June 2006

"Summer's here—I'm for that.  Got my rubber sandals, got my straw hat.  Got my cold beer—man, I'm glad that it's here."
—James Taylor

Here at the Morgue, we're not quite as ebullient, but then, this ain't the cheeriest place on earth.  It is a fine place for a good mystery, though, and you'll find a number of them reviewed here this month, including titles from Lee Child, Sarah Andrews and Lawrence Block.  Just the thing for a good beach read.

While you're here at the computer, though, how about looking into our special features: we have a thoughtful, honest look at the writing process in this month's "How I Write," from Kathy Brandt.  And this month's interview is with David Skibbins, life coach and author of the Warren Ritter series.

The 25th chapter (how time flies!) of "Murder By Committee" is here, and it's a doozy: L.A. Starks moves the story along, and leaves next month's author (no hints here) with quite the pickle.  Sit back with the cold beverage of your choice and enjoy.

 

In this month's issue:

The Mystery Morgue Interview: David Skibbins
How I Write: Confessions from the Trenches, by Kathy Brandt

Reviews:
Dead Dry, by Sarah Andrews
Hit Parade, by Lawrence Block
The Hard Way, by Lee Child
Blown Away, by G. M. Ford
A Stolen Season, by Steve Hamilton
Death of an Obnoxious Tourist, by Maria Hudgins
Where the Lies Begin, by Robert S. Levinson
The Last Spymaster, by Gayle Lynds
Judge & Jury, by James Patterson & Andrew Gross
The Serial Killers Club, by Jeff Povey
A Field of Darkness, by Cornelia Read

Ongoing Story:
"Murder By Committee," Chapter 25, by L.A. Starks

Link to Archives

 

The Mystery Morgue Interview: David Skibbins

David Skibbins has been a real estate broker, field hand, Ferris wheel operator, draft counselor, sales manager and  spiritual seeker. For the past twenty years he's practiced as a licensed psychotherapist. For the past decade, he has been teaching classes in three Bay Area graduate psychology programs. He received his Ph.D. in clinical psychology in 1987.

He is a Professional Certified Coach certified through the International Coach Federation. He is the author of Working Clean and Sober (Hazelden, 2000) and is currently working on the third mystery novel in the Warren Ritter series, which already includes Eight of Swords and High Priestess.

What is a life coach? 

Actually I'm writing a non-fiction book right now titled Life Coaching for Therapists all about that little question. In a nutshell: coaching is a profession that assists mentally healthy people to achieve their personal and career goals. 

How did you decide to start writing mystery novels?

I wrote the Great American Novel. No one wanted to publish it. What a surprise! But that project left me hungry to get published. So I looked at the genres (since clearly Literary Fiction was already a bust for me). Mystery stands alone as the most stable and popular of the genres. So I read every book on how to write a mystery, followed all that great advice, and here I am.

Was Warren Ritter a reaction to other mystery protagonists?  How did he evolve in your mind?

I was so sick of burned out, almost recovering alcoholic, ex-cop private eyes, all tough, stoic, and imploded. I had spent 20 years as a psychotherapist, and I knew that many of these cartoon characters had nothing to do with real people, and their real suffering.

For example, if you kill someone, you are haunted the rest of your life with that act, unless you are a severe sociopath. (Actually I worked with some criminals, and they were still tortured by the memories of the people they had to kill.) So that made a lot of "heroes" that I read about in modern thrillers and mysteries sicker than sick. These bozos would bump off one bad guy after another with little more than a twinge of regret.

So I wanted a person who felt the consequences of his violence. I also wanted to write someone who was politically a flaming progressive. Finally, I knew that he had to be flawed. Protagonists with some inner suffering were so much more compelling to me. So a manic-depressive, ex-bomb-throwing-radical was born.

Warren has quite a past: he's an ex-Weather Underground member implicated in a bombing who went "off the grid," became a Microsoft millionaire and has a number of aliases, any of which he'll use at any given time.  How do you ground a character like that, who can up and leave whenever the going gets tough? 

