Behcet Kaya Presents Murder at Tutley Brewery - A Fascinating, Extraordinary Set of Events! A Jack Ludefance Novel!

 

“The other day I wanted to buy some music, so I went over to Lenox to a music store. I asked if they had any Otis Redding tapes, and the guy at the counter just stared at me. “He finally said, ‘Uhmm, I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have any tapes.’ “So, I came back with, ‘What do you mean you don’t have tapes? This is a music store, isn’t it?’ “He tried not to sound snarky, but it still came off that way. ‘Yes, of course we sell music, just not on tape. Tapes were replaced, oh, maybe nine years ago. Music’s on compact discs now. How long has it been since you bought any?’ “I felt completely deflated, ‘Obviously too long.’ I was so embarrassed I just turned around and walked out. That’s what I’m trying to say. I’ve been so caught up in solving crimes that I’ve fallen behind. I don’t even know how to catch up anymore.” “Maybe. But I don’t think it’s that bad. And I’m not sure what that has to do with what we’re working on.” “I see the connection clearly, Ludefance. I’m so out of touch I didn’t even realize pimps operate openly now. I didn’t know that escort services are considered legitimate businesses. That’s what I meant. Anyway, let’s get out of here while we still can.”

January 19, 2022 The night watchman had lost count of how many times he had circled the second-floor observation walkway that night. Although the storm had begun to subside, the wind still howled outside, heavy rain lashed against the building, and lightning struck so close it shook the platform beneath his feet. As he approached the first row of fermentation tanks numbered one, two, and three on his final round, he noticed the fluorescent light above tank three had burned out. “Shit, now I’ve gotta change a friggin’ light.” Swearing under his breath, he climbed down the narrow stairs to the first floor. As he gathered the necessary equipment, he continued muttering, “Friggin’ past time for this old building to be torn down and replaced. So what if it was built in 1913? So what if it’s considered historic? So what if it still has the original fluorescent lighting? GD! Don’t they know what a pain it is to change them when they go out?” Still grumbling, he climbed back up, replaced the light, and switched it on. 

Out of the corner of his eye, something faintly blue caught his attention. He looked down into the tank and gasped. A body lay face down, floating atop the fermenting liquid, long dark hair spread out around it. What had once been a bright blue dress was now darkened by the liquid, and the shoeless feet were beginning to sink. Shaking, he climbed down once more and grabbed the emergency phone, preprogrammed with his boss’s number. He knew there was no time to waste. Jacob Wasserman, lead foreman at Tutley Brewery in Tutley, Georgia, received the call early that Wednesday morning, January 19, 2022. The night watchman’s urgent report of a body floating in tank three triggered a profanity-laced tirade. Wasserman arrived within ten minutes. Stepping out of his haphazardly parked car, he hurried past several idling 18-wheelers that had arrived early to transport the fermented liquid to another facility for bottling. He knew he would have to deal with them later. There would be no transfers from the fermentation tanks today. 

As he entered the building, he glanced up at the towering tanks, each nearly two stories high. Even in the midst of the emergency, the sight of the stainless steel structures never failed to impress him. There were fifteen in total, covering an area nearly the size of a half an acre. The pungent smell was strongest inside but could be detected miles away. This ground-floor area also housed the temperature controls, keeping the tanks at a steady 72 degrees Fahrenheit for the brewery’s prized golden craft ale. The night watchman approached, quickly recounting what he had found. Choosing the narrow metal stairs to the second-floor observation walkway instead of the vertical ladder welded to the tank, Wasserman made his way up to the platform. As he peered into the opening of tank three, he saw the body, the bare feet now under the surface. Another string of curses escaped him as the heavy scent of fermenting grain hit him full force. He cursed himself for not putting on a mask before climbing up. He descended as quickly as he could and picked up the phone by the front entrance, which connected directly to the brewery’s business office complex less than a five-minute walk away. Despite the early hour just before 6 a.m. he knew the Wein siblings, Hardy, Wolfram, and Wilhelmina, would already be in their offices. Hardy answered, listening as Wasserman quickly explained the situation, then instructed him to keep everyone out of the building. There would be no employees allowed in the building today. 

Wasserman stepped outside to get some much-needed fresh air. As Hardy and Wolfram approached, he frowned. “Where’s Wilhelmina?” Hardy replied, irritation evident in his voice, “No idea. Her office is locked, so she obviously hasn’t come in yet. Let’s go up and take a look.” All three donned masks and climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor. 

Looking down into the tank, Wolfram was the first to voice the unthinkable. “That’s Wilhelmina’s blue dress!” “It can’t be! Are you sure?” Wasserman’s voice cracked with shock. “Yes, I’m sure! She was wearing that dress when I said goodnight to her last night! We’ve got to get her out of there!” Hardy immediately dialed 911, notifying the local sheriff. With no time to waste, he called for a heavy forklift to be brought in, delaying the recovery effort by nearly fifteen minutes. In the meantime, the two-story double doors were opened wide to allow the forklift to be positioned near tank three. 

