riding Hood! And let the
wolf eat Grandma, but not me! Haha.
S. MAG.: Finish this sentence: If I wasn’t an artist, I would
be___________?
M.T.: I can’t imagine myself not being an artist, but if I had to,
I would be an author. I already write short stories sometimes.
S. MAG.: Tell us something about your home country that
we wouldn’t find in a travel brochure.
M.T.: I’ve never been to my home country of Afghanistan,
so I don’t know much more than others, but I do know that
Afghans are talented and smart people. Afghanistan really
needs other countries help to become a safer place to live.
THE LAST LONELY TALE
S. MAG.: What is the biggest dream you have surrounding
your art?
M.T.: I wish to leave Iran and see the world. I want to
experience new things, see new people and places. My dream
is to live somewhere without racism and have equal rights
just like the other people. I’d like to live in Canada! I long to
go there and get an art degree.
We’d like to thank Masoumeh for spending time
with us. For more information on her work, follow her at
digitaldreams-art.deviantart.com. ■
Image Credit: Dark Winter Tale: Model: alraunie-stock.deviantart.com/
art/180-133553566, Background: malleni-stock.deviantart.com/art/Snowstock-54-188789231, dead-stock.deviantart.com, Wolves: salsolastock.deviantart.com, sikaris-stock.deviantart.com, Butterfly: malleni-stock.deviantart.com/art/Butterfly-Stock-35-287848131, Necklace: ed-resources.deviantart.com, Sparkle brush: elvensword.deviantart.com, Snow brush: faeth-design.deviantart.com, Moon: mabaxter.
deviantart.com, Texture: funnybunny-stock.deviantart.com, koko-stock.deviantart.com; Night Dreams: Owls: meggane.deviantart.com, Backgrounds: akinna-stock.deviantart.com, Thorns: foxytocin.deviantart.com, Lantern: chop-stock.deviantart.com, Sparkles brush: elvensword.deviantart.com; Eternal Friends: Model: liancary-stock.
deviantart.com, Owl: nellygrace3103.deviantart.com, Background: umbradenoapte-stock.deviantart.com, Snow texture: funnybunny-stock.deviantart.com; Sad Crow:
Model: faestock.deviantart.com/art/Jazz27-276761005, Crows: stockmichelle.deviantart.com/art/Black-Crow-in-flight-101574139, lakela.deviantart.com/art/CrowStock-9-290328548, frankandcarystock.deviantart.com/art/Crow1-413375731, fairiegoodmother.deviantart.com/art/Black-Raven-and-Crow-Stock-PSD-87731248, Sky:
nikkayla.deviantart.com/art/Clouds-63-200888190, Stone floor: jesuisautre.deviantart.com/art/stone-floor-stock-xvii-59868295, Texture: sirius-sdz.deviantart.com/
art/Texture-235-217365392, Birds: selunia.deviantart.com/art/Birds-05-PNG-Stock-336207666, frankandcarystock.deviantart.com/art/Bird-Silhouettes-352799286,
Feather brushes: lunanyxstock.deviantart.com/art/Feather-brushes-set-03-126718136, lunanyxstock.deviantart.com/art/Feather-brushes-set-02-126716201, Smoke
brush: www.brusheezy.com/brushes/21907-krist-s-smoke-brushes; Without an Umbrella: Couple and Raven: mariannainsomnia.deviantart.com, Background: angband.
deviantart.com/art/Misty-Forest-Stock-V-172145034, Plants: zememz.deviantart.com/art/Creepers-n-Vines-Pack-288361797, alz-stock-and-art.deviantart.com/art/
Nature-Foreground-PNG-463908146, Rain texture 1: funnybunny-stock.deviantart.com/art/Rain-Texture-109062956, Rain texture 2: spoofdecator.deviantart.com/art/
rain-texture-175789728; The Last Lonely Tale: Model: kristabelladc3.deviantart.com/art/Blue-Dress-Stock-31-194220751, Sky: www.deviantart.com/art/backgroundstock403-291497800, Field: night-fate-stock.deviantart.com, Lantern: mmp-stock.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=240, Wings: naughtygirlgraphics.deviantart.com, Sparkle
Brush: elvensword.deviantart.com/art/Chic-Sparkles-90057259, Smoke brush: falln-stock.deviantart.com/art/Smoke-Brushes-Set-3-116082542
45
THE HUNT FOR JACK
RYAN, SOLVED
Meet Mark Greaney
Interview by Elise Cooper for Suspense Magazine
Press Photo Credit: Carrie Echols
“Tom Clancy’s Full Force and Effect” by Mark Greaney keeps
the Jack Ryan legacy alive. The characters of the Campus
organization are still fighting evil, Clancy style. The classic
trademarks and cast include Jack Ryan Jr., his cousin, Dom,
John Clark and Adam Yao, who are alive and well within a
twisty plot, a great espionage story, and well-written action
scenes. There are some technical details, but not quite so
many as to overburden the plot.
The storyline includes an attempted assassination of
U.S. President Jack Ryan, North Korea attempting to buy
ICBM missiles to enhance their nuclear capabilities, rogue
FBI agents working with the Koreans, and the murder of a
CIA officer in Vietnam. Greaney intertwines these subjects
brilliantly and is able to mimic many of the real-life situations
of this region. Especially when President Ryan challenges
North Korea’s effort to extract trillions of dollars worth of
rare minerals that would allow them to buy nuclear weapons
and influence. Readers can connect the fictional Choi JiHoon with real-life ruler Kim Jong-Un, including the actions
taken against his uncle. The storyline is insightful and
relevant, considering North Korea was in the headlines with
the hacking of the Sony Corporation. Putnam and Greaney
might be wary or they too might end up in the crosshairs.
“Full Force and Effect” shows that Greaney can carry
the torch of Clancy’s books. Readers should be
happy that he was contracted to continue writing
this marvelous series, especially since Jack Ryan Sr. and his
supporting cast are allowed to continue to battle the evil
powers that exist around the world.
Elise Cooper (E.C.): What was it like working with Tom
Clancy?
Mark Greaney (M.G.): I was called in 2011 and was asked if
I would like working with Clancy. My first reaction was, ‘how
am I going to get out of this’ because I was totally intimidated.
It turned out my editor at Berkeley was also Tom Clancy’s
editor at Putnam. Tom was looking for a new co-author. My
editor went to my agent, who then asked if I would like to coauthor the next Tom Clancy book. I wish I could say I was
excited, but the truth is, I was terrified. I have been a massive
fan of his since “Patriot Games” in 1987. I have first editions of
most of his books and have read all of them. I wrote twenty-five
pages, handed them in, and soon thereafter I was in Baltimore
meeting with Tom Clancy, where we spoke for about three
hours. We wrote three books together in 2011 and 2012. When
we worked together, I never tried to copy his style.
E.C.: Were you surprised you were so accepted by Clancy
fans?
M.G.: He died in October 2013. Within a couple of weeks I was
told by Putnam they wanted to contract with me to continue
his books. “Full Force and Effect” is well received, including
being on the New York Times Best Seller list. I am blown
away and happy that the book is being so well received by fans.
During the book tour I was constantly thanked for continuing
the series.
E.C.: Since this is the first book written on your own, did you
try to parrot Clancy?
M.G.: I told myself I would not make a conscious effort to write
like him. His writing influenced me since I was such a fan. Being
a reader I knew what fans want from these books. I tried to stay
47
true to the characters, such as continuing
to write Jack Ryan as a normal American.
From having written with Tom, I
certainly know the voices of the different
characters. Once I began this novel, I
told myself not to do anything differently
from when we collaborated, except this
time, I would be solely taking the entire
project all the way through. Working with
him gave me the confidence to take this
project on, and write an aggressive story. I
did create some characters. For example,
the logistics coordinator, Adara Sherman,
was someone who I came up with and
expanded her role.
E.C.: Are you next on North Korea’s list?
M.G.: When I was up in New York this
summer people said they would not be
surprised if North Korea came back into
the headlines. I do not think anyone could
imagine the magnitude of what they did.
There is a small coincidence. Columbia
Pictures, a part of Sony, is developing a
film based on my own first book, “The
Gray Man.” Some of the hacked emails
were from the directors assigned to my
film. The comic world websites recognized
that my directors are also the directors
of Captain America and The Avengers
movies. They briefly spoke about “The
Gray Man” in their hacked emails.
E.C.: Can you discuss “The Campus”?
M.G.: Tom invented it in 2003. It is an
off-the-books organization set up by Jack
Ryan Sr. when he was President. It is not
part of the official U.S. intelligence and is
a way to write street level espionage, the
tactical issues of assassination, hacking,
and surveillance, by keeping President
Jack Ryan Sr. unaccountable. The Director
of National Intelligence, Mary Pat Foley,
has sixteen organizations under her and
The Campus is the unofficial seventeenth.
They get information from her and report
back to her.
E.C.: What do you want readers to get
out of this book?
48
M.G.: I am a blue-collar guy. I want people
TOM CLANCY: FULL
to say this is a good Tom Clancy novel.
FORCE AND EFFECT
Through my research with think tanks
By Mark Greaney
and sitting in non-classified Pentagon
Jack Ryan is back on shelves, as the
meetings, I look for nuggets that people
will find interesting, fun, and exciting incredibly talented writer, Mark Greaney,
with the possibility of learning something. once again takes the well-known
character that Tom Clancy brought to the
E.C.: Can you give a heads-up about literary world long ago, and scores an A+,
a touchdown, or whatever other analogy
your next book?
you wish to insert here. Mr. Greaney
M.G.: I will write another book coming has once again done fans proud, putting
out next Christmas. I would like to go forth a thrilling plotline with the ultimate
back and continue the story of “Command twists and turns, and some good, oldAuthority” because the villain is still out fashioned espionage to keep everyone on
there. I think it is important to show how their toes.
In this new novel, the horror of
Russia is involved in so many theaters
North
Korea and their quest to be the
and conflict zones internationally. In my
ultimate
super-power is at the very core of
opinion, the greatest threat is Russia’s
the
story.
Action begins ASAP as a North
Vladimir Putin. I see him as more of a
threat than ISIS. Putin has influence in Korean ICBM crashes into the Sea of
Syria. The Russians are heavily involved in Japan, a CIA officer is killed in Vietnam,
weapons proliferation in South America, and a package of some very important
Asia and the Middle East. I know we hear forged papers goes missing. A mammoth
things about China’s power, especially puzzle begins to build that Jack Ryan, Sr.
relating to cyber-warfare, but my research and Jr. need to figure out, as the United
indicates it’s really in China’s interest to States sits on the brink of facing the worst
work with us. Vladimir Putin is more of a enemy in history.
North Korea is being governed by
loose cannon whose self-interest involves
a
young,
‘wet-behind-the-ears,’ dictator
working against us for many reasons.
who is adamant to prove he’s strong
enough to run his country. Like his
I am also writing the fifth book in The
late father before him, he is also into
Gray Man series. It continues the storyline
the distribution of nuclear powers and
of an operative burned by the CIA who
is bound and determined to hang on
now works as a contract killer. It is antito the power he has and send it right
big bureaucracy. This new book has him
down someone’s throat if they get in his
in Washington D.C., where he begins to
way. This dictator has found a valuable
unravel what is going on.
mineral resource in North Korea and is
planning to shift all the power to himself.
We’d like to thank Mark for his time.
Jack Ryan, President of the United States,
To learn more, stop by his website at
carries the full force and effect of the
markgreaneybooks.com. ■
law, not Congress, so he must face the
ultimate challenge to stop North Korea
Elise Cooper has interviewed a wide variety
from achieving success.
of bestselling authors for many years. Her
There have always been die-hard
book reviews and Q/A’s focus on women,
Clancy fans, but Mark Greaney, the
thrillers, crime mysteries, and national
security issues. She considers books an fantastic writer of The Gray Man series,
important part of our lives and hopes deserves a huge standing ovation
these reviews/interviews will provide some for putting together yet another
insight. In addition, she has set up book unforgettable Jack Ryan thriller!
tours for authors and was the Director of Reviewed by Mary Lignor, Professional
Author Relations for the 2014 Veteran’s Librarian and Co-Owner of The Write
Companion ■
Benefit Book Fair held in San Diego.