I look on this whole series as a long coming-of-age story. We can decide to grow up at any time in our lives. Warren protracted his adolescence for thirty years. Now he is falling in love for the first time, discovering fatherhood (and grandfatherhood) for the first time, and learning to look at himself, inside his own convoluted psyche for the first time. Grounding him will be quite a process!

How proficient are you at Tarot card reading, and how did that become part of Warren's repertoire?   

I studied the tarot a lot, since the sixties. I stopped doing it the evening I accidentally uncovered childhood sexual abuse in the history of the person I was doing a reading for. But I use it for myself. I wanted to bring in some sort of transpersonal element to my mysteries, but didn't want to get too New Age oogy-googie about it. So Warren doesn't believe in the cards, yet they keep freaking him out.

Each of the characters in the series is damaged in one way or another: Warren is manic depressive (or are we supposed to say bipolar now?), Sally is in a wheelchair, etc.  Is the series an attempt at healing them, or at celebrating their damage? 

Actually the point of my novels is to portray their conditions, not as damage that needs to be fixed, but as circumstances that give them gifts and give them struggles. Sometimes those conditions work to solve a crime, or deepen their personality. Sometimes those circumstances really get in their way. Let's face it, the more a writer can throw in the way of the protagonists the better the book is.

How does life change for Warren as the series progresses?  In High Priestess, he's committed to staying in one place for Sally's sake, but it sure gets difficult to do that.   What are Warren's challenges, and do you think it's important for him to change from book to book? 

We all have to change. Aging, death, and fate make sure of that. Just like the rest of us, Warren is a work-in-progress. Warren comes face-to-face (or more accurately, diaper-to-nose) with the joys and struggles of grandfatherhood in book three The Star (in production now and due out early 2007). But flight still remains an option, all-be-it a more unconscious option. In book four, The Hanged Man (which I am writing now) both Warren and Sally have to struggle with their ambivalence about being in a committed relationship. Love conquers all, but just barely. The challenge of Warren's explosive secret and his mental disorder will keep things bouncing along for books to come.

Do you have plans to write anything outside the Warren Ritter series?

I tried writing a thriller. My agent loved it. But I lost steam. I didn't care that much about the characters and just writing page-turning plot gets a little stale for me. I love character, and I am continually drawn into the complexities of the eccentric psyches of my troupe of players. So I will stick to the Tarot Card Mysteries for a while longer.

Warren is quite outspoken in his views.  Do you get feedback from people who disagree with him politically or in other areas? 

Surprisingly, not. Of course with Bush's popularly figures down around 30% Warren is becoming mainstream. My favorite story about that, was when one of Warren's most loyal and supportive fans sidled up to me at a big party and whispered, "Actually, David, you should know something. I'm a Republican."  That says a lot about her, in my opinion. Warren is not an easy protagonist for a Republican to love.

How does your "day job" influence your writing? 

It gets in the way. I love coaching, and supervising coaches, but would I give it up tomorrow to devote my whole time to my writing career? In a flash!

How important to a murder mystery is a sense of humor? 

Oh, oh. Another soap box! Obviously a real murder is not a joking matter. But it really bugs me to see so many awards, and media attention go to "serious" mysteries. All that hard-boiled, noir, dark view of life is seen as so much more "realistic" and important. What bull. As though serial killers hanging out on every corner of every "mean street". Not!

Rumi, a Sufi mystic, wrote, "Life is not a caravan of despair." All those grime novels want to grind our face in the misery and despair of the human condition.  Well, I actually believe that most people are pretty decent folks. I believe that good often triumphs; that, kindness and generosity are more common than psychopathic ritual sexual slaughter; and that a good chuckle can do more for the human spirit than a barrel of bloody body parts.

The real question isn't really about humor's relationship to mysteries. Ask me, "Is humor a valuable part of the process of telling the stories of our lives?" To which I answer, "It is essential!"

 

How I Write: Confessions from the Trenches
by Kathy Brandt

Kathy Brandt is the author of the Underwater Investigation Series.  Her fourth book, Under Pressure, is on bookstore shelves June 6.