As the sun began to rise, Tutley County Sheriff Tom McFee arrived with Deputy Cal Jackson, Detective Hucksley Bail, Coroner Jim Bailey, and a photographer. Leaving their car doors open, they hurried toward the scene just as the forklift was put into position. No other vehicles would be allowed in the parking lot today.

~~~~~~

No other fingerprints? No unidentified fingerprints? How could that be? How could an unknown suspect have been in her office and not left any fingerprints? And how could that person have lifted and carried her without leaving a trail of blood? Despite these unanswered questions, a scenario began to take shape in my mind. Murder by severe head trauma. The location was her own office. The suspect was unknown. Premeditated? Or possibly an accident triggered by an argument, one violent enough to shatter several priceless antiques? Then, her body was carried to the fermentation building and dumped into the tank. Carried. Not driven. But why?

This just might be the best book written by Behcet Kaya. Of course, I've been know to quip that my favorite book is the one I'm reading now, so don't hold me to the fact that I found this a fascinating, extraordinary book from an author I've been reading since his first book was published. Nor that on the night before a major medical procedure, I couldn't stop reading until I finished this, even though I had to be at the hospital the next morning around 6 AM...

Kaya has the wonderful ability to move from one book to the next while creating a totally new and different chain of events that stops readers cold. What will happen in this latest?! And I must say that this book wins the prize for storyline. Yet, in some ways, it's right from today's headlines if you think about it...

Kaya hit me cold with concern when his main character was adamant that he was not going to take a case! After a case in which he'd been physically incapacitated and decided to take a lengthy time off, he still felt he didn't want to return to a case where he might get into a similar situation... And, when he had the call from the owner of a beer brewery he immediately explained that he wasn't taking cases.. But the owner had done his research of who he felt could find the answer to who had murdered his granddaughter, and he kept calling... It was only when his own family started pressuring him to return to what "he loved" that he changed his mind. It was clear, however, that he resented his family for taking the position they had.

Detlef Wein Jr. Please! Please do not hang up on me this time.” It was the same voice, the one that was now starting to wear on my nerves. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Mr. Ludefance, just hear me out. I am calling because nothing in my life is more important than finding out who murdered my granddaughter.” The desperation in his voice was unmistakable. “Sir, you need to understand. As I told you before, I no longer take cases. Period. End of conversation.” I ended the call and immediately blocked the number. Honestly, some people have a lot of nerve.

Kudos to Ben because even I saw the difference in his main character and his desire not to return to his role as a private investigator and was hoping that he didn't plan to close out this series (I peeked and saw that there was another coming, LOL) In any event, after he had met with the owner and decided to take the case, he had learned that there might be a connection with another family in Germany who had been a competitor and bad family feelings.

Then, readers learn that his granddaughter had been placed as head of the company, while two brothers were also given high positions. As we continue reading, both brothers had quite different issues which might have played a part in how they felt about their sister. Their parents had died so the owner, who was now in his 90s had moved to try to get the hierarchy established in a timely fashion. Me, I was already wondering about family relationships at that point.

And, right there is where Behcet placed a major twist that could shake the entire plot... What?! 

So while investigations continued on the possible brewery competitors, the investigation took an entirely different angle. And Jack was forced into exploring the personal lives of each of the three siblings much deeper than had been planned.

And that's when an entirely different plot twist was revealed. Actually, I didn't first see where the book was going, but once I did, the revelations related to certain files that are now being discussed and sought after to be released by the government soon was identified as, perhaps, how the choice of actions took shape by Kaya...

This is the type of book, however, where any revelation other than the previous paragraph, could be a problem, so I'm closing out discussion of the mystery and investigation as it moves further.

Jack Ludefance takes on a different personality during this book... Set during Covid, he had easily stopped accepting cases, so much so that, he had begun to appreciate being able to stay home and become closer with his child. In fact they had become so close that when he finally had taken this case and would need to travel, he would ensure that he spent face time with his child. Was it a combination of Covid, plus being given drugs without his knowledge, that began him thinking about retiring from acting as a Private Investigator? In any event, readers spend more time with his introspection than perhaps normal. There are several times when he flashes back to other cases that we learn about at an overview level. And we meet with one of his contacts with whom he'd worked in the past... From that individual, Jack learns a secret that shocks him and he becomes agitated as to whether this should be revealed to his client... I enjoyed getting to know internal thoughts of our main characters as he faced each extraordinary set of events that were revealed during the murder investigation.

Indeed, the amount of personal revelation was so high that readers will watch as he ponders just how he will present his findings--and to whom. One character, in particular, had admitted to an early sexual affair which ultimately led to being able to close the case. However, again, there was a request to ensure confidentiality of what he'd learned. In one important way, readers are placed into the character, Jack, as we wonder just what we would do, if we were an investigator, and had become so intimately involved with those involved with the murder. So much so that I was still worrying about whether this was a series heading for a possible ending... The author had several ways in which he could have closed this case and still meet the requirements of identifying the murderer...

I was gratified that I agreed with everything that Kaya chose to have as endings for his various characters--that were exactly what I wanted to see happen.  No wonder I've turned to Behcet (Ben) Kaya as a favorite author who I do want to keep reading! Congratulations for a story that is both important in content, as well as a murder mystery/PI case that keeps readers on the edge as we strive to determine the whodunit, as well as an ending that closes out every single event that came along... This is a personal favorite for me! Kudos to the author!

GABixlerReviews

The Genius Club - A Tense, Dark Psychological Thriller by NJ Barker

 “Genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent manipulation.” - Anon.

‘The second commitment is to support the scholarship in its broader work to democratise intelligence.’ ‘What does that mean?’ Vanessa asked. ‘My vision is to help as many people develop to their potential as possible. There are many interesting research projects in the areas of intelligence, education, and personal development. I would like you each to assist with research into some of these areas.’

There weren’t many places in the flat where Lucy could have hidden anything from Matthew; the last remaining place was the wardrobe in their bedroom. He pushed away his guilt as he flipped through her dresses hanging on the rail before squatting down and searching through the boxes at the bottom of the wardrobe. Tucked away at the back, on Lucy’s side, underneath some old trainers, Matthew found a small white plastic container. He pulled out a pair of navy trainers to give himself room to slide the box out. He frowned as he ran his hands over its top. Then, he pressed the catches on the side, lifted the lid, and peered inside. It contained a set of white headphones. There was a pinch between his shoulders. He removed the headphones from the box, and only then did he realise that the two circular pads weren’t in the correct place. The device had a curved T-bar with a small cross pad at the base, which appeared designed to rest at the base of the skull. The strap ran up over the top of the head and down over the forehead, whilst the broader bar fitted horizontally with the two discs resting just beyond the eyes, near the temples. He reached back into the box and removed a device resembling a smartphone. He pressed the power-on button and waited for it to boot up. A moment later, he was looking at the home screen, a green background with a white sine wave curving around the word electro-flow. Whatever the device was, he was holding the controller. Matthew let out a breath. He pressed on the icon, and a menu appeared. Your Progress Set New Goals Profile He hesitated before clicking on Your Progress and scrolling through Lucy’s report. She had been using the device for periods of more than thirty minutes for years. Matthew shook his head. The first entry was recorded on 2 September 2007, seven months after Alfie was born, and the last entry was that morning. His arms were trembling. Alastair had said he would find something. Matthew stared at the device. He’d accepted his friend might be correct, but he’d never considered that when he unearthed some evidence, he would have no idea what it meant. Matthew stared at the computer screen. His answer was written clearly in white text on a black background. The electro-flow website claimed that using an electric current to stimulate the temporal lobes could counter depression. It cited various clinical trials which supported the view that the electro-flow device was a more effective treatment for depression than antidepressants. Matthew clicked on one of the reports referenced and started to read. “Transcranial direct current stimulation (tDCS) of 20- or 30 minutes are efficient for treating mild and moderate depression; the effect of 30min stimulation exceeds that obtained from 20min.” Matthew chewed his lip. There were two facts. Lucy had used an electro-flow device, and that device was advertised as a treatment for depression. The two statements pointed to an obvious conclusion but weren’t compelling. That conclusion wasn’t inescapable. He thought back to his conversation with Alastair. If Lucy had hidden a struggle with depression, she would likely have sought medical support. It was already late at night, but Matthew stood up and opened the loft hatch. Lucy had filed away their old medical records a few years ago. It only took him a few minutes to locate the box file and carry it down from the loft. He placed it on the kitchen table next to his laptop and opened it. The box was full of documents, and Matthew picked up the top one from the pile. It was a slim, bound volume labelled as a medical report from Heartfield Health Clinic. He had forgotten that Lucy had been for a check-up every year after graduation, and she’d been sent a report after each appointment. He read the report and studied Lucy’s vital statistics, as well as the BMI, cholesterol, and cardiac risk graphs. There were also pages with audio graphs, analysis of lung function tests, and eyesight results. Finally, there was a pathology report. Matthew flicked back to the cover letter. The conclusion was that Lucy was in good health, and there was no mention of depression or any mental health challenges. The report was dated August 2007, the month before her first recorded use of the device. He read through all the reports in the box, which covered every year from 2007 until the final report, dated August 2011. None of the reports mentioned any physical or mental health issues other than low-level concerns over Lucy’s weight and lack of exercise. The signatory of the reports was Dr Henry Bannister. Matthew recalled the name immediately. Caesar introduced them to Bannister, his private doctor, when they joined the scholarship programme. Lucy had liked him. She had first seen him at university in Cambridge and continued to see him at his Cambridge practice, even when she’d moved to London. She’d also encouraged Matthew to see him, but he hadn’t heard her mention the doctor’s name for several years. Matthew sat back down in his chair and opened Google on his laptop. He typed in the doctor’s name and hit search. The third hit was an obituary. Doctor Henry Bannister, a doctor and an academic, died aged 53. He scanned through the text, unsure of what he was looking for. His head jerked back to the penultimate paragraph of the obituary. Professor Hunter, who tutored Dr Bannister at Cambridge University, recalled: ‘He was an exceptional, brilliant and radical man. He was known for pushing medical boundaries and challenging conventional thinking. He died too young. He was destined for great things.’ A knot twisted in Matthew’s stomach. Lucy started using the device in September 2007, when she was still seeing Bannister for her annual medicals. tDCS treatment wasn’t universally accepted by the medical profession, at least not over a decade ago. Had Bannister prescribed the treatment to Lucy, an example of him pushing medical boundaries, and kept it from her official medical records? And if so, why? Matthew decided to rake through everything he could find on the uses of tDCS machines. He started reading online articles. Several studies appeared to show that the treatment reduced depression symptoms in patients, yet Matthew was sure he would have known if Lucy was struggling. He also clearly remembered her telling him she wouldn’t take her mother’s chosen path, ever. He was aware that people who were depressed could hide it well, even from those they were closest to, but there had been no changes in Lucy’s appetite or sleep pattern and no loss of interest in activities. He shook his head and tried to focus on the facts. There wasn’t a single suggestion, or even a hint, that his wife had been suffering from depression, but she had been using a tDCS machine for over a decade. The only explanation was that she was using the device for another purpose, but what was it? He began to scroll through the research papers and paused at a headline from October 2018. Would you zap your brain to improve your memory? Scientists study attitudes toward brain stimulation. An article dated August 2014 made a similar claim. Northwestern Medicine researchers have discovered that using high-frequency repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation to indirectly stimulate the hippocampus portion of the brain (which is involved in forming memories) improves long-term memory. Then he found a third, from March 2019. Online repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation during working memory in younger and older adults: A randomized within-subject comparison. Matthew changed his search terms, and immediately, he was presented with page after page of articles on transcranial magnetic and direct current stimulation being studied as possible methods for boosting intelligence. He sat back and let out a deep breath. Could Bannister have suggested using the machine not to treat depression but to attempt to boost Lucy’s intelligence even further? That would explain why there was no medical record of depression. It would be consistent with no mental health issues whatsoever. He rubbed his forehead. Bannister had treated Lucy, a doctor described as radical and a man who enjoyed challenging conventional thinking. Matthew raked his fingers through his hair. What had this guy done? What had Lucy signed up for? With Lucy and Bannister both dead, only one person might have the answers to all his questions. He needed to speak to Ben Caesar.

