Suspense Magazine July 2013

Suspense, Mystery, Horror and Thriller Fiction
JULY 2013
A Summertime Cornucopia with
James Rollins
Tami Hoag
Brad Taylor
Richard Godwin
Matthew Dunn
Peek Inside
“The eye of god” &
“The Poisoned Pilgrim”
Lisa Gardner
Continues her
10-Part Series
On Conquering the
Dreaded Synopsis
Stranger Than Fiction
Beware!
The Vampire Hunter

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What makes a great villain
When authors write a series, the focus is
generally on the heroes—their family and lives, and
the people that touch them every day.
But what about the villain That character
usually changes from book to book since the hero
saves the day and in the end the villain is generally
killed off. The readers rarely get to know the villain
since their life is so short, but that doesn’t mean the
author can simply write about a really bad person that does bad things and then loses in
the end.
Why Because the number-one rule that every author should follow is to never write
a character that is forgettable. The most famous villains get that status because of the
depth of character the author was able to create. While it’s difficult for an author to get
that in-depth with a certain character in one book, it can be done.
When you start thinking of your fictional world and the characters that will live in
it, pay close attention to the characters that you know will only be around for one book.
You have time to build characters that will continue on from book to book and bring
them along with the reader.
Let’s take a series, more than three books that are not tied together. When you
first introduce the hero and the characters that will interact with them throughout the
series, you can slowly bring them along through all three books, talking about their past,
present, and future. Creating a villain in each book and having depth to them will bring
the reader back to book two and book three and so on.
Thrillers—particularly military and political ones—constitute one genre that seem
to have the same exact hero or cast of heroes facing new challenges each time. In some of
these books, the villain is simply a character that is placed in the pages to give the heroes
some sort of challenge, and never really touch the reader with any emotion.
Even though “The Joker” has been around for a very long time, Heath Ledger created
a version of that character that is seen as one of the best film villains ever. Within the
pages of a book, given that it takes a lot longer than two
hours to read, the author should have no excuse not to
create a formidable foe for the hero to encounter. This
basic rule of character development is what separates
the good authors from the great ones.
This rule also works with secondary characters,
which fill the world of a book up into much more
than just words on a page. The reader will not only
be entertained but have an experience that will keep
them coming back to see what you have in store for
them next.
John Raab
CEO/Publisher
Suspense Magazine ■
From the Editor
Photo Credit: Model: http://l6visyda.deviantart.com,
Photographer: http://iardacil-stock.deviantart.com
“Reviews within this magazine are the opinions of the individual reviewers and are provided solely to provide readers assistance
in determining another's thoughts on the book under discussion and shall not be interpreted as professional advice or the opinion
of any other than the individual reviewer. The following reviewers who may appear in this magazine are also individual clients
of Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine: Mark P. Sadler, Starr Gardinier Reina, Ashley Dawn (Wintters),
DJ Weaver, CK Webb, Elliott Capon, J.M. LeDuc, S.L. Menear, and Amy Lignor.”
1

CONTENT
S u s p e n s e M a g a z i n e
Ju l y 2 0 1 3 / Vo l . 0 4 9
Excerpt of “The Poisoned Pilgrim” By Oliver Pötzsch .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Rules of Fiction: The Seven (Bad) Habits By Anthony J. Franze.. . . . . . . . . . . 7
Lisa Gardner on Conquering the Dreaded Synopsis: Part Six.. . . . . . . . . . 14
The Hilcrove Atrocity By Justin Guleserian.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
From Their Pen...to the Silver Screen By CK Webb .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
Getting Into Your Historical Characters POV By Ric Wasley.. . . . . . . . . . . 24
The Sidewalk Ends By Thomas Scopel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Inside the Pages: Suspense Magazine Book Reviews.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Suspense Magazine Movie Reviews. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Featured Artist: Taire Lilith Morrigan.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Excerpt of “The Eye of God” By James Rollins. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Stranger Than Fiction: The Vampire Hunter By Donald Allen Kirch.. . . . . . 63
Diving to Depth By Joe Becker.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75

Special Preview from Oliver Pötzsch
The Poisoned Pilgrim
A Hangman’s Daughter Tale
Prologue
Erling, near Andechs
Saturday, June 12, 1666 AD, Evening
By Oliver Pötzsch
Dark thunderclouds hung overhead as the novitiate Coelestin, with a curse on his
lips, marched toward his imminent death.
In the west, beyond Lake Ammer, swirling clouds towered up, the first flashes
of lightning appeared, and a distant rumble of thunder could be heard. When
Coelestin squinted, he could make out gray rain clouds
over the monastery in dießen, five miles away. In only a
matter of minutes the storm would be raging over the
Holy Mountain, and now, of all times, the fat monk of
an apothecary had sent him to fetch a carp from the
monastery pond for supper. Coelestin cursed again and
pulled the cape of his black robe farther down over his
face. What could he do Obedience was one of the three
vows of the Benedictine order, and Brother Johannes was
his superior—it was that simple. An occasionally hottempered,
often enigmatic, and above all gluttonous lay
brother, but nevertheless his superior.
“Porca miseria!” As so often when he was in a bad
mood, Coelestin switched to his mother tongue. He had
grown up in an Italian village on the other side of the
Alps, but in the turmoil of the war, his father had become a mercenary and his mother a whore who followed army camps.
Here in the monastery on the Holy Mountain, Coelestin had found a home in the pharmacy at Andechs. Even though the
incessant litanies and nightly prayers sometimes got on his nerves, he felt safe here. Three times a day he got a good meal;
he had a warm, dry place to sleep, and the Andechs beer was said to be one of the best in the entire Electorate of Bavaria. In
these hard times, one could have it much worse. Nevertheless, the spindly little novitiate cursed under his breath, and not just
because he would soon be as wet as the carp in the pond of the Erling Monastery.
Coelestin was afraid.
Ever since the discovery he made three days ago, fear had been eating at him like a rabid beast. What he saw was so
horrible that his blood almost froze in his veins. It still followed him at night in his dreams, when he woke up screaming
and bathed in sweat. God would never allow such a crime to go unpunished; that much was certain. To Coelestin, the dark
clouds and the flashes of lightning in the sky seemed like the first harbingers of an Old Testament revenge that would soon
be visited on the monastery.
Even more threatening than the heresy, actually, was the man’s hateful gaze. The man had recognized Coelestin when the
novitiate tried to make a hasty escape—at least that’s what Coelestin thought. And the look on the novitiate’s face said more
than a thousand words. In recent days they had reached out to him, prodding, as if checking that Coelestin hadn’t betrayed
the secret.
Coelestin knew that the other one had powerful advocates. Why would they believe him, the little novitiate The
accusation was so monstrous that he could be considered insane. Or even worse, a character assassin. This comfortable life,
with meat, beer, and a warm, dry bed, would then no doubt be gone forever.
Nevertheless, Coelestin had decided to speak up. The next morning he would tell the monastery council what he’d seen
SuspenseMagazine.com
3

and his conscience would finally be clear.
A loud clap of thunder rolled across the countryside, and the freezing novitiate could feel the first cool drops of rain on
his face. Hastening, he tightened his hood and had soon left the last houses of Erling behind. Fields and meadows spread out
before him. On the other side of a small wooded area, surrounded by fences and bushes, lay the fishpond. When Coelestin
turned around, he saw storm clouds towering over the monastery up on the mountain—the home he might soon have to
leave. He sighed and shuffled the last few yards to the pond, as if advancing toward his own execution.
In the meantime, drops fell faster and faster, until the surface of the pond seemed to boil up like a poisonous brew.
Coelestin could see the fat gray bodies of the carp slowly coursing through the dark water by the dozens. Their hungry
mouths snapped at the raindrops as if they were manna from heaven. Coelestin shuddered as a wave of disgust came over
him. He’d never cared for carp. They were dumb, slimy scavengers whose flesh tasted of moss and decay. The fish reminded
him of the monsters he’d seen in pictures of Jonah and the whale: horrible creatures of the deep that swallowed whole
everything that wriggled in front of them in the water.
Timidly Coelestin started down the narrow, slippery walkway and reached for a fishnet leaning on a post alongside the
pier. With his hood deep down over his face, he leaned into the wall of rain and wind and moved his net back and forth
listlessly in the water. If he hurried, he might be back in the monastery pharmacy before the trousers and socks under his
thick black robe were soaked as well. In another life he probably would have slapped Brother Johannes across his chubby face
with the carp, but for now, he was damned to prayer and obedience. This was the price he had to pay for such a comfortable
life.
A slight creaking sound, almost drowned out by the thunder, caused the novitiate to pause. It sounded as if someone had
stepped onto the walkway behind him. But just as Coelestin was about to turn around, something started flopping about in
his net, and with a sigh of relief, he pulled in the long pole.
“Got you,” he mumbled. “Let’s have a look at what a big fish . . .”
At that instant, something heavy hit him on the back of the head.
Coelestin staggered, slipped on the rain-soaked wood of the walkway, and finally fell—fishnet and all—into the swirling
water of the pond, where he thrashed around and fought to save himself. Like so many people of his time, Coelestin could
skin a rabbit, identify hundreds of herbs by their smell, and recite whole sections of the Bible by heart. But one thing he
couldn’t do was swim.
The young novitiate shouted, waved his arms around, and kicked his skinny legs, but his own weight pulled him inexorably
down. When he felt the muddy bottom beneath his feet, he pushed himself back up to the surface, gasping. In despair he
reached out in all directions until he suddenly felt the pole floating in front of him on the surface. He clung to it and pulled
himself up. Through the increasingly violent downpour he could see a hooded figure on the walkway holding the other end
of the net.
“Oh, thank you,” he groaned. “You saved my—”
At that moment the figure pushed the pole down so hard that Coelestin sank again, gurgling. When he came to the
surface again, he felt the pole push him down violently once again.
“But . . .” he started to say as his mouth filled with murky water, which stifled his last desperate cries. Silently he sank into
the pond.
As life ebbed from his body in little air bubbles, Coelestin could feel the fat, slimy carp rubbing against his cheeks and
nibbling on the short hair of his tonsure. When the dying youth had finally sunk to the bottom, his mouth was as wide open
as those of the fish around him that stared back at him with dumb, expressionless eyes.
The man on the walkway watched the bubbles for a while and finally, nodding contentedly, put the net back in place and
set out for home.
The time had come for him to complete his work.
Chapter 1
At The Same Moment, in the Forests Below The Holy Mountain
Lightning flashed from the sky like the finger of an angry god.
Simon Fronwieser saw it directly over Lake Ammer, where for a fraction of a second, it lit up the foaming waves in a
sickly green. It was followed by a peal of thunder and a steady downpour—a black, soaking wall of rain that within moments
drenched the two dozen or so pilgrims from Schongau. Though it was only seven in the evening, night had fallen suddenly.
The medicus gripped the hand of his wife, Magdalena, tighter and, along with the others, prepared to climb the steep hill to
the Andechs Monastery.
“We were lucky!” shouted Magdalena over the thundering downpour. “An hour earlier and the storm would have caught
us out on the lake.”
Simon nodded silently. It wouldn’t be the first time a ship of pilgrims had gone down with all hands in Lake Ammer.
4  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

Now, barely twenty years after the end of the Great War, the crowds of pilgrims streaming to the famous Bavarian monastery
were larger than anyone could remember. In a time of hunger, storms, ravenous wolves, and marauding brigands, people
were more eager than ever to find protection in the arms of the church. This longing was fed by reports of miracles, and the
Andechs Monastery in particular, thirty miles southwest of Munich, was renowned for its ancient relics that possessed magic
powers—as well as for its beer, which helped people to forget their worries.
When the medicus turned around again, he could just make out through the rainclouds the wind-whipped lake that
they had just managed to escape. Two days earlier, he had left Schongau with Magdalena and a group from their hometown.
The pilgrimage led them over the Hoher Peißenberg to dießen on Lake Ammer, where a rickety rowboat took them to the
other shore. Now they were proceeding through the forest along a steep, muddy path toward the monastery, which towered
far above them in the dark clouds.
Burgomaster Karl Semer led the procession on horseback, followed on foot by his grown son and the Schongau priest, who
struggled to keep a huge painted wooden cross upright in the storm. Behind him came carpenters, masons, cabinetmakers,
and, finally, the young patrician Jakob Schreevogl, the only other city councilman to follow the call for the pilgrimage.
Simon assumed that both Schreevogl and the burgomaster had come less in search of spiritual salvation than for business
reasons. A place like Andechs, with its thousands of hungry and thirsty pilgrims, was a gold mine. The medicus wondered
what the dear Lord would have to say about this. Hadn’t Jesus chased all the merchants and money lenders from the temple
Well, at least Simon’s own conscience was clear. He and Magdalena had come to Andechs not to make money but only to
thank God for saving their two children.
Simon couldn’t help smiling when he thought of three-year-old Peter at home and his brother, Paul, who had just turned
two. He wondered if the children were giving their grandfather, the Schongau hangman, a hard time at home.
When another bolt of lightning hit a nearby beech, the pilgrims screamed and threw themselves to the ground. There was
a snapping and crackling as sparks jumped to other trees. In no time, the entire forest seemed to be on fire.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God!”
In the twilight, Simon could see Karl Semer fall to his knees a few paces away and cross himself several times. Alongside
him, his petrified son stared open-mouthed at the burning beeches while, all around him, the other Schongauers fled into a
nearby ravine. Simon’s ears were ringing from the bone-jarring thunderclap that seemed to come at the same instant from
right over their heads, so he could only hear his wife’s voice as if through a wall of water.
“Let’s get out of here. We’ll be safer down there by the brook.”
Simon hesitated, but his wife seized him and pulled him away just as flames shot up from two beeches and a number of
small firs at the edge of the narrow path. Simon stumbled over a rotten branch, then slid down the smooth slope covered with
dead leaves. Arriving at the bottom of the ravine, he stood up, groaning, and wiped a few twigs from his hair while scanning
the apocalyptic scene all around.
The lightning had split the huge beech straight down the middle, and burning boughs and branches were strewn down
the slope. The flames cast a flickering light on the Schongauers, who moaned, prayed, and rubbed their bruised arms and
legs. Fortunately, none of them appeared injured; even the burgomaster and his son seemed to have survived the disaster
unscathed. In the gathering dusk, old Semer was busy searching for his horse, which had galloped away with his baggage.
Simon felt a slight satisfaction as he watched the burgomaster running through the forest, bellowing loudly.
Hopefully the mare took off with his moneybags, he thought. If that fat old goat shouts one more hallelujah from up there on
his horse, I’m going to commit a mortal sin.
Simon quickly dismissed this thought as unworthy of a pilgrim and quietly cursed himself for not having brought along
a warmer coat. The new green woolen cape he’d bought at the Augsburg cloth market was dapper, but after the rain it hung
on him like a limp rag.
“One might almost think God had some objection to our visiting the monastery today.” ■
Oliver Pötzsch, born in 1970, has worked for years
as a scriptwriter for Bavarian television. He himself
is a descendant of one of Bavaria's leading dynasties
of executioners. He lives in Munich with his family.
Excerpted from “The Poisoned Pilgrim” A Hangman’s
Daughter Tale
Text copyright 2012 by Oliver Pötzsch
English translation copyright 2013 by Lee Chadeayne
“The Poisoned Pilgrim” A Hangman’s Daughter Tale
was first published in 2012 by Ullstein Buchverlag
GmbH as Der Hexer und die Henkerstochter. Translated
from German by Lee Chadeayne. First published in
English by AmazonCrossing in 2013.
SuspenseMagazine.com
5

America's Favorite
Suspense Authors
On the Rules of Fiction
The Seven (Bad) Habits of
Highly Effective Writers
By Anthony J. Franze
In this series, author Anthony J. Franze interviews other suspense writers about their views on
“the rules” of fiction. For the past few months, Anthony has profiled authors who are teaching
at this summer’s CraftFest, the International Thriller Writers’ writing school held during the
organization’s annual ThrillerFest conference. This month, nearly a dozen CraftFest instructors,
including ITW’s co-founders David Morrell and Gayle Lynds, identify recurring issues
they see in the work of newer writers.
Shattering the adage, those who can, do; those who can’t, teach, some of the biggest names in fiction will teach this month
at CraftFest, a writing school held during the International Thriller Writers (ITW) association’s annual conference in New
York City. Dozens of renowned storytellers will teach nearly forty classes on a myriad of writing topics.
As a member of the 2013 CraftFest faculty (I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t know how it happened either), I had
access to this impressive talent pool, and I couldn’t resist asking the CraftFest teachers a question of interest to readers of this
series: “In the numerous manuscripts you’ve reviewed by newer writers, what’s the one main problem
you’ve seen over and over” The authors rose to the occasion and identified not only recurring
problems—seven bad habits—of newer writers, but also some solutions.
Bad Habit #1: Flashbacks at the Beginning
David Morrell, the father of the modern action novel—and author of the acclaimed new
Victorian thriller, “Murder as a Fine Art”—identified the flashback as a major problem. “I frequently
see minor flashbacks on the first pages of manuscripts. ‘Joe woke up with a terrible hangover. The
previous night he’d been at his favorite bar and had drunk three more drinks than he should have.
SuspenseMagazine.com
7

He’d barely been able to find his car. Now he wondered where he’d parked it.’ Moving a story backward on a first page is, by
definition, not a good idea. It becomes a stylistic tic that shows up again and again in later parts of the story. I see this problem
so often that I use it to determine my level of hope for the rest of the manuscript.”
Morrell’s fix “Especially on a first page, step back and look for the number of times that ‘had’ is used. If there’s a cluster
of them, chances are they signal a minor flashback. On the theory that forward motion is essential on a first page, get rid of
the flashback.”
Bad Habit #2: Rushing the Ending
Gayle Lynds, the reigning queen of espionage, said it’s the end of manuscripts where she often
sees problems. “One of my biggest frustrations is spending four-hundred pages deeply involved in a
novel only to have it end abruptly, in just a chapter or two. After that much time with the characters
and their stories, readers want and need a sense of completion, of satisfaction. And if the book has
been violent, they need a violent confrontation at the end for catharsis. It’s true that not all subplots
and characters need to be resolved in your ending, but at least work through the primary ones. For
instance, because politics plays a large role in my books, my characters generally have somewhat
happy endings, but the situation itself is likely to be bettered only for the time being, because that’s
the way it is in life.”
Lynds said that if you’ve written a great tale and finish it with an ending “commensurate
with the its length and weightiness,” you’ll find your readers will not only love what you’ve written,
“they’ll hunger for your next book.”
Bad Habit #3: Too Much Telling, Not Enough Showing
We all know the conventional rule of writing show, don’t tell. The CraftFest authors,
however, went beyond this general prohibition and identified some specific show-don’t-tell
problems they’ve observed in manuscripts. They also gave tips on how to avoid telling, not
showing.
Linwood Barclay, the #1 international bestselling author of a dozen novels, including
the highly anticipated, “A Tap on the Window” (Aug. 2013), said a mistake he’s seen, and
one he’s made himself, is “having major plot developments happen ‘off camera.’ You don’t
want someone showing up and saying, ‘That time-bomb we were worried about It just
went off in Tuscaloosa.’”
Barclay’s advice: “As much as possible, put your main character where the action is. Don’t have her hear about
someone finding a body. Let her be the one who finds the body. This heightens the suspense, gets your protagonist fully involved
in the story. Best of all, you’re showing the reader what happened, not telling. Get your hero to Tuscaloosa. She may
not disarm the bomb in time, but she’ll sure see what happens.”
Catherine Coulter, the author of this month’s hot release, “Bombshell,” and more than sixty
other New York Times bestsellers, identified the misuse of dialogue tags as the biggest problem she
sees in manuscripts. “Dialogue followed by: he snorted, he gasped, she wailed, he gritted, she panted,
he rasped, he complimented (common and grammatically wrong) and on and on. In addition, after
dialogue, a ‘said’ followed by an adverb, e.g. she said haltingly, he said enthusiastically, she said
cruelly, he said bitterly, and on and on.”
The Fix: “Use ‘said’ or nothing at all. There are no synonyms for ‘said.’ It is merely an identifier.
If you don’t need to identify the speaker, use nothing, or some physical action, e.g., he walked to
the window, then dialogue. By using an adjective in the place of said or tacking an adverb onto
said, you aren’t trusting that what you’ve written will tell the reader how the character is feeling.”
Stanley Trollip, the co-author of the exceptional Detective Kubu mysteries with Michael
Sears (under the name Michael Stanley), agreed that too much telling is the main problem he sees
in the work of newer writers. “When a new character is introduced, if the writer includes a long description of the character’s
background, how the character looks, and so on, that is telling. The effect of this telling is to break the flow of the story and,
usually, to slow the action down. Similarly, descriptions of locations can disrupt the flow, detracting from the tension of the
8  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

story.”
As for how to tell, not show, the award-winning author of “Deadly Harvest” advised, “Almost
always, the information a writer provides when telling the reader something can be incorporated
into the action, into the dialog, or into how characters behave.” Trollip gave the following paragraph
as an example: As she walked home, Lesego’s head was full of Christmas. She knew her sister would
save some of her tips and buy her a small present. Lesego had no money, so she was making Dikeledi
a doily from scraps of red material left over from her needlework class. She was trying to embroider
‘Dikeledi’ across it in blue, but she’d made the first letters too big, and the whole word wouldn’t fit
neatly. She frowned. She was going to have to start it again.
“This probably leaves the reader with the impression that Lesego and Dikeledi are poor, that
they are close, and that Lesego was young. But nowhere does it say those things. That is showing
rather than telling.”
Bad Habit #4: Lack of Structure
Steve Berry, this year’s ITW Silver Bullet Award recipient whose books are staples on the New
York Times and USA Today bestseller lists, said a lack of structure is “a common flaw in nearly every
new manuscript I read.” At CraftFest, Berry teaches a class titled, “The 6 C’s of Story Structure,”
which include Character, Conflict, Crucible, Complications, Crisis, and Conclusion. “All six of
these have to be created, developed, and resolved at precise points in the story. A failure to do that
creates a snowball effect, one that cascades uncontrollably into an avalanche of problems. It’s like
building a house. No matter how elegant, fancy, or clever the walls and decor ultimately are, if the
foundation is not laid right underneath the whole thing will eventually crumble to the ground.
I’m not saying that my writing is perfect on this. I make my share of mistakes, too. But I can say
that I’m aware of structure and work hard to adhere. Many new writers today tend to ignore it.”
Berry’s advice on how to address the problem: “Unfortunately, there is only one way. Study your genre. See how
writers structure their stories. Both the good ones and the bad. In fact, you can learn a lot more from the bad. Then write.
After that, write some more. And keep writing and studying every day. The process never ends. I’ve been at it for twentythree
years and learn something new every day. All any writer can ever hope for is what they write
today is better than yesterday, and what they write tomorrow will be better than today. That’s about
as good as it gets.”
Leonardo Wild, the celebrated writer of eleven books and more than two-hundred articles (and
ITW’s only member in Ecuador), said the biggest problems he sees is “a lack of understanding of
what a scene is, how it is structured, and what are its functions within a story.” He said a first step
is “to realize that there is no scene without three meta-elements: (1) Setting: where and when does
a particular scene happen (2) Characters: who are the characters that appear in the scene (3)
Conflict: what is the nature of the main conflict in a particular scene Is it a physical conflict A
mental conflict An emotional conflict”
Bad Habit #5: No Unique Voice
Jenny Milchman, one of this year’s breakout debut authors, said, “Over and over I read a fine,
workaday manuscript, only to be left wanting. What’s missing is the writer’s unique voice, style, and
take on a novel. There are hundreds of thousands of novels out there. Our decision to try and add
another is warranted only by our willingness to be daring, to take a leap into uncharted territory.
When I read, I want to find something new. I want to feel something new. Give me that, and your
novel will find its way.”
Milchman’s three tips: “(1) identify the books that have moved you the most and ask why; (2)
practice entering a meditative state in which the voice telling you to play it safe is quieted; and (3) envision your novel as a
movie and write each scene as if it were appearing before you on the screen. When you describe something—instead of being
in that state of trying to be a writer—you sometimes bypass your inner editor and take off.”
Brandt Dodson, the author of the acclaimed Sons of Jude and Colton Parker series, said that “the most common problem
SuspenseMagazine.com
9