Vive la France!
COMING
TO
AMERICA
Meet Eric Giacometti and Jacques Ravenne
centered on the exploits of Inspector Antoine Marcas.
By Meryl Moss Media Relations
Press Photo Credit: Provided by Publicist
Ritual murders. Ancient enemies. A powerful secret.
Two ritual murders—one in Rome and one in
Jerusalem—rekindle an ancient rivalry between
modern-day secret societies for knowledge lost at the
fall of the Third Reich.
Inspector Antoine Marcas unwillingly teams
up with the strong-willed, and highly critical, Jade
Zewinski to chase Neo-Nazi assassins across Europe.
They must unravel an arcane mystery, sparked by
information from newly revealed KGB files.
Inspired by the true story of mysterious
Freemason files thought to hold a terrible secret,
which were stolen by the SS in 1940, recovered by
the Red Army in 1945, and returned a half century
later, “Shadow Ritual” is the first novel in a nine
book series, which has sold over two million copies,
We don’t normally start an interview out this way, but we thought it was very important to get you excited about a book.
One thing that our magazine has been trying to do for the past year is get American fans excited about books that aren’t
written by American authors. Authors Eric Giacometti and Jacques Ravenne have written a bestseller that is finally available
in the United States. Let’s meet them now.
Eric Giacometti studied biochemistry and genetics in Toulouse, France, before going into journalism. Then, at the
height of his career as an investigative reporter, Giacometti was contaminated by the thriller virus. His life took on another
dimension: journalist by day, writer by night. In 2013, he left his full-time reporting job with a French daily newspaper to
work freelance and write. He teaches journalism and writing.
Jacques Ravenne is a high-level French Freemason. He is also a literary critic, known for his work on the writers Paul
Valéry, Yves Bonnefoy, Gérard de Nerval, and Stéphane Mallarmé. In addition to his academic work, he was also a local
elected official for a number of years, and contributes regularly to Freemason publications. He discovered the Marquis de
Sade’s château in 1985, beginning a long fascination with the man, which has resulted in an anthology of his correspondence
and a novel based on Sade’s life.
Meryl Moss Media Relations (M.M.M.R.): “Shadow Ritual” has been wildly successful, selling over 250,000 copies in France
and 600,000 worldwide. To what do you attribute that success?
Eric Giacometti and Jacques Ravenne (E.G. & J.R.): People have always been fascinated by Freemasonry. Our hero, Inspector
49
Antoine Marcas, is a Freemason who believes in Freemason ideals. The novel gives readers an inside view of the brotherhood’s
real codes and rituals, and these are genuine and accurate because one of the two authors, Jacques Ravenne, is a Freemason. As
for the plot, we were inspired by an incredible, yet true story: that of the French Freemason archives stolen by the Nazis in 1940.
The SS really did believe that Freemasons held some esoteric secret. We also wove in the Thule, a Nazi esoteric organization that
contributed to Hitler’s rise to power.
But the strangest part of this story of stolen archives is that in 1945, the Russians recovered them in Germany and sent
them to KGB headquarters in Moscow, where they remained until 2000, when they were finally returned to France. In “Shadow
Ritual,” readers get to discover this whole story, along with the plight of Freemasons in occupied France during World War II,
when they were persecuted by both the Nazis and the Vichy Government.
M.M.M.R.: Are you excited about entering the U.S. market? How do you think “Shadow Ritual” will be received?
E.G. & J.R.: Yes, we are very excited about it and optimistic. Our American publisher, Le French Book, did a really thorough job
of adapting the translation into English, far more than any of our other translations. We look forward to seeing how readers like
it. “Shadow Ritual” is an esoteric thriller, and it is fiction, but we have also woven in a lot of fact, and online we will be sharing
more about the fact and fiction found in “Shadow Ritual.” We hope this will be an opportunity to interact with our U.S. readers.
M.M.M.R.: How did the two of you meet?
E.G. & J.R.: We met in high school when we were sixteen. We both loved esoteric stories, secret societies and occult tales. We lived
in Toulouse, in the south of France, not far from Cathar country and its castles, Templar command posts and Rennes-le-Château
(the village whose mysterious history inspired “The Da Vinci Code”). When we were seventeen, we went on a quest to find the
Holy Grail at the Montsegur château, and haunted libraries to find old manuscripts. We really believed in what we were doing.
We were playing Indiana Jones and Benjamin Gates. In the end, we never found any treasure or lost secrets, but we did form a
fine friendship, one that transformed and gave birth to this series of thrillers.
M.M.M.R.: Can you describe your co-writing process?
E.G. & J.R.: In this particular book, we both contributed to the whole equally. In the following mysteries in the series, Jacques
took on the historical parts and Eric the modern-day parts. All of the contemporary Freemasonry scenes are reviewed by Jacques
to make sure they are accurate.
M.M.M.R.: Why do you think people are fascinated with Freemasonry?
E.G. & J.R.: The fascination is based on a three-fold fantasy. First of all, there is the esoteric mystery of the symbols, codes
and secrecy. Secondly, there is a fantasy about Freemasons being all powerful. Many people believe that Freemasons hold key
positions in governments, businesses, and administrations, and that they have been the puppet masters of the world’s history.
Finally, there is the idea of brotherhood, and people imagine that initiation gives you special privileges and access. The media, at
least in France, is always focusing on these fantasies, or on stories of corruption and scandal. In our story though, Antoine Marcas
embodies the freemasonry that works for the good of society.
M.M.M.R.: Eric, has your research changed your personal perceptions of Freemasonry?
E.G.: Yes. When I was investigating Freemason corruption in the south of France and in Nice, I didn’t have a very high opinion of
the Masons. And with Jacques being a Mason, we would sometimes argue about it. This ultimately led to the idea we had years
later to invent a Freemason cop as a main character in a thriller series.
M.M.M.R.: Did Eric meet or speak with any other Freemasons while writing “Shadow Ritual”?
E.G.: Yes, mainly scholars, researchers and other brothers whom I had met when I was doing my investigations on the French
Riviera.
M.M.M.R.: Does the relationship between Antoine Marcas and Jade Zewinski reflect your relationship?
50
E.G.: In a way. When we wrote the dialogue between Antoine and Jade, we were having similar heated discussions. Our readers
really like this conflict. Antoine Marcas represents Freemasonry’s positive values, but he doesn’t have an angelic vision of the
brotherhood. He knows that there are bad apples everywhere.
M.M.M.R.: Does Eric share Jade’s perception that Freemasons control the world from behind the scenes?
E.G.: No. I never believed in any big Masonic conspiracy, even when I was investigating political racketeering among Freemasons.
Now I have even become “Mason friendly.”
M.M.M.R.: Jacques, how has the book been received by Freemasons?
J.R.: At first, we got some slack because it wasn’t considered right to talk about the rituals in a work of fiction. But very quickly,
Freemason brothers realized that we were also talking about Nazi persecution of Freemasons, which is something few people
know about. Over the years many Freemasons have taken to Marcas as a brother representing positive Freemason values. We do
a lot of talks in lodges about the books, and they are very well received.
M.M.M.R.: Why did you choose World War II as the background for the events in “Shadow Ritual”?
J.R.: We wanted to introduce readers to what happened to Freemasons during that time period. Freemasonry was banned, and
collaborationist newspapers published long denunciation lists of Freemason names. In Paris, there was a large anti-Freemason
exhibit organized by the Nazis, along with German produced anti-Masonic propaganda movies. We also wanted to talk about
those French people who joined the Waffen SS and fought with the Germans on the Russian front. Some were even among the
last defenders of Hitler’s bunker in April 1945. Nobody talks or knows much about these topics.
M.M.M.R.: Were you concerned about distorting the history of World War II by overlaying the Freemason and Thule
conspiracies?
J.R.: No. First of all, there was no Freemason conspiracy under the occupation, because the Freemasons had been banned.
And secondly, the role of the esoteric group Thule was very real. According to historian and Hitler biographer Ian Kershaw, the
organization’s “membership list” reads like a Who’s Who of early Nazi sympathizers and leading figures in Munich. And as for the
Masonic archives, the head of the German commando who robbed the French Freemason headquarters in 1940 sent a message
to Martin Bormann explaining that “immense treasures had been discovered in the Parisian lodges.” We used this basic reality
as an outline and then let our imagination come up with the esoteric secrets found in the documents.
M.M.M.R.: Are the intrigues, like the murders and conspiracies in “Shadow Ritual,” inspired by real events?
E.G. & J.R.: Some are, some aren’t. The Iron Maiden is a real—and horrible—instrument of torture that was used in sixteenth
century Germany. However, the character of the Gardener, who cuts off his victim’s toes to get
human blood for his plants, comes from our imagination.
M.M.M.R.: What are your favorite thrillers? What authors have inspired you?
E.G. & J.R.: They are many and varied. Eric has a penchant for thrillers by the likes of Robert
Ludlum, David Morrell, Daniel Easterman, Dan Brown, Glenn Cooper, as well as James Elroy,
Douglas Preston and John Grisham. A special mention goes to a writer from a long time ago:
John Buchan (“The Thirty-Nine Steps”). Jacques turns more to classic literature (Paul Valery,
Sade, Proust), but has a large library of French and American mysteries. We are both also
very much influenced by American thriller movies. There are too many to list. We are always
very impressed by the quality of American writers (of books and movies) in general, and this
influences our own writing.
We would like to thank Meryl Moss Media Relations for letting us publish this
wonderful interview. I encourage all fans to sometimes step outside the borders of the
United States and explore different parts of the world for new authors. ■
51
GLEN ERIK
PAST CRIMES BRING SUSPENSE
HAMILTON
“Past Crimes” is the debut novel of Glen Erik Hamilton. Starring Army Ranger
Van Shaw, it is a thriller about family and forgiveness, and how circumstances
can affect relationships between people as they embrace and reject their past.
Let’s take a quick look inside “Past Crimes,” and then you can check out
our interview with Glen.
Van Shaw was raised to be a thief, but at eighteen he suddenly broke
all ties to that life and joined the military—abandoning his illicit past
and the career-criminal grandfather who taught him the trade. Now,
after ten years of silence, his grandfather has asked him to come home
to Seattle. But when Van arrives, he discovers his grandfather bleeding
out on the floor from a gunshot to the head. With a lifetime of tough
history between him and the old man, Van knows he’s the main suspect.
The only way he can clear his name is to go back to the world he’d
sworn to leave behind. Tapping into his criminal skills, he begins to
hunt the shooter and uncover what drove his grandfather to reach out
after so long. But in a violent, high-stakes
world where right and wrong aren’t defined
by the law, Van finds that the past is all too
present . . . and that the secrets held by those
closest to him are the deadliest of all.
Elise Cooper (E.C.): Why did you decide
to become a novelist?
Glen Erik Hamilton (G.E.H.): I grew up reading crime thrillers and wanted to write like
Dennis Lehane and John D. MacDonald. I always enjoyed writing and knew in my twenties
that I would want to write seriously one day. Fast forward to now where I re-evaluated how
I would spend my free time after moving to Los Angeles. I took a couple of courses on mystery
writing and joined a writing group. I describe it as a very slow graduate school.
E.C.: Why Seattle as the setting?
52
I
GREW UP READING
CRIME THRILLERS AND
WANTED TO WRITE LIKE
DENNIS LEHANE AND
JOHN D. MACDONALD.
G.E.H.: I moved away from Seattle like Van. After returning
I saw how the changing times had impacted the economy and
neighborhoods. I brought in the marinas because I grew up
aboard boats. Seattle is darn near an island itself, it isn’t far
from dozens of actual islands both in and out of the States,
and of course it’s one of the major shipping ports of the Pacific.