~~~~

“Genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent manipulation.” - Anon.

Yes, this epigraph in the front of the book needs to be repeated... In fact, you will learn of the inspiration that is available right at the beginning... And little by little, even before it began and continues over years, manipulation will actually be in play...

In many homes of the rich and famous, you may find classical music playing in the background, low so that many will soon not even realize that it is playing--it is merely a bit of manipulation to set the stage, don't you think? To provide the background as mentioned, I chose to play Rachmaninoff, my personal choice often because I enjoy the minor key with the fascinating tone that it brings to my ear that I prefer... Nevertheless, we are in a location where a small group of students have come together to be offered a chance of a lifetime... They are high school students from a very poor or difficult background that have been pulled together--by manipulation. Readers will not know what I mean until much later in the book. But to present the background, it is merely to say that the students who were offered this opportunity was greeted by who would come to be their mentor for many years. They will essentially become a part of the program developed by Benjamin Caesar. Where his money originally came from we don't know but the riches found in his home, as well as the substantial time and money he spent with the six who were ultimately chosen naturally revealed that money was no object...

Matthew and Lucy were two of those that arrived early that day. Lucy was beautiful and Matthew was drawn to her... The book does not claim this, but the way that Matthew was drawn as a character, I imagined he may have been one affected by Asperger's Syndrome. He was not an individual who was comfortable in routine activities, so that Lucy soon was pulled into his orbit as she was helpful in clarifying what may be considered routine by many people but had not been, also because of his background, little to normal interaction with people. It is Matthew who becomes the lead character as the book really begins to move beyond their basic program adaptations under Ben's tutelage...

We meet Matthew as he comes home from work at a company developed by Ben's desired research, at which Matthew works. He searches for Lucy, only to find her dead in their bedroom... Immediately Matthew does not believe that, as it appeared, she had committed suicide. And that begins his personal investigation to find out what really happened to his beloved wife...

Matthew has developed a close friendship with another of the scholars, Al Niven, who was the very first individual who had ever shortened his name to Matt and presented a friendly connection. They continued as best friends throughout the upcoming years, even though Al had begun to pull away, only to prefer drugs, drinking and gambling instead of what he could have successfully become in his life.

As Matt began to investigate what might have resulted in Lucy's death, he assumed that she had to have been murdered and started with searching their bedroom. He discovered that she had been using a machine on her brain, supposedly to increase intelligence. But when he started looking further, having found a needle which appeared to have been used by Lucy, he immediately asked the police to test it for contents. And, after having his own issues with some medication that had been prescribed by the doctor who Ben recommended, but had stopped using, saw that what was contained in the shot could have been what caused Lucy's death...

It took all Matthew’s energy to stand and shake hands with the guests. He briefly closed his eyes in the hope that it would ease the pain in his head, but today, he had no choice other than to push on. Any funeral was an ordeal, but the coroner’s verdict that Lucy had taken her own life painted another emotional layer over the immediate shock of her being gone, especially when Matthew couldn’t accept the verdict. He didn’t speak, preferring simply to nod as a procession of faces mumbled their condolences. He would have felt sorry for them, having to deal with the awkward conventions of a burial service, if he had been able to feel anything. But he was hollow whilst his thoughts churned, tripping over themselves in the search for answers. Sammy’s hand was rubbing his back, encouraging him to move. He turned to face her and saw the compassion in her eyes. Her large, dark-rimmed glasses covered the top half of her face, and her slightly crimped, brown hair flopped forward to offer extra protection. Matthew allowed himself to be guided away from the church entrance. As soon as they started to walk, she linked her arm with his, saying nothing but leading him down the cobbled path. The stones were shining, and small pools of water had gathered where the grass ran up to the border. Matthew was starting to accept that people, that the world, would return to mystifying him. Lucy had been his guide for the last twenty years, and he’d seen life more clearly than ever before. They had talked for hours sometimes about ideas and philosophies, whims, music, or writing, but he’d never been in the habit of asking her what she was doing, where she’d been, or what she was planning. He’d never seen the need and believed that Lucy felt the same way as he did, but today and every day since her death, he wished he had. Because now he knew that by not asking, he’d missed something, a sign or a tell that she was in danger. ‘We can take you home now if that’s what you want?’ Sammy said. ‘Daniel’s waiting in the car.’ ‘Thanks.’ The word came out as a shrug. Matthew knew nothing about cars, but whatever vehicle Daniel and Sammy owned gleamed in the rain. The rear door swung open as he approached, and Daniel stepped out, holding the door and waiting for Matthew to climb inside. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ Daniel said after helping Sammy into the front passenger seat. Matthew momentarily closed his eyes. Everything seemed easier that way. He touched his face and felt that it was wet from what could only be his tears. He hadn’t realized he was crying. He wasn’t sure what to do next, so he just waited. 