I've got a problem. When it comes to writing, I am driven.  I know of only two remedies for this malady.  One is therapy.  The other is to plant myself down in front of my computer and write.  I choose to write—four or five hours, five days a week.  Sometimes, when I'm lost in a story, it turns into eight or ten hours, and I forget to eat.  Under Pressure, the fourth of my underwater investigation mysteries, is just barely hitting the bookstore shelves, and I'm already lost in the pages of my next book.  I'm pretty sure I won't stop at four or five.

I'm on a roller coast of euphoric highs and debilitating lows.  When the writing is hard, I enlist every ounce of will power to avoid looking for something, anything, more satisfying.  Cleaning the toilet becomes an option.  And the writing can be hard.  I get stuck.  I agonize.  I question.  I wonder if it's good enough, if I'm good enough.  But I keep going.  It's just something I have to do.  I've finally accepted that fact.  And the good days keep me going, the days I peck out a word that turns to a sentence that turns to a page, the times my characters take on lives of their own and decide events for me, the times my fingers fly across the keys.

I've learned to protect my time and space.  Since I write full-time, I conduct my day like a nine-to-five job.  This too is difficult.  How do you convince a friend, who is sure all you're doing is eating chocolate and writing when inspiration strikes,  that you cannot meet her for lunch and shopping?  How do you tell her that the boss—that's me—will be angry at, well—me?

And I hide out. I live on seven acres down a long gravel driveway in the Colorado mountains.  Only the invited make their way to my door and only when the road is clear.  Even UPS will not venture up the hill in the snowy season.  And the snowy season at 8800 feet is every day for months on a northern exposure. 

I've got a system.  When I'm creating a story, often on cold winter mornings, I stay in bed–buried under a down comforter, laptop perched on my knees.  By noon, I've got a fire in the woodburner or I've found the sun in the bay window.   In the summer I throw off the comforter and take my laptop to the deck.  This may sound idyllic, but it's not. It's work. The bed, the fire, the sun in the window, the deck, provide the place where I can do my work best.

When I have a story, a beginning, a middle, and an end, I head to my office—a small room downstairs, with two glass filled walls.  I go there for the desk—a place to spread out, shelves where my research is piled, a place to perch my storyboard, a place to rewrite.   I love the light, but I'm too intent to notice what's occurring on the other side of the glass.  Sometimes I look up, surprised to see a mule deer or an elk pulling leaves off an aspen.  Sometimes I hear the clatter of a black bear swiping at the hummingbird feeder.  But I'm mostly unaware.  I am figuring out what I want the story to be.  I am moving scenes, dropping characters, cutting, pasting, adding, subtracting, and toying with prose.  Okay, I admit it.  I'm having fun. Then one day, I realize I've finished.  That's when it gets scary.  That's when the story is no more mine.  That's when I share it with the world outside.

 

Reviews

Dead Dry
by Sarah Andrews
St. Martin's Minotaur
Hardcover, 306 pages, $24.95
ISBN: 0312342527
Reviewed by Terri M. Tumlin

Death by avalanche is an unusual way to commit murder, even when it turns out later that the victim was already very dead when the ten tons of gravel fell on him.  The murderer had taken precautions to prevent the body from being identified, removing the corpse's  finger tips and smashing its face.  But whoever the killer or killers were, they miscalculated. 

Em Hansen, forensic geologist working with the Salt Lake City police department, is called in to inspect the scene since it involves a landslide, which falls under the scope of geology.  Em recognizes a tattoo that the killer missed, identifying the body as an old friend and colleague, Afton McWain, a geologist deeply involved with underground water in the Rocky Mountain area.

Also at the scene, Em meets Michele Aldrich, a young police officer, with a degree in criminal justice.  And so begins an investigation that ranges back and forth between Salt Lake City and Denver.  McWain's murder opens up questions of overdevelopment on the eastern slopes of the Rockies and the various interests that push to secure water for everything from ranching to plush golf courses for the well to do.  But the murder has a personal side as well, with a bitter ex-wife and a new love to mourn the deceased—or his money.

Em's specialized knowledge and her friendship with McWain lead her into the middle of an investigation that challenges not only her investigative skills, but her survival skills as well.  To compound the situation and the complexities of her life are the two men in her life—Ray and Fritz, both of whom are extremely interested in Em, but in wildly divergent ways.