I’ve seen when reviewing manuscripts from newer writers is the lack of originality in the
plot. I’ve seen two manuscripts in the last month alone in which the climactic moment is
defined by the protagonist attempting to decide which wire to cut when defusing a bomb.
Really” Dodson’s recommendation: “Read widely and read deeply. And don’t be afraid to
read outside your genre. Some foreknowledge of what’s already been done can go a long way
toward being original.”
Bad Habit #6: Diminishing a Character’s Status
Steven James, a critic’s favorite and author of this month’s must-read release, “The
King,” said a problem he’s seen involves writers inadvertently lowering the main character’s “status.”
What does he mean by status “Well, in nearly every social encounter one person has, or is vying
for, the higher status, or the more dominant position. By allowing the main character to become too
submissive, too cold and unfeeling, or too weak and gimpy you can make the reader start to cheer for
someone other than your hero.”
James’s guidance: “Remember that showing compassion and exhibiting self-control will always
raise your character’s status. So, if she is being tortured and screams out for help—low status. But if
she clenches her teeth and refuses to cry out, higher status. If your detective arrives at a crime scene
and scoffs and coldly assesses the facts—low status (he’s not showing compassion). If he treats the dead with
dignity and respect it raises his status. Show higher status by letting your character slow down—stillness is power. Also,
choose verbs that portray self-control (he strode into the room) rather than the need for attention (she sashayed into the
room, or she strutted across the room). Allow your hero to act heroic by letting him sacrifice for the good of people who
are oppressed (emotionally, physically, financially, etc…), letting him turn the other cheek, and showing how he is not easily
rattled.”
Bad Habit #7: Too Much Backstory
The seventh bad habit of newer writers is perhaps the most recurring: too much backstory.
Nearly half of the CraftFest instructors I interviewed identified this as the main problem they see in
manuscripts. For instance, Karen Dionne, the author of the exciting environmental thriller, “Boiling
Point,” and a member of ITW’s Board, said “the most common mistakes I see in manuscripts from
new writers are overexplaining, and including too much backstory in the opening pages.” Dionne’s
answer: “Trust the reader. Don’t explain every detail, and watch out for instances where you’ve said
essentially the same thing twice. Remove all instances of backstory in the opening pages so that
your story raises questions instead of answering them.”
Other CraftFest teachers—James Bruno, Lincoln Child, JT Ellison, Jamie Freveletti, Andrew Kaplan, Douglas
Preston, and Alexandra Sokoloff—also offered some great advice on how to avoid the backstory problem. So much so, that
I’m dedicating next month’s edition solely to addressing their views on backstory. Until then, want to learn more from these
and other masters of suspense Head over to CraftFest in New York on July 10-11. It could change your (writing) life. ■
*Anthony J. Franze is the author of the debut legal thriller, “The Last Justice.” In addition to his writing, Anthony is a lawyer in
the Appellate and Supreme Court practice of a major Washington, D.C. law firm and an adjunct professor of law. Anthony is
active in the International Thriller Writers association where he Co-Chairs ITW’s Debut Authors Program and is the Assistant
Managing Editor of the Big Thrill magazine. Anthony lives in the D.C. area with his wife and three children. Learn more about
Anthony at http://www.anthonyfranzebooks.com/
Montage Press Photo Credit: Michael Palmer (St. Martin’s Press), Tess Gerritsen (www.tessgerritsen.com), John Gilstrap (Kensington Publishing),
John Lescroart (provided by author), Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child (provided by authors), Richard North Patterson (Miranda Lewis), Anthony
J. Franze (provided by author). Author Images (in order): David Morrell (Jennifer Esperanza), Gayle Lynds (www.gaylelynds.com), Linwood Barclay
(Michael Rafelson), Catherine Coulter (provided by author’s representative), Stanley Trollip (provided by author’s representative), Steve Berry
(Kelly Campbell), Leonardo Wild (provided by author), Jenny Milchman (provided by author), Brandt Dodson (provided by author), Steven James
(provided by author’s representative), Karen Dionne (provided by author).
10  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

The Modern Spy
Meet Matthew Dunn
By Suspense Magazine
Photo Credit: Provided by Publisher
The old adage “write what you know,” has
never been more true than it is for author and former spy
Matthew Dunn. An MI6 field officer for nearly six years, Matthew
has created a new career for himself fictionalizing the reality of his
previous position.
Though fans of 007 will need to partially wipe the imagery that
immediately comes to mind when thinking of the stars on screen—
parties, amazing gadgets, fast cars, and even faster sexy, half-clad
women—they’ll be equally entertained by Dunn’s approach.
With a past brimming with tales of real deep cover, Matthew
breathes life into Will Cochrane—MI6 and the CIA’s deadliest
weapon—in his Spycatcher series. Here’s a taste of what you’ll find in
his most recent release, “Slingshot”:
Cochrane is ordered to recover a mysterious document
stolen by a Russian Foreign Intelligence Service (SRV)
traitor working for a former high-ranking East German
Stasi officer. The officer, years before, had instigated a secret
pact between Russian and U.S. generals. The agreement
stipulated that should it be broken,
an assassin would immediately be set
loose after an unknown target.
The SRV has sent their own version of
Cochrane—a cold-blooded, brilliant
operative—to retrieve the document,
pitting spycatcher against spycatcher.
We hope you’ll enjoy the time we spent
with Matthew as much as we did, learning
the challenges he faces, his separation of fact
and fiction, and what he has planned for the
future.
SuspenseMagazine.com
11

“I’m the first ex-MI6 officer of my generation to write
books under my own name. It’s garnered a
huge amount of attention.”
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): Can you give us an inside look into your book “Slingshot” that can’t be found on the back
cover
Matthew Dunn (M.D.): Everything that happened in “Slingshot” was character-driven and that made for a wonderful writing
experience. There are over twenty pivotal women and men in the story. Their actions and, in many cases, differing objectives all
drove the direction of the tale. I knew what ending I wanted for the book, but juggling the agendas of these characters and getting
to the ending was like playing a game of chess while trying to herd cats.
One of my favorite characters in the book is a German assassin, codename Kronos. He is a devoted father of twin boys. I got
Kronos to the ending I wanted, but he outwitted me for most of the story and became a character I hadn’t originally envisaged.
S. MAG.: When did you realize you wanted to use your experience in the British Secret Intelligence to write a book
M.D.: The truth is that writing took me into espionage, and espionage took me back into writing. At school, my favorite subject
was creative writing—a subject that’s sadly no longer on the curriculum of most British schools—and I distinctly remember
winning “best novella” award for a spy story I wrote. It fueled my imagination and made me want to experience the real secret
world. Fifteen years later, I entered that world. During my time as a spy, I often thought, “It would be good to write about this
life.” And here I am.
S. MAG.: What is your favorite book and why
M.D.: Without doubt it is the complete works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. If you read all of the works, as I
have done many times, then you’re essentially following the professional lifetime of a brilliant, yet flawed, detective. It makes for
fascinating reading. There are so many aspects of Doyle’s tales that I love, including the historical setting. Great Britain’s empire
was at its zenith for the most part of Holmes’s life, and “class” and “knowing one’s place” were paramount. And yet, despite being
a well-educated and groomed gentleman with a cut-glass accent, Holmes seemed to not only transcend all classes but in many
ways stood outside the class system. There are more than a few hints in the books that suggest Holmes had more respect for the
North American spirit of “anyone can do” than he did for the pomp and arrogance of Victorian Britain’s ruling elite.
S. MAG.: This is the third book in the Spycatcher series starring Will Cochrane. How has the journey been for you
M.D.: It’s not been so much a learning curve but rather a vertical ascent up a sheer rock face. During the last three years, I’ve had
to learn from my mistakes, learn from my publishers and agent and understand their industry, and ultimately put myself out
there. I’m naturally a private guy so it’s been an odd process giving interviews and getting involved in marketing my books. The
double whammy is that I’m the first ex-MI6 officer of my generation to write books under my own name. It’s garnered a huge
amount of attention. I can’t complain because it was my decision to declare my background and real identity, and I did so for the
obvious reason of publicity. However, it carries with it a huge burden of responsibility. I’m bound for life to The Official Secrets
Act. If I write or say the wrong thing, the implications are obvious.
All of the above said, I can say with hand on heart that my experience of being a published author has been wonderful. I wouldn’t
swap this job for anything else in the world.
S. MAG.: The beginning or the end of the book—which do you believe has more impact on the reader, but which is more
difficult to write for the writer
M.D.: The obvious answer is that the beginning and the end of the book should have tremendous impact on the reader, and
therefore both have to be written with precision. But if I had to choose between the two, I’d say that the ending has the biggest
impact. Readers invest a big chunk of their time following your story; authors have to give them an ending that rewards their
12  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

commitment to your book.
However, I think the journey between the beginning and ending is the hardest part to write. All writers have a duty to constantly
engage their readers. It can be a mentally and emotionally tough process. But what a brilliant job! As my children say to me, “So
Daddy, basically you wake up in the morning and then spend all day making stuff up.” In essence, they’re right.
S. MAG.: When writing a subject matter that is so close to home, do you find yourself emotionally connected to Will
Cochrane
M.D.: In all respects, Cochrane is a very hard character. I admit, he is a version of me, or at least the person I used to be. Putting
his thoughts and emotions down on paper has been a difficult thing to do. In “Slingshot,” I really believe that I’ve found my groove
to continue exploring his character in a way that doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I am emotionally connected to Will and he
takes me back to some very dark and hazardous experiences and states of mind. Though he is at times surrounded by other
people, he’s a lonely guy because he feels dislocated from the real world due to the nature of his job and his experiences.
S. MAG.: Will Cochrane is sitting in front of you—what would you like to ask him
M.D.: I wouldn’t ask him anything. Instead, I’d take him for a beer and say, “Ten years from now, you can be married, have
children, and lead a completely different life. Don’t lose sight of the possibility that can happen. When you retire from espionage,
you’ll feel even more alone than you do right now. Don’t be frightened of that. Instead, every day make the effort to take small
steps toward the normal world. But I’m not going to lie to you. The secret world may never leave your consciousness. Part of you
may always be alone.”
S. MAG.: Would readers be shocked about how much is actually real in books, even though you have to keep it fiction
M.D.: Yes, I believe so. You may on rare occasions hear about military actions conducted by special operations units, but—unless
a traitor whistle blows details—you’ll have to wait decades to be privy to information about what an MI6 or CIA field operative
has done in hostile locations overseas. I feel privileged to have worked alongside intelligence operatives who’ve conducted brilliant
and utterly daring missions behind enemy lines. I can turn my experiences, and the experiences of other operatives, into fiction
without breaching secrecy. But herein is the problem: If the public isn’t privy to the reality of contemporary espionage, how can
readers judge whether a work of fiction is realistic or otherwise History isn’t necessarily telling because a look back at the Cold
War reveals a period that was an espionage slow-burn chess game. One day, the very different world of modern spying will fully
come to light. In the interim, the nearest you can get to it is by reading authors who’ve served in that world.
S. MAG.: Do you suggest readers just finding out about you start with your first book “Spycatcher”
M.D.: All of my published books are standalone novels and I make a point of recapping so that readers don’t have to read the
books in order.
S. MAG.: What does the future hold for Matthew Dunn
M.D.: HarperCollins (U.S.) has renewed my contract and has put an advance on the table for two more Spycatcher novels. So,
the immediate future will no doubt involve lots of writing, more television and print and online interviews, and continuing to
write newspaper articles.
Other projects are looming: I’ve been approached to star in a documentary about MI6, my Hollywood film agent is in advance
talks with producers about the Spycatcher series, plus I’m fleshing out an idea for an espionage-related TV series.
But my heart is firmly in the Spycatcher series of novels, and I have so many ideas for future stories. Ideally, I’d like to take this
series as far as it can go. That could easily be fifteen or twenty Will Cochrane adventures. Maybe more.
My future is therefore my past. It will be a very interesting journey.
We’d like to thank Matthew for taking his time to give us more insight into his life. For more information—and we highly
recommend the interview section of his site—check out his website at: http://matthewdunnbooks.com. ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
13

Conquering the
Dreaded
Synopsis:
A Series of Ten Lectures
By Lisa Gardner
Press Photo Credit: Philbrick Photography
Lecture Six:
Identifying Plot Points
After grabbing an editor’s interest with a strong opening, your
next task in the short synopsis is to accurately—and entertainingly—
summarize your 400-page magnum opus in the roughly two and a
half pages you have left. No problem, right After writing 400 pages,
two and a half should be a piece of cake.
Unfortunately, this is where many synopses fail. The writer succumbs to “laundry list” syndrome,
cramming in one sentence for every scene of the novel, regardless of importance. This overwhelming level of detail suffocates
voice and leaves the editor reeling. Or the studious writing goes off on tangents, describing secondary characters or minor
research elements that aren’t crucial to understanding the core story. Or the author may have determined the right level of
detail, but then transitions so roughly that the synopsis seems to leap randomly from point to point, lacking clear logic flow.
Once again the editor becomes overwhelmed and stops reading.
Why these problems occur is simple: The poor author is trying to reduce hundreds of pages into three, and she can’t
decide what to leave in or what to leave out, so she includes a bit of everything. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.
You need to focus on the main plot points and turning points of the novel. Ignore secondary plots and characters. Forget
about individual scenes. Just identify the major incidents that comprise the skeleton of your story.
Of course, this leads to the logical question, but what are the key scenes in my novel Many of us plot organically, and it’s
only after the fact that we can examine each scene of our novel to determine which ones are essential to the development of
the story, and which ones we simply love. (And if you’re reading this now thinking, oh, but all of my scenes are essential to
the story, only an idiot includes nonessential book scenes, refer to the laundry list syndrome mentioned above. Not all scenes
in a novel are of equal importance. It’s a fact. Move on.)
To help identify major plot points, I’ve broken my first two suspense novels, “The Perfect Husband” (TPH) and “The
Other Daughter” (TOD), into key plot points and turning points. Hopefully, analyzing these outlines will help you
identify the main plot points in your own novel.
Some caveats: This analysis will make more sense if you’ve read the two books, as one point of this exercise is
understanding all the stuff I leave out of the outline. Also, the outlines give away substantial information about
14  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

the novels, which will ruin the suspense if you haven’t read the books yet.
Finally, the reason I outlined both books is that they represent two different kinds of suspense. TPH
is a classic thriller novel, whereas TOD is a mystery novel. In a thriller, we know who the bad guy is, so the
suspense is derived by how you catch him. Thrillers rely heavily on action, the cat and mouse chase between
protagonist and antagonist. If you have a thriller novel, you must have at least a few clever turning points where the
book heads a new direction, as we will see reflected in the outline of TPH.
A mystery, on the other hand, derives its suspense from who did it. Mystery novels generally have a large cast of characters
so there will be plenty of suspects. Also, they rarely have many action sequences, but instead must get out new pieces of the
puzzle (new information on the crime) to keep the book moving forward. The plot points may appear subtler, as there is less
overt action. Instead, big revelations serve as major plot points and/or turning points in the novel.
With that background, let’s begin.
Major Plot Points: “The Perfect Husband”
Premise: Mysterious woman (Tess) attempts to hire an ex-mercenary (J.T.) to teach her how to protect herself and her child
from homicidal ex-husband (Jim Beckett).
Plot Point 1: Ex-mercenary finally agrees to help damsel in distress, even though he’s sworn off damsels in distress—
particularly ones who won’t give him their real names.
Plot Point 2: Homicidal ex-husband infiltrates police task force to learn status of investigation; leaves them a pointed message
(dead body) that he’s still interested in finding his wife and capable of using the cops to do it.
Plot Point 3: Ex-mercenary’s sister learns woman’s true identity and involves the local police to do so, possibly compromising
the woman’s safety. All fear Jim Beckett will head to Arizona and Tess is nowhere near ready.
Turning Point 1: Jim Beckett does not head to Arizona. He heads to central Massachusetts where he kills a cop and kidnaps
his own daughter. Police mobilize in an even bigger way…but Jim Beckett is nowhere to be found. (I call this a turning point,
because the book just fundamentally shifted. Readers have been expecting Jim to track down Tess in Arizona, but instead he’s
gone after his daughter and raised the stakes in a major way.)
Plot Point 4: Tess returns to Massachusetts against all advice. Jim Beckett promptly attacks Tess and J.T. at the crime scene.
Only J.T.’s excellent combat skills get them out alive. They are both injured…but now so is Jim Beckett.
Turning Point 2: Tess decides to lay a trap for her husband with herself as bait. She will wait in their old house, knowing
that Beckett cannot resist the challenge of coming after her. Once and for all, it will be done. (This is another turning point
because again the book has shifted. Tess is taking control, setting the stage for a showdown.)
Resolution: Jim Beckett comes after Tess. Killing an FBI agent first downtown, then taking out one of the rooftop snipers, he
splits the protective task force, and descends upon his terrified wife. J.T. however, surprises the man from behind. Beckett
winds up dead, Samantha is found. Family reunited.
Now, anyone who has read the book knows it was way more involved than this. I barely mention Marion (J.T.’s sister)
though she’s a key part of the novel. I don’t have room. I never mention the police POV—Special Agent Quincy, Lieutenant
Difford, and the rest who carry substantial scenes. I don’t have room. I’m looking just at key action points from the protagonist/
antagonist POV. The approach is bare-bones, but it also leads to a concise logic flow. A strong, clear logic flow is extremely
important. I can’t emphasize that enough.
Major Plot Points: “The Other Daughter”
Premise: Melanie Stokes believes she is leading the perfect life. Twenty years ago she was abandoned at a Massachusetts
hospital, drugged and with no memory. That was a long time ago, however, and she rarely thinks about it anymore. Promptly
adopted by a well-respected surgeon and his wife, Melanie has grown up in the lap of luxury. She is doted on by her parents,
adored by her adopted brother, and spoiled by her godfather. At the age of twenty-nine, she feels she is probably the luckiest
person in the world. Until tonight.
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15

Plot Point 1: A tabloid reporter arrives at the Stokes’s residence. Getting Melanie alone, he declares that he has proof that
she is the daughter of a Texas serial killer, Russell Lee Holmes. Holmes was executed for the murder of six young children
the same night Melanie was abandoned in the MA hospital. And one of the children Holmes allegedly killed was Melanie’s
adoptive parent’s first daughter, Meagan. Melanie does not believe the reporter and sends him away.
Plot Point 2: The next day, Melanie comes home to an unpleasant surprise—an altar at the foot of her bed containing 55
votive candles spelling a single name: Meagan. In the middle rests one of Meagan’s old toys. It was last seen the day she died.
Plot Point 3: Melanie pays a visit to the tabloid reporter, wanting to see his proof. Before Melanie can get more details,
however, the tabloid reporter is shot dead. Melanie just manages to take cover, before the gunman grabs the reporter’s
notebooks and runs.
Turning Point 1: Now a witness to a homicide, Melanie ends up in protective custody. For reasons that are not clear to
Melanie, the FBI are also interested in her case. Fortunately, Special Agent David Riggs agrees to pull the FBI case file on
Russell Lee Holmes. To their surprise, his request for information generates a personal phone call from Quantico’s leading
profiler, Pierce Quincy. Quincy has recently read the file, and to his expert eye, the Meagan Stokes murder was clearly a
copycat crime—not the work of Russell Lee Holmes. Worse, he believes the likely suspects for Meagan’s murder are her own
family members—Harper, Patricia, and Brian Stokes. (Remember this is a turning point because the book is now obviously
headed in a different direction.)
Plot Point 4: Melanie and David research Meagan Stokes in earnest. They learn Meagan’s murder garnered the Stokes one
million dollars in life insurance. Also, Patricia and Harper Stokes were having marital problems as well; Harper liked to
sleep around and Patricia retaliated with an affair of her own—with Harper’s best friend and Melanie’s godfather, Jamie
O’Donnell. Last but not least, Melanie’s brother Brian was seeing a therapist in the 1970s. He had been so mean to his little
sister that he was not allowed to be alone with her. Definitely, there were a lot of people with possible motive to hurt Meagan
Stokes. Quincy and David now believe Melanie may honestly be the daughter of Russell Lee Holmes. Possibly, her parents
agreed to adopt her in return for Russell Lee Holmes confessing to the murder of Meagan Stokes, finally ending the police
investigation. Melanie can’t believe her parents would do such a thing, but she is beginning to wonder. Maybe the hired gun
can tell them more…
Plot Point 5: Hired gun turns up dead. No clues.
Plot Point 6: Melanie returns home against David’s advice. When she tries to question her family about the past, however, she
and Harper end up in a violent argument. He slaps her, then storms away. Melanie doesn’t know what to believe anymore.
Turning Point 2: Next morning when Melanie comes downstairs, she finds her father’s business associate in the study, rifling
through papers. When she confronts William, he pulls a gun and demands to know the combination of Harper’s safe. In bits
and pieces, Melanie learns that her father has been committing healthcare fraud—hence the FBI’s interest in her; they have
been investigating her father. William babbles about how little she really knows about her parents. Melanie and William
end up in a struggle. The gun goes off. William falls dead. Melanie has killed a man and all she can wonder is if Russell Lee
Holmes would approve.
Plot Point 7: David receives a call from Melanie that she’s just killed William in self-defense. She will not be around for
questioning, however. She’s taking matters in her own hands. Goodbye. David races to the scene to find that the healthcare
squad’s main witness is now dead, Harper is accusing his daughter of the crime, and Patricia looks on the verge of
collapse. She wants to know if anyone has told Brian yet about the shooting. The police respond that they can’t find
Brian Stokes. A friend declared him missing twenty-four hours ago.
Plot Point 8: Frantic and scared, David tracks Melanie to Huntsville, Texas, the last home of Russell Lee Holmes.
Melanie is trying to learn everything she can about her father and she is destroying herself bit by bit. Everything about
her life is a lie. She is merely a substitute for a murdered daughter. David tells her it’s not that simple yet. He believes in
her. He will help her find the truth.
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Turning Point 3: Together, they track down the midwife who
had delivered Russell Lee Holmes’s child. Melanie confesses
to the woman that she is Russell Lee Holmes’s daughter and
she wants to find out what happened twenty-five years ago.
The midwife, however, is stunned. Russell Lee Holmes did
not have a daughter, she informs Melanie. Russell Lee Holmes
had a son…
Okay, I won’t give you the resolution because that ruins
the whole book and frankly, I’m mean. Needless to say,
this outline is running long and that’s because this book is
500 pages (115,000 words) so condensing it down is even
more difficult. To give you some sense of what I left out,
the complete novel involves ten different points of view. We
spend time with the mom, the dad, the brother, the godfather,
the reporter, etc. The hero is introduced right away and has
a compelling backstory. I didn’t include any of that here
because then I definitely couldn’t cover the outline in three
pages.
Subplots include a shadowy figure that is sending
everyone notes saying you get what you deserve. Patricia
Stokes, by the way, is a recovering alcoholic. The book spends
a lot of time on her complex relationship with her husband,
as well as Jamie O’Donnell. Other subplots are that Melanie’s
brother, Brian, was kicked out of the family six months
ago for declaring that he is gay. This starts to play into the
police’s suspicion of why someone contacted the reporter
now. Oh, and Melanie’s best friend Ann Margaret is relevant,
and William isn’t just Harper’s business associate, he’s also
Melanie’s ex-fiancé.
See, left that all out and probably confused you by putting it here. That’s why I left it out. It’s extraneous stuff,
the meat on the bones, and for three pages, you just want BONES. Keep to a singular POV if that helps. Focus on
primary scenes, nothing else.
Bottom line—we’re back to KISS.
Conclusion
Identifying the key plot points in your novel will enable you to properly focus your short—and long—synopsis. If you
have been creating synopses that are confusing, flat, or overwhelming, look at the level of detail you are trying to include. It’s
always better to say a few things well, than many things badly.
Next up, we’re going to look at two possible outlines to help you organize your bold hook and brilliant plot points into a
nice, neat, highly marketable, package. ■
Lisa Gardner, a #1 New York Times crime thriller novelist, began her career in food service, but after catching her hair on fire
numerous times, she took the hint and focused on writing instead. A self-described research junkie, her work as a research analyst
for an international consulting firm parlayed her interest in police procedure, cutting edge forensics, and twisted plots into a
streak of internationally bestselling suspense novels, including her most recent release, “Touch & Go.”
With over twenty-two million books in print, Lisa is published in thirty countries. Her success crosses into the small screen with
four of her novels becoming movies and personal appearances on television shows.
Lisa lives in New Hampshire with her auto-racing husband and black-diamond skiing daughter. She spends her days writing in
her loft with two barky shelties and one silly puppy.
SuspenseMagazine.com
17