‘Let’s get you home to Alfie,’ Sammy said. Matthew opened his eyes. His vision was blurred. He wiped his eyes with his hand. Alfie. They’d discussed the funeral, and eventually, Alfie decided he wouldn’t attend. Alastair had agreed to stay with him, and Matthew knew that his friend would be doing his best to take Alfie’s mind off what was happening, even though he might as well have been trying to stop the sun from rising. ‘Thank you.’ The words sounded detached. Had he even spoken? He wasn’t sure. Matthew could hear the rain pounding on the car roof. He tightened his focus, trying to discern a pattern in the dance of the raindrops. He had to find some meaning somewhere. ‘At the dinner, when I mentioned Doctor Bannister, I thought you and Daniel … I thought you were going to say something.’ He lifted his head to look at her in the rear-view mirror. She had coiled a strand of hair tightly around her finger. ‘Maybe I was seeing something that wasn’t there, I don’t know, but if there’s anything…’ He massaged his forehead. ‘Please.’ ‘Okay.’ She twisted around and reached out to take his hand. She sighed before starting to talk. ‘As you know, Daniel and I tried unsuccessfully for a baby for a long time. A year after we started trying, we had some fertility tests.’ She let her hair fall over her eyes. ‘We also tried a couple of rounds of IVF.’ Matthew swallowed. He knew what he would hear next. ‘Our doctor was Henry Bannister.’ Sammy pushed her hair behind her ear. ‘When we finally accepted we weren’t going to be able to have children, he tried to persuade me to freeze my eggs. He was a great believer in advancements in medicine and technology giving us a chance to have children in the future. We decided not to and told him our answer was no. We wanted to live in the present. We didn’t hear anything more from him for a while. Then, a few months before he died, he got in touch.’ Matthew looked at the floor of the car. ‘What did he say?’ ‘He told us that there was a new technology. Something that allowed DNA to be manipulated. He referred to the technology as genetic scissors.’ A cold wave rolled down Matthew’s back. ‘Professor Hunter, the woman who taught Bannister, told me that twins were born in China recently, and there’s speculation their DNA was altered to eliminate the risk of HIV. She also told me that the same gene affects brain function.’ He paused. ‘Apparently, Bannister was researching similar ideas.’ Sammy nodded. ‘He told us we were still young; we were on the verge of turning thirty. He said there was still hope, not just for us to have children, but for us to have remarkable children.’ Matthew said nothing, and after a moment, Sammy continued. ‘We didn’t really think about it. We were irritated he was still pressuring us to try for children when we’d already told him that we’d decided to put that behind us. But what you told us…’ ‘…you think there could be something more to it.’ ‘I don’t know, maybe.’ Sammy shrugged. ‘I guess we ask Caesar on Wednesday.’ ‘If he turns up,’ Matthew said. Sammy wrapped her arms around her torso. ‘Surely, he would have told us by now if he wasn’t going to be there.’ ‘I don’t know.’ Matthew massaged his hands. ‘He wasn’t well enough to come today.’ Since that one email, he hadn’t heard from Caesar again, but Matthew had still hoped their patron would make the funeral, not just because he needed to speak with him but because he’d wanted him to come for Lucy. ‘Do you ever wonder about how he found us all?’ Matthew asked. ‘He selected kids who had challenging upbringings,’ Sammy said. ‘It was one of the reasons I accepted the scholarship in the first place; that and the money.’ She grinned at Matthew. ‘Seriously, though, there are so many routes for kids with a comfortable upbringing to get support that they often don’t need. I’ve always thought of him as a class warrior. Even Cerebrum, he’s not doing it for the money.’ ‘I guess so.’ It was true that collectively, they had faced more than their fair share of challenges. Adoption, lost parents, divorced parents, and even the death of a sibling. And they were only the things he knew about. He didn’t often talk about personal experiences with the others, but he was sure that Lucy would have been able to provide a complete list. Everyone used to confide in Lucy. Thoughts were spinning around in his head. If Sammy were right, on Wednesday, he’d have the chance to look Ben Caesar in the eye and ask him for the truth, but he had an uneasy sense about the upcoming meeting, a feeling that things were going to change and not for the better. Daniel was walking back to the car, and Sammy twisted back to face forward. ‘How’s Alfie doing?’ she asked over her shoulder. ‘He’s not saying much. He doesn’t respond well if I try to push him.’ He hesitated as Daniel opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. His thoughts turned to the meeting at Alfie’s school. ‘I’ve got a meeting with his headmaster on Monday,’ he said. ‘Did you arrange that?’ Sammy asked. ‘No. The school did. I don’t know what to expect.’ Daniel started the engine. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Sammy said. Matthew didn’t feel any better about the meeting with the headmaster than he did about the meeting with Caesar. At times like these, he’d always turned to Lucy. Looking out the window, he saw the last few mourners heading towards their cars. He didn’t have that choice anymore. He balled his hands. He had to face the world alone.

~~~~

And on Monday, he learned that his son was now being attacked... Somebody had made up things about his mother and started yelling words to him abut her. He gave the list to his Dad to explain why he's been asked not to return to class for the last two weeks of class. Alfie didn't want Matthew to talk to his teachers about what had caused his attack of the boy...

During his investigation, Matt had learned that another of the potential scholars had been murdered. Two women now dead... Matt had also learned that Lucy had been leaving Alfie with another woman and her friend, who had pulled out of being a scholar even though she certainly had the intelligence... Alfie had grown to like this woman and Matt realized that it was best to allow him to keep seeing her... She was to become an important ally in what was to come!

As we have learned, many times individuals hide their real selves from the world, even from those who were supposedly close friends. Readers will learn the devastation that was wrought by who, they ultimately discovered, was the real Genius Club... And, to learn that sometimes genius may...just...be...a (or more) psychological monster(s)...

What kind of mind wants to manipulate and control the minds of many? Sometimes it's just through verbal manipulation like repeating the same message over and over... Sometimes it's joining with others who have specific ideas they believe and feel they have the right to impose them on other people. Sometimes it's through the provision of riches that blind a few in providing it unlimited, without accountability...

A final note, the actions of these psychopaths had been developed even before the actual testing of the children began. Manipulation of  the artificial insemination process had been conceived and implemented through lies told to women seeking medical help... Many may have heard of Hitler's efforts to create super soldiers... In my opinion, this plan was much worse since it was planned to keep this process moving into future generations! When somebody or some group is trying to change the standards, the norms by which we have functioned for years, you can be sure it is manipulation and NOT the genius of those who are trying one more way to achieve something that nobody else would ever support.

Even if I knew what to expect from reading the epigram, this was, indeed, tense, and too real, for me not to become completely involved in the book. Check it out!

GABixlerReviews

How could the world be so very, very cruel?

Extraordinary Psychological Thriller Created by Lisa Friedman - Nothing to Lose - You'll Decide Which Side You're On...for the Death Penalty...

"Some of it was gruesome, but I was detached and thinking clinically so it didn't penetrate really," Anita said. "The part that got to me was the parole system. I saw petty criminals retained in custody because the state needed the funding, and hard-core criminals released for the wrong reasons. It's an insane system, based on unsound thinking and emotional conclusions.

Like the pardoning of January 6th criminals  in jail... 

Nothing seemed to work as it should have; nothing was untouched by politics and money. It was a very disturbing experience." Her intense feelings forced her round face to tighten and shrink until the smooth skin looked gutted with deep dark lines. "That's when I came to believe that some people are simply evil," Anita said...