Dead Dry is the tenth book the series.  There is a rich background from the previous books to make the reader who is not familiar with the series want to go and find the earlier stories without interfering with the direct enjoyment of this suspenseful yarn.

Andrews' knowledge of the geology of the Rocky Mountain area is shared with her readers in a depth that adds richness to the story while providing a pain free education.  This mystery novel leaves one with a deeper understanding of the conflicts in the modern west while spinning an exciting mystery that keeps the reader eagerly turning the page.  Dead Dry is a solid novel that I can certainly recommend.

 

Hit Parade
by Lawrence Block
William Morrow
Hardcover, 304 pages, $23.95
ISBN: 0060840889
Reviewed by Gloria Feit

Hit Parade is the third book in the John Keller series, following Hit List and Hit Man.  This is a collection of nine short stories of varying lengths.  Short stories are generally not my cuppa, as I usually prefer to enter into the author's world and inhabit it for a while, but this book allows one to do the same thing: enter into Keller's world and stay for a short visit.  The stories include, not surprisingly from this New York-based author, one encompassing 9/11, "Keller's Adjustment," one of my favorites in this collection.

The author describes his protagonist's chosen profession variously as follows: "With a little investigative work, Keller might have managed to find out who wanted Olivares dead, and why, but he'd long since determined that such considerations were none of his business.   What difference did it make?  He had a job to do, and all he had to do was do it."  When described as a sociopath, Keller is told: "Well, isn't that part of the job description, Keller?  You're a hit man, a contract killer.  You leave town and kill strangers, and get paid for it.  How can you do that without being a sociopath."  But Keller disagrees, saying a sociopath is "Someone who lacks a sense of right and wrong.  He understands the difference but doesn't see how it applies to him personally.  He lacks empathy, doesn't have any feeling for other people."  He disputes that this describes him, but considers that he might be a "part-time sociopath."  He has cause to examine this more closely in "Quotidian Keller," and the reader even more closely in the final, very short story, "Keller and the Rabbits."

Hit Parade is thoroughly entertaining and engaging, as is Keller himself, although the matter-of-fact way the author deals with Keller's profession takes a bit of getting used to.  The stories all have some of the humor which is the Block trademark, and a few of them deal with baseball, horse racing, golf and a bit of basketball.  I particularly enjoyed the first tale, "Designated Hitter," which describes a baseball game between a fictional team and the NY Yankees.

Recommended.

The Hard Way
by Lee Child
Delacorte Press
Hardcover, 384 pages, $25
ISBN: 0385336691
Reviewed by Gloria Feit

Lee Child's new book, the tenth entry in the terrific Jack Reacher series, grabs the reader from the first sentence: "Jack Reacher ordered espresso, double, no peel, no cube, foam cup, no china, and before it arrived at his table he saw a man's life change forever."  But if memory serves, this author does that with each new book.

The Hard Way centers around a group of mercenaries, paid by various governments including our own, all trained ex-Special Forces or SAS or the like, who go to various trouble spots around the world to accomplish the goals of the moment, with of course no oversight or, for that matter, moral or ethical boundaries on anyone's part.  (I might add that all this is frighteningly and convincingly described.)

The leader of this group, Edward Lane, recruits Reacher when, for the second time, his wife (and her daughter) are apparently kidnapped, and he is desperate to get her back.  I use the word "apparently" because it becomes unclear whether Lane's first wife, a young woman just as startlingly beautiful as her successor, was actually kidnapped or not.  But there are striking similarities between the two events.  Reacher agrees to try to find out who is behind the disappearance of mother and daughter, a job that at first proves so difficult that he determines it has to be done "the hard way"—"start over at square one, re-examine everything, sweat the details, work the clues... One step at a time." And no one does it better.  Reacher is as relentless as ever, and as usual, he lets nothing stand in his way.  There are huge amounts of money involved, and tales of unimaginable cruelty and sadism, love, betrayal and, especially, the loyalty of sisters.  Much of the action takes place in Manhattan (in the Village and at and around the Dakota on Central Park West) and, later, in England, and there are unexpected twists and turns all along the way.  Reacher is, as always, larger than life.