Water, water, everywhere. If you’re writing about crime in
Seattle, it opens a lot of possibilities.
E.C.: A lot of the storyline has to do with Van reflecting on
his relationship with his grandfather. Can you explain?
G.E.H.: Van has matured during the years he’s been in the
Army. He may not completely forgive or even understand his
grandfather, but he also knows that he’s not blameless himself.
The two men are much more alike than either of them realize,
in their faults and their loyalties. Van had completely bought
in to the criminal life as a teenager. When he left it, he left
everything from his youth along with it. Yet, Van knows family
is important to Dono as he raised him from the age of six. Van
and his grandfather have a complicated relationship where
they love each other but it is hardly ever expressed in words.
E.C.: Did you do any research for Van’s Army career?
G.E.H.: A good friend of mine was in the Special Forces. To fastcheck information in the book, I spoke to Iraq and Afghanistan
veterans. I wanted to make sure that Van’s formidable years
were spent as a warrior since he entered the Army at age
eighteen. The reason I made Van a Ranger is that they are all
about knocking down doors and direct action.
E.C.: Can you give a heads-up about your next book?
G.E.H.: Van will have retired from the Army and now as a
civilian is trying to find himself. He has to decide what are
the job options for a veteran now entering the civilian world.
I want to see Van grow and change in every book. He is an
independent hero seeking justice but I would not describe him
as a vigilante. The next book’s plot has Van searching for the
niece of one of Dono’s accomplices.
To learn about this up-and-coming author, visit his
website at glenerikhamilton.com. ■
53
The Notorious Opium-Eater Is Back
Acclaimed thriller author David Morrell transports
readers to Victorian London in the dazzling sequel
to Murder as a Fine Art.
A killer plots to assassinate Queen Victoria.
Only the infamous Opium-Eater, Thomas
De Quincey, and his irrepressible daughter,
Emily, can uncover the long-buried secrets
of a murderer whose lust for revenge has
destroyed his soul.
“I literally thought I was there. With this
mesmerizing series, David Morrell doesn’t just
delve into the world of Victorian England—he
delves into the heart of evil.”
—LISA GARDNER,
AUTHOR OF CRASH & BURN
“Morrell evokes [Victorian] London with such
finesse that you’ll hear the hooves clattering on
cobblestones, the racket of dustmen, and the
—ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY
shrill call of vendors.”
ON MURDER AS A FINE ART
AVAI LABLE M ARCH 2015 WHEREVER BOOKS ARE SOLD
MURDER AS A FINE ART
Winner of the Macavity
and Nero awards
DavidMorrell.net
ILLUSTRATION: TOMISLAV TIKULIN
MULHOLLAND BOOKS
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY
ASK YOURSELF
“WHO BURIES THE DEAD,”
C.S. HARRIS KNOWS
Press Photo Credit: Samantha Lufti-Proctor
Author C.S. Harris is back with the latest in her Sebastian St. Cyr mystery series,
“Who Buries the Dead.” You could say that C.S. Harris has multiple personalities, as
she also writes under C.S. Graham, and her real name is Candice Proctor. She has
written over twenty novels, but we think her Sebastian St. Cyr is when she is at her
best.
Back in 2005, Sebastian broke into the scene with “What Angels Fear,” and
she’s now nine years and ten books into her career. Her roots go back with her love
of classical archaeology and historic archaeology. You can see her passion for the
subject in her writing, as many of her books have that historical theme and are
very well researched.
We could go on and on talking about her background, but you can read all
that for yourself. So let’s jump right into our interview and take a quick peek inside
her latest book.
London, 1813:
The vicious decapitation of Stanley Preston, a wealthy, socially ambitious
plantation owner, at Bloody Bridge draws Sebastian St. Cyr, Viscount Devlin,
into a macabre and increasingly perilous investigation. The discovery near the body of an aged lead coffin strap
bearing the inscription King Charles, 1648 suggests a link between this killing and the beheading of the deposed
seventeenth-century Stuart monarch. Equally troubling, the victim’s kinship to the current Home Secretary
draws the notice of Sebastian’s powerful father-in-law, Lord Jarvis, who will exploit any means to pursue his
own clandestine ends.
Working in concert with his fiercely independent wife, Hero, Sebastian finds his inquiries taking him from
the wretched back alleys of Fish Street Hill to the royal castle of Windsor as he amasses a list of suspects who
range from an eccentric Chelsea curiosity collector to the brother of an unassuming but brilliantly observant
spinster named Jane Austen.
But as one brutal murder follows another, it is the connection between the victims and ruthless former army
officer Sinclair, Lord Oliphant, that dramatically raises the stakes. Once, Oliphant nearly destroyed Sebastian in
a horrific wartime act of carnage and betrayal. Now the vindictive former colonel might well pose a threat not
only to Sebastian but to everything—and everyone—Sebastian holds most dear.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): Give us the inside scoop on “Who Buries The Dead.”
C.S. Harris (C.S.H.): “Who Buries the Dead” begins with the gruesome murder and decapitation of Stanley Preston, a wealthy,
socially ambitious plantation owner. Like so many of my books, this story had its genesis in a very real historical event: the
rediscovery of the coffin of King Charles I. He’d been buried at an undisclosed location after his decapitation by Oliver Cromwell
and his Puritan revolutionaries, and wasn’t found again until workers building a new entrance to the royal vault beneath the
55
“CRIMES ARE MUCH MORE DIFFICULT TO SOLVE WHEN
THE DETECTIVE DOESN’T HAVE ACCESS TO THINGS LIKE
FINGERPRINTS AND BALLISTIC TESTS AND DNA RESULTS;
WHEN HE CAN’T WEAR A RECORDING WIRE AND TRICK THE
KILLER INTO IMPLICATING HIMSELF.”
chapel at Windsor Castle accidently stumbled upon him in the spring of 1813.
Ironically enough, it just so happens that the body—and especially the head—of Oliver Cromwell also suffered an interesting
fate, as did the head of the French King Henri IV. By some bizarre coincidence, I happened to read about these men’s heads all in
one day. So how could I ignore an idea like that?
And because the first murder in the book occurs shortly after the publication of “Pride and Prejudice,” Jane
Austen also figures prominently in the story. That might seem like an unlikely combination, but it all comes together
quite neatly.
S. MAG.: This is your tenth novel in the Sebastian St. Cyr mystery series. For
readers just finding out about it, how has the series progressed so far?
C.S.H.: Each book is written as a standalone mystery, so readers can definitely
enter the series at any point and not be lost.
That said, when I first started writing this series, I made a conscious decision
to create a story arc that encompasses the series as a whole. So there are several
overarching mysteries that are only hinted at in book one, but become increasingly
important as the series progresses: What happened to Sebastian’s mother? Who
is his real father? There’s also a very powerful story arc for Sebastian himself as he
comes to terms with certain events that occurred during the war in the mountains
of Portugal and finds a very real redemption in the work he does. And there are
several poignant love stories, as well as some nasty villains who wend their way
in and out of the series and make Sebastian’s life difficult.
This kind of series story arc is something you see done in the fantasy genre
and of course in series like Downton Abbey. But you don’t really find it in the
mystery genre, so it’s been quite an adventure.
S. MAG.: Who is Sebastian St. Cyr?
C.S.H.: Sebastian St. Cyr is Viscount Devlin, a disillusioned former army
captain, heir to an earldom, and latter-day knight errant. Haunted by events in
the Napoleonic Wars, he has dedicated himself to finding justice for the victims of murder.
His status as a member of the wealthy, privileged aristocracy gives him the ability to range across the various social strata of the
Regency era. He is at home in the exclusive gentlemen’s clubs of St. James’s and the ballrooms of Mayfair, yet at the same time his
experiences in the war give him the skills he needs to plunge into the worst slums of the East End. And that’s important because
these books explore all aspects of Regency society, high as well as low. In any given murder, it’s possible for the suspects to range
from a body snatcher to the Prince Regent himself.
S. MAG.: Setting a book back in 1813 means no CSI modern forensics, so how difficult is it to make sure you stay true to that
time period?
C.S.H.: CSI is fun, but I actually find the lack of modern scientific techniques a big part of what makes a mystery set in the
early nineteenth century so enjoyable. Crimes are much more difficult to solve when the detective doesn’t have access to things
like fingerprints and ballistic tests and DNA results; when he can’t wear a recording wire and trick the killer into implicating
himself. That means Sebastian St. Cyr needs to rely on his powers of observation, his analytical and reasoning abilities, and his
56
understanding of human nature. The emphasis is very much on character and good, old-fashioned detection as he tries to figure
out whodunit. Which of the many different things that happened in this person’s life made him or her a murder victim? What
secrets are the suspects hiding? What lies are being told? What truth is everyone missing? And, how can we prove this?
Sebastian does have a friend, the Irish surgeon Paul Gibson, whose knowledge of the human body is heightened by his illegal
dissection of bodies pilfered from London cemeteries by “resurrection men.” But I’m always careful to stay within the bounds of
what was known at the time.
S. MAG.: Is there a book that you read that got you thinking, “Hey, I can do this and I want to do this”?
C.S.H.: I always loved Ellis Peters’s Brother Cadfael books. I think hers were the first historical mysteries I read. She is absolutely
brilliant, both in her understanding of human nature and in the thoroughness of the historical research she brought to her writing.
I hold a PhD in European history, so I liked the idea of combining my two loves, storytelling and history. Historical mysteries
are liberating because they allow writers to create the kind of hero that’s a bit too independent, dangerous, and lawless to
realistically exist in our own hemmed-in, modern world. I also love the way the Sebastian St. Cyr series allows me to explore
those aspects of life in the nineteenth century that seem strange, perhaps even incomprehensible to us today, and at the same time
contrast that with the familiarity and immutability of the human condition down through the ages.
S. MAG.: You have written books in different genres. Is there one genre you would like to try?
C.S.H.: I’ve written contemporary thrillers, historical mysteries, historical romances, and romantic suspense. Unfortunately, I’ve
never been much of a fan of horror, sci-fi, or fantasy, so I can’t see myself ever trying to write a book in one of those genres. But I
would love to try literary fiction—a story where I wasn’t bound by any expectations of genre plot development, where I was free
to explore character to my heart’s content and indulge my love of language. Maybe someday....
S. MAG.: Plot-driven or character-driven; which side of the fence are you on when it comes to what drives a book?
C.S.H.: I do plot my books out in detail before I ever write a word. But at the same time, at every step in the plotting process,
I always ask myself, Is this character action believable? Is this what this person would really do at this point? Why? What’s
their motivation? And sometimes when I’m writing, I’ll come to a scene I’ve plotted out ahead of time and realize it just isn’t
going to work. Any time that happens, the plan goes out the window and I follow the dictates of character.
S. MAG.: What is on your DVR right now?
C.S.H.: Oh, dear; I’m such a Luddite, I don’t even have a DVR. We only just bought a smart TV at the end of December. The last
few weeks, we’ve been binge watching the first four seasons of Downton Abbey. I know it’s a cliché, and I’m always skeptical of
anything that’s hugely popular, but I’ll admit it: I’m solidly hooked.
S. MAG.: Is there one part of your writing that you continue to work on to make better?
C.S.H.: I’m always trying to do everything better. Even after more than twenty books, I still read how-to books, still analyze the
works of authors I admire, still scrutinize every word of my manuscripts to see if I can make them stronger.
S. MAG.: What can fans expect to see from you in the future?
C.S.H.: I’ve just finished the eleventh book in the series, “When Falcons Fall,” which sees Sebastian and his wife, Hero, make a
very emotional trip to Shropshire. It’s the first book in the series that’s set entirely outside of London, so writing it was very much
a change of pace. I’m now starting the twelfth book, “Where the Dead Lie,” which sees them back in London in September, 1813.
This is an interesting time historically because by that point it’s becoming obvious that Napoleon will be defeated, so there’s a lot
of speculation about what will happen next.