...challenges the morality and personal consciousness of every last one of us. What would you do? That premise has launched philosophical debates, psychological studies and dinner table discussions. Nothing to Lose takes that premise to the farthest reaches of the imagination in a wildly entertaining story of determination, unexpected behavior and social justice.

A few weeks later, I was getting dressed in a hurry when a Special News Break interrupted the morning talk show on television. I stepped out of my closet, half dressed, and stared at the television. The reporter stood at the side of the picture, huddled against the wind, waiting for her cue. Glass Lake looked like a serene but gray place, misty, cool, and damp. Tall, striking redwood trees covered the landscape. Huge Blue Mountains blocked the background. The lake in the foreground was still and dark. A layer of white mist stretched across the lake from shore to shore, hovering just above the waterline. The reporter drew the microphone up to her mouth and squinted into the false light of the cameras. She clutched the fake fur lapels of her coat up next to her neck. The tip of her nose was red, and her breath burst from her mouth in rhythmic white puffs. Suddenly, she looked alert; as a signal transmitted to her that she was on the air. "I'm standing across the street from the sight of the murder of Edmund Garetzky, the feared serial killer who seemed to be one step ahead of our own Federal Bureau of Investigation for the past three years. Garetzky had been on the FBI's Most Wanted list since the arrest and conviction of his partner, Martin Ling. Ling was tried on nine counts of kidnapping and murder and was sentenced to three life sentences in the penitentiary. He committed suicide after just three months in prison. "The FBI had been tracing Garetzky for three years. Ironically, the FBI was alerted to Garetzky's whereabouts just yesterday by an anonymous caller who saw his photograph on the television program America's Most Wanted. Special Agent Arthur Brucemann told KUBS News how the FBI discovered Edmund Garetzky." Agent Brucemann spoke soberly and carefully: "The FBI Special Unit for Criminals at Large received a tip from a citizen and we followed up on that immediately. We arrived in Washington last night and began our search at that time. We were in the process of conducting a sweep operation from Old Forge, thirty miles north of Glass Lake, through Adeho, when we discovered Garetzky's body in the lavatory of the Stop 'N Shop at Glass Lake. We believe Garetzky stopped for cigarettes at the Stop 'N Shop, and then went to use the lavatory. That's all I can say at this time."

Brucemann moved through the cluster of microphones and tape recorders with his chin down, ignoring the excited and eager questions fired at him. "Who is that woman?" Several reporters shouted at once. The cameras whirled past Brucemann, losing focus as the lens sought out the next target. In the center of a pack of men wearing FBI windbreakers stood a woman of about fifty years in a smart green raincoat that shone like a beacon in the grim mass of men. The picture shook erratically as the cameraman ran toward the mystery woman. All around, reporters and camera crews stumbled over each other and equipment in a frantic stampede toward the woman in the green raincoat. "Who are you?" "Did you see anything?" "What's your name?" "What happened?" The questions came all at once, insistent and shrill. The agents surrounded the woman with their bodies and held their hands up to deflect the lights of the cameras.

Within all the frantic pushing and shouting, the woman remained calm and quiet. Finally, she held up her arm and waved. "I would like to say something," she called to the reporters. The agents parted, exposing her to the cameras. "My name is Margaret Linen, and I killed Edmund Garetzky." A roar formed as the collective voices of reporters and crews blended together. The woman closed her eyes and put her hand out as if to ward off the noise. The microphones reached toward her as the crowd became quiet. "I killed him because I care about society. He was a threat. He deserved to die." She paused, and the cacophony rose up again. She waited for the thunder of voices to subside before continuing. "I will tell you about him. This man kidnapped people at knifepoint. He brought them, some of them children, to a cabin in the mountains where he and his accomplice repeatedly tortured and brutalized them beyond our most horrific imaginations. The screams, gasps for breath, cries, and moans were recorded on audiotape and labeled. On the labels was a rating. Stars. Five stars if the victim suffered well, and fewer stars the less entertaining the victim was. "Parents of missing children and families trying to find missing people listened to some of the tapes in an effort to identify the screams of their loved ones. Can you imagine?" She slowed her speech, letting the impact of her words settle. "This man was evil. Evil beyond our scope of understanding. Evil beyond humanity."

"Were you victimized by him?" "Did they kidnap someone in your family?" "What is your connection to this serial killer?" "We are all victims of people like Edmund Garetzky. They perpetuate a circle of violence that affects us all. They are animals preying on us, and worst of all, they are protected by our laws. The criminal justice system does not work. We have all seen evidence of this at one time or another. In the states where the death penalty exists, it is rarely used. Special interest groups hold up the process by insisting that everyone deserves life. Well, the real truth is that some people do not deserve life. "Our government is unable to keep our families and our children safe. Bureaucracy clogs the arteries of the system and some violent criminals fly away scot-free. Well, not this one. Not anymore." "Did you know the victim?" "How did you kill him?" "Do you represent any organization or group, Ms. Linen?" "I came here on my own, to do what society is unable to do for itself — rid itself of Edmund Garetzky. Someone had to do something. And I couldn't stand by and watch our system grant this animal a trial and a life after what he did to us. He did not deserve a lawyer. He did not deserve a fair trial. He did not deserve a life, certainly not in a place that provides meals and a bed, and particularly not at our expense."

She paused for a moment, thinking. "I am going to die." She said it like a statement. "What did she say?" "Who's going to die?" She continued to speak so quietly that the camera crews and reporters had to strain to hear. "I will not be around to protect my family, my grandchildren, from evil," she said. "But now I have assured that we are safe from the monstrous behavior of one terrifying criminal. I did it because I could. I believe that we fail as a society in terms of justice. I did it in order to accomplish something positive for society before I die. My family need not fear Garetzky, society need not fear him, nor will they be forced to spend any time or money on him. I feel I have truly contributed something. I have made the most extreme contribution to society; I have given something back to the good people in this world. I have given all of you freedom. Freedom from this monster. I am not sorry." She looked into the camera lenses, one by one. Then she concluded with a small smile: "I will die in peace." The agents and enforcement officials flanking Margaret Linen were silent. They responded to her cultured, quiet voice and stood back, letting her finish. Possibly, they agreed with her. Whatever the reason, they let her speak without interruption. After she finished they moved in a huddle toward a dark sedan parked nearby with all four doors open wide. The reporters continued to shout questions at her even after the doors slammed shut and the car drove off. Holy shit, I said to myself, and I stood there as if glued to the carpet.

When the phone rang, I had to force myself to lift a foot up to walk toward the nightstand. "Hello?" "Are you ready? You sound asleep?" Lauren's voice sounded impatient. "I hope you didn't forget! We have a date to see my editor and go over your illustrations for my article." "No," I said, shaking off the shock of what I just saw. "I'm almost ready." "What's going on? Why do you sound so funny?" "It's nothing," I said, beginning to come back to life. "I was just watching something on television . . ." "What was it?" Lauren laughed. "Devil worshippers? S&M? People who were abducted by aliens, or women who fall in love with men on death row! Turn that thing off. It's just not safe!" I was laughing and it felt great. I glanced over at my desk to the illustrations I had finished the night before. They were good. I pulled the phone closer to the desk and blew some nonexistent dust off the top board before slipping it into its laminated cover for transport. "I'm ready," I said. "Come and get me." CH