If you love the Reacher series, as does this reviewer, The Hard Way will not disappoint.

Recommended.

Blown Away
by G. M. Ford
William Morrow
Hardcover, 304 pages, $23.95
ISBN: 0060874392
Reviewed by Gloria Feit

The opening line of G. M. Ford's newest book in the Frank Corso series brings you immediately into its compelling story:  "The head landed over there."  The man speaking is a reporter with a small town newspaper.   He is relating to Corso, a once-disgraced New York Times journalist and now a highly successful author of true crime novels, a tale of a local delivery driver who walked into a bank one morning to rob it, telling and showing one and all that he has been kidnapped and that he has a bomb hanging around his neck that will be detonated if he doesn't carry out his instructions to the letter. 

When the police come, he is left sitting on a frozen patch of ground waiting for the bomb to explode, while they all await the arrival of the bomb squad, which comes too late.  The book begins more than a year after these events, when Corso's new publisher arranges for him to meet with the reporter, thinking the tale would make for a bestseller.  When he is unceremoniously and violently urged to let the matter rest, Corso's initial reluctance is overcome by his urge to find out why.  And then, more than a year later and in another part of the country from where the bank robbery was staged, similar bank robberies take place, and the carnage escalates.

I had a couple of small quibbles:  I found myself confused when the author jumps into the middle of a scene without the reader knowing what is taking place, said reader—or at least this one—having to piece it together.  I'm sure this device is intentional, but it only served to pull me up short, not in a good way.  And while the author's descriptions of the weather in first section of the book had me shivering in my seat, unless I missed something  he doesn't identify it other than by town name, Edgewater, until quite late in the book, where we learn it's in Pennsylvania. (I had guessed perhaps the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.)

I have been a fan of this series, and of Mr. Ford's writing, for some time, and Blown Away only reinforces my enjoyment of both.  The writing is taut, suspenseful and fast-paced, and goes in a few unexpected directions; there are a couple of scenes that will leave you absolutely breathless.  All loose ends are tied up and, as suggested by the title of the book, that ending will leave you feeling exactly that: blown away.

Recommended.

A Stolen Season
by Steve Hamilton
St. Martin's Minotaur
Hardcover, 304 pages, $22.95
ISBN: 031235360X
Reviewed by Gloria Feit

Steve Hamilton's newest book in the Alex McKnight series opens on July 4th—not that one could tell that it's Summer—temperatures in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan have been hovering at wintry levels, with heavy fog and few if any rays of sunshine. This year, summer is a season stolen from the Yuppers (as they call themselves).  Someone says "every twenty years or so, it's like summer just forgets to come." For Alex McKnight, much more is stolen from him than just his summer.

Alex' relationship with the love of his life, Natalie, a Canadian cop, is reaching a critical point.  She is now back in Toronto, working a dangerous undercover job attempting to net a big-time gun dealer, and he fears for her safety. Alex visits his friend Tyler who lives in a house at the edge of the water, to watch the fireworks which may or may not [due to the fog] be set off to celebrate the holiday.  To their shock, they witness a boat come roaring by only to crash into the pilings of an old railroad bridge, virtually destroying it.  Tyler, Alex and his old friend and ex-P.I. partner, Leon , rescue the three occupants of the boat, whose explanation for what they were doing on the Lake and how the accident happened doesn't compute.  Other incidents involving these men turn out to be hazardous to the health of all concerned. 

When things go even more terribly wrong, Alex becomes vengeful and rages against those who he feels are responsible.  And the body count starts to go higher.

The writing is very good and at times lyrical; the sense of place, as always with this author, very strong.  The book moves at a measured pace till suddenly and shockingly it revs up into a higher gear and races to its conclusion.   I think you'll find yourself holding your breath, as I did.

Recommended.

Death of an Obnoxious Tourist
By Maria Hudgins
Five Star
Hardcover, 277 pages, $25.95
ISBN: 1594144672
Reviewed by Theodore Feit

As a seasoned traveler, even admitting to being a tourist who has taken many tours, I found the flavor and authenticity of the observations in this novel very real, from the landing at the airport, to meeting the tour guide and the other experiences of a globe-trotter.  While lucky not to have experienced meeting a really obnoxious tourist among my travels, neither have I encountered a murder, much less two as occur in this tale.