The Hilcove Atrocity
I used for five years, without
a hitch. Of course, my habit didn’t get serious until
the last couple years. I finally lost my job. I was disbarred.
That spelled very bad news for me, because it’s an expensive
habit, you know. Not as bad as coke, mind you, but still a
pretty penny. I sold my house. It was a seller’s market, so I
did all right. My dealer was fair with me, too. I lied and told
him that I planned to move out of the city, and he cut me a
wholesale deal. I bought enough junk to last me through the
spring and moved here, to Hilcove Apartments, room one
twenty-six, to live in absentia for as long as I could afford.
This place. I can’t think about it without feeling like I’ve
stumbled into a junk-sick dream. I don’t know who built
it, but he must have hated humanity. Three stories of units
stacked like warehouse crates, caged by tarnished-brass
balcony railings. Red doors with brass numbers and glass
peepholes. The arched roof is lost in shadow. Hilcove had
been built over a canal that runs down the middle, between
the two rows of studios, entering and leaving through rusted
iron grates. It makes me wonder whether that arched roof
has always been there, or whether there was a time when
the sun glinted off our brass railings and set the canal’s
water sparkling. But we’re boxed up pretty well now. Even
the canal. The water is clean enough, but its depth makes it
appear black in the florescent light.
You forget what daylight looks like in here. The only
windows are these panes on either side of the building’s
entrance, these narrow slits from which light can only bleed.
I still can’t believe it. No daylight! Who built the thing So,
days and nights run together in a mosaic blur. You might
venture out, but the moment you return, it’s like the outside
never was. You only remember Hilcove. I don’t think I ever
ventured out once after I signed the lease. I had nowhere to
go. Looking at the sorry faces around here, I guessed that
most of them didn’t either.
Our complex has few amenities. There’s a general store.
A laundry room. Somebody once mentioned a gym, but
I’ve never seen it and wouldn’t step inside if I had. There’s
swimming, though. The canal. For most of us here, the human
race is like the dysfunctional family that we feel obligated to
visit on holidays. So the canal was the closest thing to a social
By Justin Guleserian
scene we could hope for at Hilcove. We all readied a smile,
trimmed our goddamn toenails, and went out to rub elbows
at the canal.
It was there, in the canal, that I first saw Elise. She was
poor and came from poor inner-city stock, like most of the
Hilcove residents. Of course, with a face like hers, she could
have gone straight uptown. But she wanted to hide, away
from her father. She came to Hilcove to forget and to be
forgotten. We would never forget that sad-angel face of hers.
Elise loved the water. Loved it. She would wade in the
canal twice a day, like clockwork. Maybe she felt cleaner in
the water. I don’t know. But the rest of us, the men especially,
took a very sudden and very strong interest in Hilcove’s
canal. Of course, most of us never stood a chance. I never
stood a chance. What does a forty-year-old junky have to
offer a pretty young girl like that, except a bunch of stories
from better times But I liked to be around her, all the same.
She was the one thing at Hilcove that didn’t seem used up,
even if she felt otherwise.
The younger guys would wade with her. The older ones
would just sit poolside in shorts and t-shirts. Of course, I
had to wear long-sleeves so my tracks didn’t show. I wore
a turtleneck because I thought it made me look vaguely
sophisticated. To that end, I always had a book with me.
Pathetic, I know. But it was a fair way to start a conversation. I’d
found the book under the bed, when I first moved in. It was a
strange one and looked like it was typed on an old typewriter
and bound by hand. It was all about astral projection, which
is when a person has an out-of-body experience on purpose.
Of course, I’ve left my body three times a day since my habit
got serious, but it was still good to have that book to stick my
nose into for when some young buck was flirting with Elise
and I didn’t want to watch.
And the women! Oh, those poor ladies. Some of the
Hilcove women would wade in the canal and vainly try to
win back the interest of their men. They were so obvious.
Once, when a man dragged his eyes off Elise, I noticed one
of the women stretching for him, baring her underarms,
pulling her breasts above water, as she let out the prettiest
sigh a mother could teach her daughter. Some of the guys
took a glance, but it was only a moment before our attention
returned to Elise. Before long, most of the women gave up
18  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

swimming when Elise was in the canal. They would pass by
the men, on the way to do laundry, and mutter some catty
trash about Elise that we all heard but never acknowledged.
I think some of the men, too, tasted bitterness after a
while. We didn’t talk about it, but I believe it was there. None
of us would win Elise. She wasn’t here for us. And even if
some buck got lucky, what good was that to the rest of us
Once in a while I’d take my gaze off Elise and look at one of
the older crows. He’d just shoot me back a familiar look of
resignation, as if to say, hey, what are we supposed to do
What were we supposed to do We were supposed to walk
away. We were supposed to have gone about our business,
gone after something that might actually yield some kind of
good in our lives. Maybe if we had, Elsie would still be alive.
But we didn’t. I didn’t. I just kept my nose in that book and
hoped for things I couldn’t admit to hoping.
The book. Maybe it was my boredom, my need to escape
my own addicted flesh, but I actually started to believe that
it was possible for a spirit to leave its body while the body
remained living. No, not just possible…natural. It was as if I
saw, within the riddled verses and the spidery lines of those
strange hand-drawn diagrams, directions to a place just on
the other side of town, a place I’d always known was there. I’d
seen the ads, read the reviews. I’d just never shelled out the
cab fare to check it out for myself. It was there, though. It had
always been there.
I began to practice, at night, before I went to bed. At first
my training was a half-hearted experiment, like an atheist
who prays just to make sure no one will respond. My attitude
changed pretty quickly in the weeks that followed. Before
long, I was doing the exercises, every night. I would close
my eyes and visualize the room that I occupied. The image
of the room was a tenuous thing, infirm, an ever-changing
phantom. Then, I began to see the golden light. The light
made everything solid, illuminating the room before my
closed eyes with a pale and bleary flickering. At first, the
illumination grew dimmer, the farther I traveled from my
body, and I couldn’t go more than few feet before I was
standing in an impenetrable murk. It was terrible, being in
that murk, without ground to stand on or feet to stand with.
I could never stay in the dark for more than few moments
before I fled back to my body, where the exercise would start
over again. By turns, I could drift farther and farther from
my body without losing my sight.
I realized that I could go farther when I was junk sick
and sweating with the chilling fever of withdrawals. I started
fixing earlier in the evening, so that I was good and sick by
bedtime. It was almost unbearable, feeling that sickness and
knowing that relief was just a few feet away on the coffee
table. But if I could hold it together long enough to see the
golden light, I would be freed from my sick flesh and leave
my shivering body behind for a while.
One night, I made it as far as the door, all the way across
the studio from where my body lay. I peered out through
the peephole and saw an old woman drop a cigarette, just a
SuspenseMagazine.com
few feet from my door, and pass on without stepping on the
smoking butt. My eyes shot open, and I felt the unwelcome
but familiar sensation of my limbs, trembling in the sweatsoaked
sheets of my bed. Despite the realism of my visions,
I could never be certain that what I saw was not just in my
own head. But here was a way to prove that my nightly
journeys were more than a fever-dream. I struggled out of
bed as quickly as I could, draped the covers over my quaking
shoulders, and made for the door. I must have looked like a
mad man, poking my frantic head out the door in the middle
of the night, half-naked, shivering, searching the ground for
a cigarette butt. But I found it. It was still smoking. Suddenly,
I saw a way that I could get closer to Elise.
#
Three months after I began, I
was ready. On the chosen night, I left my body and
made for the canal. The golden light was shining brightly,
illuminating everything around me, as my ghost passed
through the grain of my studio’s door and floated above the
walkway. To fly. I cannot describe my surprise and elation
when I first discovered that I was no longer bound by gravity.
At first my flight was uncertain, not like a fledgling, who will
beats its wings in a frenzy to stay aloft, but like a balloon,
which might be blown too easily by the breezes that resulted
from my poor concentration. By turns, my flight grew more
certain. I was able to soar higher and faster without feeling
that my buoyancy was any less sure. And then I was free, a
holy ghost sailing through a cathedral to sound of blessed
hymns. The filthy doors and their brass numbers became as
stained glass and the canal was as a nave.
As I brought my vision down to the canal, to its dark
and watery mirror, I saw a sight that surely would’ve made
my heart leap, were my body nearby. I saw the source of the
golden light. It was me. My soul. My spirit. I appeared to
myself as a golden vapor, sleek and bright, free of scars, free
of used-up flesh and collapsed veins. I wished, then, that I
had eyes to weep. You must understand that to use, to poison
yourself everyday for years, knowing the same blood that
carries your life also carries the poison, with every breath,
with every single heartbeat—well, you can’t help but think
that maybe your spirit is rotting right alongside your flesh.
Yet here was golden light, pure and unsullied, lighting my
path like the wisdom of a saint. For the first time I felt that
perhaps I was as worthy as anyone to win Elise. Why not
And, if she didn’t want me, so what At least it would not be
due to a rotten soul.
When I came upon Elise, I instinctively stopped in my
flight and hovered above the canal, watching her. She snuck
out every night to wade alone, free of her entourage, their
insistent stares and their probing remarks, like eager hands
grasping at her wrists. Nobody knew she came out to bathe
at night. I knew. I had once gone to do laundry in the small
hours. When I approached her alcove, she had ducked
underwater, the darling. I couldn’t blame her, even then. It
hurt like hell, of course, to see her duck down like that. But
19

she wouldn’t have to hide this time. There would be nothing
to hide from, nothing to touch her but golden light.
She looked so goddamn beautiful, I tell you, sitting there,
her platinum hair slicked back along her neck. I floated
timidly toward her, instinctively fearing to disturb her, as
I had on that first night. And I noticed how unassuming,
how unaffected, her expression seemed now. The mask had
dropped. She looked at peace in way that I had never seen her
before now. Perhaps, at these times, alone with the calming
plip, plip,plip of the canal’s dark water, she was able to escape
even the terrors that drove her to Hilcove. And I, free of my
carnal bonds, was filled with a magnanimous compassion,
and content to simply hover beside her, enjoying her beauty,
bathing her in golden light. She took a deep breath through
parted lips and sighed, and I wondered if my light, though
apparently invisible to her, had in some way elicited that
sigh from her. I was curious. Could she sense me, after all
Playing a hunch, I drew closer and saw a relaxed smile spread
across her face. I was inches from her, could almost feel her
calm and steady breath, when I suddenly heard the sickening
crack and saw her head loll horribly upon her pretty bare
shoulders.
I felt myself scatter. With my concentration lost, my
vaporous spirit utterly dispersed. I saw only blackness and
was near certain that, in a moment, I would awake in my
fevered body. It was only by a supreme effort of will that I held
my presence together in that spot long enough to reassemble
itself. When I could again see the golden light shine upon
the scene, I knew that the snap I’d heard had been no
hallucination. Elise was dead, her neck broken. Frantically, I
shot my glance about until, from a nearby patch of shadow, I
saw another light begin to brighten. A sickening light spilled
from a thick and coiling cloud of violet and black. The cloud
had eyes. It had eyes. Every impulse I felt was shouting at me
to turn away from that sight. But something made me look.
And I saw. Set in the midst of this violet vapor, at what might
most easily described as its front, were a pair of eyelids,
behind which hovered two sickly green eyes, a woman’s eyes,
filled with unfathomable hate. Yes, a woman’s eyes. To look
upon those eyes, I knew, this was no conjured devil. This was
a person, like me, but with a spirit that was infinitely fouler. I
looked upon the astral projection of a witch.
It glared at me a moment longer before turning those
eyes away and shooting off, down the corridor, over the canal.
With the eyes no longer fixed on me, I felt my courage return,
and with it, my outrage. In a moment, I was off, chasing the
dark vapor. Faster, I flew. The doors fused in a red blur as I
sped. I knew I only had to keep sight of dark vapor, to see
where it led, to see where its body hid. Finally, as we neared
the iron grate through which the canal’s water exits, the witch
vapor veered and flew through a door. Two sixteen. Room
two sixteen.
I forced my mind to slacken, my concentration to relax,
and so my own projection dispersed. I awoke in my body,
swimming in my sweat, shaking with chills. Now, again, I
needed all my strength of mind to hold myself together. I was
a dervish of rage and fear and sickness. I vomited in a waste
basket and felt a little better, well enough to grab my shotgun
and wrap my sorry frame in a raincoat.
A minute later, I was walking along the canal toward two
sixteen, glad there was no one around. Mind you, I had no
delusions of avoiding a murder charge, but if anyone has seen
me walking like that, with my hand held inside my coat and
my pajama pants sticking out the bottom, they might have
figured something was up and decided to play hero. Same
as I was doing. But nobody was there to see me, and before
long I was standing right in front of two sixteen with a loaded
shotgun in my hot little hands.
I didn’t bother to knock. I was pretty weak still, and it
took a few kicks before the door gave way. When it did finally
fly open, I wished I had just called the police and let them be
the ones to need therapy. It was an abomination: On the floor
of a wholly unfurnished apartment, sat a woman so morbidly
obese that her corpulence, rather than suggesting overnourished
life, suggested only death. In fact, her flesh was
not plump at all. It hung from her frame like warmed wax,
so that at first glance, she actually appeared to be melting. It
could only be black magic keeping her alive. No human heart
could pump blood hard enough to reach the capillaries on the
edges of those monstrous folds. Her skin appeared gray, even
bluish. For all its abundance, it was dying. Only her eyes still
flared with terrible life, burning from within dark circles, and
sunken despite the fleshy curtains of her drooping face. The
smell. The rank odor was something simply indescribable. To
make things worse, I had to squeeze the stock and barrel of
my shotgun to keep my hands from shaking when I noticed
small stones, glimmering gems, like diamonds, slowly and
silently orbiting her head. A devil’s diadem. The diamonds
just floating there and circling like worshippers.
“You must live in one twenty-six,” she croaked. “I used
to live in that one, many years ago. I see you found my book.
I always wondered what became of it. Glad you enjoyed
it. Didn’t save your precious Elise, though. Didn’t save her
pretty neck. Oh, Elise. A lovely girl. Just lovely.”
The witch’s jowls shook with mirthless laughter.
“Whatever will you boys do with your time, now”
I let my shotgun answer. Yet, as I fired, I noticed one of
the diamonds speed off from its orbit. It was almost too quick
to see. Just a glint of light and then a sharp blow to my chest.
I looked down and saw that I was bleeding. Badly. There was
no pain. No pain from a diamond bullet. I tossed the gun
aside and hit the floor.
My shot will bring curious neighbors, and they, in turn,
will bring police and an ambulance. But I feel my life’s blood
flow from my chest, and I doubt there’s enough life in this
used-up body to see me through the night. It’s all right. I
know there’s a golden light at the center of it. One that even
cursed diamonds can’t outshine.
But poor Elise. Poor kid. We should’ve walked away. We
all should’ve just walked away. ■
20  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

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By CK Webb
This month we find ourselves at number eight on my list of favorite books that became my favorite movies.
Just to refresh your memory, here are my personal guidelines for determining a great book-to-film adaptation:
1. True to the book, with no weird new characters or twisted existing ones.
2. The actors in the movie are the right ones to play the characters in this book (I know that every character
will not always feel 100 percent right, but I need to at least feel like the screenplay writer and director actually
READ the book).
3. And finally, I always look for story and character development on
the part of the screenwriter that makes the book/film better.
# 8 THE CHILDREN OF MEN
Credit: Universal Studios
Now, before anyone sends me hate mail for totally going against my
very own guidelines, let me explain why.
First off, sometimes a movie comes along that, even though it doesn’t
conform to the book, manages to become a wonderful film in spite of itself.
Or sometimes, that film even becomes better than the book, though not
very often. And then there are those rare times when a movie simply jumps
from the big screen and grabs hold of you so solidly, that you toss all rules
to the side and embrace your inner rebel!
“The Children of Men” is that book/film for me.
“The Children of Men” is a dystopian novel written by P.D. James
and published in 1992 by Knopf/Random House. Set in an England in
2021, far removed from the one we are familiar with, “The Children of
Men” shows us a world where mankind has become sterile and the entire
human race hangs in the balance.
The narrative for the novel alternates between first and third person,
making it stand out in its very mechanics. It was exactly this style of
alternating narrative that caused some readers to dislike the novel.
The novel opens with a journal entry, recounted the events that
brought mankind to this place.
22  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

In 1994, all the sperm counts of all human males fell to zero, meaning the imminent extinction of the race. In the year
1995, or “Year Omega,” the last people who were born are now called “Omegas.” Considered a race apart from all the others,
Omegas enjoy certain amenities and accommodations that aren’t given to others. In the opening lines we learn that the last
human to be born on Earth has just died in a pub brawl.
Described as spoiled, hateful, and egotistical, the Omegas are violent and unstable. They often regard the non-Omegas or
elders with disgust and contempt, but their crimes go unpunished because of their age. In the novel, it is even rumored that
other countries sacrifice Omegas in fertility rituals.
In the book, due to mankind’s infertility, newborn domesticated animals are doted upon and treated as infants in this
new society.
The courts still exist. Defendants are now tried by a judge and two magistrates. All convicted criminals are abandoned at
a penal colony on the Isle of Man. There is no restitution, escape is a certain impossibility, visitors are strictly forbidden, and
prisoners may not write or receive letters.
Every citizen is required to learn skills they might need to help them survive if they happen to be among the last human
beings in Britain.
The book received positive reviews from many critics and readers alike and has remained one of the most controversial
and widely read books of our time.
The film version of the book was released in theaters in 2006 and is a dystopian science fiction film co-written, co-edited,
and directed by Alfonso Cuarón. It is loosely based on the novel.
In the film adaptation, the year is 2027 and two decades of human infertility have brought mankind to its knees. Illegal
immigrants are flocking to England in hopes of seeking sanctuary in the United Kingdom, where the last functioning
government in the world imposes oppressive immigration laws on refugees.
Clive Owen plays the protagonist, civil servant Theo Faron, who is compelled to help pregnant West African refugee
Clare-Hope Ashitey safely escapes the chaos. Children of Men also stars Julianne Moore, Michael Caine, Pam Ferris, and
Chiwetel Ejiofor.
In spite of the film’s limited release and low earnings at the box office, Children of Men still managed to receive global
critical acclaim and was also recognized for its miraculous achievements in screenwriting, cinematography, art direction, and
innovative, single-shot action sequences.
Children of Men was nominated for three Academy Awards for Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Cinematography, and
Best Film Editing. It was also nominated for three BAFTA Awards. The film won awards for Best Cinematography and Best
Production Design, and three Saturn Awards including, Best Science Fiction Film.
P.D. James was reported to have been pleased with the film, leading to the screenwriters of Children of Men being awarded
the 19th annual USC Scripter Award for their screen adaptation of the novel.
Howard A. Rodman, the chairman of the USC School of Cinematic Arts Writing Division, described the book-to-screen
adaptation as “writing and screen writing of the highest order,” although he noted the screenplay bore very little resemblance
to the novel as it pertains to the gender of the baby born in the book, the character who was pregnant in the book, and also
as it pertains to the death of Theo, who in actuality, does not die in the novel.
The film was also nominated in the category of Best Adapted Screenplay at the 79th Academy Awards, placing it in an
elite category with other films that have enjoyed back-to-back nominations. The Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy &
Horror Films bestowed the Saturn Award for Best Science Fiction Film for Children of Men, and it received the nomination
for Best Dramatic Presentation, Long Form by the members of the World Science Fiction Convention.
In the end, I watched the movie my first time and frowned a bit at the vast differences from the book to the film. But it
would be my need to give almost every movie a second try that brought me around. Eventually, I watched the film a couple
more times before I knew emphatically that somehow, THIS film was better than the book had been.
I will end by saying that though I love the film and the book for completely different reasons, it is because of one that I
have the other and therefore I thank you, P.D. James for your incredibly vivid imagination and your willingness to share that
with the rest of the world!
However you discover this haunting tale, whether by book or by film, I am certain you will add it to your list of all-time
favorites!
Remember…
Somewhere, someone is ALWAYS getting away with murder! ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
23