Abortion and the Death Penalty are the two most controversial legal issues in the world... Why is that? Is it because the legal system is and has been flawed? Is it because of religion, civil liberties, or lack of juries willing to put somebody to death. There are no answers in this book. It is psychological fiction, perhaps one of the best I've read. Mainly because of how the ending was created...

Actually, I didn't recall that Friedman was the same writer of Hello Wife which centers on drugs. It is quite obvious that this author is ready and willing to attack today's hard questions! And we all know she may be one of the few who is actually doing so with the divided country we now inhabit... Personally, I preferred this, her first book. It is unbelievably written in such a way that it is truly fiction, but there is much non-fiction of this important issue that she purposely includes, including blackmail. Many kudos to the author. Her amazing characters presented each possible side of the issue, the Death Penalty, with a group of women... Frankly, this decision was the best possible group that could occur, in my opinion. Women care more about the "personal," yet are quite willing to deal with the facts, learning as much as is needed to make their own decisions.

It all began when a woman living in a fairly rich neighborhood and sees a new neighbor being moved in. Roxanne soon found her way over to welcome Anita to the community--and to her small group of women who met for friendship and a little food, of course...

You might recognize quickly that these two women are the two main characters. Roxanne was obviously a leader who enjoyed gathering a flock to share news and more...There was nothing that this group did not discuss. And, later, unfortunately, one of the husbands heard a rather troublesome topic...

Because, soon, a change in the discussions became geared around Anita's work... She counseled those who were going to die.  No, this wasn't hospice where you actually go to die... Anita's goal was to help each of her clients realize what was happening, how they felt about their past, the present, and the future... Frankly, learning that, I thought it was a great service for those who often didn't have family who were even willing to discuss their deaths...

I've purposely included an excerpt providing the "why" of what began to happen...Many of you will not be able to actually read this important book... Instead, I ask my readers. What would you do if you were dying and another Sandy Hook school murder of grade school children took place at that time. Would it affect you as it did me... Or have you and others become so accustomed of death, guns, and violence being around us daily? Personally? I think it would be on a case by case for me. But when the fanatics made videos of our citizens being beheaded? I would have no question about whether they should be put to death.  Just as I would disagree that shooting out boat loads of people in South American waters, without any type of documentation of who they were or a trial of their guilt? I'd say that, instead, the instigator of that total destruction should pay via death penalty.

It is a time when we must trust what we know is right or wrong within our legal system... Even if it is not being followed at this time. Each of these individuals began discussions with Anita about their need to leave this earth, having done all they cold to help improve the world... 

This book requires that you start thinking quickly... because I've already said, I would choose Jesus over Barabbas to live! It may have been planned that way, but, actually, those who chose a criminal that day is still choosing criminals in many ways for minor or major offenses. I call this as I see it. If we don't start using our minds to make our decisions, then what we do during our lifetime really doesn't matter if you're really just following the directions from anybody or everybody...

When we are facing decisions about Truth daily, I consider this book a must-read to help you start developing your own decision-making skills...

GABixlerReviews

Seb Kirby Brings Readers Another Great Psychological Suspense Novel!

Trust is like that. You can break it for a good reason. 

But it still remains broken. --Harlan Coben

I’m lost in a dark, dark place and, try as hard as I can, nothing helps me to understand. When I seek answers, I see only broken shards of my past, flashes lighting this darkest of places for an instant, shining bright then fading as soon as they appear. Fragments of time, light and dark, great joy and great sadness, overlapping incidents in my life that I thought were lost forever. And when I look again, it’s as if what I’ve just seen has never existed.
I open my eyes and look around...facing a woman who looks at me with care and concern. I say the only thing I need to say. “Where am I?” She smiles at me. “You’re at the Pinetree Medical Practice. I’m your doctor, Jane Wilson.” 
“How did I get here?” 
“Your friend Marianne brought you here.” 
“Why would she do that?” 
The doctor looks up from the notes she’s making on her screen. “Because you’re distressed.” She pauses. “Can you tell me why you’re feeling so anxious?” 
I don’t know why she’s asking me this. Why should I trust anything she says when she won’t tell me where I am? “I don’t know.” 
She keeps prying. “What can you tell me about the last twenty-four hours?” 
“I can’t. It’s a blank.” “And that’s why you’re distressed?” How could she know how this feels? I’m alone, lost in a cold emptiness with no way back home. Why can’t she be straight with me? “I don’t know. Just tell me where I am?”
“You’re with me, your doctor, Jane Wilson, at the Pinetree Medical Centre.” 
“How did I get here?
 “Your friend brought you. Do you remember her name?” 
I’m so alone, how could she tell me I have a single friend in this world? “I can’t recall anyone bringing me here.” 
The doctor returns her attention to the screen. “I’m going to ask you some questions. They’re going to help me find out what’s wrong with you. Is that all right?” 
“If it will help.”
 “OK. Tell me about yourself. What’s your name?” 
I know who I am. No one can take that away from me. “Isobel Cunningham. Issy to my friends." 
“So, you won’t mind if I call you Issy?" 
“That’s fine.” 
“And where do you live?” I know that, too. “Bentham Gardens. Apartment 21.” 
“And how old are you?” 
“Forty-one next birthday.” God, I’m that old? 
“Any brothers or sisters.” “I’m an only child.”
 “You’re married?” “To John. We’re divorced.”
“Any children?” I feel a jolt of pain as she asks me this. I don’t know why I should feel this way. I give her the only answer I can, the one I need to give. “No children.” “And your parents?”
“Jenny and Tom. They’re separated. She lives in Reading.” I can say this, but if I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t see them. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them. 
“Spell WORLD.” Now she’s saying I’m stupid. Who would ever want to ask a forty-one year old woman that?
“Why wouldn’t I be able to spell it?” 
“Just try.” 
“OK. W-O-R-L-D.”
 “That’s fine. Tell me, Issy, do you suffer from migraine?” “I don’t know. I just want you to tell me where I am, how I got here.” The way she’s acting, you’d think I’d just asked her that. Why can’t she just level with me?
The doctor returns to her on-screen notes. “Your records show that in fact you do suffer from migraine. You’ve been managing attacks for the last three years, linked to periods of stress, as often as not.” 
“If you say.”
“Where do you work?” I can feel a pain tightening in my abdomen. A shadow of something or someone heading towards me. “Ardensis Partners.” 
“And what’s that?”
“It’s an ad agency. I’m a consultant there.” 
“So there’s the stress.” The doctor takes in a deep breath. “Issy, you’re confused and disorientated. You know all the details about who you are and about your family and where you live and work, yet you’ve lost your bearings somehow and that’s what’s making you feel so distressed.” 
“There may be a physical cause. I’d like to take a look at you, if that’s OK?” 
Now she wants to touch me. There was someone who touched me last. Someone I trusted. Someone I don’t want to trust again. I remove my clothes and lie on the table. “I just want you to tell me why I’m here. Where I am...”