Dorothy (Dotsy) Lamb, a history professor and recently divorced mother of five, and her friend, Lettie, are among a group tour of Italy.  Others include three sisters, one of whom is the obnoxious tourist who is murdered in a Florence hotel room with a knife purchased as a souvenir by her younger sister.  Another sister later falls off a balustrade and is killed.

Motives are many, and Dotsy outshines the carabinieri in piecing the threads together with the help of her friend's photographic memory.

The dialogue is excellent and the writing unusually good for a first novel.  The story is well-told, and the plot moves forward with the pace of a long-time pro author.  You don't have to be an inveterate traveler to enjoy reading this book.  It is enjoyable on any level.

Where the Lies Begin
by Robert S. Levinson
Five Star
Hardcover, 343 pages, $25.95
ISBN: 159414432X
Reviewed by Theodore Feit

A complex tale during which former police chief Daniel F. ("Duke") Marion faces truth or consequences amidst all kinds of complications and loyalties leads him through a series of tests—to his integrity, his priorities and friendships.  Newly elected to the five-member board of supervisors of Los Angeles County, Marion also has to test his beliefs against political reality.

Along the way, he is approached by the head of the Department of Domestic Terrorism to help bring in a close childhood friend.  This activity is surrounded by scheming and double dealing.  His friend is ready to surrender (he's a known terrorist and murderer) in return for amnesty (he claims to have knowledge of seven planned bombings of government buildings).  Is the deal good—or is he marked for assassination?

Duke shoots a couple of people and is vilified for being a vigilante.  He is hounded by his successor as police chief, and suffers a lot of bad press.  But that's the least of his problems.  The main thrust of the plot involves his efforts to rescue his boyhood friend and complete the deal, ignoring all the bad deeds committed in the past.  To do so, he has to sacrifice his ideals and make bad bargains with power brokers.

Tightly written and plotted, the novel moves forward at a steady but complicated pace, juxtaposing subplots. 

 

The Last Spymaster
by Gayle Lynds
St. Martin's Press
Hardcover, 464 pages, $24.95
ISBN: 0312301596
Reviewed by Theodore Feit

And you thought the Cold War spy novel was finished.  Think again.  The Last Spymaster is in the classic tradition, but brought up to date with Muslim terrorists and illegal arms procurement.  The good guys are retired Cold War CIA operatives, except for Charles Jay Tice, who we find in a Federal penitentiary in the beginning of this exciting, tightly plotted and well-written novel.

Tice was a legendary spymaster, convicted of consorting with the Soviet Union and sentenced to life imprisonment.  One morning, despite the tight security, he escapes.  Agent Elaine Cunningham is assigned to hunt Tice down so he can be recaptured before his escape becomes known.  That's when the plot thickens, and she becomes his ally in uncovering a vast conspiracy.

The chase is exciting, the complications and danger widespread.  You are propelled forward with twists and turns at every juncture.  What is real?  Who can you trust?  I urge you to run out and get a copy of The Last Spymaster.

Judge & Jury
by James Patterson & Andrew Gross
Little, Brown & Company
Hardcover, 400 pages,  $27.99
ISBN: 0316013935
Reviewed by Theodore Feit

The Special Agent in charge of the FBI Organized Crime operation has a problem: the mafia boss he's chasing for a long time keeps eluding capture, then doesn't even wait for a hung jury but twice prevents himself from being convicted not by jury tampering but jury execution.  That's the dilemma facing Nick Pellisante.  The evidence is overwhelming, but Dominic Cavello (aka The Electrician), a ruthless mob boss who has ordered scores of murders, as well as committing several himself, twice escapes the clutches of justice.

In the first trial, a bus carrying the jury to a motel is blown up and all but Andie Degrasse, a sometime actress, are killed, including her son who was there to celebrate his birthday.  The second trial comes to an end when an explosion rocks the NYC Federal courthouse at Foley Square and Covello escapes with the help of a professional killer during the ensuing chaos.