Altogether, I’m envisioning between eighteen and twenty books in the series.
We would like to thank C.S. for joining us. To find out everything about C.S. and all her writing personalities, check out
her website at www.csharris.net. ■
57
MYSTERIES and THRILLERS
THE DIFFERENCES*
By Thomas B. Sawyer
Press Photo Credit: Wylie Sawyer
Some twenty years ago, while I was showrunner and head writer on the CBS series Murder, She Wrote,
I was also struggling with my first attempt at novel-writing.
One of my co-producers was Angela Lansbury’s brother, Bruce. We’d been friends and had
occasionally worked together for more than a decade. A witty, charming and talented guy, back when I
was getting established in the business, Bruce had been showrunner on Wonder Woman, for which he
gave me one of my early script assignments. The episode title was Death in Disguise, and learning-wise,
that experience stands out because of Bruce’s wisdom, a singular nugget of which he conferred in giving
me what he described as his only note on my first-draft teleplay: “Your Bad Guy talks too much.” He
then quickly, briefly expanded on it: “The thing with effective Bad Guys—they’ve got tight, thin mouths,
and they don’t say much—except for their aria.”
Wow!
Think about it—the conciseness, the awesome, no-bullshit, nailing-it truth. I somehow doubt that’s taught at, say, the
Iowa Writers’ Workshop, or at other bastions of Literary Integrity. But it should be. And, by the way, that is the sort of nononsense, take-it-to-the-bank advice that was typical of my learning curve in series TV, informed by other showrunners for
whom I worked.
Rather than, as in so many fields where people jealously guard their power and expertise, these pros were eager to pass
such information along to me. They wanted to teach, to help. And man, was I delighted to absorb it. I was being paid to learn!
The reason for their generosity: simple self-interest. The small staffs of most TV series were rarely able to write all twentytwo yearly episodes in-house. They had no choice but to employ a few freelancers like myself. And because of the Writers
Guild contract, the writer could only be asked for two drafts of the story outline, and two of the teleplay. After that, fixes
were in the staffers’ court. Ergo, it was clearly to their benefit to hold the freelance writer’s hand. To guide and nursemaid us
through the process so that, when they had to take over and begin their final tweaks, the script wouldn’t require a rewrite
from page one. Thanks to their counseling, within a few years I was lucky enough to become one of them.
Back to the challenge of writing that first novel, which was to be a thriller. Over a number of lunches, I’d shared my concerns with Bruce, and one morning he knocked on my office door. As he entered grinning, he indicated the sheet of paper he
was holding: “This might help with your book…” As he handed it to me, he added: “I have no idea who wrote this, or how I
happen to have it, and some of it’s arguable, I guess, but…”
What he gave me is the following, parts of which are, as he said, to a small degree quibble-able. But it was and continues
to be a help for me, and, I hope, will be for others. It certainly aided me in clarifying my approach to that first thriller, “The
Sixteenth Man,” which I completed and was published several years later to excellent reviews. I’ve also used it countless times
in teaching writing.
MYSTERY
A puzzle
Curiosity motivates
Protagonist has skills
Thinking is paramount
Action is offstage
Small circle of acquaintances
58
Clues
Red herrings
Information withheld from audience
Audience a step behind
Mostly single Point of View
Whodunnit?
Suspects
Ending intellectually satisfying
Closure a requirement
Series expected
Usually 300 pages
*Generally speaking
THRILLER
A nightmare
Victim story (at top)
Protagonist must learn skills
Feeling is paramount
Action is onstage
Thrust into larger world
Surprises/twists
Cycles of mistrust
Information given to audience
Audience a step ahead
Up to four Points of View
What will happen?
Betrayers
Ending emotionally satisfying
Can end ambiguously
Often stand-alone
Can be longer ■
Novelist, screenwriter, playwright, Thomas B. Sawyer was Showrunner/Head Writer of the classic CBS series, Murder, She Wrote,
for which he wrote 24 episodes. He’s written TV movies, 9 network TV pilots, 100 episodes, on staff of 15 series. Edgar and Emmynominated, Tom wrote-directed-produced the cult feature Gosh Alice Goodbody. Co-librettist/lyricist of Jack, an opera about JFK,
he’s taught writing at UCLA, now online at Screenwriters University, publishes Storybase software, and authored bestselling “Fiction
Writing Demystified.” Tom’s latest thriller novel, “Cross Purposes,” (Suspense Publishing) is the first in a new series. Learn more at www.
ThomasBSawyer.com.
59
M.J. ROSE
“Paints” Outside of the Lines
Press Photo Credit: Mario Morgado
We always get a wonderful response whenever we feature M.J. Rose in our
magazine and we hope that’ll stay true with our report on her latest novel,
“The Witch of Painted Sorrows.”
She has been featured and profiled in Time, Forbes, The New York
Times and Newsweek, to name a few. She is a founding member and current
co-president of ITW (International Thriller Writers) and the founder of
AuthorBuzz, a marketing company.
Her book “Seduction” was given The Crimson Scribe award in 2013,
Suspense Magazine’s recognition of the best book of the year. We are certain
that “The Witch of Painted Sorrows” will propel her even closer to the top
of the suspense genre.
Here’s a look inside the book and, below, an interview with M.J.
New York socialite Sandrine Salome flees an abusive husband for her grandmother’s Paris mansion, but what
she finds there is even more menacing. The house, famous for its lavish art collection and elegant salons, is
closed and under renovation. Her grandmother insists it’s too dangerous to visit but Sandrine defies her—an
unexplainable force is drawing her home. There she meets Julien Duplessi, a mesmerizing architect, who introduces her to the City of Lights—its art
world, forbidden occult underground, nightclubs—and to her own untapped desires. From a mysterious fire at the Palais Garnier opera house, to a terrifying accident
at the Eiffel tower and classes with Gustav Moreau at the École des Beaux-Arts,
Sandrine’s experiences awaken her passions. Among the bohemians and demimonde, Sandrine uncovers her erotic nature as a lover and painter. Then more ominous influences threaten—her husband is tracking her down and
something insidious is taking hold, changing Sandrine, altering her. She’s overcome
by the spirit of La Lune, a witch, a legendary sixteenth-century courtesan, and an
unsung artist in her own right, who exposes Sandrine to a darkness that could be a
gift or a curse. This is Sandrine’s “wild night of the soul,” her odyssey in the magnificent city
of Paris, of art, love and witchery, and not until she resolves a tragic love story and
family curse will she be free of the ghost’s possession. “We need heroes and heroines and I want to focus
on people who strive and yearn and fight to be
individuals no matter what time period.”
60
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): What genre would you classify your novels?
M.J. Rose (M.J.R.): Gothic/Erotic/Historical/Suspense—sorry, but there isn’t just one.
S. MAG.: How do you create such a gothic atmosphere?
M.J.R.: I listen to gothic music when I write and imagine myself in the place I’m
writing about and see the scene play out in my head and try to describe it via all my
senses.
S. MAG.: Talk about your historical research.
M.J.R.: I love doing research. Sometimes I think I write just so I can do the research.
To write fiction I try to read as much original source material as possible—diaries of
people living at the time, newspaper articles, novels that were current during those
time periods. I try to live in that time in my head.
S. MAG.: What sparked the idea for your latest novel, “The Witch of Painted
Sorrows”? M.J.R.: My great-grandmother was French and a psychic who did some pretty witchy
things. I always wanted to learn more about the occult and Paris around the time she
was just growing up there.
S. MAG.: How close are the facts from the fiction?
M.J.R.: The facts of Paris at the time are true. The art world, the way things operate,
the scenes, the nightclubs, the occult movement, the bookstore—all real. The main
characters are fictional but the great painters whose names you recognize did the
things I write about.
S. MAG.: Why do you incorporate hidden worlds throughout Europe in your work?
M.J.R.: It’s what fascinates me—what is just under the surface. The secrets in the
world. The hidden. That’s what the occult actually is—hidden knowledge. It fascinates
me.
S. MAG.: How do you create such strong female characters who can defy the
odds throughout the centuries? Is it difficult to have such strength from a female
perspective in the distant past? M.J.R.: Thank you. I’m not sure but I know that I’m not interested in writing any
other kind of woman. We need heroes and heroines and I want to focus on people who
strive and yearn and fight to be individuals no matter what time period.
S. MAG.: What’s next for Sandrine?
M.J.R.: Ah…the next novel in the series is about her daughter…twenty-four years
later. Another “Daughter of La Lune.”
We would like to thank M.J. for joining us. Please visit her website at www.
mjrose.com for more information. ■
THE WITCH OF PAINTED
SORROWS
By M.J. Rose
After losing her father and suffering at
the hands of her cruel husband, Sandrine
flees from her home in New York to Paris
in order to seek refuge at the historic and
beautiful mansion home of her beloved
grandmother. But upon arrival, Sandrine
finds the mansion mysteriously locked and
empty, with her grandmother ensconced
in an apartment.
Sandrine longs to visit the mansion,
which holds wonderful memories for her,
but her grandmother forbids it, stating
only that it is too dangerous. Defying her
grandmother’s wishes, Sandrine visits the
mansion and meets the dashing, Julian
Duplessi—a prominent architect who
has been hired to turn the mansion into a
museum.
Sandrine and Julian become
embroiled in an erotic affair, but
something else is hiding in the mansion as
well . . . the ghost of a sixteenth century
courtesan and ancestor; a witch named
La Lune. Sandrine becomes possessed
by the spirit of the beautiful but evil La
Lune, and grows impassioned with La
Lune’s urges to be a famous artist. Under
the witch’s influence, Sandrine feels the
woman’s obsession to control and be
loved by a man. But as Sandrine begins to
lose herself to the witch’s influence, people
begin to die.
This latest novel from acclaimed
author, M.J. Rose is provocative, erotic,
and spellbindingly haunting, with lush
settings and mysterious occurrences that
will have the reader gasping in fear, as they
remain totally mesmerized cover-to-cover.
The writing is powerful, making the story
impossible to put down before reaching
the strangely twisted ending.
Another winning series start from
Rose, written for her vast legion of
readers. “The Witch of Painted Sorrows”
is a captivating supernatural read that will
keep you enthralled… a ‘must-have’ novel.
Reviewed by DJ Weaver (WebbWeaver
Reviews) co-author of “Collecting
Innocents” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense
Magazine ■
61
ENSINGTON
KILLS
Home is where the fear is…
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for America and one only
man can stop them…
“A must read.”
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“Riveting.”
—Glenn Beck
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An aspiring vampire.
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few others will:
into the mind
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KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.—
America’s Independent Publisher
KENSINGTONBOOKS.COM
JACK
HIGGINS
ESPIONAGE MASTER BRINGS
“RAIN ON THE DEAD”
Jack Higgins, author of the iconic thriller “The Eagle Has Landed,” has a new
book out, “Rain On the Dead.” There are similarities between both books,
including IRA characters, the flawed main character, as well as a plot full of
assassinations and kidnappings.
“Rain On the Dead” begins when two Chechen Muslims attempt to
assassinate the U.S. President Jack Cazalet. Unfortunately for them, Cazalet has guests with him, including black ops
specialist Sean Dillon, an ex-IRA gunman, and his colleague, Afghan war hero Captain Sara Gideon. With the help of the
English authorities, Dillon, Gideon, and company search for those responsible: IRA sympathizers and al-Qaeda terrorists.
Yet, readers cannot think of Higgins without thinking of “The Eagle Has Landed,” especially since this year marks the
novel’s fortieth anniversary. The story: Colonel Kurt Steiner is forced to take a crack team of commandos to England. Their
mission is to kidnap or assassinate Winston Churchill. The Germans enlist the help of an IRA assassin and a South African
woman who hates everything the English stand for. This book is a riveting account of whether the Germans will succeed.
We were fortunate enough to be able to ask a few questions of the author.