~~~

Sugar for Sugar
A Gripping Psychological Thriller

By Seb Kirby

I greatly enjoy reading books by Seb Kirby. Check out my reviews of Take No More and Each Day I Wake. If you enjoy psychological suspense, do consider this author, starting with today's, which I read in one day... It is fantastic!

It is difficult to imagine losing parts or all of your memory. As we grow older, many of us lose our thoughts such as what we were looking for--it may take a while but we usually do remember. But  Issy Cunningham had become unable to remember her recent and immediate memories. She would ask questions such as to "Where am I?" but would then immediately forget the answer so that she would ask over and over...

Lesley pauses from taking notes.
 “So, how was Mr. Aspinal
when he was in charge?”
 Marianne leans forward and
 lowers her voice. “I don’t want
 to speak ill of the dead but if
 you don’t get this from me
you’ll certainly get it from just
 about anyone else here. To
 put it simply, he’s been a disaster.
 You know what they say. 
All power corrupts.” Ives cuts in.
 “It went to his head?”
 “In Mike’s case you might
 say that.” She pauses.
 “Oh, don’t get me wrong,
Vince thought he’d made a good
 choice when he appointed Mike
 as acting CEO while he was
 away. But from the start it’s
 been one of the worst decisions
 he’s ever made.”
~~~ 

But this was not just a medical issue that resulted from her being assaulted... She remembered she was divorced and in her early dreams she remembered loving her husband....

But she couldn't remember the traumatic event which happened years ago that had begun changing her...

And she certainly didn't remember, or even know, that her boss had been murdered the same night of her assault...

The police had already found from security cameras that she had been with him that night...but she remembered nothing...

The only fortunate thing for Issy, which in her condition, was that her boss, who had been acting on an interim basis, had been so cruel as a boss--telling everybody that he would get things in good shape while he was in charge--that he had made everybody hate him at work...

Detective Inspector Stephen Ives, a 25-year-veteran still grieves for each individual who has been killed during criminal activities, not understanding the willingness for humans to consider life so lightly... He has a personal bias against "creatives" who work in advertising, so he struggles hard not to allow his feelings to become part of this investigation. But as a meticulous officer, he is soon finding evidence that supports Issy being involved... 

Was the rape assault too much for her to deal with... But why, then, did they find evidence in her office that would lead to an assumption of pre-planning?!

There are other persons of interest as well and the investigation becomes more and more complicated, while at the same time, Issy has more and more flashbacks that is filling in the blanks of her memory... and the memory of her losses bring back all the heartbreak she had faced those many years again...But at least she now knew why she was divorced. 

Because of the specific type of loss she was experiencing, she began to make notes as a reference to ensure she didn't lose what memories she'd already regained... So far...

I find the phone and stare at the notes there. 

Why did Colin need my help? 

Mary is a good friend. 

I should have trusted my mother. 

John, how did I ever lose you? 

Mike is dead. Why do I feel so guilty? 

Colin behaves like he owes me. 

How I love you, Kelly.

The ending was certainly a surprise and could not have been foreseen. Yes, there were several clues, but not enough to even guess at what happened! And, is that what makes a totally satisfying closure...Well, almost... I had to wonder if there would be a followup to this story...Surely, there had to be something good come out of this...that's my opinion; my hope!

GABixlerReviews

Seb Kirby is the author of the James Blake Thriller series (TAKE NO MORE, REGRET NO MORE and FORGIVE NO MORE), the Raymond Bridges sci fi thriller series (DOUBLE BIND) and the psychological thriller EACH DAY I WAKE. The new stand alone psychological thriller SUGAR FOR SUGAR, available now.

He says: "I've been an avid reader from an early age - my grandfather ran a mobile lending library in Birmingham and when it closed my parents inherited many of the books. From the first moment I was hooked. Now, as a full-time writer myself, it's my goal to add to the magic of the wonderful words and stories I discovered back then."

Book One of the Huntress Moon Series by Alexandra Sokoloff - A Totally Unexpected Thriller!

A Hunter's Moon doesn't create the illusion of two suns, isn't a miracle, occurs annually, and online images purporting to show this year's Hunter's Moon are actually much older.

Chosen Purely for Atmosphere...

...all morning Roarke had had a bad feeling. He'd woken from an old childhood dream of a lurking monster, and it was the damn dream that had him most spooked; it always came up in times of extreme stress or anxiety and it never boded well.

He didn't think of any of this as psychic or precognitive; he'd been an investigator for far too long not to know that the human brain processes information too fast for the brain's owner to be aware of exactly where those subtle signs and warnings are coming from. Something had been off about Greer's last reports and had triggered early warning bells in Roarke's head. Cops called in "Blue Sense" or "Spider Sense--"

A horn blasted in Roarke's ear, startling him back to the present. He'd almost stepped straight into traffic on the busy street.

He lifted a hand in apology to the car that had just missed him, then breathed in and waited five more seconds for the light, and sped through the crosswalk toward the appointed meeting place.

It was a Peet's Coffee, perched halfway down the block of a steep incline, one of those streets that give San Franciscans some of the most toned asses and thighs in the continental U.S. Roarke slowed his pace slightly to cushion the shin-jarring descent.

The Peet's had a fences in outside seating area with wrought-iron tables and chairs, set off from the curb with flowering planters. The meeting was arranged to look like a chance encounter, two random businessmen in suits, bumping elbows at the counter.

Roarke started to turn into the cafe, when something made him turn his head--and he saw Greer on the sidewalk across the street, about to cross mid-block. The men did not acknowledge each other in any way; that was not the plan. But Roarke felt a tidal wave of relief, seeing him.

Safe, he thought, and thanked whatever God was out there.

But Roarke didn't turn away, because that was when he saw her, standing on the sidewalk, just a bit behind Greet.

She was medium height, tall in boots, and slim, with long, lithe muscles like a cat. This Roarke could see because her arms were bare, even in the brisk air; she wore a form-fitting black top with a turtleneck. There was something fetishy in the combination of bare arms and high neck that was arresting, bt so was everything about her, her past-the-shoulder blond hair and black sunglasses, the way she stood in tight black pants and boots. The city was full of striking women, that was not what drew him. And for that weird second, he felt that he knew her, too.

He would remember every detail of that moment for a long, long time. The sun of her hair, The stretch black of her turtleneck and the taut muscles of her arms. The gleam of chrome on the truck. The violent purple irises in the flower stand behind Greet. The smell of exhaust and coffee.

Roarke was still looking at the street, at her, when the truck rumbled by, a huge semi-which momentarily obscured his view of the woman in black. And then there was the screeching of worn brakes straining against the downward plunge of the hill. and Roarke turned just in time to hear a sickening thud and see blood exploding over the truck's front grille and a man's body flying, and then there was screaming, one scream on top of another, and male shouting, a building wave of panic. And then the woman was gone and the sidewalk was crowded with people turning away or shrieking in horror... and through the chaos and the screaming Road realized he had just watched his agent obliterated by a seventeen-tone commercial truck.