Nick becomes obsessed with recapturing The Electrician, but he no longer is with the FBI, leaving to teach.  When he seeks reinstatement, he is told he can have any assignment but Covello.  So he takes off on his own, and proceeds to find the Electrician and those who aided him, with the help of Andie.

The novel is of the accustomed quality of a Patterson effort, the writing, dialogue and plotting up there with the best of them.  An enjoyable read, and an exciting tale.

Recommended. 

The Serial Killers Club
by Jeff Povey
Warner Books
Hardcover, 279 pp; $24.95
ISBN: 0446578428
Reviewed by Theodore Feit

This is a very unusual book.  The topic is unusual.  The writing and plotting are unusual, especially for a debut author.  The story flows with ease worthy of a more established and experienced writer.

The narrator finds himself the intended victim of a serial killer, but is able to turn the tables on his attacker.  Just so all is not lost, he rifles the would-be killer's pockets, finds his wallet and discovers clippings of his previous murders, plus a newspaper clipping of a personal ad inviting him to a club meeting in Chicago.  On a whim, the narrator goes to the Windy City posing as the serial killer and discovers that the club consists of several serial killers.

He participates in the club and enjoys it immensely—until an FBI agent finds him and forces him to kill other members of the club.  Then the plot becomes a little more complicated.  Killing club members puts him on the list of targets.  And he falls in love with one of the female members—can he kill her, or can they just disappear?

I think you will enjoy reading the novel, despite its kind of macabre topic and serial murders.  It's not too gruesome, and after all, the narrator is ridding the world of some despicable characters.

 

A Field of Darkness
by Cornelia Read
Mysterious Press
Hardcover, 305 pages, $22.95
ISBN: 089296023X
Reviewed by Theodore Feit

A Field of Darkness involves the discovery of the protagonist's cousin's dog tags at the scene of two grisly murders, 20 years after the event.  Madeline Dare embarks on a dangerous journey to discover the truth behind the murders—was her cousin innocent or responsible?  Along the way, two additional murders occur as she gets nearer to finding out what happened.  One is a witness, the other a close friend and former policeman assisting her in obtaining information.  She feels responsible for both.

It would appear that much of the background is autobiographical, with the protagonist's background coinciding with the author's: Long Island Gold Coast, California and Syracuse, NY, which she longs to escape.

For a first effort, this novel is well plotted and an interesting tale.  Unfortunately, it does have beginner's flaws:  Closer editing would have served the story well, and a lot of the dialogue, between main characters as well as private thoughts, included a little more profanity than this reviewer would have preferred.  There is a lot of good writing in the book, as the story flows and comes to an unexpected conclusion.

 

Murder by Committee

Read past installments and find out more about Murder By Committee

Chapter 25
by L.A. Starks

For author L.A. Starks, a career in the oil industry from oil refineries to corporate offices prepared her to write the debut thriller, Thirteen Days: the Pythagoras Conspiracy.

Father Joe nodded at Miguel. "It is time."

"Si." Miguel put his tea aside, stood, and handed the small chip, the match of mine, to Father Joe. He strode out of the hut with quick, light steps. Though I could see out of the opening Miguel used, the jungle foliage hid him once he was ten yards away. Soon his experienced stride made no sound or stir by which I could follow his direction.

I wondered what time it was for Miguel, and wished I could read Father Joe's mind as well as he read mine.

"To answer your question, Miguel will be back shortly. He believes you are the hero his people are expecting, but I must be certain."

"Or as certain as a Jesuit priest can be?"

The emaciated man smiled in acknowledgement of his order's questioning customs. His oblique answer shouldn't have surprised me. "That will be their decision, not mine."

"And if I fail?" I thought again of the Mayan ceremony that involved cutting out hearts of living people. Maybe Miguel wasn't Mayan, didn't practice that unpleasant tradition.

"No, Miguel's people are not Mayan. But they are acquainted with Mayan habits. You need not worry. If you fail the test, no such radical measures are required. The imposters discover some time alone in this jungle is sufficient to restore their honesty."