Elise Cooper (E.C.): Both books deal with the IRA. What point were you trying to make?
Jack Higgins (J.H.): They were fighting for the position of Ireland in the British Empire. They wanted independence as a country.
In the end, they achieved something of the kind.
E.C.: In “Rain On the Dead” you imply that the IRA fights for independence while the Muslim terrorists fight to impose their
will. Do you agree?
J.H.: Yes. I see what you mean. Both groups are fighting a new type of war and do not wear a uniform. It becomes very difficult
for the authorities to recognize the enemy. It could be anyone on the street. At least with the Irish, they had a genuine desire for
independence, which many saw as reasonable. I would not compare this with the type of terrorism the American president and
the British prime minister were recently discussing.
E.C.: Let’s talk about “Rain On the Dead.” In it, you have the likeable character Sara Gideon, who is Jewish. Why?
J.H.: I made her Jewish because my foster parents were Jewish and were very good to me. I got to know Jewish traditions and the
faith very well. I wanted to show that there are plenty of Jewish people who are serving in the British and U.S. military. That is
why she is a retired war hero. She is a good character and her Jewishness is a part of who she is.
E.C.: Why did you bring back former U.S. President Jack Cazalet?
J.H.: I found it interesting to use him in this story. He is quite a popular character and I enjoy writing about him, so I felt we were
at a stage to bring him back. There are a huge number of fans that look forward to reading about this character and seeing what
63
will happen to him.
E.C.: What U.S. president did you most admire?
J.H.: I suppose it would have to be Jack Kennedy. Many years ago I wrote a book, “Day of
Judgment,” which was primarily set in Germany. It had in it a very famous visit by a U.S.
president to Berlin where he made a very famous speech to the German people. Historically,
it affected world politics at the time. I used it as background for this book. The novel is about
the underground that tried to help people escape from the East German Communist regime.
Obviously, I used President Kennedy in certain scenes of the book.
E.C.: Your style is to write characters that are not all good and not all bad, such as Sean
Dillon and Colonel Kurt Steiner. Please explain.
J.H.: Human beings are not like they are portrayed in Hollywood. They are individuals who
are a mixture of good and bad. Many of my fans like these type of characters. I like when
people question if the characters are really villains or protagonists. These types are very
interesting to write about.
E.C.: What about Steiner?
J.H.: I tried to make the point that he and his men were not Nazis but just soldiers. Steiner is a reasonable person who was
forced by circumstances to do a certain job. There is not much he could do about it. If he did not join, he and his family would
all be punished.
E.C.: In “The Eagle Has Landed,” you contrast the soldiers with the Nazi atrocities of the Warsaw Ghetto and what was done
to Steiner’s father. Why?
J.H.: I wanted to show these atrocities through the eyes of the German soldiers. They were disgusted by what was happening, yet
were unable to do much to stop it. I also had some personal experiences. I served in Germany just after the Second World War
and my uncle was a regular soldier in the British army. He was wounded and captured early in the war. Although he was not
Jewish, he was sent to Auschwitz concentration camp to work in the factory there, which was against international law. This gave
me an interest in the Nazi situation and World War II.
E.C.: Colonel Steiner saved a Jewish girl but was not executed. Is that realistic?
J.H.: Yes. What the Germans did to soldiers like Steiner is require them to do very dangerous jobs within the military. For
example, they worked to dispose bombs and clear mine fields. With these jobs there was a good chance of blowing themselves up.
In the novel, Steiner and his men were made to do the dangerous work of sitting on top of torpedoes to disarm them. This was a
suicide job since most did not survive for very long.
E.C.: In the book you have Steiner commenting on the rules of engagement. This is the direct opposite of what the Islamist
terrorists did in your latest book. Please explain this quote from “The Eagle Has Landed”: “Why, did you think we’d hold the
entire village hostage or come out fighting, driving the women in front of us? The brutal Hun? Sorry I can’t oblige.”
J.H.: Steiner was an honorable man and soldier. He had a moral code. I really don’t know why the Muslims do what they are
doing. Those terrorists don’t seem to have a moral code.
E.C.: Since this is the fortieth anniversary of “The Eagle Has Landed,” any plans?
J.H.: I believe there is talk of remaking the story on television. There was the movie starring Michael Caine as Steiner. I think a
TV show would be very helpful to get more of the book story told than in the two-hour-and-ten-minute film.
To learn more about this talented author, go to jackhiggins.co.za. ■
64
FIRE & ICE
SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM “UNCOMMON ASSASSINS”
By Joseph Badal
Press Photo Credit: Sallie Badal
CHAPTER
1
By an eighth of an inch and one
pint of blood, twenty-six-yearold U.S. Army Captain James
Brennan missed becoming
the 1301st American to die in
Operation Enduring Freedom.
Instead, he became the 8998th to be wounded.
Just released from Landstuhl Army Hospital and
on Christmas leave for two weeks, James deplaned at
Philadelphia International Airport Gate 23. Into the jet
way—December meat-locker cold. Juking and dodging
people waiting to board planes in the terminal. Down the
long corridor toward the front of the terminal. He forced
himself to stand ramrod straight, making the most of his sixfoot frame, stretching the scar tissue on his leg and the sore
muscles in his back and neck. Look strong, he told himself.
For Mom, who would notice a limp. For Dad, who would see
any sign of weakness. Growing up, he’d hated every time his
father had told him, “Stop whining and act like a man.” But
that mantra had, like a magic carpet, carried him through
Basic Training, AIT, Special Warfare School, and twentythree months in Afghanistan.
Inside the terminal, he searched for his parents who he
was certain would be waiting for him. He grimaced at the
thought of his mother greeting him with her usual shrill,
“Jimmy, my sweet boy.” But then he smiled. Her greeting
always made things seem right.
James had told his parents he was assigned to a staff
position in Afghanistan. Hadn’t told them he was a killer, the
leader of an assassination team. Hadn’t told them he’d been
wounded.
He spotted his father next to a newsstand, but had to do
a double-take just to be certain. My God, he thought, Vince
Brennan looked much older than his fifty years. He seemed
haggard. James put on a smile and walked toward his father,
who noted his approach with a wave. The two men met
halfway and hugged.
“Hey, Dad,” James said. “Good to see you.”
Vince pushed away from his son and performed a quick
inspection. “You look good,” he said.
“Lost some weight but Mom’s cooking will fix that.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Vince said, but without much
enthusiasm.
James looked around. “Where’s Mom?”
Vince swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You got
any checked bags?”
“No, Dad. Just my duffel here.”
James suddenly felt worried. Something seemed wrong.
Mom should be here. And where were his brother, Frank,
and his sister, Connie? But he let the patience he had learned
in the Army slowly take control. Besides, how wrong could
things be?
CHAPTER 2
Vince Brennan expelled a loud breath and said, “I’m glad
you’re home, son.”
James noticed his father gripping the steering wheel.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
Vince glanced quickly at James and then turned back to
the road. “Frank’s in the
hospital. That’s where your
mother and sister are.”
“What
happened?”
James asked, steeling
himself.
“He was attacked a
week ago by some guys at
a party. They beat him up
bad, Jimmy. The doctors
put him into a medicallyinduced coma to try to
stabilize him. He’s on a
ventilator.”
“He’s been in a coma
for a week?” James asked.
“Is he going to be all
right?”
65
Vince slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. Nobody
knows.”
“Who hurt Frank?” James asked, feeling a wave of heat
invade his gut and icy-cold fingers numb his brain.
“Don’t know,” Vince said, shooting James a worried look.
“Does it matter?”
James shrugged. “No witnesses?”
“No one saw anything. You know how that goes.”
No one saw anything at a party. Hard to believe, James
thought.
“Not the homecoming I wanted for you,” Vince said.
James reached across the seat and squeezed his father’s
shoulder.
The fast, heavy traffic of Philadelphia transitioned to the
slower, less congested traffic of Pennsmoor. A former
farming area, Pennsmoor was now a bedroom community
to Philadelphia and Lancaster. Vince and Frances Brennan
moved from Philadelphia to Pennsmoor when James was
ten, Frank two, and Connie a newborn. Pennsmoor was safe
and clean. Its schools were committed to excellence. The
Brennan’s raised their children to work hard, tell the truth,
and obey the law. They promoted patriotism and faith in
God.
James stared out the window. Christmas decorations
adorned the lampposts and garlanded wires hung from one
side of the street to the other. Everything seemed surreal after
Afghanistan.
At the hospital, they took the elevator to the fifth floor
and walked to the intensive care ward. Six glass-fronted
rooms formed a semi-circle around a pod where two nurses
worked. More surrealism: muted-beeping and blinking
monitors, funereal quiet, medicinal odors. James spotted
his mother talking to a nurse. He walked up behind her and
placed a hand on her shoulder.
Frances turned and seemed to experience a kaleidoscope
of emotions in an instant. She gasped, then smiled. Tears
burst from her pale blue eyes, flowing down her freckled
cheeks. Then she exhaled, said, “James, my sweet boy,” and
grasped her son, burying her head in his chest, sobbing and
shaking.
While holding onto his mother, James looked over her
head through the window into the room behind her. He didn’t
recognize the person in the bed there. Bandages, tubes and
medical contraptions overwhelmed the patient. On the far
side of the room, fifteen-year-old Connie Brennan slouched
in a chair, seemingly staring at nothing.
Connie had always been the beauty of the neighborhood.
Now, her usual fair complexion looked almost gray and her
blonde hair was tangled and unkempt. The bags under her
eyes were purple stained. She looked old and worn out, as
though she should be in the hospital bed.
James raised an arm and gave Connie a small wave but
got no reaction. He turned his attention back to his mother,
66
who had stopped crying. Frances moved back a half-step,
blotted her eyes with a tissue, and gave James the once-over.
“You’ve lost weight,” she said.
James made a sweeping gesture, discounting his mother’s
remark. “I’m fine, Mom. What’s up with Frank?”
“The doctor says there’s no change. They’re still trying to
reduce the brain swelling.”
James stared again through the window into Frank’s
room. “Connie’s taking it hard, isn’t she?”
Vince, now standing next to Frances, rubbed his chin,
closed his eyes for a moment. “I can’t get a damned thing out
of her. She won’t talk to anyone but Frank. And all she says to
him is, ‘I’m sorry.’ What’s she got to be sorry about?”
Vince and Frances took Connie down to the hospital
cafeteria while James spent time with Frank. He held his
brother’s hand and told him he was there for him, would
watch over him. And he said, “I’m going to find the guys who
did this to you, Frank.”
CHAPTER 3
“I need that Brennan girl tonight, ya hear me?” Nick Carpesi
growled. “We got thirty guys coming in from Philly. She was
missing in action last night. What happened?”
Terry Blair looked at his twin brother, Howie, and then
back at Carpesi. “She’s at the damn hospital with her parents.”
“That sounds like a fuckin’ excuse, Terry?”
“No, Nick. But . . ..”
Over-weight but powerfully-built, forty-year-old
Carpesi glared at the two eighteen-year-olds. The Blairs were
man-boys: 6’4” tall, blond, blue-eyed football-hunks. Spoiled
punks, Carpesi thought. He suddenly leaped to his feet,
knocking his chair back against the wall behind his desk.
“You guys are startin’ to piss me off. How much money have
I given you?”
Howie opened his mouth, but slammed it shut when
Carpesi shoved his palm at him.
“Thirty-two grand in less than one year. All you gotta do
is recruit high school chippies. Thirty-two grand and all the
ass you want. Is that about right?”
“Yeah, Nick,” Terry answered. “We appreciate what
you’ve—”
“So the Brennan girl will be there tonight?”
The Blair brothers nodded in unison.
“And she knows what will happen if she doesn’t
`cooperate?” Carpesi asked.
“Of course,” Howie said. “Her whole family will pay, like
her brother did. And she knows we’ll put the videos we have
of her on the net.”
“You keeping her supplied with meth?”
“Yep,” Terry said, smiling.