Getting into your
historical characters
POV
Using historical characters as a backstory for your suspense/mystery is a popular and proven successful
literary device to add depth, clues, and perspective to your story.
It’s also a great way to set up a compelling premise for the mystery and has been used with great success by numerous
authors from Dan Brown to Alfred Hitchcock. Hitch was of course, the one who gave the name MacGuffin to whatever was
the object of a story’s quest. For instance, in the movie version of The Maltese Falcon, Gutman, played by Sidney Greenstreet,
explains to Bogey—Sam Spade—the ominous history of the “Black Bird” and what the cost of the pursuit has been in human
lives. Think of how diminished the suspense would have been had Dashiell Hammett not used that historical backstory and
decided to make the MacGuffin, say, a bag of cash from a local liquor store heist. It is the romance and danger surrounding
the history of the Falcon that gives the story its tingling edge.
But often you’ll run across historical characters and events who, whether as backstory foils or main protagonists, seem
lifeless and two-dimensional. Worse yet, sometimes they appear anachronistic—almost as though a Hester Prynne type of
character had decided to update that dreary old scarlet letter by taking a trip to the local Salem mall.
Admittedly, it is difficult for authors to put themselves in a different time and place when events, mores, and behavior
were far different. After all, every time and culture views the past through the prism of their own Zeitgeist, and we today are
no exception. And even though we have come to a more enlightened view on things like race, gender, sexual orientation, and
even children, projecting this enlightened view into a story robs it of its impact. For instance, suppose that an author was
writing a Dickensian tale and chose to have a caring social worker intercede in helping Oliver Twist get that extra bowl of
gruel—or OSHA coming down on Simon Legree for deplorable working conditions. That would certainly make us feel better,
but would it make for powerful reading Probably not.
So what is the answer Obviously, it is incumbent for authors to leave modern sensibilities here in the present and
submerge themselves as much as possible into the period they’re writing about. Think of it as an imagination-powered time
machine.
But while imagination is the touchstone of a writer’s craft, too much of it can cloud the water when writing of another
period. Because it’s not enough to get the framework of the history correct. A novel lives on in its characters. Thus, while
the hard facts of names, dates, and events must be correct, they don’t mean a thing if the characters you create are not truly
products of their time and not ours.
So how do you get into that historical character’s head The most direct way possible: by accessing the same things that
real historical characters used to express their own personal thoughts and feelings: letters, diaries, and journals.
When I first started doing research for the historical flashbacks in my paranormal mystery, “Echoes Down a Dark
Well”—and more recently, a full-blown historical mystery called “Candle in the Wind”—I began by using those musty old
records that libraries euphemistically refer to as “the stacks.” And as every writer who’s ever used them knows, these are the
books that look and smell like they haven’t been opened in a hundred years—and most of them haven’t. But often, they hold
the key to making your historical characters and setting ring with that elusive tone of authenticity.
As I found out when doing, “Echoes Down a Dark Well,” a backstory that spans two thousand years, finding first-person
records and accounts is difficult. Most of what you get for personal observation prior to the sixteenth or seventeenth century
is actually written by a third party chronicling events after the fact. There are of course, some famous first-person diaries and
journals; for instance, the diary of Samuel Pepys or Caesar’s Commentaries. This means that the author needs to fill in more
of color to develop believable and complex characters from pre-sixteenth-century settings.
By Ric Wasley
24  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

One of the things I enjoy most about writing historical mysteries is uncovering some little known event or item mentioned
in a journal or newspaper; then using that information and a knowledge of the period to imagine what it must have been like
to experience that. Then once I’ve worked that out in my notes and research, I set my characters with their own individual
personalities, into that scene and let the reader experience that event through them.
And if we do it right, we will hopefully avoid the historical writer’s greatest hazard: anachronisms.
It seems that those little buggers are lurking around the corners every time we engage our characters in action or dialogue.
And they are usually not as blatant as a protagonist who walks up to Henry Ford rolling off his first Model T and comments,
“Dude. Nice ride.”
Were it so, they’d be easy for authors and editors to catch. Alas, the types of anachronism that creeps into the story and
leaves us feeling uneasy without knowing why are harder to spot. Why Because they migrate unseen and unnoticed from our
minds and creep into the story without us being consciously aware of it. And the reason they are so hard to detect is because
they bleed onto the page from our personal Zeitgeist and subtly color the world and thoughts of our major characters. This
is especially true when it comes to characters’ thoughts and actions in dealing with the social mores of the period they are in.
Most writers and readers are well aware that the way in which we view and interact with the world is radically different
than in almost every previous age. For instance, our views on things like the role of women in society, children, religion,
race, ethnicity, and slavery, just to name a few, are more different now than they have been at any time in human history.
That means that to portray a historical period accurately, the writer is going to have to go against the grain of everything we
believe in now.
For example, take slavery. Up until 150 years ago, almost every person of every race and ethnicity on every continent
accepted it as a natural part of life. Remember that man had been enslaving his fellow man since the first tribe conquered its
rival and decided that it would be kind of nice to make the other guy do your heavy lifting. Rome built the first world empire
on it.
So if you were trying to portray, say, a protagonist living in the eighteenth century, you would have to divorce yourself
from your modern viewpoint of how wrong it was, and put yourself in the perspective of someone who’d been raised to
believe that it was the natural order of things. Thus, unless the character was a nascent abolitionist, their viewpoint would
not include the thoughts of equality that we take for granted today.
Sounds basic, right But it’s harder than we think to leave our core beliefs in the twenty-first century and jump into a
virtual time machine to where people behaved in ways that are an anathema to us today.
That’s why I think the best way to avoid this pitfall is to create your characters from sources taken from the actual period.
Whenever I’m doing a historical book or story, I like to begin by immersing myself in journals, diaries, letters, and
firsthand accounts from the period. Legends and sagas can be useful since even if they were created after the fact, they will
produce a far more revealing viewpoint than our own. After all, while we might not see much to laud in ancient swordsmen
chopping their enemies into small pieces, the society that produced the saga, legend, song, or even fairy tale saw it differently.
For instance, Hansel and Gretel’s father didn’t abandon them in the woods because he lacked proper parenting skills. It
was because he couldn’t feed them! So even a fairy tale can give an insight on a period before there was any kind of social
safety net, making an action that’s unconscionable today into a practical, if sad, part of life.
And up until the twentieth century, how many men who were considered good, decent, and pillars of the community
looked upon their wives and daughters in a way that we would consider patronizing, chauvinistic, and just plain wrong
today And yet they did. It happened. And for every John Adams who took it seriously and welcomed his wife Abigail’s
admonishment to “remember the ladies,” there were millions who did not.
But that’s why it’s so important to portray our characters as realistically as possible within the context of their time
and culture. Because by doing so, we as authors have the privilege of letting the world glimpse another era and in doing so,
gain a better understanding and appreciation of how the viewpoint of our modern world evolved. Or to paraphrase an old
commercial from the late twentieth century, which even now seems almost like another era, “we’ve come a long way baby.”
And thanks to writers like us, we know just how far! ■
A member of Mystery Writers of America and the Cape Cod Writers Group, Ric Wasley is a writer and lecturer as well as the
author of the popular McCarthy mystery series set in Boston in 1968.
Ric has a forty year professional career history in advertising, publishing, and marketing in Boston, New York, and San Francisco.
He has degrees in history and psychology and has been trained in debating, public speaking, and stage acting. A large part of
his forty year career was spent in numerous professional and business settings as a presenter and featured speaker at seminars
and professional meetings. He also teaches a popular course on marketing for authors at prominent venues such as the venerable
“Cape Cod Writers Conference.”
For more information, check out his website at www.ricwasley.com.
SuspenseMagazine.com
25

With his normal route closed for
construction, James needed a
temporary bypassing route. Generally unfamiliar
with the part of the city, he applied directive
logic and turned onto Southern Lane hoping it led
over to Highway 12, the road he normally traversed to
and from his latest employer.
Immediately noticing that the street was oddly dark, he
was soon wishing he hadn’t taken the street at all. Maybe
it was just the row of large oak trees lining each side of the
street successfully blocking the morning sun’s rays, but as
he drove deeper, the gloom seemed more intense, as if happiness
either purposely avoided the area or was completely
banned altogether.
He passed a tight cluster of condemned and eviction
stickered buildings attempting to hide behind shrubs that
looked to be no more than clusters of dried tumbleweeds and
started searching for people loitering about, but saw none
and a pang of loneliness stabbed.
He started comparing the sights to aspects of his considerably
less than stellar corrupted and sinful life, something
that he seemed to be more aware of recently, but never seriously
tried to fix. Instead, viewing the overall big picture
with contempt and self-sorrow. The burnt buildings became
a symbol of the many infidelity laced broken relationships;
the crooked branches staggering off the shrubs signifying the
twisted and conniving directions his life had taken; the dark
asphalt looking closer and closer to the color of his heart.
Maybe halfway through and approaching was when he
first saw it, a sign partly hidden behind a most unkempt rotted
brown shrub. As he read, the words yanked him out of
the fantasy associations.
Posted directly in the center at the end of the sidewalk,
he viewed it with ridicule and couldn’t help but laugh at the
seemingly preposterousness of it loudly proclaiming reservation
obviously aimed at less common sensed folk. Pearl white
and glistening, the sign appeared completely out of place,
unlike the others, old, rusted, and bullet-holed. Had it not
been in such pristine condition he probably wouldn’t have
By Thomas Scopel
noticed at all.
Did a person really need a sign telling
them this Couldn’t they see for themselves Did
they actually have to be told that the sidewalk ends
After reading it a few more times, each time increasing
a grin that eventually grew into a chuckle that
burst into a rolling laugh. Unaware, he lifted his foot from
the gas pedal and the car slowed.
Now at a crawl, he realized, readied a middle finger salute
while glancing up into the rear view mirror, half expecting
to see an angry tightly following driver on the verge of
blowing the horn. But no car was tailing and his finger went
limp as he looked back at the oncoming sign.
Suddenly the car began to sputter terribly and turned off.
James looked at the gas gauge. There was plenty and he pulled
to the curb before the sign. He tried turning the key a number
of times, but the car wouldn’t start. Furious, he pounded
a tight fist onto the dashboard creating a crack alongside a
similar looking one that had been created the same way.
He exited the car and kicked the door’s existing dent,
rocking the whole car as the door slammed shut. Stepping
up onto the worn and uneven sidewalk, he stopped to light a
cigarette, took a big drag, and contemplated his next move.
The metal sign beckoned and he walked to it.
After standing before it for a few moments reading it several
more times, anger diminished somewhat, but wouldn’t
allow humor to fully invade, and his inquisitiveness grew.
Had they run out of concrete Did they just decide to
stop the sidewalk there Why didn’t the sidewalk continue
the length of the entire street Why, if they were going to end
it there had they bothered to create it at all It didn’t make
any sense.
Thoughts deliberated, never coming to a tangible and
logical solution and he forced the notion into the back of his
mind’s slush pile of things considered meaningless.
The aspirin he had taken earlier was wearing off and he
cringed while gently rubbing the sore side of his face. His
head began to pound and he wished he hadn’t spent most of
the previous night drunkenly slouched over an equally ine-
26  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

iated woman in a bar whose name he couldn’t remember.
But he did remember her wrinkles and makeup caked face.
He recalled trying to pick her up for a meaningless overnight
relationship. She adamantly declined his very forward and
sometimes belligerent advances and angry at the rejection,
he called her a couple of not so nice choice names. A tall man
leaning nearby against the bar played chivalry and told him
to leave her alone. He remembered turning toward him and
spouting off a few more choice words, too. The fight ensued
and James lost the battle. Typical, normal, consistent.
His cell phone rang and he reached into his pocket for
it, drawing it out and seeing it was his boss. He was late and
certainly wasn’t going to make it anytime soon, so he let the
call go to voicemail and tapped a couple of different screen
icons pulling the camera feature up. Aiming it at the sign, he
clicked off a shot.
The picture was too bright with a blinding glare hiding
most of the letters making it unreadable. He deleted it, sidestepped
and took another. Although more of the letters were
visible, this picture still wasn’t much better and he inched
farther to the side to try again. The next shot was worse than
the previous two, blurry and undistinguishable.
He groaned a vulgarity, jammed the phone disgustedly
back into his pocket, half-heartedly flipped a middle finger
at the sign and stepped forward and onto the blackened hard
packed dirt path leading passed it.
Suddenly he was no longer on the trail but standing at
the end of a dim and long, institutional off-white colored
hallway that turned to the left at the far end. The air was stagnant
and a tinge of antiseptic burn invaded his nostrils.
Along the side walls, opposite and staggered, were inset
doorway thresholds with three holding creatures, all gruesome
in their own right, peering back at him.
A grandfather clock’s deep and dark toned loud chiming
broke the otherwise still silence, nothing like the pleasant
and comforting sounds as he recalled the one his grandparents
owned.
Just as a tremendous feeling of impending doom rose
inside him, a bat screeched out from somewhere above and
he reactively stepped backwards, finding himself standing on
the sidewalk at the front of the sign again.
Perplexed, he felt his throbbing head again and leaned to
look beyond the sign.
Still some distance away coming toward him was an old
man with a crooked walking stick carefully navigating the
dirt path. A small, mange-infested mutt explored the path
side-to-side, occasionally tugging at the leash the man held
tightly and lifting a hind leg when deeming fit.
James looked back and forth from the sign to the man,
not knowing exactly what to do. The dog caught sight of
James’s movements and stopped dead in its tracks looking
menacingly back, growling lowly and partway snarling.
James felt the anger rise and considered kicking it if the thing
tried to attack. The man was looking back at him, smiling a
not so reassuring toothless grin.
After a moment of stare, using the tip of the stick the
old man nudged the dog and it cowered before obeying and
SuspenseMagazine.com
continued cautiously treading toward James.
Not one to be frightened off by a little dog, James readied
for kicking and stepped forward past the sign.
Again he was standing in the hall and kicking the dog
evaporated from his mind. Recalling the screech, he frantically
searched about for the flying rodent, but couldn’t find it.
Not far away, just beyond the first threshold dangling
from the water-stained dingy white ceiling he saw a gently
swaying noose and wondered how it was able to move in still
air. Through the rope’s gape was a rotted wood opening leading
to a pitch black outdoors. A gleaming full moon beckoned
in the far distance.
Entranced by the moon’s brightness, a flicker of movement
caught his eye and he focused. It was the bat, hanging
upside down from the lip of a jagged wood outcropping deep
in the opening. It’s hair stood on end as it looked back with
beady little eyes and teasingly opened its wings partway implying
that it was about to swoop down. Its mouth opened
showing tiny pointed teeth and it screeched again, this time
much louder. James couldn’t help but to instinctively dip his
head slightly, but maintained a close vigil.
Then he remembered the creatures and forced himself to
remove his eyes to look for them.
They were still in place and moved ever so subtle while
looking back. James feared they would come toward him, but
none seemed interested in leaving their threshold confines
and simply looked back and forth from James to down the
hall and back. A chill flowed down James’s spine and he now
knew what it must feel like to be a fly caught hopelessly in
a web, watching and awaiting a spider looking tastily back
from the corner shadows.
In the first threshold, an almost see through specter-like
skeletal creature dressed in a sheer and flowing white tattered
robe held its mouth wide open screaming-like, but no sound
was heard. Lifting a bony arm, the bones clicked and ground
together when it reached out palm up at James and motioned
with an index finger to come closer.
James’s eyes widened and he fell back against the cinder
block wall. Immediately, coldness like none he had ever felt
before radiated, saturating his back. The creature’s mouth
closed to a wicked smile, but the beckoning finger kept clicking
back and forth. James looked away.
At the second threshold opposite and off center from the
first, a stocky and shiny black-shelled creature with a large
oblong shaped head and a mouthful of long pointed teeth
scrutinized James’s stare. Glistening drool cascaded down
over each tooth in ripples, forming growing larger droplets
at the points before falling into a hissing puddle to the floor
below. Small crab-like claws clacked raucously from its sides
and it turned to look down the hall.
Down further on the same side leaning against the inner
threshold stood a shadowed dark and silent man wearing
a long black cape and clenching by his side a large-bladed
knife rotating ever so slowly from side-to-side, reflecting and
showing off moist red. The large brimmed hat he wore was
drawn forward hiding his face in total darkness and although
James couldn’t see the man’s eyes, he had the feeling the man
27

was tightly watching.
The clock bellowed again and James jumped.
When the stroking stopped, the hall became deathly
silent except for a low consistent hum that grew annoying.
James looked and saw, nestled in the corner at the far end just
as the corner turned, an electric chair still holding a slumped
and vibrating hooded body, the corroded green metal helmet
it wore occasionally sparking and he recalled the murder
trial some twenty odd years ago when he was facing the
same fate. Both he and his lawyer knew he was guilty of viciously
stabbing the man repeatedly over and over, but due
to the alcohol, he could, even to this day, only remember bits
and pieces. Lucky for him, his attorney was one of the mob’s
best and the case was dismissed when a key witness refused
to step forward. Without the lone witness, regardless of the
truth, nothing could be proven and he walked away scotfree,
even keeping the one hundred and thirty six dollars he
had taken from the man’s wallet. He tried to remember what
he spent the money on, but couldn’t, only wagering to say
that booze was involved.
Looking back at the creatures again, they seemed more
menacing and he nervously backed up to the wall, kicking
the sole of his boot against the concrete block, expecting to
fall through as before and return to the morning he left. But
the wall was unyielding and his boot only succeeded in sliding
down the wall’s face. He kicked again as precipitous horror
rose through him, only to have the same result.
Spinning around, he pushed with open palms firmly
against the wall. It was hard, dense, cold, and unforgiving.
He began pounding with balled fists before it dawned on
him that maybe those creatures were sneaking up on him
and his head snapped to look back. They were only watching
as before and James would have sworn that the skeletal
thing’s grin was wider. He turned back and struck the wall
considerably harder. A sharp pain shot through his hand and
he yelled out. Turning around, he held his hand gingerly and
looked to the end of the hall. There had to be a way out.
Fearful, he took a small step forward and stopped to see
what the creatures did. They took notice, rising upright a bit
and leaning farther out, but remained in their confines. His
body knotted with another step forward, careful to remain in
the hall center. The ghastly skeleton’s bony finger chronically
beckoned, clicking and moving quicker. Not being a small
man, James felt confident in fending off the skeleton and
maybe the man with the knife if need be, but wasn’t so sure
about the large headed creature who was larger than him and
appeared so big and strong. If it was to snarl out, those teeth
would be hard to avoid.
What if they attacked together The question sliced
through him like a razor through paper, cutting some of the
confidence away with it. He concentrated on the open hall,
planned to zigzag around and hoping that if it came to that
he could outrun them.
But what was around the corner Was he climbing into his
own grave
His hand throbbed loudly, reminding him of the wall
and that it was his only hope. He took the pain, balled fists
and stepped again, conscious, aware, and ready.
Almost to the skeleton, he shifted to the wall opposite
and watched for any threatening gesture while inching by.
The skeleton’s head creaked as it turned following his movements.
The finger beckoning ceased and its arm dropped to
its side, tapping once against the top of its hip bone with a
hollow reflective sound. A chill ran down James’s spine and
he wondered whether he was doing the right thing. Swallowing
the fear, fists ever ready, he sped up, quickly side-stepping
past and becoming in between the first and second thresholds.
Maintaining a back and forth vigil, aware that an attack
could now come from either direction, he moved a few more
steps, insuring he was beyond the skeleton’s reach before
crossing the hall to the opposite wall. There wasn’t an inkling
of impending confrontation, but no sense of relief flowed as
he pondered whether the other two would be just as easy to
get by.
His hand ached again and he slightly loosened the fist
giving some relief and took a couple more steps until he was
below the noose.
It was grayish and dry rotted, just like the ones he had
seen in those old black and white matinee western movies
he frequented as a boy. He thought of Robert Blake’s tightly
wrapped body dropping through the gallows trapdoor, snapping
and gruesomely bouncing back up at the end of the Truman
Capote film In Cold Blood.
He gazed back and forth, between the noose and the
creatures unable to decide which was more frightening.
Quietly sucking in a deep breath, he was about to take
another step when he noticed a bottomless looking ragged
black hole leading through the yellowish tiled floor almost in
the hall’s center ahead of him. It was small enough to allow
shimmying by and he stepped forward. A pair of reflective
green eyes appeared and looked back as a low, liquid filled
choking-like growl emitted. James placed his back against
the side wall. It was colder than the end wall had been.
He looked at the toothy creature ahead not far away
and back to the hole. He compared each side, pondering
which way to go around, but realized that from either side
it wouldn’t make any substantial distance difference and he
decided to remain on the side he was.
The eyes disappeared and assuming opportunity was
knocking, he shifted, remaining tight against the wall like a
person high up edging along a skyscraper’s tiny ledge and
made his way by.
A few steps beyond the hole he looked back at it. The eyes
were back, watching. A matted and clumped hair covered
claw with long cracked nails crept out—reaching—bringing
with it a rancid odor like that of a thousand dead bodies that
had been lying for days in the midday sun. James gagged and
bile burned at the back of his throat. He swallowed hard and
slid a couple more steps. The claw, its nails chattering gritty
lined marks against the tile, retreated back into the hole, taking
much of the rotting smell with it.
With the unseen creature gone, James breathed a small
sigh of relief and looked at the creature across from him. It
28  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