~~~

huntress moon

By alexandra sokoloff

The back blurb for this novel is sufficient to provide the overview of the story. A haunted FBI agent...and a female serial killer... Rare, but they do exist, at least in the Debut of the series now out again after receiving awards in 2012 when it first came out. Only problem I had? I wanted to immediately go out and get the entire series, but my prior commitments stopped me. The unique angle that the author presents readers makes for great reading. I was drawn into the life of the killer just as FBI Special Agent Matthew Roarke was...

Roarke had earlier been a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit but had transferred out when it began to affect him personally. Now, one of his men who had been undercover is dead...and he knows that he was murdered. As a senior agent, he is able to seek approval from his boss to find his agent's killer, and he's starting with the woman he had seen directly behind him when Greer had died by a seeming accident.

For me, the book was clearly driven by the characters...Roarke as a child was immediately drawn to the FBI and retained his desire to join through school and into adulthood. It did surprise him that he chose to move into a different department. But as he started "hunting," he met with a former mentor of his and was once again aware that he had a special knack for the work. He found he was getting excited as he started back out on his own, searching where to begin and then following the trail.

One of the first things he tried was to have a search made on other deaths that had certain key words highlighting what had happened. He discovered two previous deaths! The hunt had begun!

She sits in the rough-riding BART train, headed to San Francisco International Airport. No need for a rental car in this city; the public transportation is faster than any other vehicle and there is no parking to be found anywhere, anyway. Parking tickets are dangerous, to be avoided at all cost; they leave a time-stamped trail. So after disposing of the bleach-soaked bedding in a restaurant dumpster she'd descended one of the escalators on Market street, to a BART stop and bought an eight-dollar ticket to SFO.

She wears a tailored charcoal overcoat, her hair is tucked up on a black, short wig, and she carried nothing but a rolling carryon bag, which gives her the appearance of dozens of others on the train, just another business traveler on her way out of town.

She feels a profound calm; there is always that feeling of respite when an encounter goes so perfectly, to its highest and best conclusion.

Only one thing mars the feeling of peace. The man she saw across the street is law enforcement. Too observant to be anything else, too vigilant; it was in his clothes, his posture, his eyes. She thinks back over every moment, fixing each second in time, examining it. Not police; the cut of the suit said FBI. And he had seen her...but then, there had been nothing to see. The truck had been too big, too fast. Nothing too much to concern her.

Still, she will not stay another second in the city. She will find a car and take a circuitous route, go along some way where there are no people, just her and the car, no need for contact. Everything will be revealed, as it always is.

It is, after all, a whole week until the day.

As she sits, rocking slightly with the movement of the car, the train screeches metallically on its tracks, a surreal and disturbing sound. A weathered man is staring at her from several seats away, unkempt and on drugs at least, probably homeless, but he has the look that she knows so well.

She is more and more tense as he stares, her breath coming harsh in her throat. The sound of the train feels like screaming. Her hand goes to her coat pocket, slips inside to finger the straight razor concealed there.

As the train slows at the next stop, the man rises clumsily, smiling vacantly, his eyes burning, and walks straight for her.

As he reaches to touch her she slashes the razor across his fingers. It happens so fast she can barely hear the shriek as he realized his hand is dripping blood and fingers to the dirty car floor--

The man in the aisle veers away from her as if he knows what she is thinking and she rouses herself from the fantasy. Of course she has not cut him. This is a trap, part of the Game, put in front of her to taunt her, to trick her into making a mistake. There is no way to take care of him, not now, not here, there are too many people, and she must concentrate on getting clear, leaving with as few ripples as humanly possible. He staggers off the train and her heart quiets again. Her hand stays in her pocket, loosely gripping the razor.

~~~

I have to admit I felt sympathy for this serial killer. Even knowing what she had done...Her MO was using a straight razor on both sides of the neck, cutting the carotid arteries... Shall we say she had considered how she would do it, and came up with an excellent effective method? No, I wasn't excited by the killing. It was the reason. I wanted to know why... And so did Roarke... So I followed each step he made, each conclusion he reached...and I watched as he, too, became possessive about this woman...

As I read further, I began to think about an old movie, titled "Laura" where an investigator falls for the painting of a woman and becomes obsessed. Could Roarke have seen something in her as she stood on the street that day while he waited to meet his agent, Greer." Or is it just my imagination that attached a personal connection between the killer and her hunter...Is she, after all, the true huntress? The suspense is thick with emotion as we witness some of the actions of the mystery lady. But there is also something taunting us not to believe all that we learn about. Then with the surprising ending, there is no real satisfaction. There is a need, a desire to move on... into the next book!

Alexandra Sokoloff left me wanting, needing to know what happens in this series. I don't think any other series has affected me quite so much in this particular way. I don't want the murderer to be caught... Quite a dilemma for me, don't you think?! What?!!! There's no doubt for this one...Get the book and tell me what you think?!

GABixlerReviews

I'm the Thriller Award-winning and Bram Stoker and Anthony Award-nominated author of the Amazon bestselling crime and supernatural thrillers The Harrowing, The Price, Book of Shadows, The Unseen, The Space Between, and the new Thriller Award- nominated Huntress/FBI thriller series: Huntress Moon, Blood Moon, Cold Moon. Bitter Moon. The New York Times Book Review has called me "a daughter of Mary Shelley" and my novels "some of the most original and freshly unnerving work in the genre." 

I'm a California native and a graduate of U.C. Berkeley, where I majored in theater and minored in everything that Berkeley has a reputation for. After college I moved to Los Angeles, where I've made an interesting living doing novel adaptations and selling original thriller scripts to various Hollywood studios.

In my stories I like to cross the possibility of the supernatural with very real life explanations for any strangeness going on, and base the action squarely in fact. THE UNSEEN is based on real paranormal research conducted at the Duke University parapsychology lab, and BOOK OF SHADOWS teams a Boston homicide detective and a practicing Salem witch in a race to solve what may be a Satanic killing. THE SPACE BETWEEN, is an edgy supernatural YA about a troubled high school girl who is having dreams of a terrible massacre at her school, and becomes convinced that she can prevent the shooting if she can unravel the dream.

I also have written paranormal romance (THE SHIFTERS, KEEPER OF THE SHADOWS) and the non-fiction workbooks SCREENWRITING TRICKS FOR AUTHORS and WRITING LOVE, based on my internationally acclaimed workshops and blog (http://screenwritingtricks.com) 

I live in Los Angeles and in Scotland, with Scottish crime author Craig Robertson.

When I'm not writing I dance: jazz, ballet, salsa, Lindy, swing - I do it all, every chance I get.