Carpesi snatched his chair away from the wall and sat
down. “So we got nothin’ to worry about.” He smirked,
grabbed a cigar from his shirt pocket and bit off the end,
bending over to spit it into the wastebasket under his desk.
Terry and Howie Blair got into their fire engine-red, fiveyear-old Dodge Charger, Howie behind the wheel, and
drove away from Carpesi’s auto body shop on the outskirts
of Pennsmoor. Terry checked the dashboard clock and said,
“We should just make it in time.”
Howie snapped a look at his brother. “That greaser,
Carpesi, as much as told us he’d kneecap us if we let him
down, and you’re worried about being late for school?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Terry said. “We show up late, we
get detention, and the school calls Dad. We don’t need the
aggravation. Besides, it’s the last day of school before the
break.”
“How are we gonna get Connie Brennan to the party
tonight?” Howie asked.
“Just like always. We call her cell and tell her we’ll pick her
up at midnight. She’ll sneak out after her parents are asleep
and she’ll be back in bed before they’re up in the morning.
She needs the drugs too much and she sure as hell doesn’t
want her ass spread all over the internet.”
“You know it’s only a matter of time before she catches
the clap, or something worse.”
“Yeah, so what? There’s plenty of talent to replace her.”
CHAPTER 4
James checked his watch: 8:30 a.m. He’d been up since 4.
Time zone change, worry, and anger conspired to drive him
from his bed. He’d gone online on his old computer, trying to
get news about his brother’s assault. There wasn’t much.
James showered, shaved, and dressed in khakis, a blue
work shirt, and hiking boots he took from his bedroom
closet. Stuff he hadn’t worn since college. He removed a blue
ski jacket from the closet, as well, and found an old pair of
leather dress gloves in the pockets. Then he drove Frank’s
old Honda across town to the hospital. He let the sight of
his comatose brother restoke his anger. He sat down next to
Frank, talking about things they’d done together, about their
friends, about the Eagles and the Phillies.
After two hours, Frances showed up. James was about to
let go of Frank’s hand and greet his mother when he froze.
Frank had squeezed. James jerked his gaze to his brother’s
face. No change there. Frank’s eyes were closed; nothing was
moving except his chest, pumped by a mindless machine.
“He squeezed my hand,” James excitedly told his mother.
“The doctor said there might be involuntary muscle
movement,” Frances said.
James placed Frank’s hand on the bed, and stood. “I have
some things to do,” he said.
“Can I help you, sir?” a baby-faced uniformed officer asked as
James approached the counter separating the police station
lobby from the bullpen and offices.
“My name’s James Brennan. I’d like to talk to whoever’s
handling the investigation into the assault on Frank Brennan.”
“Why don’t you have a seat over there while I check with
the detectives,” the officer said, pointing at a pew-like bench
that ran along the building’s inside front wall.
Ten minutes later an early thirty-something woman with
short auburn hair, dressed in a conservative blue suit, walked
up to him, right arm extended. James shook the woman’s
hand.
“Detective Joan Summers,” she said.
“James Brennan.”
“I understand you’re asking about the assault on Frank
Brennan.”
“My brother.”
Detective Summers said, “Let’s go get a cup of coffee.” She
led the way through a door off the lobby into a breakroom.
Summers took a dollar bill from her jacket pocket,
inserted it into the hot beverage machine and waited while
it disgorged two cups of black coffee. She passed one over to
James and said, “Sugar and cream on the counter over there.”
“Black is fine. Thanks.”
They sat at a table and Summers asked, “How’s your
brother doing?”
“He’s in a coma.”
She shook her head. “Bad business. No witnesses. No
forensic evidence. We’re at a dead end.”
“You believe there weren’t any witnesses?” he asked.
“Why would you ask that?” Summers asked, squinting
at James.
“It happened at a party. People all around. I grew up here.
This is a small community. There’s only one high school.
Everyone knows everyone. Just seems strange to me.”
Summers nodded.
“What?” James asked.
She shrugged. “I had the same thought. The kids who
were there either didn’t want to get involved or were too
frightened to say anything. I thought your sister would help,
but nothing there either.”
“Connie? How could she help?”
Summers gave James a curious look. “You didn’t know?
Your sister was one of the kids at the party where the assault
happened.”
CHAPTER 5
James drove back to the hospital and found his sister and
67
He eyed the brothers as he rolled the unlit cigar in his mouth.
He finally said, “I need those two new girls you been preppin’.”
“They’ll be there,” Terry said. “They’ve been on speed
daily for two weeks; got pictures of them having sex. Eating
out of our hands. ”
Carpesi laughed. “You boys got your pick of the herd.
Girls think they’re somethin’ special they spread their legs for
you football heroes.” He laughed. “Better enjoy it. Won’t last
forever.” He pointed a sausage-sized finger at the Blairs and
dropped all semblance of good humor. “Don’t disappoint me,
boys,” he said, malice dripping from his words.
mother listening to a man in a white smock. “R. Stafford,
M.D.” was stitched in red on the smock’s left pocket.
The doctor put on a half-smile and said, “Let’s try to keep
things in perspective. Frank was badly hurt. But the good
news is the brain swelling has suddenly and dramatically
declined. If he continues to improve, we may be able to take
him off the ventilator.”
After the doctor left, James watched Connie walk into
Frank’s room. When he followed her there, she moved away
from Frank’s bed, over to the window.
James stared at his sister and, in a quiet voice, asked,
“What’s the matter, Connie?”
Connie hunched her shoulders, still staring out the
window.
“Come on, Connie. I know something’s on your mind.
Let me help you.”
Connie turned around, her head bowed, appearing to
look at her clasped hands. She finally said in a meek, defeated
voice, “No one can help me.” Then she rushed from the room,
shaking off James’s hand as he tried to stop her.
CHAPTER 6
Now that school was over for the Christmas break, Terry
and Howie Blair had plenty of time on their hands. And with
their mother long dead and their father working long hours,
they pretty much had the run of their house. This meant they
could bring girls home, screw their brains out, and introduce
them to drug and alcohol cocktails, turning them into
money machines. They’d smooth them out on high-quality
marijuana, then get them just a little bit drunk—just enough
to break down the rest of their inhibitions. Finally, they’d
introduce them to methamphetamines. The speed was the
clincher. It turned the girls into sexual Olympic champions.
Even with the shame of what they were doing, the girls gave
the Blairs all the sex the boys wanted. Sex for drugs. No sex,
no drugs. Once they were addicted to meth, everything else
was easy. And, of course, there were always the photographs
and videos as backup.
“I’m worn out,” Howie Blair complained, wearing only
boxers in front of the open refrigerator. He pulled out a beer
and said, “Nick’s going to love these two.”
Terry chuckled while he hitched up his sweat pants.
“Mimi finally fell asleep.”
Howie nodded. “So did little Annie Fannie. Jeez, I’ve
never had a girl as hot as that one. And she’s barely fifteen.”
Terry laughed. “Speed’ll do it every time.”
Howie laughed. “They’ll be begging for more magic dust
by tonight.”
“Yep,” Terry said. “Their first party. Have to make sure
they’re ready for action.”
“I told them we’d stop by around 11:45. Then we’ll pick
up Connie Brennan. Should be at Carpesi’s party house a
little after midnight.”
“Carpesi said there’d be thirty or so guys there tonight,”
68
Terry said. “Ten guys per girl. At $500 per guy, that’s a very
profitable night for him.”
CHAPTER 7
Forty-eight-year-old Sean Blair opened the front door of his
house at 7 p.m. after another twelve-hour day.
“Hey, guys, I’m home,” he announced.
No answer.
Blair tried again, shouting this time, but got the same
result.
He moved down the hall toward his bedroom, but stopped
outside Terry’s room. He opened the door and detected the
competing odors of sex and marijuana. Blair groaned. The
high school girls were throwing their tight little asses at his
sons as though they were rock stars. As long as they were
careful. But the marijuana was another thing altogether.
He turned around and opened the door to Howie’s room
and discovered the same pungent aromatic cocktail.
Suddenly feeling twice as tired as he had felt just a minute
earlier, he walked to his room, shed his clothes, and put on a
bathrobe. He thought about eating something, waiting up for
his sons. But he suddenly felt too exhausted to do anything
but go to bed.
James had tried unsuccessfully to engage his sister in
conversation at the dinner table. He was about to try again
when Connie’s cell phone rang. She jumped up, grabbed the
phone from her sweatshirt pocket, and ran into the living
room. She talked in a low, furtive voice. James could see her
face flush and then go white. She looked as though she’d been
told someone had died. Her free hand jackhammered the air,
maybe making a point. Connie saw him staring at her and
whipped around, putting her back to him, and rushed from
the room and up the stairs.
James glanced from his father, whose face was buried in
his hands, to his mother, who had a deer-in-the-headlights
look.
“How long’s Connie been on drugs?” he asked.
Vince’s head came up as his hands became fists in front
of him.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Vince demanded.
“Take it easy, Vince,” Frances said.
Vince shot a laser beam look at his wife. “What do you
mean, ‘Take it easy’? We raised our kids to hate drugs. No
way Connie—”
James interrupted, “I’ve seen the symptoms too many
times in the Army. Altered behavior and moody, glassy eyes,
drastic change in appearance. She’s showing all the symptoms.
And look at her hands and arms. She’s scratching them and
then picking at the scabs. You had to know something was
wrong.”
“We’ve known something was wrong for over a month,”
Frances said. “Your dad and I have talked and talked to her.
Yelled even. Tried to get her to go to a doctor. We set up
CHAPTER 8
James went to bed late that night and fell asleep as soon as his
head hit the pillow. But then something startled him awake.
His battle zone nerves were still on high alert. He checked
the bedside clock: 12:01 a.m. The rumbling sound of a poorly
mufflered vehicle rose from the street. He got out of bed and
looked through his window. A red automobile, passenger
side facing the house, was parked there. In the harsh light
of a street lamp, James got a glimpse of a long-haired young
man in the front passenger seat with what appeared to be a
cell phone pressed against his right ear. It looked as though
there were a couple girls in the back seat.
The muffled chirping of a cell phone carried to James’s
bedroom. He moved into the hall and followed the sound to
Connie’s door. The phone rang six times and then stopped. A
minute later, the ringing started up again, but ended as it had
before, with no answer.
When the phone didn’t ring again, James returned to
the window in his room and caught sight of the car speeding
away.
James’s father left the house at 7 a.m. He would drop by the
hospital, be at his job by 9, and return to be with Frank at 6
p.m. He’d return home around 9.
James and his mother had breakfast together at home.
“Why don’t you see if Connie’s ready to go see Frank?”
Frances told James. “I’ll clean up the dishes.”
James walked upstairs, not excited about confronting his
recalcitrant sister, but determined. He knocked on her door
and said, “You ready to go?”
No answer.
James tried again. Still no response. He tried the
doorknob. Locked.
James slammed his shoulder against the door. That didn’t
work, so he backed up a step and kicked at the door, crashing
the sole of his boot against the knob. The doorknob lock
popped and the door flew open.
“Oh my God!” James groaned. “Call 9-1-1!” he yelled.
“Mom, call 9-1-1!”
Connie was hanging from the ceiling fan, her face blue,
her neck bent at an impossible angle. A toppled chair lay on
the floor. James snatched a pair of scissors from his sister’s
desk and cut through the pink terrycloth bathrobe belt
around her neck. Her body fell into his arms. He lowered
her to the floor and started CPR, knowing with absolute
certainty it would do no good.
With his mother’s shuddering sobs coming from behind
him, James performed CPR on Connie for ten minutes, until
the paramedics arrived. They then worked on Connie and,
finally, after another ten minutes declared her deceased.
One of the paramedics stood and backed off from
Connie’s body. He looked at James and said, “We’ve got to
wait for a detective to show. Suicide’s a violent crime.” He
shrugged as though in apology. “Don’t touch anything.”