Mosquitoes and other bugs began to swarm into the hut. They bit my arms and face and behind my ears. I slapped, but there were too many. Despite the heat, I envied Father Joe his long robes. When he pulled something from a low table and handed it to me, I could have gotten on my knees to worship him. A can of 24% DEET deep woods bug spray.

After I finished coating my arms and rubbing my face with the cool spray, Father Joe said, "We've had no time for a beta test. Quick, hand me your chip."

Beta test? Who was this priest?

Before I could ask, the helicopter roared more loudly, circling closer. It sounded newer-vintage, a model equipped with infrared sensors and heat-targeting missiles. Surely those inside its bubble wouldn't shoot at every hut in the village. Would they?

The slow whoop of helicopter's blades grew to a formidable bellow as it came even closer, then Dopplered to a lower pitch as it mercifully circled away.

"We're exposing the villagers to danger. I doubt they'll hold fire next time."

Father Joe read the rest of my thought, nodded his assent, and we scrambled out of the hut onto the path by which I'd seen Miguel leave.

 In reality, although we couldn't see the helicopter at that moment the jungle canopy soon would be as transparent as plastic. Dusk approached. In another few minutes the air would cool. The temperature differential between it and our bodies would be wide enough for the helicopter's sensors to lock onto our bodies, separating them from the humid, leafy plants all around. I stumbled over vines and elephant-eared caladiums, listening for sounds outside the rhythmic buzzing frequency of the cicadas. I tried but failed to put aside a sense of impending claustrophobia from the close-in trunks. Then I noticed with alarm that Father Joe's step was unsteady.

"A fever. A bite from which no spray could protect me." That mind-reading. I let Father Joe walk in front of me. We padded silently another fifty yards. The path turned left past a sapodilla tree surrounded on the ground by its zapote fruit. I was relieved when Father Joe motioned to a figure ahead of us. Miguel.

"The chip," he said again.

"Why should I give you even more mind control than you already have?" I insisted. I didn't want to arm-wrestle a priest. I didn't even want to raise my voice, but I did. "Give me your chip."

Father Joe closed his fingers around it, and grudgingly handed it to me. I noticed his slight nod at Miguel, who had still not approached us.

I reached inside my shirt and pulled the matching green computer chip from behind the foam in my bra. No way in hell this could work. Weren't all chips designed to function only if dry and uncontaminated? I'd been sweating inside that bra. Slimy and gritty wouldn't make for a precision fit.

"Male-female," I said involuntarily.

"Us?" Black robes rustled.

His mind-reading had failed him. "No, the chips," I said. "See how they fit together, how this protrusion interlocks with that bay. But sure, human anatomy is where the terms come from."

The Jesuit priest looked uninterested. With a shock it occurred to me that his ignorance was feigned. "Beta test? What's a software engineer doing as a priest in the middle of the jungle?"

"I didn't expect to see you here. It's too early for you to be out." But his quiet voice didn't seem to be for me. His subsequent colder tone was, however, directed at me. "Young hero, don't move away from your position."

So I did, sliding nearer Miguel. My eyes were down, still snapping the chips together. Almost done. I wasn't surprised when Miguel grabbed the locked chips from my hands and bounded over to Father Joe.

"Heroes should know whom they can trust, and when to listen," Father Joe said. That's when I saw what Miguel's shadow had been hiding.

The triangular head meant poisonous. Extremely long fangs. A thick body that must have been eight feet when uncoiled. The largest pit viper and one of the deadliest snakes of the jungle. Its multiple strikes injected large amounts of venom into its victims, including the humans who were usually too far from a clinic to receive antivenin in time. Lachesis muta muta.  The only snake whose name had been taken by an infantry regiment. The Bushmaster.

Its yellow eyes watched mine and it uncoiled one of its coils to slither closer.

The helicopter returned in a narrowing spiral, searchlights bright against the dusk, fan blades thumping.

The Jesuit priest inserted the locked chips into a small, flat control box. A green beam lit steadily. The last thing I remember noticing was the cleanliness of his hands.

"The only way we can help you now is by using the mind control beam on you to keep your body perfectly immobilized. It is programmed identify your DNA. It will save you from the Bushmaster, but only if your DNA shows you to be a descendent of the first true hero of Miguel's people. Ready?"