was considerably larger than he thought and he could now
see it had a long curled up tail.
With little beady eyes the creature watched, its jaw moving
up and down, clenching and unclenching teeth, making
a terrible grinding sound. A puddle of bubbling and hissing
drool festered at its feet, vapors rising and swirling about.
Half expecting it to lunge out, James kept his back tight
to the wall remaining on guard, the thought of those vicious
teeth biting down and tearing into his flesh. But as with the
skeleton, it too remained still and didn’t make any attempt.
The bat screeched again, yanking the horrendous deliberation
from his mind. Instinctively ducking and raising his
arms protectively above his head in one motion and realized
it was now directly above him, still hanging upside down
where it had been in the ceiling opening.
Fearing it would swoop, he kept both arms up and hurriedly
took a few more steps, getting beyond both the dangling
rodent and the drooling creature, nestling up against
the side of the grandfather clock.
Still quite confused and fearful, his confidence grew, realizing
that he was more than halfway along. He looked back
at the creatures again. Nothing was in tow and he stepped
to the front of the massive meticulously carved and heavily
worn clock.
Behind an intricately etched glass panel featuring time
associated symbols, a tarnished golden pendulum swung
consistently back and forth, loudly ticking with each sway
and James felt a little hypnotized watching it. The clock face
registered slightly after midnight. That can’t be right, James
thought and he glanced at his wristwatch. It was the same.
He squeezed his eyes tight, reopened them, looked back up
to the clock face and then to his wristwatch again. Neither
changed and he concentrated on the shadowy black figure in
the next threshold.
The man’s head remained tilted forward completely hiding
his face, but James still had the sensation that he was still
watching. The knife in his hand flicked a speck of bright light
off the steel each time it turned from side-to-side.
James took a step to the other side of the clock. The man’s
head remained still, but it didn’t soothe James’s prior concern
and he slid down the wall as before, getting by with no incident.
The remaining thresholds were empty and James paced
quickly toward end of the hall only glancing back once to see
that although the creatures continued their vigils, none were
following.
He approached the corner, the electric chair humming
grew louder and the body arched higher, vibrating amidst its
grip. James didn’t linger and rounded the corner.
Another very similar looking hall stood before him, not
quite as long, but considerably darker and gloomier. There
were thresholds leading off from it too, but nothing stood
in them. Large elaborate paintings depicting castles and demons
and moons and fires, thick with shadowy, rich colors
lined the walls in between each and before James could dwell
on them, he spotted someone at the end of the hall, sitting
behind a large wooden desk head down and busy laboring
SuspenseMagazine.com
over something and he felt partially relieved to not be alone
any longer.
Treading carefully, half expecting someone or something
to emerge at each threshold as he passed, his guard remained
high, keeping to the hall center. Nothing appeared.
Growing ever closer to the desk, he was able to distinguish
that it was a bespectacled and balding little man, who
was busy writing in a large thick leather bound book with a
feather quill pen.
At the desk, James silently watched the man write. Seemingly
oblivious to the observance, the man maintained his
intense concentration, occasionally reaching out without
looking to dip the pen’s tip into an adjacent oddly shaped
black ink jar and resume writing. James looked at the brass
nameplate sitting crookedly on the front of the desk…Mr.
Lived, and he wondered whether it was intended to be more
of an adjective describing an existence, much like the many
posters he recalled sometimes seeing on the walls of interviewing
offices. Ones that said things like INTEGRITY and
COURAGE and HONESTY and HOPE. The quill flicked
rapidly with each letter stroke and James remained quiet,
leaning forward trying to make out what the man was writing,
but the lettering was so petite that he couldn’t. The man
grunted somewhat rudely, obviously conveying awareness of
James’s presence, but continued penning and didn’t look up.
Just as annoyance started to replace fear, the man finished
the line he was writing and placed the quill into the
ink jar and looked up with alarmingly cold and distant eyes,
much larger from behind the magnifying spectacles.
The irritation fluttered away as dread replaced. James attempted
to counter with conversation.
“Where am I”
“In time my friend…in time.” The man replied in a high
pitched voice, taking James by surprise.
The man chuckled. James couldn’t imagine what the man
found so funny and he wanted to reach out to snatch the man
up by his collar, maybe smack him around a bit and take out
the morning frustrations. But although not something he
regularly practiced, considering the circumstances he opted
to change tactics, anticipating getting more with sugar than
with vinegar.
“What kind of name is Lived anyway” he asked, attempting
to be personable, “I mean, it’s different…never
heard it before.”
“Not where I come from,” the man replied, chuckling
even more, but keeping close observance.
After a sustained bout of merriment, the man calmed,
taking on a more serious appearance.
“Please excuse me,” the man began, “I tend to find things
rather amusing and yes, I suppose you’re right, it is a rather
uncommon name. But where I come from there are many
both common and uncommon names and usually the distinction
is just a matter of locale.”
At a loss for words and still partially digesting the man’s
funny sounding tone, James listened.
“Let me ask you something,” the man’s eyes tightened,
almost becoming slits. “Have you ever heard the old adage
29

curiosity killed the cat”
“Sure,” James answered.
“And do you find it to be true”
The man’s brow rose and his eyes opened more.
“Never gave it much thought,” James replied. “I suppose
so,” he added in a snotty tone becoming aggravated.
“Why do you think it was created” the man inquired.
“How do you think it was started Obviously, it had to begin
from somewhere…probably through observation. Wouldn’t
you agree” The man suavely returned the attitude with a
grin.
Not the philosophical type, James gave the question no
active consideration and simply looked on blankly shrugging
his shoulders.
The man raised a withered hand, snapped two fingers
and pointed behind James. James turned to look. The hall
had been transformed, changed and completely the opposite
of when James came through. Paintings were exchanged with
newly depicted ones and the thresholds now each held a horrible
looking beast, much worse than the ones he had been
with in the first hall. As each gawked, low growls, screams
and cries filled the air.
“Like I said,” the man began cackling, “it’s all a matter of
perception.”
James turned back toward the man and his eyes fell to
the nameplate. It now read deviL rM.
The black leather chair squeaked as the man leaned back
laughing louder and fear flooded into James when he saw
the man’s lower half was that of a goat. He turned and fled
back down the hallway past the dreadful creatures with no
concern whether they were reaching out. The man’s laughter
echoed down the hall after him.
“Want to know what the RM stands for” the man called
out.
James didn’t care and concentrated on being surefooted.
“It’s for Resident Master!”
Rounding the corner, hundreds of various voiced laughter
thickly filled the air, echoing from wall to wall, impelling
his ears and chasing after him. The prior creatures were gone
and James focused on the end wall.
Drawing near, he lowered his stocky shoulder like a fullback
would, determined to break through the concrete block
barrier and back into the morning from which he came.
His shoulder collided and he cried out loudly when it
popped sideways out of the socket. Momentum slammed
his face into the hardness, chipping most of his front teeth
and breaking an upper cheek bone before brutally deflecting
backwards and landing on the floor in an unconscious heap.
James opened his eyes and blinked a few times trying to
eliminate blurriness. The pain in his shoulder was terrible
and his mouth tightened when he winced. Jagged points of
what was left of his teeth scraped against his bottom lip as
he grimaced, feeling the dried streaks of blood that had run
from the corners of his mouth and down from his nostrils
crack with the movement.
Looking up he hazily saw shadowed shapes standing
above, surrounding and looking down at him.
After a few more blinks, features started gradually coming
into view. It was the creatures from the thresholds, with
the bespectacled little man at his head smiling widely with
uneven and grotesquely-shaped teeth.
“Shall we answer your question now” the man grinned
wider as horns broke through the skin of the man’s forehead
and wormed stubbly out like a growing weed. “Your soul was
destined and you can’t tell me that you didn’t know You had
your one warning…your one chance. Something I always
allow…a warning if you will. Something I do for every destined
soul and maybe something more than a little game I
play. After all…there should be some sort of fun involved…
right”
The creatures chortled profusely as the man looked away
around the standing perimeter before looking back down.
“You were allowed back out. But just as curiosity and the
cat, you stepped right back in, now didn’t you Remember
the growling dog You could have easily turned away and
headed in the opposite direction. But NO! You stood firm, all
uncaring with malicious intent. Remember Of course, no
need to feel bad about it now. After all, you’re no different
than most, choosing to continue along the identical path until
it’s far too late. Should I apologize for the trickster in me
I think not because it’s what I do.”
The man’s voice grew deeper and he straightened, still
gazing downward.
“I trick souls. So, do you still want to know where you
are”
The fright in James’s face answered the question for him
and the man noticed.
“I assumed as much.”
Rooted and frozen in realization, James could only hope
it was a dream and wanted to cry out, awaken himself from
the horror if it was, but he couldn’t seem to utter even a peep.
The man’s eyes flashed bright red as he wickedly smiled
and raised a crooked finger to his lips, “Shhhhhh.”
Apprehensive with eyes wide, James looked back as the
creatures stopped their hilarity one-by-one and reached
down. James felt their grip and his voice let loose a tremendous
shriek before going black.
When he awoke, his shoulder no longer hurt, his mind
seemed perfectly clear and an eerie calmness lingered
through his body as if it wasn’t really there. Looking down,
he watched an expensive business suit wearing man come
ambling through a white clouded haze and grow increasingly
perplexed as he stared down the hall. James listened intently
to the drooling creature’s claws clacking almost in perfect
unison with the clock’s ticking. Somehow he knew that the
both the skeletal character and shadowed knife wielding man
was watching, too.
When the man noticed the creatures his eyes grew wide
and disbelieving.
James wanted to call out…to tell the man to turn around
and go back and never return. But the tight noose he dangled
from wouldn’t allow a single syllable and just as the man
peered up at James, the clock began chiming midnight. ■
30  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

Blues, bourbon
and the occasional
homicidal maniac.
WELCOME TO NICHOLAS COLT’S WORLD.
“It hits you hard and fast with crackling suspense, hair-raising twists
and stunning revelations. Word of advice: don’t start on this one unless
you’re prepared to stay up all night.”
—John Ling, author of The Blasphemer, on Key Death
“Jude Hardin takes the thriller genre into the darkest corners of the
human heart and mind. Bold suspense and drama.”
—Scott Nicholson, author of Liquid Fear
AVAILABLE NOW ON KINDLE AND AS TRADE PAPERBACK
*And look for the new Nicholas Colt
Thriller, BLOOD TATTOO, coming in November*

Inside the Pages
CLOSE TO THE BONE
By Stuart MacBride
MacBride is
still the king of grit;
every character, plot,
and murder scene
is dark and twisted.
Detective Inspector
Logan McRae of the
Aberdeen, Scotland
Police Department is the focus of
this tale, and although there are
quite a number of scenes to make
the suspense lover cringe, Logan
McRae also provides readers with
entertaining, humorous looks into
both his private and public life.
As the story begins, DI McRae
is on his way to a grisly murder
scene where the victim has been
strangled, stabbed, and set on fire.
Not only is the method of killing
beyond grotesque but the DI also is
confused as to what category the kill
falls into—gang issues or something
far worse.
But this is not the only crime.
Someone is busy leaving little piles
of bones outside McRae’s house. He
doesn’t know the reason why, but
because he has other more bloody
crimes to deal with, this takes a back
burner. With drug gangs fighting
mercilessly; a pair of teenagers who
are missing and could somehow be
attached to the strange executions;
a recent bestselling novel that
seems to be spelling out what will
happen next; and Asians being
found brutally attacked, this is one
detective that needs a very long
vacation.
The grisly is definitely provided,
but the entertainment comes along
with it in the form of a new Detective
Sergeant who seems to want nothing
more than to anger McRae.
Not for the squeamish, this is
one novel that provides the worst
of humanity, and is written so well
that readers will see each of these
hideous scenes in their mind’s eye.
But the banter between McRae
and his staff is hilarious at times,
and far more interesting than the
continuous line of CSIs, etc. that are
seen regularly on televisions across
the country.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author
of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent &
Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
Suspense Magazine ■
Suspense Magazine Book Reviews
FIRST GRAVE PAST THE LIGHT
By Darynda Jones
There should be a 12-step program for addicts of Darynda Jones and the Charley Davidson
series. I could head up the local chapter and fans could commiserate about all of the day-today
goings on that we miss while trapped in the pages of her novels. It’s a pleasurable trap,
mind you, but as readers, we’re sucked in and those pesky things like work, dishes, and laundry
converge into something we don’t want to deal with until the last word.
Charley Davidson—grim reaper, police consultant, and investigator—has her hands full,
as always. An arson investigation, most likely tied to her on-again/off-again sexy neighbor Reyes Farrow, is
nagging at her for a solution…well, not the investigation, it’s her Uncle Bob who’s sure Charley knows more
than she’s saying.
With the possible consequences of another fire hanging over her head, she’s hoping to solve what should
be an easy case of adultery to lessen her load. Seriously, how hard could it be to catch a cheater in a busy bar
with tight, cleavage-bearing clothing Clearly more difficult than Charley planned and she makes an instant
enemy out of the man whose head she doesn’t turn. If that isn’t challenging enough, when the spirits of
women begin flocking to her home without the intent to crossover, Charley’s feeling the weight. It’s hard
enough to shower with the corporeal ghost of a full-grown Rottweiler, but when one distressed woman hides
in Charley’s shower, it gets to be too much and her humble home is in a word: crowded.
Sure, she can bunk with Reyes, but there are nighttime complications when you play house with the son
of Satan. Learning that the captain of the PD—Uncle Bob’s boss—has decided to shadow her to find out
exactly what her secrets are just about unhinges her.
Bad day at work Stressed out by the kids Darynda Jones and the Charley Davidson series is the solution.
Captivating and laugh-out-loud funny, this is one of the best series in print today.
Reviewed by Shannon Raab for Suspense Magazine ■
FOLLOW HER HOME
By Steph Cha
Cha is a debut author and she kept me reading until the very end. Using literary giant
Raymond Chandler’s character Philip Marlowe as her guide, Juniper Song becomes entangled
in a mystery that is sordid, harrowing, and very deadly. Song is not an investigator in any way,
but having read enough—at least she thinks—of Marlowe’s escapades, she attempts to draw on
those situations to finagle staying alive.
Her best friend Luke needs help in finding out if his father is cheating on his mother and
elicits Song to do some simple questioning. She agrees, but wishes she hadn’t. That simple task leads her to
be knocked unconscious, to find a dead body in the trunk of her car, and to be threatened. And that’s just the
beginning of her weekend.
While trying to uncover the truth of what is really going on, she realizes the case has similarities to her
personal past. She tries to resolve her issues while dodging bullets and dealing with death in both the covert
and well-known parts of Los Angeles. She ends up losing more than could have imagined.
Cha keeps you wanting to turn the pages with a need to know what is going on and cheering Song on to
help work through the pain from her past. A well-written and very intriguing book.
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “The Other Side: Melinda’s Story” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
ACCIDENTS HAPPEN
By Louise Millar
There are those in life who are accident-prone; it’s as if they picked up a bad penny when
they were little and Fate has followed them around ever since.
Kate Parker is one of those people. Her anxiety and worry is at the highest level when it
comes to her and her son’s protection. Having to deal with the tragic accident of her parents,
Kate then had to face the loss of her husband at the hands of a murderer. The added difficulties
of the always mean and sometimes brutal world makes Kate seem psychologically imbalanced.
Wanting nothing more than to open the door to a new, better life, Kate makes the decision to get away
from the past and journey to a new location. A man comes into the mix and Kate finally allows herself to start
smiling; she and Jack are happy and the positive things begin appearing.
Of course, what Kate doesn’t cling to is the fact that there are truly horrible people in the world who
own a sneer behind their smile. And when Jack is suddenly put in danger, Kate must struggle to get her head
on straight in order to save her son. But with the twists and turns that stand before her, her imagination may
just mix with real life and end in a tragic event.
Good psychological thrillers are difficult to find. Taking away all the paranormal and science fiction
overtones a book can have and stripping it bare, it is difficult to write a character that needs help inside their
own head. Kate is one of those women who you want to see survive, and you desperately hope her courage
will be unleashed so she can turn from victim to hero.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
32  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

SHADOW PEOPLE
By James Swain
Swain manages to combine a thriller with the supernatural, and pull from his hat a touch
of a good versus evil page-turner.
Now you see it, now you don’t. A cliché, but one that character Peter Warlock uses to
entertain. That is, before the Shadow People ‘entertain’ him. Having a bit of evil inside of
himself, but trying to use it for good, Peter works with FBI Special Agent Garrison to bring
down a serial killer.
Kidnapped by the Shadow People and brought against his will to a time in the future, he is ordained to
be the one to save Rachel, not only the killer’s next victim but also someone whose good works are a threat
to evil.
Peter’s girlfriend Liza is determined to understand who he is, the good and the bad side of Peter. She
accompanies him on his frenzied run from present to future and is put in harm’s way. Peter is just as firm in
his need to not only keep Liza safe but to also keep her in his life and shares more than he has ever shared
about himself. This leads to not only an enlightenment of his past but of what he is actually capable of.
Swain puts you in a trance, forcing you to turn page after page until all is revealed. A magic trick I
think not. I recommend this to readers who are looking for something different, entertaining, thrilling, and
completely engaging.
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “The Other Side: Melinda’s Story” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
A MEDAL FOR MURDER
By Frances Brody
A pawnbroker in the city of Leeds is robbed in a brash, daytime assault. Numerous items
temporarily entrusted to his care by financially embarrassed clients are stolen and the police
admit to having few clues. The distraught shopkeeper hires Kate Shackleton to discretely
contact the owners of the missing pieces and assure them their losses will be made good.
This novel is set in England of 1922, four short years after the end of the Great War. Kate
is almost a widow. Like so many other women in Europe, her husband is presumed dead on the
battlefield, but is not legally dead and Kate still harbors secret hopes he may yet be alive. In the meantime,
she has opened a detective agency. After all, bills must be paid.
Kate’s mission takes her to the town of Harrogate where a young acquaintance of hers is directing a
community play. Kate agrees to attend the final performance that evening, welcoming a brief respite from
her detecting. But murder makes an entrance and Kate finds herself caught up in the investigation.
Enter, stage left, Inspector Charles of Scotland Yard. Kate and the Inspector have met before, during
Kate’s first investigative adventure, chronicled in “Dying in the Wool.” When honest with herself, Kate has
to admit to being intrigued by the handsome policeman, even when he is admonishing her to keep her
attractive face out of police business.
Frances Brody’s novel harkens back to the fabled Golden Age of Mystery and reminds the reader of
Christie, Sayers, and even at times, Wodehouse. Post war England is rendered with skillful prose that quickly
draws the reader into that world. Ms. Brody’s plot is masterfully constructed, deftly staged, and brought to
an ending that is both logical and emotionally satisfying.
Reviewed by Andrew MacRae, author of “Murder Misdirected” for Suspense Magazine ■
SHIFT
By Hugh Howey
It’s hard to find eloquent words to describe my love for the genius of Hugh Howey.
Reading his work reminds me of how I felt when I first read Stephen King’s “Carrie.” For me,
no author has ever measured against Master King’s writing. Howey and King have one thing
in common: They are storytellers before they are writers.
Howey is one of the new breed of Indie Hybrid authors, self-publishing his e-books and
licensing the paper-book distribution rights to the major publishers. So, he can deliver great
reads quickly; no more waiting for the publishing world’s limit of one release a year.
“Shift” takes us back to the beginning before “Wool;” before the world was laid waste and toxic by
something that happened sixty years before, forcing the few thousand remaining human beings to live in
two-hundred story silos. The silos are layered with not only physical levels but political and social strata, and
are governed under strict rule.
Whilst reading “Wool,” (which I recommend reading before Shift) there were what you could presume
to be plot holes. These are resolved in “Shift” as we travel from the destruction of Earth to the monotonous
existence of the inhabitants of Silo One who are cryogenically frozen and awakened for their shifts.
This new world and its progression through several hundred years is told through various characters:
the engineer who unwittingly designed the silos, a shift worker who remembers fragments of another life, a
courier who becomes embroiled in an uprising, a child trapped for years in a computer safe room.
It is science fiction work, but crosses genres with genius. The reason for Howey’s huge success is the
human stories he tells. Through his wonderful and rich characters, Howey challenges us to contemplate
hope and humanity.
Just like King’s millions of loyal fans who read every book he releases, there will be few initiates to
the Howey style who will not continue to follow him wherever he chooses to write. And that’s the kind of
passion a good storyteller evokes.
Reviewed by Susan May http://susanmaywordadventures.blogspot.com.au/ for Suspense Magazine ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
INFERNO
By Dan Brown
Although Brown
has more than one
book that’s rock
solid and historically
engaging, it’s the
power of “The Da
Vinci Code” that
brings readers out of
the woodwork to see what he has
come up with next.
Robert Langdon, the famous
symbologist, is back—resurfacing
in the world of historic myths, facts,
truths, and fantasy. This mission is
based on clues from a ‘hellish’ trip,
as Langdon must find answers to
old questions inspired by Dante’s
“Divine Comedy.”
Scientist, Bertrand Zobrist is
a eugenicist—a strange specialty—
wanting to improve humanity by
controlling heredity. His companion
is a very mysterious woman who’s an
enigma who readers will have a lot of
fun figuring out.
Langdon wakes up in a hospital,
the last two days of his memory
gone. He has no recollection of why
he’s in a hospital in Florence, and has
no idea why someone has made an
attempt on his life.
Sienna, a lovely young doctor
explains all she knows, and almost
immediately, an assassin begins
shooting up the emergency ward.
Langdon and Sienna are on the
run. But running does no good if
someone can follow. Without giving
anything specific away…Langdon is
being tracked because of something
special he carries on his body, which
if it was actually deciphered, could
stop the human race from operating
the way it always has. The issue of
how to balance the universe, how
to better the quality of life without
destroying it all together, is at the
core of this intricate plot.
Readers will be interested to see
that the presence of evil has nothing
to do with the priesthood. Here,
Langdon must step away from the
Divine and go head-to-head with a
mad scientist.
All brains, all plot, and killer
conversations. Yet again, Dan Brown
has shown he can combine myths
with facts to create unforgettable
stories; a gift that has earned him the
title, “Master of the Literary Maze.”
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author
of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent &
Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
Suspense Magazine ■
33