James nodded while looking at his mother seated on
the floor, her back against the side of Connie’s bed, her body
shaking. He noticed Connie’s cell phone on the lamp table
next to her bed and remembered it ringing at midnight, at
the same time the red car had stopped outside. He glanced
back at the paramedics—both preoccupied with repacking
their equipment. He pocketed the cell phone and sat next to
his mother.
James went downstairs when the doorbell rang. He let in
two detectives, including Joan Summers, the detective James
had talked with the day before, and told them what had
happened. He explained that the paramedics and his mother
were upstairs in his sister’s room.
“Would you mind bringing your mother down here so
we can be free to look at your sister’s room?” Summers asked.
James went upstairs and brought Frances down to the
living room. He sat next to her on the couch. While the other
detective went upstairs, Summers sat across from James and
Frances and took notes as James again explained what had
happened.
“Did either of you hear anything during the night?”
Summers asked.
James told her about the car outside the house around
midnight. But he decided not to mention the ringing cell
phone.
“Can you describe the car?” Summers asked.
“Red. Low slung. Looked like a Dodge Charger. Sounded
like a tank out there. Either needs a new muffler or has glass
packs. Couldn’t see the driver, but the passenger in the front
had long blond hair.”
James noticed Summers grimace.
“You know this guy?”
She waved a hand at James as though saying no.
“Anything else?” she asked.
Couple of girls in the back of the car.”
“You recognize any of them?”
James shook his head.
The other detective came back downstairs and crooked
a finger at Summers, who stood and joined him in the
entryway. They whispered for a minute and then Summers
returned to the living room and said, “We’re finished here.
69
appointments and she runs away. We were going to drag her
to the doctor last week, but then Frank . . . .” Frances paused
and then added, “But drugs . . . . It can’t be drugs.”
James said, “I’ll talk to her.”
James stood and walked upstairs. He knocked on his
sister’s bedroom door.
“Come on, Connie, open up. Let’s talk.”
“Go away,” she said.
James tried again. But this time she did not respond.
James stood there in the hall outside his sister’s room and
finally said, “We’ll talk in the morning. You can’t put it off
forever.”
I’m sorry for your loss.”
James walked the detectives outside and watched them
drive away. Then he heard movement behind him: the
paramedics wheeling Connie’s body on a gurney to their
vehicle. A minute later they pulled away, just as Vince
Brennan screeched to a stop in the driveway.
“How is she?” Vince yelled at James, now standing in the
front entry.
Frances ran at Vince and threw herself at him, wrapping
her arms around his chest, crying a deluge of tears. “She’s
gone, Vince. Our baby’s gone.”
Vince looked at James, his sad eyes wide, eyebrows
raised.
“We found her in her room. She . . . she hung herself.”
Vince moaned as though a dagger had pierced his chest.
After Vince and Frances went inside, James removed
Connie’s cell from his pants pocket and pulled up the record
of incoming calls. The last two came from the same number:
One at 12:01 p.m.; the other at 12:02. He highlighted the last
number and pressed SEND. The phone screen showed the
incoming number and the name Howard Blair. James was
about to terminate the call when a male voice answered.
“You stupid bitch! You know how much trouble you
caused us last night? I’m going to sell your ass on the street
until you can’t walk straight. You hear me? Then I’m going to
kick the crap out of you like we did your spastic brother. You
hear me? And we’re going to mess up your parents.” The guy
paused as though he expected a response. When none came,
he screamed, “Answer me, bitch!”
James clicked off the phone, barely able to contain the
all-familiar rage swelling inside him. The fire and ice of
battle. He walked back inside the house, went to the kitchen,
and looked at the Pennsmoor telephone directory. He turned
to the B’s and found three listings for Blair, but none for a
Howard Blair.
He went upstairs to his room. Sitting on the side of his
bed, he forced himself to calm down, to suppress the heat in
his gut and the creeping fingers of ice penetrating his brain.
He knew what he wanted to do, what he’d been trained to do.
But he fought the urge. This wasn’t Afghanistan, after all. He’d
go see Detective Summers. Tell her about the phone calls in
the night. Tell her what the man had said when he called the
number on Connie’s cell.
CHAPTER 9
James drove to the Pennsmoor Police building. He started up
the steps but suddenly stopped and stared at the sign hanging
to the left of the building’s front door. He hadn’t noticed it
the last time he was here. It showed the name of Pennsmoor’s
Chief of Police Sean P. Blair. One of the Blair listings in the
phone book was for a Sean Blair. Sean Blair. Howard Blair.
James didn’t believe in coincidences.
What if Howard Blair was related to the police chief? He
thought about the reaction Summers had when he described
70
the red car and the long-haired passenger. Something about
the description had resonated with her. What if Summers
was protecting Howard Blair?
Enraged, James returned to the car and drove to the
hospital.
The ICU nurse smiled at him and said, “I just called your
folks. We took your brother off the respirator; he’s breathing
on his own.”
James felt a surge of adrenaline rip through him. “Thank
God!”
“His brain swelling reduced a lot. He’s alert, sort of. Not
talking, but looking around and responding.”
James entered Frank’s room. Although his brother was
still hooked up to several tubes, and he looked pale and
weak, James felt exhilarated.
He laid a hand on Frank’s arm. “Hey there, bro,” he said,
not expecting a response.
Frank’s eyes opened languorously. When his gaze rested
on James, he blinked. After a beat, Frank moved his lips and
emitted a raspy sound.
James picked up a plastic glass of water with a pink
stick-sponge in it. He pressed the sponge on Frank’s lips and
watched his brother suck at the sponge.
Frank croaked out an indecipherable sound. He gulped
and then rasped, “Help . . . Connie . . . help.” Then he closed
his eyes and began breathing deeply.
James waited in vain for Frank to wake. After an hour, he
went out to the nurses’ station and said to the young woman
there, “Thanks for everything.”
She smiled.
“You live in Pennsmoor?” he asked as an afterthought
“Yes.”
“I see we’ve got a new police chief. When I left for the
Army, Glen Schilling was chief.”
“Yeah, Chief Schilling retired to Florida. Sean Blair’s the
chief now.”
“Don’t know him,” James said.
“Wife died of cancer a while back. The chief has two sons
who are sure to get big-time football scholarships. Terry and
Howie. Real teenage heart throbs.”
Back home, James checked in with his parents and then
went upstairs, lowered the retractable ladder in the hallway
leading to the attic, and climbed up. Tipping his father’s
footlocker back, he swept out a padlock key from under the
right front corner and unlocked the box. He removed the .45
caliber automatic his father had bought at a garage sale a few
years ago, still wrapped in an oily rag, its serial number filed
away. He tested the slide and trigger mechanisms and found
them in good working order. Then he took out a box of
ammunition, two empty magazines, and a cleaning kit from
the locker. After climbing down from the attic and replacing
the ladder, he went to his room, cleaned the weapon, and
then dug an old knapsack out of the closet and placed the
CHAPTER 10
Howie Blair took a beer from the refrigerator and plopped
down near his brother on the den couch. Terry zapped the
television set with the remote, scrolling through the channels.
He clicked on a local channel, when a beeping sound came
from the set and a news alert scrolled across the bottom of
the screen: Pennsmoor High School coed commits suicide.
Constance Brennan hanged herself in her home last night.
Tune to Eyewitness News at 6 for the full story.
“What the hell!” Terry blurted. “Connie Brennan killed
herself last night. I thought you said you talked to her this
morning?”
“I did,” Howie gasped. “She called me.”
“What did she say?”
“Uh . . . nothing really.”
“She didn’t say anything?”
“Not a word. But her name showed on my cell when the
call came in.”
“It wasn’t her; she was already dead,” Terry shrieked.
After a second’s pause, he said, “What did you say to her?”
Howie shrugged. “I don’t know. I was really pissed. I
shouted. Told her I was going to kick her ass. Like we did
. . . .”
“Like we did . . . what?”
Howie blew out a blast of air and swallowed. “Like we
did to her brother.”
“Oh shit! We’ve got to find out who has that cell phone.”
“And do what?” Howie asked.
“Depends on who it is,” Terry said.
“I don’t like this, Terry. We need to get out of this business
now.”
Howie stood and started pacing just as the doorbell rang.
He looked at his brother and spread his arms in a questioning
gesture. “Who the hell’s that?”
“How do I know?”
Howie went to the front door and looked through the
side light windows. “Some guy,” he called to Terry. He opened
the door and saw the man had a cell phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
he said. But then Howie’s phone rang. He snatched the phone
from his pocket and looked at the screen: Connie Brennan.
“Hey there, Howie,” the guy on the front step said, as he
pocketed his cell phone. “Had to be sure I had the right guy.”
James stepped into the Blair house and drove his right fist
into the much larger Howard Blair’s sternum. Blair fell to
the floor as though he’d been poleaxed. James slipped the .45
pistol from the back of his waistband just as a mirror image
giant of Howard Blair, fists raised, rushed into the entryway
and came at him. But the kid skidded to a stop, the muzzle of
the pistol denting his throat.
“Get your piece-of-shit brother off the floor and move
into that room,” James ordered, pointing toward the den.
When the twins were seated on the couch, James looked
from one to the other, moving his gunhand in synchronous
sweeps with his gaze.
“Okay, guys,” he said in a calm, reasonable voice. “I know
you put Frank Brennan in the hospital and did something to
Connie Brennan. Now you’re going to tell me what’s going
on.”
Terry Blair’s eyes widened; Howie was groaning with
each shallow breath. But neither brother said a word.
“One more chance, fellows.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Terry said.
“Who the hell are you?”
James stepped forward and kicked Terry’s right shin
so hard the kid fell off the couch, clutching his leg and
screaming. James grabbed Terry’s long blond hair, flipped
him onto his stomach, and placed a foot on the back of the
kid’s thick neck.
James eyed Howie, made sure he was in place on the
couch, and then bent over and pressed the muzzle of the .45
into the back of Terry’s neck and cocked the hammer.
“Please,” Howie rasped, “don’t hurt my brother. I’ll tell
you.”
James straightened. He waved his gunhand in a comehither motion and Howie opened up like a broken faucet.
When the kid finished telling his story, James’s anger had
escalated to a napalm-hot level, icy madness trying to seize
control of his mind. Connie’s suffering and shame. Frank’s
pain. His parents’ worry and now inconsolable grief. He
forced himself to put a damper on his fury and, a sharp edge
to his voice, asked why they beat up Frank.
“He found out Connie was sneaking out at night to meet
us. He confronted us at a party later. Threatened to tell his
parents. That’s when we . . . .”
“How did you keep Connie from saying anything?”
James asked.
Howie seemed to go cross-eyed, staring at the pistol in
James’s hand. “We . . . we had video of her. Pictures of her . . .
having sex with men.”
“How many men?” James demanded.
“Lots of men.”
“And . . . .”
“We told her if she talked . . . we’d kill her whole family.”
“You gave her drugs, didn’t you?”
Howie nodded, now looking sick enough to puke.
“Meth.”
James felt blood lust vie with reason. He shook his head
to try to clear it. In a husky, feral voice, he said, “I know you
geniuses didn’t put this thing together yourselves. Who are
you working for?”
“Nobody!” Terry said.
James pressed down harder with his boot, causing Terry
to moan.
“Nick Carpesi,” Howie said. “Mob guy out of Philly.”
“And where do I find this Carpesi?”
71
pistol and now-loaded magazines in it.
“You’re crazy,” Howie moaned. “He’ll kill you. Then he’ll
kill us. The guy’s a psycho.”
“What do you think I am?” James asked.
Howie just shook his head as though confused.
“Where are the pictures and videos you took?” James
demanded.
Now looking down at his lap, Howie said, “On the
computer on the kitchen counter, and on my cell.”
“What about your brother? He have a cell?”
“Yeah,” Howie said, “but it doesn’t take pictures or video.”
