I work alone. I'm a private eye. When my casebook's empty-- and it's empty a lot--I write books. Murder books. I wear a dark fedora and a trench coat even when it's a hundred and five in Sacramento. I pack an 11mm Marley I bought at the Archie Goodwin estate sale. I know which end the slugs come out of. But 11mm slugs? Hard to come by these days.
People say I've got attitude. Attitude they don't like. I get that a lot. The cops and me? We work toward the same end, but we're like water and electricity. They think I cramp their style. They hate that I don't have to play by their rules.
I usually end up needing a lawyer. I had one. He fell off the back of an ambulanceful of mesothelioma patients and got run over by a speeding Cooper. I'm alone and on my own. It's a mean life. I'm used to it.
Okay, really, I'm not at all like that. I'm just a mild-mannered fellow who loves mysteries. I sit at my desk and drink coffee and daydream. I've never gone strapped (except for cash), and I've never shot anybody and nobody's ever shot me. I've been happily married to the beautiful Irma since 1967. While my head's in the clouds, she helps keep my feet on the ground.
I'm sure people in law enforcement laugh and/or snort at boo-boos they run across in crime fiction. They may think writers are stupid or simply ignorant. FYI we may or may not know what we're writing about, but in writing there's a technical loophole that covers this. It's called poetic license. It's legal.
A former investigator, the author now brings his rich experience to his novels.
When Jonas McCleary gets the opportunity to join the force in sleepy Sand Bluff, he jumps at it. A cushy job in a little town where nothing ever happens. He can relax and enjoy life, and since Jonas is getting onto thirty, he’s hoping with a little luck, to meet Miss Right.
But on his third day in Sand Bluff, another officer, Ackers, finds a body in an alley.
Now the only bright thing about Harold Ackers is his badge. Ackers thought the guy was drunk and only after he managed to get him to headquarters did someone inform Ackers that his drunk was dead. Albert Mohr, cocky and mouthy, isn’t much better, and probably not much brighter, so Chief Raymond Castillo is depending on Jonas, his only real cop with any previous training, to solve this mystery and bring a killer to justice.
Jonas just wishes he had the confidence his chief places in him. But he’s going to give it his best shot.
How many people does it take to write a best seller? How many of them will live to brag about it? In this dark novel of intrigue and deception the line between good guys and bad guys is blurred. Very blurred.
Chef Merle Blanc, he has the nose. And when millionaire Bernard Goldberg dies during his wedding luncheon in the chef's restaurant, Chef Blanc's nose, he smells the murder! What greater insult for Chef Blanc than that someone would be so callous as to commit a murder in his restaurant during a wedding reception he has so painstakingly prepared. But the doctors and police believe Goldberg's death was natural. Can Chef Blanc keep some forty guests and employees in his restaurant long enough for him to don his apron and cook a killer's goose before closing time?
When money, politics and a man's reputation are on the line, how far will he go to protect them? When there's a brutal murder to be solved, how far will a homicide detective go to bring a killer to justice? So far as to team up with a medium? A medium?
Wanna be a shamus? Just put on a trench coat and insert an ad in the Penny Saver. Hey, it works for Vero and Izzy. It works so well that they find themselves up to their fedoras in murder — and they may be the killer's next victims! Tape. You'll be all wrapped up in this sticky mystery.
When Hal Morrison goes to work at Marta's Place he doesn't just have to deal with customers; he has to deal with love, lust, detectives, drugs, murder, mayhem…and Marta!
State Senator "Red" Maddox has a problem, but doesn't want to involve the police. His attorney suggests Homicide Detective Steve Music. A cop can always use a little extra money, but as Music warns his clients: he'll do whatever he can to solve their problem without making waves, but they must remember, he's a cop first, and he can go only so far on an unofficial basis.
As murders begin piling up and deceptions and lies turn a simple job into a cop's nightmare, keeping his private job private while remembering his oath as a sworn officer isn't going to be easy.
And that's when things turn ugly.
Detective Steve Music is back and boy are we glad.Dr. Haddon Dainsbury's bedroom is saturated in blood and his wife is missing.Detectives Steve Music and Kanietha Gerta are sure that Mrs. Dainsbury's body is missing because DNA evidence on "or in"her body will name her killer, but ...If they hope to catch this killer, they'll have to rethink everything they thought they knew about the collection and interpretation of evidence
Detective Steve Music is a disillusioned cop with problems. Shelly Lambert is a woman who lost her son to a predator eight years ago. Continuing to suffer from grief and feelings of guilt, Shelly works with a coalition that helps locate missing childresn. When eleven-year old Jerry Beakey goes missing, Shelly and Steve join forces in their search for Jerry. That is, until Steve begins to unravel lies about Shelly's past, lies that rip them apart. Now, each separately continues to search for Jerry, but Shelly and steve have to overcome their own demons if they hope to find Jerry—and catch a murderer.