DEADLY FORECAST
By Victoria Laurie
The fun that
comes from leading
up to a wedding
day: ordering the
cake, getting the
venue, sending out
the invitations; all
of this brings warm
and happy feelings to a bride.
Unfortunately, in the case of Abby
Cooper (a psychic consultant
with powers of her own), these
happy moments have to be set
aside. She has to deal with far
more; a darker world where cakes
and the guest list are not a part of
her preparations.
There have been unusually
large numbers of suicide
bombings occurring in the
commercial areas of Austin, Texas
that have caught the attention of
FBI Agent Dutch Rivers. Dutch
is Abby’s fiancé, and when Abby
has a premonition that shows the
fact that her true love is in mortal
danger, wedding plans are left
behind.
Abby is determined to find
a way to insert herself into the
cases so she can better foretell
any tragedy that could happen
to Dutch. As usual, Abby’s spirit
guides are right on the money,
as they keep her advised as to
what’s happening. As the hostility
builds, so does Abby’s anxiety.
The couple’s wedding is fast
approaching and Abby’s sister,
Cat—who is the Queen of Type-A
personalities—is planning a
whiz-bang of a ceremony, not
caring one iota if the bridal pair
likes it or not.
Dutch is able to keep his cool
while Abby is driving everyone
over the edge. And when there’s
another bombing, Abby rises up
to meet the challenge of Fate,
taking it upon herself to save the
day.
Enough said because any
more information given will
spoil the incredible ending of this
amazing novel. Suffice to say, after
reading just a small portion, you
will most definitely continue on
to see if the wedding day will, in
fact, arrive.
This is a truly memorable
and entertaining read!
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author
of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent &
Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint
of Suspense Magazine ■
FATHER KNOWS DEATH
By Jeffrey Allen
In the little town of Rose Petal, Texas, there is an annual event held that brings everyone
out of their houses and into the 100 degree sun—without complaint (well, without much
complaint). It is the Carriveau County Fair, and everyone is scheduled to have a ball.
Always held in April, hoping that the weather will at least be kind of cool, schools and
businesses come together to promote the Fair. Everything else in town is literally brought to a
halt while the whole town celebrates.
Deuce Winters, a stay-at-home dad; his wife, Julianne, who is extremely pregnant and more
than upset with the heat factor; and their daughter, Carly, who is a real ball-of-fire, are on hand to start this
year’s Fair.
Deuce is helping in the 4-H tent because Carly is a member. On his way to replenish the food tent, Deuce
smiles at everyone he knows, opens the freezer, and there, resting among the hot dogs, hamburgers, and
bratwurst, lies George Spellman. The groundskeeper at the fairgrounds is dead as a doornail.
Deuce agrees to help find out who killed George, as he’s a partner in a detective agency. Julianne wants
him to stay out of this one because of her condition, but that’s not likely to happen when the head of the Fair
Committee, Mama Biggs, becomes adamant that Deuce investigate and report his findings to her, and her only.
Spending a week with these people in the town of Rose Petal is a hoot-and-a-holler. Everyone is knee-deep
in everyone else’s business. The gas company runs all about town wanting to dig for natural gas in the backyards
of the citizens, while Deuce is left to wonder if having a dead body in the freezer is a health hazard.
A one-day read; you will not stop until you discover who the culprit is. And this is one cozy that offers a
real surprise ending! Enjoy!
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
FRAGILE ANGEL
By Stefaunia Dhillon
One word: creepy. That’s the perfect word for “Fragile Angel.” And it’s right up my alley.
Once I started this book, I was unable to put it down.
Happily—at first—to set off on an adventure with her new husband Michael, Evie discovers
that life isn’t always what you make it. Instead, it is what is destined for you. And this is what Evie
finds out when she moves to England.
Michael purchases a 13 th Century Gothic Church to restore as their new home. Evie is not
at all happy that he did this without consulting her first. But over time, and much rebuilding, they settle in. Then
she finds out they are not alone. She’s confused and battles with demons and spirits she doesn’t understand.
She’s desperate to share her feelings and newfound abilities—which actually, without realizing it all these years,
have always resided within her—with Michael. But he can’t deal with what she is telling him, that the church
has a life of its own and is calling her.
Feeling alone, she strikes out on a journey to find out why she is so connected to Catherine, one of the
spirits at the church. What she finds out is not what she expects when she began her new life in England.
If you can overlook errors commonly made by a debut authors and love this side of creepy in a story, you
will love this book as I did. Intriguing, suspenseful, and downright otherworldly, it’s a story I was sad to see end.
Hopefully, we’ll see more from Dhillon soon.
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “The Other Side: Melinda’s Story” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
BOMBSHELL
By Catherine Coulter
Everyone’s favorite agents and fantastic husband and wife team—Savich and Sherlock—are
back!
The previous book (“Backfire”) introduced readers to Agent Griffin Hammersmith. In this
new story, we begin with Griffin as he heads to Washington, D.C. in order to join Savich’s team.
Making a quick stop in Maestro, Virginia to visit his sister Delsey, Griffin walks into a
dangerous situation. Upon arrival, he finds that Delsey has been attacked in her home by an
unknown assailant. Thankfully, Delsey survives and she, her friend Anna—along with Griffin—join forces in
order to find out who’s behind the strange attack. Working with the sheriff and his wife, an FBI Agent, the team
assembles to look for answers in a very snooty and mystery-filled town.
Meanwhile, in D.C., Savich and Sherlock are working on the case of a college student, who’s the grandson
of a former Federal Reserve Chairman. The boy was found in the snow at the feet of Abraham Lincoln in front
of the Lincoln Memorial.
The two cases eventually meld together. The agents find themselves deep into both, and thanks to the
author’s fascinating plotting, it seems that no one is safe who has anything to do with either case.
As always, Catherine Coulter has provided non-stop action including the FBI, DEA, and individuals
galore. She takes readers from the depths of D.C. to a school that involves two high-and-mighty brothers that
have more than a passing interest in Delsey, all the way to a cave in the mountains of Virginia chock full of drugs
and guns.
It always feels like a visit from good friends when Sherlock and Savich return. The character base grows ever
larger with each book; more and more agents and unique people join the scene. But the core is and will remain
the happily married couple, and Coulter will remain an author who has never lost the power to mesmerize.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
34  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

BLOOD OF MY BLOOD
By Ralph Pezzullo
A guy like Smokey Annicelli, a former New York City cop turned private investigator,
may let his wife down and may disappoint his grown daughters, but he’d never go back on
the promise he made to his dying best friend to look after his children. Only at some point he
must have, because the nineteen-year-old Ricky Bravero is dead, shot nine times in the back.
To the police, the case is simple—a drug addict killed by his dealer for non-payment—
but Smokey thinks there are deeper questions to be asked, and he is soon demanding the
answers. A few are found easily, but others are being hidden so well that Smokey finds it hard to shed light
into places that have remained dark for decades.
Help comes in the form of old friends and new acquaintances, but who can he really trust Though
Smokey isn’t certain he can believe in anyone, he realizes he has to trust someone in order to get the answers
that dangle just out of reach.
Threatening phone calls and a brutal attack lead to an attempt on Smokey’s life, with results that could
change everything for him. Pulled in one direction by his need to right old wrongs, pulled in another
direction by a girlfriend who wants more than he’s been giving, Smokey has to balance the new promises
he’s almost ready to make with the old promises that are tightening around his neck.
Told in present tense, “Blood of My Blood” has an immediacy that propels the story forward at a
blistering pace. Author Pezzullo’s terse dialogue and raw descriptions take the reader straight to the seamiest
side of the roughest streets of New York City, where Smokey finds out that an old promise is dragging him
toward places he never wanted to go.
Reviewed by Laura Alden, author of “Curse of the PTA” for Suspense Magazine ■
MY LUNATIC LIFE
By Sharon Sala
Tara Luna lives with her Uncle Pat, has since her parents died. He is as best a parent as he
can be to the young girl. We meet them as they move to Stillwater, Oklahoma.
Another new school where they can call her Luna the Looney, Moon Girl, or even worse,
witch. Tara is not only psychic but has a couple of hundred-year-old ghosts, Millicent and
Henry, who provide a little protection and advice and cause general mayhem to embarrass
Tara at every opportunity.
Other than her ghostly followers and rare ability to read minds and peer into the future a little, Tara is
just like every other teenager: likes the bad boys, has a run-in with the head cheerleader, etc. Sala follows the
pattern of typical high school cliques that all of us have run into one way or the other.
Dealing with the rigors of just being a teenager and full of angst, Tara also handles being the new girl
and the knowledge there is a foreboding dark presence in the house she and Uncle Pat moved into. By the
time she meets the ghost of the young girl who was murdered there, helps save the life of a student at school
who is having a seizure, and leads the police to one of her schoolmates who has been kidnapped, all by
demonstrating her psychic powers to her new friends, Uncle Pat is forced to believe there is more to Tara
than meets the eye.
Using real places and street names in the Stillwater area helps bring this book to life. In this, the first in
the series of the “My Lunatic Life” young adult novels, Sala gives us a plucky little heroine to cheer for and
leaves us eager to read the next book, for after all, there is still a murder to solve if the ghost of the child in
her house is to be appeased.
Reviewed by Mark P. Sadler, author of “Blood on his Hands” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint
of Suspense Magazine ■
I HEAR THE SIRENS IN THE STREET
By Adrian McKinty
Book II of The Troubles Trilogy is a tension-filled narrative that draws readers into the
life of Police Detective Inspector, Sean Duffy. It is the early 1980s and the civil war in Belfast,
Northern Ireland is raging—with more violence and pain occurring each and every day.
The author begins with a ‘bang’ not a ‘whimper,’ as Sean discovers the remains of a man’s
torso stuffed into a suitcase buried in a dumpster. The only evidence of who the man might
have been comes in the form of a partial tattoo. The authorities don’t have much to go on,
suffice to say, so Duffy and his cohorts hit the bricks to do some good old-fashioned police work.
Finally able to identify the corpse, the happiness is short-lived. The body is an American tourist who
has no links that could have caused him this much pain. The case slows to a crawl as Sean attempts to put
two and two together.
Never giving up, he comes up with scenarios about what the sinister plot could be. A random act of
violence in the already violent city Or perhaps a conspiracy involving British Intelligence, American FBI,
and some local paramilitary death squads that Sean most definitely doesn’t want to get involved with
A redheaded beauty whose husband died in an IRA assassination may just hold the answers. But as
Sean gets deeper into the case, passion and professional misconduct may just end up to be the combo that
does him in for good.
Full of sorrow for the country and people of Northern Ireland, this plot will keep the reader busy. Being
a standalone book, even though it’s part of the series, knowing Book I (“The Cold, Cold Ground”) ahead of
time is not a necessity. However, after this, you’ll be scrambling to see how it all began.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
KILLER AMBITION
By Marcia Clark
Marcia Clark
scores once again with
a taut, suspenseful,
and intelligent legal
thriller. In the third
Rachel Knight novel,
the teenage daughter
of wealthy Hollywood
director Russell
Antonovich is kidnapped. After he
delivers the ransom money, one
million dollars in cash, the girl is
found dead in the trunk of a car at
the Los Angeles airport. DA Rachel
Knight and her friend Bailey Keller, a
detective from the LAPD, believe the
case to be a kidnapping gone wrong,
until the suspected kidnapper is also
found dead in a shallow grave on a
remote mountain road.
As the investigation proceeds,
the prosecution’s evidence points
toward Ian Powers, a former child
star, now high profile manager and
close family friend of the dead girl,
Hayley Antonovich. Although the
police find strong forensic evidence,
they are unable to identify a motive
for the killing, until Rachel and
her associates dig deeper into the
backgrounds of Antonovich and
Powers, as well as the would-be
kidnapper and Hayley’s boyfriend,
Brian Maher.
The criminal trial begins, and
Rachel is pitted against a defense
attorney who does not hesitate to use
any dirty trick available to discredit
the prosecution’s evidence. And as
well as proving her case, Rachel must
deal with the members of the press
who hone in on a great celebrity
story, no matter who is guilty or
innocent. Eventually the truth
comes out, illustrating the lengths to
which they will go in order to achieve
success in a cutthroat industry.
Ms. Clark’s strong female
characters and insight into both
the motivations of the criminals
and those who surround them, as
well as the lawyers and police who
search for the truth, make this an
exceptional novel. Her personal
experience as a prosecutor makes
her uniquely qualified to write about
the investigations and courtroom
proceedings, but her strong writing
makes the novel entertaining and
satisfying.
Reviewed by Kathleen Heady,
author of “Lydia’s Story” for Suspense
Magazine ■
35

KEEPER OF THE
DAWN
By Heather Graham
For anyone who
has been a fan of The
Keepers: L.A. you’ll
be thrilled. This is
paranormal romance
at its finest, with the
sexiest ‘dead’ man
since Dracula came
to town as one of
the primary characters. Readers
have walked hand-in-hand with
Graham’s warriors as they kept the
night, the moon, the shadows, and
now the dawn, and Graham has
made sure to keep up the passion,
thrills, and chills throughout every
tale.
A warning regarding the
Hildegard Tomb was given to
Alessande Salisbrooke; she knows
the horrors that once happened
inside the eerie location. A shapeshifting
magician who coveted
evil had once reigned, and his
followers had proven their loyalty
by carrying out the horrific rite of
human sacrifice.
Investigating the past can
bring it back to life, but Alessande
cannot get over the fact that she
believes the brutality surrounding
the Hildegard Tomb has something
to do with the murder of her friend.
Being that Alessande is a Keeper,
and devoted to her mission as
well as her loved ones, she runs
headlong into a nightmare.
Mark Valiente (who every
woman with a pulse swoons over),
is the cop who helps his beautiful
Keeper on her mission. And
although he makes others’ pulses
race, his remains silent. (He is a
vampire after all).
As they journey to the truth,
the thrills come from both passion
and fear when Alessande barely
escapes becoming a sacrificial
victim, and adding another notch
to the Hildegard belt. A nightmare
is one thing, but when Mark and
Alessande uncover a web of lies that
include the ones they trusted, that’s
when the true darkness arrives.
Declan, Sailor—you’ll love
them and they’re back! Graham
has written more than a hundred
novels during her career, and
seeing as that she’s never let a fan
down yet, there’s sure to be at least
a hundred more to come!
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author
of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent &
Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
Suspense Magazine ■
NOT THE KILLING TYPE
By Lorna Barrett
The November election is heating up in Stoneham, New Hampshire. Not the U.S.
presidential one. Or the congressional one. Or the mayoral one. This election is for the
presidency of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce when a run-of-the-mill Chamber breakfast
meeting at the Brookview Inn turns ugly.
Long-standing Chamber president Bob Kelly, who figures he’s a shoe-in for reelection to
the job, is shocked when his former girlfriend, Angelica, announces that she’s running for his
seat. And local businessman Stan Berry throws his hat in the ring as well.
The breakfast meeting comes to a screeching halt and the list of candidates drops significantly when
Tricia Miles, Angelica’s sister and owner of the local bookstore, finds Stan Berry dead in the hotel bathroom.
The murder weapon is a brass letter opener which belongs to the inn’s receptionist. Unfortunately for Tricia,
this is the second time she’s found a dead body in a local bathroom, and this time her sister is considered a
prime suspect.
Of course, Angelica asks Tricia to clear her name. Angelica figures that, because Tricia reads (and sells)
so many mysteries, she can figure out whodunnit in no time. And the fact that Tricia is a close personal friend
of the local police chief should make solving this crime a snap.
Nothing is ever that simple, and as Tricia begins to dig into the life of the victim, she discovers personal
information that is better left buried. Like the victim. And a Chamber full of people who had grudges against
him.
“Not The Killing Type” is the sixth in the Booktown mystery series by Lorna Barrett. Lots of fun!
Reviewed by Susan Santangelo, author of “Class Reunions Can Be Murder” for Suspense Magazine ■
THE SHADOW YEAR
By Hannah Richell
I went into this book with no expectations, so finding myself up into the wee small hours,
completely gripped by the story and unable to put it down until I finished was a pleasant
surprise.
The basics Five friends stumble upon an abandoned lakeside cottage hidden deep in
the English countryside on a hot summer’s day in the eighties. Having just graduated college,
they decide to take something of a gap year, moving into the cottage, living off the land, and
dropping out of mainstream society. All is initially well, but as the seasons change, tensions begin to rise. An
unexpected stranger brings further tension and intrigue to the tale, and things hit a peak shortly thereafter.
In a parallel story, thirty years on from the lost year by the lake, Lila is given a key to the cottage by a
mysterious stranger. Her life, filled with sadness after a recent tragedy, sees her deciding to take a break from
life as she knows it to renovate the cottage. By the books’ climax, it becomes clear just how the previous
tenant’s time at the cottage has implications for her future.
“The Shadow Year” draws you in slowly at first—it even came off a little too dark and depressing for the
first few chapters. Within twenty pages, however, I was firmly gripped in the story and didn’t put it down from
there until I had finished (I have the gravy smudges on a few pages to prove it.) The writing is skillful and taut,
and Richell gives you just enough information at a time to keep you intrigued and thoroughly hooked.
Having read a lot of books in this genre over the years, it was a testament to Richell’s story telling skills
that I didn’t start to suspect the final twist in the tale until very close to the page it was revealed.
Reviewed by Mel Hearse http://anadventureinreading.blogspot.com.au/ for Suspense Magazine ■
HOTTER THAN HELEN
By Susan Wingate
What could be hotter than hellen
Perhaps Susan Wingate with
this novel, the second in the Bobby’s
Diner series.
Georgette Carlisle is happy.
She’s getting married, owns a diner,
loves her cat, and has some wonderful friends,
including the mayor of Sunnydale, whom she
considers a daughter. Everything is going great.
That is, until her friend Helen shows back up in
town. Then all ‘hel-en’ breaks loose.
Georgette’s world is turned upside down.
Her cat is missing, her fiancé becomes unfaithful,
Helen is discovered murdered, and the mayor is
abducted. And the culprits behind it all are really
working for someone else.
A suspenseful and well-penned novel that is
sure to entertain you this summer. Read on!
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of
“The Other Side: Melinda’s Story” published
by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense
Magazine ■
KILLING RACHEL
By Anne Cassidy
Rose’s mother disappeared several years ago, as
did Joshua’s father. The two of them are family in a way,
siblings, and yet aren’t and there are mixed feelings. Some
of friendship and maybe more for one of them. They are
determined to discover what happened to their parents,
regardless of what a previous investigation shows.
Rose is a bit distracted from their search as her
former friend from boarding school, Rachel, starts
sending her messages needing to speak with her urgently.
Because of past issues, Rose ignores the requests. When
Rachel turns up dead, Rose is determined to figure out
exactly what happened to Rachel and why.
The clues that are left that she searches to find, may
just turn out to be more than initially believed. Joshua is
delving into their parents’ last case and going on ‘feelings’
as well as clues to get closer to the truth.
Enjoyable mix of family dynamics
and mystery, this book keeps you reading
until the end.
Reviewed by Ashley Dawn, author of
“Shadows of Pain” published by Suspense
Publishing an imprint of Suspense
Magazine ■
36  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

CHIHUAHUA CONFIDENTIAL
By Waverly Curtis
Seattle P.I. (don’t call her a Girl Friday!) Geri Sullivan is back solving another mystery with
the help of her Chihuahua, Pepe. Geri adopted Pepe from a local animal shelter, and they’ve
developed a unique relationship—Pepe talks and Gerri is the only one who can understand
him. And Pepe, who is addicted to Spanish soap operas, is super smart, super cute, and a true
Lothario when it comes to wooing potential girlfriends like a cute Pomeranian named Siren
Song.
When Siren Song’s owner, the wealthy Rebecca Tyler, decides to shoot a television pilot for
a reality show called Dancing With Dogs, Pepe convinces Geri that they should be one of the dancing couples.
He’s thrilled to leave rainy Seattle for the golden sunshine and glitzy lifestyle of Los Angeles, especially when
he learns that starlet Caprice Kennedy will be one of the show’s judges. Pepe claims that he once belonged to
Caprice, but Geri doesn’t believe him, since he’s also told her that he once fought a bull in Mexico, raced in the
Iditarod in Alaska, and wrestled an alligator in an Alabama swamp.
When one of the reality show judges is found murdered before the dancing lessons even start, Geri and
Pepe realize they’ve become much more involved in solving a mystery than learning the tango or being fitted
for matching costumes. Then Siren Song, and Caprice Kennedy’s new dog, Princess, are kidnapped and Pepe
and Geri decide to deliver the ransom so they can catch the criminals.
“Chihuahua Confidential” is the second book in this delightful series by mystery writing team Waverly
Fitzgerald and Curtis Colbert, using the pen name of Waverly Curtis. I give it ten dog bones—it’s a hoot!
Reviewed by Susan Santangelo, author of “Class Reunions Can Be Murder” for Suspense Magazine ■
HER LAST BREATH
By Linda Castillo
Speaking of breath, I held mine while reading this latest novel by Castillo. As typical of this
author’s quality of work, “Her Last Breath” is another shocking story centering on the lives of
the Amish.
An Amish family of five is reduced to two when a senseless slaying occurs. Coming back
from a weekly visit with the doctor at dusk, Paul Borntrager slowly leads his horse and buggy
and his three special needs children cautiously through an intersection only to be hit by a
speeding vehicle. Two of the three children and Paul die.
Mattie, the mother is crushed and grieves when she hears of their deaths. She nurtures her sole remaining
child David back to health. But that’s not the end, not even close. Discovering that it was not just an accident
and unsure if Mattie or Paul was the target of someone’s rage, Kate Burkholder, Chief of Police in Painter’s Mill
leads up the investigation and tries to protect Mattie and David from further happenstance.
But Kate is working through personal issues of her own involving a lover—whether or not she should
take a chance and commit—and her sordid past that is coming back to haunt her. Kate feels the sting from
the loss of the Borntrager family because she is not only ex-Amish but also because Mattie was her best friend
while growing up. Devastation after hardship spins Kate through a spiraling tunnel, only to end up being
the killer’s target when she gets too close to the truth of the murder of the Borntragers. When I read who
was behind the deaths and the calamity surrounding it, I was astounded. I wasn’t right about one person I
suspected.
Castillo has always been able to—and probably will always do so—flabbergast me. Another fantastic
story.
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “The Other Side: Melinda’s Story” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
GENERATION V
By M.L. Brennan
This is the first in a brand new series that centers on (you guessed it) vampires. Yes, the
metaphors and sarcastic barbs may race through the skull; however, if the rolling of the eyes
can stop for a minute, there is one thing that readers should most definitely know about this
particular book. It’s good.
We begin with Fort (short for Fortitude) Scott, who is what you would call a vamp-intraining.
Half-and-half, Fort grew up basically normal and wants to stay that way. He has literally
no desire to transition into a full-fanged ‘baddy’ when he reaches adulthood. Not to mention,
his relatives are so mean that he definitely does not want to be like them.
Fort attempts to slow down his change by making a living working in a coffee shop and living in an
apartment away from his blood-sucking family. His mama, Madeline, is a little heartless and creepy; his sister,
Prudence, would turn a cold fish…cold; and his brother Chivalry, who was born around the Civil War era, is
a real hunk. Very aloof, but most people actually like him.
Suzume is a shape shifter sent to watch over Fort as he tries to stay human. Being able to shift into a fox,
she is just as sly as the animal she becomes. And Luca is the real stinker here; the bad guy who wants nothing
more than to infiltrate the family’s territory.
The suspense is all over the place in Fort’s life, as people go missing and he tries to exchange his fated
black cape for the Superman red and blue. If you’re looking for the fluffy romance of a Twilight saga, forget it.
This is way better. (Yes, I can feel the angry glares right now).
With a cool cliffhanger that will lead readers to the next installment, this may be one vamp series that will
step away from the pack and shine.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
NIGHT TERROR
ANTHOLOGY
Edited by Karen Henderson
Since the rise and rise of
e-Books, short stories and novellas
have become increasingly popular.
I think of short stories as a sorbet
between longer books; something
to refresh your palette before
moving on to that six-hundredpage
tome or if you are a Stephen
King fan, one-thousand plus page
doorstop.
The “Night Terrors
Anthology” edited by Karen
Henderson of Kayelle Press is
a creepy little anthology of all
things nasty with an abundance
of demons, vampires, ghosts, and
the undead. Inside are seventeen
top-notch horror stories from
international authors; many of
whom are award winners.
The quality of the stories
ranges from very good to
exceptional. The first of the
anthology, A World Not Our Own
by J.C. Hemphill, proves you can’t
trust vampires and is as far from
“Twilight” as a good vampire story
should be.
Now the publishing and film
and television world have fallen in
love with zombies, zombies have
become the new black. Move over
Edward. Read Share the Love by
Chris Donahue to get your quality
zombie fix.
White Lines, White Crosses by
Andrew J. McKiernan could have
been written by Stephen King. It
is a cool little ghost story about
a teenager’s desire to fit in and
the price he pays when the peer
pressure comes from the other side
of the grave. It is seriously dark and
beautifully paced.
There is also a few classics
thrown in for good measure. They
are just as fresh today and fit right
in with their modern counterparts;
Edgar Allan Poe’s A Tell-Tale
Heart, The Dead Girl by Guy de
Maupassant and A Ghost Story by
Mark Twain.
The “Night Terrors
Anthology” is a solid collection
with some truly enjoyable,
clever tales that will stay with
you whether you want them to
or not. The “Creepy” Badge of
Honor is awarded to editor Karen
Henderson for having a great feel
for a good story.
Reviewed by Susan May http://
s u s a n m a y w o r d a d v e n t u r e s .
blogspot.com.au/ for Suspense
Magazine ■
37