CHAPTER 11
Nick Carpesi was closing up shop for the day when he saw
the Blair’s Dodge pull up outside. The brothers and a third
man got out of the car. “Damn! What now?” he muttered as
he moved out of his workshop to his office and sat behind
his desk. He removed a .9 mm Glock pistol from his desk
drawer and placed it on his blotter, beneath a newspaper. He
watched the Blairs and the third man, who wore gloves and a
knapsack, enter his office. The Blairs looked frightened. The
stranger closed the door and turned the lock.
“What’s up, boys?” Carpesi asked.
“This guy is—”
The stranger punched Terry in the kidney and growled,
“Shut up!” Terry dropped to the floor. His brother, Howie, in
front of the stranger, had tears in his eyes.
Carpesi grinned.
The stranger stepped around Howie and pulled a pistol
from behind his back, aiming it at Carpesi. He then took
a cell phone from his ski jacket pocket and said, “What do
you think about me calling the police and telling them about
your sex ring?”
“What are you playing at?” Carpesi demanded. “Who are
you?”
The stranger just glared at him.
Carpesi knew he couldn’t let the cops question the Blair
brothers. Even their father couldn’t protect them. They’d roll
over like two-bit whores. And then there were the drugs
hidden in the body shop.
“Let’s think this through,” he said reasonably. “Why don’t
you tell me who you are?”
“James Brennan,” the stranger said. “Ring a bell?”
Carpesi suddenly knew with absolute certainty the cops
were the least of his problems. He swiveled slightly in his
chair, hoping to distract the man, and then snatched the
Glock from under the newspaper, firing shot after shot after
shot.
James felt red-hot heat in his left arm as the cell phone slipped
from his hand. He returned fire with the .45, dropping and
rolling to his right. As he came back to his feet, he saw a
fan of blood and brain matter had painted the wall behind
Carpesi. The mobster had reacted exactly as James had
expected . . . and as he’d hoped he would. The Blairs were
72
lying on the floor. A neat hole had been punched in Terry’s
forehead; blood seeped from the back of his head, forming
an ever-growing pool. Howie was on his side, the left part of
his chest covered in blood. Terry couldn’t have survived his
head wound. James removed a glove and checked for a pulse
at Howie’s neck. Gone, too.
James replaced the glove and put the .45 in Howie Blair’s
right hand, raised his arm, and fired a shot in Carpesi’s
direction, ensuring gunshot residue would be found on the
kid. He let the pistol fall to the floor and then picked up
Connie’s cell phone and put it in his jacket pocket. He left
through the office’s back door.
CHAPTER 12
James found an alley a couple blocks from the body shop
and shrugged out of the pack and his jacket. He ripped a
piece from the bottom of his shirt and wrapped it around
his left forearm where Carpesi’s bullet had knicked him. He
removed Howie Blair’s laptop computer and cell phone from
the knapsack and his sister’s cell from his pocket, stomped
them to plastic and metal pieces and dumped the wreckage,
along with his gloves and the box of ammunition, in a
sewer loudly running with snowmelt. He put the jacket and
knapsack back on and walked through back alleys toward the
vacant lot where he’d left Frank’s Honda, two blocks from the
Blair home.
The walk took fifteen minutes, allowing time for the heat
in James’s gut to dissipate and the ice in his brain to melt,
coming down from the adrenaline high of battle. The itching
of the scar on the inside of his right leg suddenly started
again. James tried to ignore it, but the scar tissue was like
a spoiled child demanding attention. He rubbed the spot
through his pants, feeling the six-inch groove in his flesh so
close to his femoral artery.
He drove home and found his father pacing outside in
the cold.
“Where you been?” Vince asked.
“Taking care of business, Dad.” ■
From “Uncommon Assassins” Edited by Weldon Burge. Individual
stories copyright by individual authors. Copyright 2012 by Smart
Rhino Publications, LLC. Reprinted by permission.
Prior to a long finance career, Joseph Badal served for six years as a
commissioned officer in the U.S. Army in critical, highly classified
positions in the U.S. and overseas, including tours of duty in Greece
and Vietnam. He earned numerous military decorations. He has
had seven suspense novels published with Suspense Publishing,
including “Ultimate Betrayal,” which was released in April 2014.
He also writes a monthly blog titled Everyday Heroes, and has
written short stories published in the “Uncommon Assassins” and
“Someone Wicked” anthologies.
Welcome Wagon
By Laura Kathryn Rogers
THE DOORBELL RANG JUST AFTER 4:30 P.M. And, of course, I answered it. It seemed the right thing to
do.
Three ladies of varying ages and one intense-looking gentleman, stood at the door. They sized me up even as I sized them
up. The intense man even sniffed at the air, as if to detect my recent hygienic accomplishments.
“Hey there!” Mr. Intense said, thrusting out a short-fat-fingered hand at me. I thought about why I was in the house,
and responded to his handshake. His grip was firm and warm, respectable for someone who seemed about to burst with
purpose. “I’m Griffin Parks. I’m the president of the neighborhood property owners association. We like to meet all of the
new neighbors. Welcome you personally,” he said, giving me a warm smile.
“Why thank you,” I said, hoping that I was dressed appropriately for the occasion. I was in my work uniform, which
consisted of some well-worn blue jeans, button-fly, and a sleeveless white undershirt underneath a blue, orange, and green
checked flannel shirt. Because I preferred it, I was barefoot. I wore gloves of the type that a fastidious homemaker would use
in the process of house cleaning, but they were not for housekeeping. Not at all.
“Jeannie Perkins, here,” the lady nearest to Griffin said over-enthusiastically. She wore a horrid floral pantsuit that did
not flatter her many curves. “I’m your next door neighbor! I have three kids, but they’ve moved away. You know, careers, the
baby is in her last year of college. I try to keep busy.”
The middle lady, much more to my liking, stepped out from behind Griffin. She had a nice, hourglass shape accentuated
by a slim waist and some drop-dead gorgeous legs. She was wearing a solid yellow dress that looked comfortable and
accentuated her reddish-brown hair and green eyes. “Elizabeth Foreman,” she said, smiling. “I’m an attorney in town. I work
from home. Keep pretty busy, though—I have two kids, totally grown, but mine have not had the grace to leave home yet.”
The last lady, who had a distinctly unfortunate squint, spoke up last, so quietly I could barely hear her. “Patty Lake,” she
said simply.
“We tease poor ol’ Patty and call her ‘Patty Cake,’ sometimes. Don’t we, girl?” Patty squinted at Griffin and gave a brief
nod. Patty was so nondescript as to fade into the surroundings. Limp, light brown hair, matching eyes, sallow skin. A figure
neither blessed nor neglected. Her clothing was tan pants and a white sweater. No jewelry except for a wedding ring. Plain.
“We didn’t get your name,” Patty said; her voice dull, without flavor.
I have several names that I go by, depending on what I’m doing, so I thought of the least objectionable one and gave that.
Rudy. Rudy Jefferies.
“So, what do you do?” Griffin asked, his grin friendly, wide, and so harmless looking that you might (might) want to tell
him everything. I didn’t want to tell him anything. I’d seen his kind before. He would use whatever information you gave to
advance himself and the hell with you.
“I am a problem-solver, I guess you could say,” I said, adopting the same grin. “I take care of things that other people don’t
want to do. Privately employed, of course. Get to work for myself. Love it.”
“I see,” Griffin said, his megawatt smile fading somewhat. “Well, can we come in for a while? I know you are busy
unpacking and stuff, but we’re awful proud of this little neighborhood. We want you fully on board about how to do things
from the get-go. Sound okay?”
I smiled, turned and pointed toward the living room. “What can I get everyone to drink?”
I heard them trading observations as I made mixed drinks for the ladies, straight scotch for my man, Griffin. By the
minute, he was appearing to be tougher than he looked. And that could be a problem harder to solve than others.
74
“I think he’s hot,” Elizabeth of the corresponding hot body and features was saying.
“Of course you do,” Griffin said, his disapproval subtle. “He’s a man.”
“Jealous, Sweetie?” I heard her say.
“Oh come on, you two, I wonder what he actually does. Problem solving? What is that?” That was our little Patty Cake,
who was working on my identity as if I were a complicated arithmetic problem. “He has to be legit. I mean, income, job. How
else could he afford the house?”
“I’m sure he’s fine. But didn’t the realtor say something about him looking like a Hippie? This guy is pretty clean-cut.
Where’s the beard and long hair?” This came from Jeannie of the floral pantsuit.
I walked in the room with a tray laden with their drinks and some peanuts I had found sitting next to the scotch.
“Not very good pickings, I’m afraid,” giving them a toothy smile. “You know how that goes. Pack for a week, unpack for
a year.”
The comment made them all relax. The liquor assisted. Half an hour later, they’d forgotten to be suspicious of me, even
the self-promoting Griffin. They lounged easily on the sofas, to such a degree that I wondered what the actual owner would
think had he walked in the room. But there was very little chance of that.
“You have very good taste in decor. Did you do it all yourself?” This from the admiring Elizabeth. Frankly, I was quite
admiring in her direction as well. Very. Too bad my job prevented me from making friends…
“Actually, I had nothing at all to do with it,” I said easily, drinking my club soda. Had to keep a clear head for my work.
“Well, whoever you hired did a fantastic job, can we walk around?” That was Patty, surprising me that she would be
interested in anything.
“Well, downstairs you can, but upstairs is still not . . . .”
Griffin waved his hand, giving Patty a quelling look. “Never mind, neighbor! We know you’re still getting settled. Week
or two, why don’t we come over and do the tour then?”
“That would be fine with me,” I said, holding up my club soda as if in silent toast. They could do what they liked then—I
wouldn’t be here.
Then, there was a loud groan from upstairs. I knew ignoring it would make them suspicious. Instead, I commented on it.
“My partner,” I said, winking. “He really tied one on last night. Another reason I’d rather not do the tour today.”
“Gotcha,” Griffin said. I noted with inner amusement that Elizabeth looked sad.
Then, as if on cue, a loud thump. Cursing inwardly, I said, “I’d better go check on him.”
They began to talk amongst themselves as I left them. Elizabeth lamenting that all the good-looking single men seemed
to be gay. I sprinted up the golden-carpeted stairs, and turned right at the top. I saw the house’s owner, Kraig Philemon,
crawling out of the bedroom where I’d left him when the doorbell rang. We’d been interrupted.
He looked up at me and, trying to speak, failed.
I shook my finger at him as if at a child. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”
I pulled the revolver out of my shirt pocket, checked to be sure the silencer was still on. He waved his hands at me, eyes
wide with terror. Then he fell, certain not to move again, as my perfectly aimed shot went straight through his forehead.
I came back down to find a sheaf of papers thrust at me.
“You look like the type to be very active wherever you are,” Elizabeth said, forcing a smile. “We went ahead and assigned
you to the street cleaning committee. We all take turns. Clear leaves, snow, all that. Sometimes garbage that gets dumped on
the curb by litterbugs.”
“Well, I am good at removing garbage,” I said, giving her a subtle wink. She held eye contact for a tad bit longer than I
thought was entirely decent. After all, we were practically strangers. Everyone noticed, especially Griffin.
“So tell us more about this job of yours. Professional problem solving,” Griffin said.
His eyes widened when I showed him my gun.
“You don’t live here,” Patty said, her monotone giving way to a squeak of emotion that could not be discerned. What was
it? I’d heard it before in my long career, and always from those about to die.
Panic? Fear?
“Nope,” I said, waving them to a corner. “And you are perfectly great people, I’m sure. But you know, my job requires that
I not have witnesses.”
They all went meekly to their deaths. I did things quickly to keep from things being messy. I hate mess.
I saved Elizabeth for last, just because I liked her so much. It seemed a shame, a damn shame indeed.
“You can’t!” Elizabeth pleaded, her eyes full of the gun pointed at her. “We’re just the welcome wagon.”
“I know,” I said, “and unfortunately, in your case especially, so am I.”
I pulled the trigger, and shortly thereafter, left. ■
75
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