RAVEN GIRL
By Audrey Niffenegger
My ten and twelve year old
boys are, sadly, at an age where
they don’t want me to read to
them anymore. In fact, thanks
to iPads, X-boxes, and cable TV,
they don’t want to read anymore.
However, they both
expressed interest in me reading
them “Raven Girl.” In the end,
my hubby sat in and for several
nights, we eagerly anticipated the
next reading. It was a wonderful
experience. First they wanted to
read it, then they didn’t want me
to stop. They loved the story and
wanted it read again. A miracle.
“Once there was a Postman
who fell in love with a Raven.”
The opening line in this
modern-day, dark fairy tale begins
a marvelous tale of a postman
who “thought he had seen just
about everything Her Majesty’s
Postal Service could offer in the
way of danger and difficulty,
hilarity and boredom.” When he
rescues a baby raven, which has
fallen from her nest, they fall in
love and eventually have a baby
raven girl who has human form,
but speaks in raven. The raven
girl is not happy with herself and
seeks to be transformed.
Niffenegger has collaborated
with Royal Ballet Resident
Choreographer Wayne McGregor
to produce a ballet based on this
book. It premiered at the Royal
Opera House in London in May
2013
Ȧudrey Niffenegger was
on my list of beloved authors
before this book. Her first novel,
“The Time Traveler’s Wife” was
an international bestseller and
her second book, a ghost story
entitled “Her Fearful Symmetry,”
is in my top reads.
Niffenegger puts words
together from which spin magic.
She is also a talented artist. In
“Raven Girl,” she not only wrote a
charming tale she also illustrated
it beautifully using the 17th
century technique of aquatint,
which uses metal, acid, wax, and
rosin to achieve delicate tone and
detailed images.
Anyone, any age reading
this will fall in love with the tale
of the “Raven Girl.” It is a book
of exceptional beauty and one to
treasure.
Reviewed by Susan May http://
anadventureinreading.blogspot.
com.au/ for Suspense Magazine ■
OF GRAVE CONCERN
By Max McCoy
For any reader who misses those real, rootin-tootin westerns, you will be truly fascinated
with this work. The author, who has penned a variety of “Indiana Jones” tales and is an awardwinning
writer of the western genre, takes this cowboy plot in a brand new direction.
Ophelia Wylde has many gifts; one of which is her ability to talk to the dead. She has been
left a widow because of the angry battles in the Civil War, and is now attempting to leave the past
behind by heading west.
Leaving New Orleans, Ophelia’s final destination is Colorado, where she has an appointment
to give a lecture/demonstration of spiritualism. However, her new life gets put on hold when Ophelia finds
herself in Dodge City, arrested and charged with murder.
The arresting officer claims that Ophelia’s real name is Kate Bender, a woman who really is guilty of
murder, and throws Ophelia in jail. Managing to find a lawyer, she’s turned loose until she can go before the
judge and somehow prove that the officer got it wrong. She needs to clear her name in order to escape the
hangman’s noose.
Jack Calder is a bounty hunter and more than a bit skeptical about not only Ophelia’s situation but also
about her supposed psychic gifts. He stands by as Ophelia gives a few spiritual shows, provides readings to
people who need them, and tries to talk to the dead. The townspeople soon think she might be running a small
scam. Becoming an angry mob, they take Ophelia to “Boot Hill” and bury her alive. Only then do the real dead
begin to speak…and they have a whole heck of a lot to say.
This is a fun read with characters that fit perfectly in that western genre. But this plot is far more thrilling
when the Old West meets the paranormal realm head-on for an unforgettable ride.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
STOKER'S MANUSCRIPT
By Royce Prouty
With all the vampire books flooding the market recently, it’s hard to find an original and
fresh take on the legend. Royce Prouty, though, has accomplished it. In “Stoker’s Manuscript,”
he imagines Bram Stoker had guidance in creating “Dracula”—a guide who wasn’t happy with
the result.
Rare book expert Joseph Barkeley is hired to authenticate and purchase the original draft of
“Dracula” along with the author’s notes. Included in this version are a foreword and an afterword
that were removed after a fire destroyed Stoker’s first publisher along with the to-be-published manuscript.
Barkeley brings the manuscript to Bran Castle in Romania, the legendary home of Vlad Dracul. He’s told that
the manuscript will be a centerpiece on display as part of the reconstruction of the castle as a tourist attraction.
For Barkeley, the trip to Romania is a journey into his personal history. He and his brother were saved
from a state orphanage there after his English father killed their Romanian mother and then committed suicide.
They grew up as the wards of nuns in Chicago, and while it was far from ideal, it has allowed him to create a
pleasant, safe life for himself. But now the bill for their salvation has come due.
Barkeley discovers that he is the prisoner of one of Vlad Dracul’s sons who sets a task for him: decipher
cryptic clues in the manuscript to discover the burial places of other members of his family. As he delves into
the history of the manuscript and the world of the 1890s when it was written, Barkeley discovers his own
history is wrapped up in the task. But can he save himself before his usefulness is used up
Prouty weaves the story of the publication of the original novel and the history of Vlad Dracul and his
family into a satisfying and well-told story. The vampires here are the stuff of nightmares, just as in Stoker’s
novel. For horror buffs, this is a pleasant return to form for the genre.
Reviewed by David Ingram for Suspense Magazine ■
ONE HOT MURDER
By Lorraine Bartlett
This is the third installment in the Victoria Square mysteries, and it’s just as cool as books one and two.
Katie Bonner has always dreamed of owning a B&B, but she found out—when her husband passed
away—that he had used all of their savings to buy a mall that handled local crafts. This mall is already going
down the tubes and Katie now finds herself the manager of a business she never even wanted.
Her job is to deal with a lot of weird characters that have set up booths in her mall—some with very strong
personalities and others that are just plain crazy. On the upside, Katie has a little romance going with the owner
of the pizza parlor who’s also her landlord. Her only drawback seems to be the fact that she’s the local ‘Jessica
Fletcher,’ and every time there’s a crime, she finds herself right in the middle of it.
Katie is trying to get over her husband’s mistake of buying the white elephant that hangs like an albatross
around her neck, but can’t seem to stop whining. Even some of the mall characters are complaining that they’ve
heard the story over and over and Katie should just get over herself.
One very hot morning, Katie looks out her window and sees smoke billowing from one of the stores that
sells wooden artifacts and furniture. Although not completely destroyed, a dead body is found inside, and the
victim did not die from smoke inhalation.
Ray Davenport, the trusted detective in charge arrives and is much nicer to Katie than he usually is, but
there’s a reason for this new attitude.
The plot, yet again, is a whole lot of fun. Katie may whine, but she’s a strong character that wants nothing
more than to find the answers. Once again, the recipes in the back are scrumptious!
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
38  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

SLICE
By William Patterson
Jessie Clarkson had a pretty good life when she was young, going to school and living in a
small town in Connecticut. The only problem she seemed to have as a young woman was the
fact that she couldn’t keep a boyfriend around for long. Her sister, Monica, actually stole her
high school beau, and her best friend glommed on to her college love match. In order to get
even, Jessie decides to hook up with a motorcycle maniac, Emil, and show them all she’s landed
a wild and crazy guy.
Unfortunately, she’s right. One night, Jessie finds out that Emil is more than crazy, as she
watches him take someone’s life. Running, Jessie heads to New York City to hide. She wants nothing more
than to escape Emil, who just happens to be the father of the child she carries.
Informed that Emil is killed in a drug related battle in Mexico, Jessie decides to go back to her New
England home now that he’s no longer a threat.
With Emil gone, hoping to settle down and live a normal life, Jessie establishes herself as an author.
With her daughter, Abby, and nanny, Inga, Jessie heads back to Connecticut. Unfortunately, the good life
can’t be found. Killings suddenly start up again using Emil’s previous M.O., and each victim seems to have
a connection to Jessie. As the fear begins, Jessie must find out if Emil is still alive and has come back to seek
revenge on all who did him wrong.
With a bevy of characters, from best friends to high school beaus to a neighbor, John Manning,
who’s a writer that allegedly murdered his wife, the cast is intriguing. A really fascinating thriller with a
little of the paranormal thrown in for good measure, readers will really enjoy this fast-paced book.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
THE KING'S DECEPTION
By Steve Berry
Cotton Malone, a former Justice Department agent, takes the reins of this latest Berry
novel. With the author’s perfect research into modern and historical time periods, the reader
will be thrilled with this extremely engaging puzzle.
In the history of Tudor England, there is a secret being hidden that, if it comes to light,
will throw the Brits into a tizzy. Thanks to the machinations of Henry VIII and some of his
cohorts way back when, the secret has stayed hidden…until now.
Cotton is retired from government service. Now the owner of a book shop in Copenhagen, he’s headed
there with his teenage son. They will have a small stopover in London so Cotton does a favor for his ex-boss
and agrees to escort a teen fugitive back to England.
Unfortunately, upon arrival he and the boys are greeted in London by men with guns. Both boys are
kidnapped and Cotton finds himself pulled into a showdown between Britain and America concerning the
release of a terrorist. An international incident could commence, seeing as that the terrorist is the person who
brought down Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland.
Blake Antrim, a CIA officer in charge of “The King’s Deception”—which is a case that has the CIA and
MI6 running around like headless chickens to solve—joins the party. With his own investigation, Blake must
delve into the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, uncovering a shocking secret that may change the political realm
forever.
Cotton has to be friend and foe in order to uncover the dangers of solving a kidnapping, letting a terrorist
go free, and holding the secrets of sixteenth century English history in the palm of his hands.
Good will not cut it here. Nor will great, fantastic, exemplary, or the other million adjectives given out
for ‘5-star’ work. With this story, Steve Berry took wisdom, intelligence, and power, and ended up offering
readers an incredible jewel.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
SAVING LAURA
By Jim Satterfield
A riveting, rapid paced, and well-written mystery thriller.
Shelby Lee, continues to have feelings for his ex-girlfriend Laura. After leaving Shelby,
Laura gets involved with a drug kingpin, Tom Tucker, who was in the middle of a big drug
deal. Shelby steps in and spoils the drug transaction by taking Tucker’s five kilos of cocaine
and $75,000 dollars, hoping to use it as a bargaining chip to get Laura back and help clean up
her drug addiction.
After the robbery, Shelby needs to get out of town and meets up with a couple who is on the run from
the law. They end up in a shootout along the highway that leaves one officer dead and another seriously
wounded. Shelby becomes a person of interest with local law enforcement and is hunted. He is also being
watched by the DEA because of the drug transaction that went bad.
After hiding at his dad’s small cabin in the hills around Aspen, Colorado and dodging the law, he is able
to return and find Laura who is also running from Tuckers gang, trying to find her own way. Together, with
the help of a famous local author, a dog named ‘JAWS,’ and a ruthless DEA Agent, they are able to challenge
Tucker and his desire to get his cocaine back and use Laura again as his drug addicted mistress.
The story twists and turns and will keep you turning the pages with interest; that includes a group of
strong and committed characters.
Reviewed by Jerry Zavada for Suspense Magazine ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
THE GHOST RIDERS
OF ORDEBEC
By Fred Vargas
An ancient, thousand-year-old
legend has the small French village
of Ordebec in its grip in the latest
Commissaire Adamsberg mystery
from author Fred Vargas.
Fred Vargas (ironically a
female) has had international
success with the Adamsberg series
and “The Ghost Riders of Ordebec”
has just the right amount of mystery
and thrills to make this a domestic
U.S. hit as well.
The Ghost Riders of Ordebec
are a legend based on the infamous
Furious Army of Normandy. This
band of horsemen represented
the most nefarious men in the
region and the legend of their
reappearance marks the pending
death of four suspect individuals.
Commissaire Adamsberg’s
usual territory is Paris. His
involvement in the disappearance
of a man in the town of Ordebec
is sparked when a mysterious
woman named Lina appears at
his precinct begging for his help.
Having heard of his reputation,
Lina feels Adamsberg is just the
person to solve the mystery of the
Ghost Riders and to stop them in
the midst of their ‘great hunt.’
Adamsberg and a few of his
colleagues venture to Ordebec
and find a town in the grip of this
ancient myth. Fred Vargas excels
when she builds up the level of
paranoia to a point where anyone
in the town may be a suspect and
no one feels safe. As the body
count continues—including the
attempted murder of an elderly
woman named Leo that Adamsberg
had grown fond of—the members
of Paris’ seventh arrondissement
are at their wit’s end to solve the
mystery and quell the growing
panic before it consumes all of
Ordebec.
As translated from the French
by Sian Reynolds, Fred Vargas’
“The Ghost Riders of Ordebec”
is a great blend of mystery with a
firm grounding in historical fiction
and legend that will keep readers
guessing right up to the last page.
Having been newly introduced
to this series, I now look forward
to catching up with Commissaire
Adamsberg and his team and
eagerly look forward to their next
assignment.
Reviewed by Ray Palen for Suspense
Magazine ■
39

SUGAR POP
MOON
By John Florio
Being the
perfect definition
of ‘misunderstood,’
main character,
Jersey Leo, is a bit of an outcast.
He keeps a low profile amongst
the tough guys working in the
speakeasy business in mobster-run
New York.
An albino of mixed-race,
the locals have given Jersey the
nickname Snowball. He works
tending bar at a place called the
Pour House, which is owned by
the mob and located in Hell’s
Kitchen. He doesn’t have a group
of guys to hang with, and even his
own mother abandoned him long
ago. Although his father is still
around, the man is a former boxer
and doesn’t like Jersey spending
his time at a place owned by a
notorious gangster.
One fine day, Leo buys some
counterfeit moonshine (AKA:
Sugar Pop Moon), with the boss’
money. No, Jersey isn’t trying to
do himself in; in fact, he must turn
to his father to help him find the
bootlegger in order to save his own
life. But while Jersey is searching
for the seller, there’s also someone
waiting in the darkness searching
for him.
The reader gets a taste of
literally everything; from the
historic areas of NYC; to an
interesting psycho who loves to
wield a cleaver; to a Christmastree
farm that is the location for
far more than just decorative pine
trees. In other words, this author
made sure to produce a fast-paced
tale where you never know what’s
coming next.
This book represents one of
those good, old prohibition-style
mob stories that brings a tear
to the eye and a laugh out loud,
depending on the situation. Jersey
Leo can never be called a hero,
but he sometimes acts like one.
He has a caring way for the people
he works with—not to mention,
friends and family—but his real
focus is on trying to save himself…
and who can blame him
After this small taste, readers
will definitely hope that the author
produces more Jersey Leo stories.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author
of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent &
Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint
of Suspense Magazine ■
UNSPEAKABLE
By Kevin O'Brien
Suspense lovers will be thrilled to see another work by this author who is a master at keeping everyone
on the edge of their seats. O’Brien is so skilled at bringing the reader into the fear, you’ll almost want to read
this book with your eyes closed.
Olivia Barker is a hypnotherapist in the state of Washington who’s faced with an unusual problem. A
young man who claims his name is Russ Leander, even though the name on the caller ID is C. Stampler, sets up
a meeting with the doctor. When he arrives for his session, Olivia feels as if she’s experiencing déjà vu because
the new client looks so familiar.
He admits to Olivia that he had given her a fake name because he used to be a child-star, Collin Cox, and
didn’t want his identity known. Russ/Collin alerts her to the fact that something bizarre happened when he
was hypnotized by a friend, and he wants Olivia to hypnotize him to see if it would occur again. Putting him
under, a new personality suddenly enters the room by the name of Wade, and the game of fear begins.
Wade is frightening; he murdered a family back in the 60s in their hotel room. He goes on and on, listing
violent crimes committed in the area that happened before her patient, Collin, was even born. Olivia knows
nothing of these horrible slayings, but through hypnotherapy, she learns details of the killings that only the
murderer would know.
Having no proof other than what she’s heard in her sessions, Olivia gets pulled into a nightmare. As the
body count starts to pile up, her life is put in danger. Determined to find out what’s going on, she continues
seeing Collin, but the truth will amaze, astound, and scare her to death.
Every thrill-seeker who picks this one up should make sure they have their blood pressure checked before
reading.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
VERLAND: THE TRANSFORMATION
By B.E. Scully
Part noir, part dark romance, part nightmare, “Verland: The Transformation” is a tale of loss, pain,
suffering, and redemption, woven into the construct of the vampire.
Elle is a crime writer. Successful, she is still seeking answers to unspoken, unformed questions from her
mother’s murder two decades prior. Kingman is a Hollywood superstar with a string of directing hits under his
belt, who sits in prison convicted of murder. As Elle begins to write his story, a tale far more dark and haunting
emerges: a story of death, murder, necromancers, and vampires. Are vampires real Who is Verland and can
his diary be believed
The narrative shifts dramatically between past and present, with Elle’s story juxtaposed with the diary
entries of this supposed vampire. Death and transformation create a thematic link between both stories.
Verland is transformed into a vampire, but he also experiences a spiritual transformation. His descent parallels
Elle’s ascent out of her past as she delves deeper into Kingman’s frightening and bizarre world of wealth, power,
and violence. The characters are well-drawn and the secondary cast is almost as delightful as Elle and Verland.
Delightful details enrich the narrative, which serve to keep the novel from getting bogged down in intense,
dark imagery and provide an edge of comic relief. Both Verland and Elle have a dramatic story to tell, and
Scully’s multifaceted narrative through the use of a diary makes it all work.
Do not let the presence of a vampire scare you. This is not horror as we know it today but a fast-paced
thriller story that could stand alone as a superb crime fiction novel. The diary serves as a parallel story to
explore very dark themes. Scully explores the question of murder and death through both Kingman and the
vampire. They each represent the criminal element of the killer we fear in society. Reaching into the Gothic
literary tradition, Scully weaves a spellbinding fusion of crime thriller and supernatural tale.
Reviewed by Drake Morgan for Suspense Magazine ■
VEILED THREAT
By Alice Loweecey
The coolest ex-nun turned P.I. in the mystery world is back for a brand new adventure—
and the author has once again brought a whole lot of fun to the genre. If fans haven’t read the
first two in this series, they should fix their mistake immediately. This is one author that has the
ability to take her characters into fascinating scenarios that ooze with intelligence.
Giulia Falcone, a former teacher in a convent, is up-to-date on current problems and is
a very astute investigator, having the ability to read people easily. In a relationship with Frank
Driscoll, her partner at Driscoll Investigations, Giulia and Frank run the gamut of friend, boyfriend and back
to friend, keeping a tremendous amount of respect for each other in the process.
The partners are asked by their friends, Anya and Laurel, to help them out because their adopted baby
girl has been kidnapped. It doesn’t seem to the two women that the police are paying a lot of attention to their
plight, so they ask Driscoll Investigations to step in and make it right.
Giulia soon unearths two other kidnappings in cities nearby that mirrored this one exactly; the children
were both taken from same-sex couples and both cases ended extremely badly. Going undercover as a
housekeeper in a local resort that catered to the other victims, Giulia sets her mind on finding out what’s going
on. But even with Frank and a friend of his from the police department backing her up, she still manages to
get into a bit of trouble.
The setting is Christmastime. And this third book in this very addictive series is once again a winner. The
author has used her own experiences to take her main characters on a ride to a surprising conclusion, and the
plot even offers a new little spark of romance which should make book four a blast!
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by
Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
40  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

THE TOWER
By Simon Toyne
The third and final book in the Sanctus Trilogy, “The Tower” wraps up everything for the
reader in a nice little package after a high-speed adventure they will never forget.
The director of the NASA Control Center in Maryland goes missing. The Hubbel Space
Telescope is disabled; and even odder, the computers at the Control Center shut down. Only
the director’s machine is working; the screen offering an ominous message stating: MANKIND
MUST LOOK NO FURTHER.
Enter FBI Agent J.J. Shepherd. Called by his FBI bosses to help in the investigation, Shepherd is more than
a bit wary considering he will have to work alongside his immediate superior, Agent Benjamin Franklin. This
is one man he wishes to avoid because he has been hiding secrets from Franklin for a good long time. Having
no choice, Shepherd must answer the call of Assistant Director O’Halloran who believes his background in
science will be the ultimate asset to uncovering the truth.
Discovering a note written in the missing director’s handwriting, Shepherd believes that there may just be
a world of pain being brought about by cyber-attack. What follows is a myriad of violence: an explosion at an
ancient monastery in Turkey; a deadly outbreak of a virus; and the disappearances of American reporter, Liv
Adamsen, and ex-special forces operative, Gabriel Mann.
Shepherd and Franklin’s investigation takes them into a web of secrets and lies. When strange things begin
to happen with climate change and animals, weather and more, the two men must try and figure out the cause
before Earth is destroyed.
This book is so action-packed with so many revelations, locations, etc., that the reader will be thrown this
way and that—from dark alley to brilliant stars—as they stick by Shepherd’s side to see how it all works out.
Readers will become absolutely engaged by this brilliant tale, wondering if the hero can win before the clock
strikes zero. Enjoy!
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
TELL ME
By Lisa Jackson
This book is absolutely tension-filled. Jackson is on top of her game with “Tell Me.” Nikki Gillette wants to
know what happened twenty years ago to her murdered friend Amity and wants someone to tell her. Amity’s
mother Blondell was imprisoned twenty years ago based on the testimony of her son, Amity’s brother, that his
mother is the one who shot them and killed Amity.
A true crime author and writer for the Savannah Sentinel, Nikki goes on the hunt, investigating when she
should leave it up to her fiancé, Detective Pierce Reed. But that’s not in her nature. She gets more than just
information for her articles and book however, when she runs into some nerve-wracking—both for the reader
and the character—situations. During her and Reed’s investigation, Nikki finds out she has a stalker and figures
it has to do with the case. Is someone warning her to back off She’s threatened on more than one occasion,
but doesn’t give up.
This romantic suspense will have you up all night reading, paging your way through the romance between
Nikki and Reed and the at-times very dangerous circumstances Nikki gets herself into. To say ‘I didn’t see it
coming’ may be cliché, but it’s very true. You will be astounded with the ending!
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “The Other Side: Melinda’s Story” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
TOPPED CHEF
By Lucy Burdette
Most of us love those television
food shows. I know I do. But “Topped
Chef ” puts a fatal spin on lime cupcakes,
shrimp and grits, chefs, judges, and the
idea of a reality show and its winner when
a judge—Sam Rizzoli—is murdered and
the other critics begin to worry about their safety.
Hayley Snow works for Key West’s Key Zest—a
magazine of which Hayley is a food critic. She is
assigned to be one of the judges for “Topped Chef ” and
it could end up being her last assignment. Choosing
the right dish, eliminating cooks from the show, and
commentating on film what she likes and doesn’t like
are the easy duties of this competition for Hayley. The
hard parts for her are staying alive and trying to find
out who murdered Rizzoli, while balancing a sort-of
relationship with one of the detectives investigating
Rizzoli’s murder.
A delightful read filled with yummy recipes at the
end with tangy suspects sprinkled throughout.
Reviewed by Starr Gardinier Reina, author of “The
Other Side: Melinda’s Story” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
THE COLD COLD GROUND
By Adrian McKinty
Sergeant Sean Duffy is a Catholic police
detective on a protestant police force. In 1980s
North Ireland, that isn’t the ideal place, but he is
determined to be the best at his job as he can possibly
be. Protestants are suspicious of Catholics and many
have bounties on their heads. The hunger strikes,
riots, deaths, and mayhem endanger everyone.
With all the trouble brewing and bubbling
through the land, a man’s body being found isn’t
surprising. It is thought to be a simple murder, but
when Duffy investigates, he finds it could be a serial
killer targeting homosexuals. All investigations are
complicated because of the political climate and
everything is questioned.
Duffy investigates in his unique manner. He is
determined to unearth the truth and is willing to step
into harms way to find it.
A history-filled police procedural and mystery
that keeps you interested and informed from start to
finish.
Reviewed by Ashley Dawn, author of “Shadows of
Pain” published by Suspense Publishing an imprint
of Suspense Magazine ■
THE NEVER
LIST
By Koethi Zhan
As young
girls, from middle
school to the
preliminary years
in college, Sarah and Jennifer were
inseparable. Afraid of everything
from earthquakes to rapists, they
made up a series of rules. They
called it the Never List. Until
they unfortunately violated a
basic rule, “never get in a car with
strangers,” their lives were pretty
straightforward.
When they realized that
something about the cab ride
was out of the ordinary, it was
too late. For the next three years
they, and two other girls, where
imprisoned in the basement of a
house, brutally tortured, raped,
beaten, and starved. The opening
lines of this novel sound chillingly
real: “There were four of us down
there…and then, very suddenly
and without warning, there were
three.”
With the three girls released
and their captor, a former college
professor, sitting in a jail cell, their
lives could go on, but for Sarah it
could never end there. Jennifer’s
body was never found and she
can’t move on until she brings
closure to her situation. With the
reluctant help from the other two
girls that survived with her, they
build a trail, going back into the
past to move into the future. Their
journey becomes a cross-country
chase involving religious cults
and BDSM dungeons, all leading
back provokingly to her past jailer,
a man who is about to be set free
on probation unless the secret
location of the missing body can
be unraveled.
As witnesses step forward,
you wonder how the police could
have missed these clues in their
original investigation. The three
girls once again find themselves
trapped in their original torture
chamber and all the pieces fall into
place, leaving the reader twisting
in the wind as the startling ending
jumps out from the darkest place
with a loud BOO!
A fast-paced, don’t-dareput-the-book-down
read that will
leave you cringing as your darkest
fears emerge from the shadows as
Zhan takes you to the places you
never wanted to go.
Reviewed by Mark Sadler, author
of “Blood on his Hands” published
by Suspense Publishing, an
imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
41

Jodie Renner Editing
Fiction Editing and
Critiquing Services
www.JodieRennerEditing.com
Specializing in thrillers,
romantic suspense,
& other crime iction
Look for Jodie’s craft of iction articles on these blogs:
Crime Fiction Collective, Blood-Red Pencil, The Thrill
Begins, Writer’s Forensics, and Suspense Magazine.
“Jodie Renner worked with me to transform my thriller,
The Lonely Mile, from an exciting book to a tight,
suspenseful, heart-pounding thrill ride.” - Allan Leverone
“Jodie edited my last three novels and did a
terriic job. … Highly recommended!” - LJ Sellers
“I rate Jodie 6 stars out of 5!” - Ian Walkley, No Remorse
Free sample edit for new clients
THE HEALER
By Antti Tuomainen
A thriller/mystery with a dash of ‘end of the world’ spice, this novel
offers readers an interesting look at the vibrant area of Helsinki.
In the midst of constant rainfall that’s flooding the land, food and
water have become almost non-existent. With fading power across the
city, the Internet and all electrical systems have turned unreliable. With
whispers of the plague coming forth, citizens are leaving the city in
droves, making for greener pastures. In addition, Amazon rain forests are
on fire and the United States has been attacked by missiles sent from drug
cartels in Mexico. It seems that most of Europe is at war, there is no police
protection or medical care and, frankly, unless you’re richer than Midas
you can forget receiving any help at all.
In the midst of all this is the story of a serial killer roaming the streets
of Helsinki, who has named himself The Healer. Killing families he feels
are responsible for creating the huge mess that the world now finds itself
in, The Healer is good at his work. And because the police presence has
dwindled to almost nothing, the killer remains on the loose, causing
havoc wherever he goes.
Tapani Lehtinen, a poet, is one of the few people who still live in the
city. The day his wife, Joanna goes missing, he suddenly finds himself on a
quest to follow a murderous monster roaming the area. As Tapani searches
for her, he discovers that his wife got a lead on The Healer and may have
met with harm. But in this dystopian world, nothing is as it seems.
Scared and angry, Tapani must deal with secrets that actually link his
wife to the very killer he’s seeking.
The author has done an extremely good job, causing
readers to feel the shivers all around them as they try their
best to make it through this strange, eerie world. A definite
keeper!
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm:
Tallent & Lowery Book Two” published by Suspense
Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine
THREE LIVES OF TOMOMI
ISHIKAWA
By Benjamin Constable
Tomomi Ishikawa aka Butterfly is the perfect best
friend for Ben. She is vivacious, loves to drink and
smoke, and hang out in bars, alleys, and back rooms.
She is also full of surprises...like leaving a suicide note
and a scavenger hunt for Ben. There is no body to grieve
over, just a note she leaves him with her computer and a pen. She
believes Ben can write well and what she shows him and what he finds
will make a really good story for him to put to paper.
Ben is consumed with Butterfly’s death and plays along with
what he believes to be her final request, a treasure hunt. Searching her
computer turns up files with some colorful, yet disturbing names that
make Ben feel quite uncomfortable. Unfortunately for Ben, it’s not a
treasure he’s hunting but Butterfly’s very disturbing past.
Butterfly leaves wild clues, making Ben climb statues, break into
private property, and ride subways back and forth, over and over just
to see if he can find the clue in the split second it appears through
a window. He is obsessed with this game until he finds himself
wondering if he is in fact the game.
Believing he is enjoying the beauty of Paris and New York that
only Butterfly would be able to see and share with him (that is her
dying wish, right), Ben discovers that beauty to her is also very
deadly. Butterfly shows him how she has helped others in her past,
with their “sadness,” which, for Butterfly’s entertainment only, she
turns into complete depression for them. Following her clues leads
Ben to discover that Butterfly was (and apparently still is) a very
dark serial killer…he thinks.
Relying on his imaginary cat, Cat, to keep him sane, he not only
follows Butterfly’s clues but Cat’s as well. Follow Ben and Cat on their
scavenger hunt from the streets of Paris to the underground of New
York City.
A wonderful debut novel and a must read.
Reviewed by Sherri Nemick for Suspense Magazine
THE SHADOW TRACER
By Meg Gardiner
The novels that can be set into the ‘fantastic’
category may be slim, but this standalone mystery by
Meg Gardiner certainly found a place in that ‘elite’
group.
As our story opens, readers are five years in the
past watching Sarah run through the woods with her
baby in her arms, when she’s confronted by a man. Sarah refuses to
stop and gets to her car. The man pulls a gun…but chooses not to fire.
Five years later, Sarah, along with her daughter, Zoe, are living in
Oklahoma City where Sarah has a career as a skip tracer. Sarah locates
people and then hauls them into court.
Things are going just fine until Zoe is involved in a school bus
accident that sends all the passengers to the ER. Zoe’s medical tests
offer up a discovery that no one—certainly not Zoe—knew about:
Although Sarah is a relation, she is not Zoe’s mother.
Facts regarding the child’s birth start to flow, and after all is
revealed (or is it) police, FBI, even the U.S. Marshall, are on the
hunt for Sarah and Zoe who once again have run. To top it all off, a
mysterious group that perhaps had something to do with Zoe’s real
mother are mob related, and will not stop until they get this child into
their ‘family.’
As friends help Sarah and Zoe stay off the radar, Sarah must rely
on her well-honed skills as a skip tracer to help her avoid the pitfalls
that occur when people attempt to stay off the grid. She hopes that the
people tracking her are not nearly as good as she is when it comes to
doing the job right.
Plot twists galore, readers never quite know who the bad guys are
or what they’re actually after. A ‘master’ writer, Gardiner is certainly
right on the money where this suspense is concerned! Well done!
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The Sapphire Storm: Tallent &
Lowery Book Two” published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of
Suspense Magazine
42  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

Movies
Monsters University
2013
Genre – Adventure/Comedy (G)
Over the past year, Disney has taunted us with trailers for Monsters University
(MU), the prequel to Monsters, Inc., so by the time we snuggled down into our
seats, we were absolutely ready to attend school with our pals, Sulley (John Goodman)
and Mike (Billy Crystal).
Robert L. Baird who wrote the screenplay for MU and the original, along with
Cars and Tangled has the real ability to infuse true life into his characters. He writes
a script with depth and heart. Add to this the voice talent of John Goodman and
Billy Crystal and magic happens, making you totally forget you are watching animated
characters.
Pixar rarely misses with their animations and it was a wise move bringing
these beloved characters back to the screen with a prequel, allowing us insight into
the friendship between the leads and the conflict with rival scarer Randall (Steve
Buscemi).
It’s not many films where we enjoy clichéd characters, but they work here,
played for laughs; the retrenched salesman returning to University as a mature age
student; the pudgy kid nobody wants on their team; the stern Dean Hardscrabble
(Helen Mirren) who takes no prisoners; the sports’ jocks who rule the campus; and the nerd kids.
We attend Monsters University with Mike before he and Sulley became best friends; in fact, when they don’t even like
each other. Mike is the not-so-scary wannabe desperate for a career in the craft of scaring children, whose captured screams
power the city of Monstropolis. He spends all his spare time studying. Sulley, son of a great scarer, doesn’t bother to study,
believing his fantastic roar and pedigree guarantees him an automatic pass.
After a mishap, which finds them both expelled, the pair is forced to team up, not just with each other, but the misfit
O.K. (Oozma Kappa) fraternity to compete in the annual Scare Games which involve a series of inventive tests. If they win,
the entire team will gain admission into the Scarer programme.
There are sub-plots galore and the Monster world is expanded imaginatively. Watch for fabulous cameos of Monsters,
Inc. characters.
Since the original Monsters, Inc, animation fans expectations have grown and
been dashed many a time. Pixar led in the beginning and with the delivery of MU,
they are still winning. Perhaps we need a Pixar University for other studios to
study the art of making films with heart.
Reviewed by Susan May http://anadventureinfilm.blogspot.com.au/ for Suspense
Magazine ■
Despicable Me 2
2013
Genre – Animation/Comedy (PG)
My family were not fans of the first Despicable Me so we weren’t skipping along
to number two. Well, what a surprise! Great voice talent, plus a solid script, plus
beautiful animation, all adds up to a film which the whole family will enjoy. Steve
Carrell and Kristin Wig eat up the lead voice roles and the minions are simply
hilarious. There is a fantastic scene over the end credits well worth the extra entry
price to see it in 3D.
Reviewed by Susan May http://anadventureinfilm.blogspot.com.au/ for Suspense
Magazine ■
44  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

Movies
The Lone Ranger
2013
Genre – Adventure/Action (PG-13)
It’s Pirates of the Caribbean western style and that’s by design. Gore Verbinski,
the director, helmed the first three of the blockbuster ‘Pirate’ series and he’s
brought the scriptwriters along for this latest big-budget Disney adventure.
If you’re not weary of Depp’s oddball portrayals or viewing an adventure by
the numbers, (insert desert for high seas), then this will please you. At 149 minutes,
there is probably too much back story in the beginning, winding up to what
is a very solid final thirty minutes of action and fun.
Tightened up by twenty minutes, it would have become a great piece of entertainment,
but lately many of these summer blockbusters have gone with the
concept that more is more, to the detriment of the film. Still, it has Johnny Depp
playing an Indian and that is weird but quite entertaining.
A warning to parents: Though it is Disney, it’s not for the littlies. There are
some adult themes and violent action that will have them choosing to role-play
as the nice Indians instead of the cowboys. It’s clearly a set up for a franchise, so I
doubt it will be the lone, “Lone Ranger” for long.
Reviewed by Susan May http://anadventureinfilm.blogspot.com.au/ for Suspense Magazine ■
The Way, Way Back
2013
Genre – Comedy/Drama (PG-13)
Here is another ensemble Indie coming of age piece dissecting American family values.
This has wit and depth and a stellar cast. I love the way Steve Carell takes opportunities to play
dramatically against typecast. He is quite unlikable in this. Toni Collette is her usual solid self
and Allison Janney is seriously brilliant providing great comedy.
When I received a preview invite, I replied to the publicist, “You had me at Sam Rockwell.”
And it’s Rockwell, playing the cavalier manager of a water park who lifts this out of mediocre
territory. I didn’t love the ending, but everything before was a real summer holiday.
Reviewed by Susan May http://anadventureinfilm.blogspot.com.au/ for Suspense Magazine ■
The Hunt
(Danish Foreign Language)
2013
Genre – Drama (R)
You will watch this film with your hand covering your mouth. This could happen to anyone
and that makes it a horror film. Mads Mikkelsen who gives a thrilling performance in everything
(catch him at the moment in the Hannibal TV series) is extraordinary as the innocent teacher
accused of paedophilia. The blurb about this film is correct—it is the best drama you will see
this year at the cinema. The Danes certainly know how to craft their films. My suggestion is
don’t miss it. It will terrify you how easily life can be stripped from you.
Reviewed by Susan May http://anadventureinfilm.blogspot.com.au/ for Suspense Magazine ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
45

Featured Artist
A Dream
Come True
Taire Lilith Morrigan
Interview by Suspense Magazine
Grimoire

Malevolence
Dies Novus
The question we’re asked the
most about in regard to the
magazine is always “Where
do you find your artists”
Our artists come from varied
backgrounds; they’re professionally trained
to self-taught, digital photo-manipulators
to photographers, from here in the U.S.
to South Africa. That’s where this month’s
featured artist, Taire Lilith Morrigan, hails
from. The answer is relatively simple. The
online art community, though vast, is a very close-knit group. In our early
years, we simply pounded the pavement and tracked them down and
now after years of promoting such talented and diverse creative artists,
oftentimes they find us as was the case with Taire.
“Art is my passion and my dream brought to life, a place where I can
disappear from the world and create my own, I’ll keep it forever,” says
Taire on her deviantArt site, and this self-taught artist lives her mantra.
Inspired by everything from books and music to mythology and movies,
Taire digs deep and uses her personal emotions to connect an idea to a
new piece.
A deeply passionate perfectionist, Taire began using Photoshop in
2010, but without a background in graphic design, it wasn’t a comfortable
medium and she spent her time learning the software and working in
other areas. Comfort in the digital medium came to fruition in mid-2012
and she’s been unstoppable since working with authors and musicians on
commissioned work.
We’re sure that you’ll agree that Taire’s an ideal fit for the July featured
artist spot.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): Of all your incredible pieces, which is your
favorite and why Does each have its own story
Taire Lilith Morrigan (T.L.M.): I can’t really decide which piece is my
favorite. I would have to say “Amor Divina”—one of my older pieces; it is a
very personal piece—or “Dies Novus,” my very first digital painting. It could
also be “Eternal Fire”; I loved the outcome of this piece. It has a meaning as
all of my works do. The name Eternal Fire and the reference to the heart, for
me, means true love is forever. It is passionate just like the flames of a fire. It
can only die if it is not nourished to keep it going.
S. MAG.: Money, possibility of fame, or the fun of it What motivates you
T.L.M.: Neither. Just the passion in doing something I love every day.
S. MAG.: If you couldn’t be an artist, what profession would you choose
and why
T.L.M.: A musician or photographer. That way I can still create beautiful
things and share them with the world.
Outcast
S. MAG.: When did you first realize you had a passion for art
SuspenseMagazine.com
47

Secret Window
48  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

“Art is my passion and my
dream brought to life...”
T.L.M.: I was very young. I always loved to sketch and paint.
S. MAG.: Do any artists—present or past—influence your work
T.L.M.: I would have to say Victoria Frances and Elena Dudina, as well as
William Shakespeare, even though he was an artist of another form.
Eternal Fire
S. MAG.: Describe a day in your life.
T.L.M.: When I am not busy with life issues, I am mostly working on art. I
become inspired by books and music, so the moment I see something in my
mind that reaches a deeper meaning within myself, I am inspired to portray
it in an art form. Even though everyone interprets art differently, I enjoy
expressing myself this way.
S. MAG.: What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given
T.L.M.: Never let go of your dreams.
S. MAG.: Do you have any superstitions when you develop a new piece
T.L.M.: Not at all. It is just expression of feelings and emotions.
S. MAG.: What is your biggest personal and professional accomplishment
Amor Divina
T.L.M. Becoming a digital artist; it has opened up doors to achieve my dreams
as an artist.
S. MAG.: What are your plans for the future
T.L.M: To share my artwork in galleries all over the world and give aspiring
artists the belief in themselves to never give up on their dreams.
We’d like to thank Taire for spending time with us and if you’d like to
see more of this talented artist, we invite you to check out her portfolios at
http://morriganart.weebly.com, www.facebook.com/MorriganArtwork, or
www.morriganart.deviantart.com. ■
Model/Photographer Credit: “Grimoire” Model/Photographer: Aruni, http://devious-stock.
deviantart.com; “Malevolence” Model: Monique Wanner, Photographer: Cathleen Tarawhiti,
http://cathleentarawhiti.deviantart.com; “Dies Novus” Digital Painting, no model; “Outcast”
Model: Natalia Gautier, http://www.modelmayhem.com/827849; “Secret Window” Model:
Poppy Isabella Wyrd, Photographer: Cathleen Tarawhiti, http://cathleentarawhiti.deviantart.
com; “Eternal Fire” Model/Photographer: Jessica Truscott, http://faestock.deviantart.
com; “Amor Divina” Models: Taire Lilith Morrigan and Roger Morkel; “Chastity” Model/
Photographer: Jessica Truscott, http://faestock.deviantart.com
Chastity
SuspenseMagazine.com
49

N O W I N P A P E R B A C K
F R O M # 1 N E W Y O R K T I M E S B E S T S E L L I N G A U T H O R
Daniel Silva
“Silva builds tension with breathtaking double
and triple turns of plot.” —People
• • • • •
Ancient treasures,
dangerous secrets, and a
murder at the Vatican only
master spy and art restorer
Gabriel Allon can solve…
• • • • •
“Gabriel Allon
is one of the most
intriguing heroes of
any thriller series.”
—Philadelphia Inquirer
• • • • •
DanielSilvaBooks.com

Richard
Godwin
A Renaissance Man
Interview by Suspense Magazine
Press Photo Credit: Provided by Author
Richard Godwin writes dark crime fiction, horror, and poetry, is a
produced playwright, and his stories are published in over twentyeight
anthologies.
Born in London, Richard has bachelor’s and master’s degrees in
English and American Literature from King’s College London, where
he also has lectured. He conducts interviews with other authors (Chin
Wags At The Slaughterhouse), which can be found at his blog: http://
www.richardgodwin.net/blog. He is a public speaker and in March 2013,
spoke at The House of Lords in London for cultural diplomacy.
Godwin is an active member of the Crime Writers Association,
Horror Writers Association, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters
in Crime.
With regard to his fiction writing, he has penned several novels
that are available in the U.S. and the UK. His newest release, “One Lost
Summer,” was just released on June 14. It’s a psychological portrait of
a man who blackmails his beautiful next-door neighbor into playing a
deadly game of identity.
We were able to ask him a few questions and here is what he had to
say:
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): You’ve been a speaker at The House of
Lords. How did you get involved in this
Richard Godwin (R.G.): I was invited by the Institute of Cultural Diplomacy via my website. They were hosting a series of events
involving the Mayor of London and many other politicians and diplomats and wanted involvement from the Arts.
S. MAG.: We indicated above a lot of your attributes. What can you tell us about yourself that would surprise your fans
R.G.: I am an easygoing, funny guy. I am also a great cook.
SuspenseMagazine.com
51

S. MAG.: Which one of your fiction books was the most difficult to write And why
R.G.: “Mr. Glamour.” The reason being I had written it and shelved it, then realized there was a great subplot there and the main
plot had problems, but could work. This resulted in my tearing the spine out of the book. I had to rewrite sections then check
carefully. It reads really well now. But it took eight edits.
S. MAG.: You have to choose only one author to read for the rest of your life. Who would it be
R.G.: Shakespeare.
S. MAG.: What steps did you take to develop your characters Did you draw on personal traits
R.G.: I think the unconscious mind takes what it needs and merges elements. I am always observing, making note mentally or
otherwise, you create hybrids.
S. MAG.: In the whole time you’ve been writing, what is the most shocking thing you’ve learned about the process of
publishing along the way
R.G.: The series of decisions the big houses made that invited Amazon to take lead. The reason they did so is simple. Publishing
is part of free-market capitalism and therefore open to the same monopolies as any other business. Many houses ignored fresh
talent and dismissed the advent of e-readers.
S. MAG.: How does the ever-changing world of technology influence your characters and/or plots in your books
R.G.: I think we live in an age of surveillance, and “One Lost Summer,” my latest novel, dramatizes that. It is a dark noir story of
fractured identity and ruined nostalgia and it explores the fact that because of technology we have been made watchful, we are
looking and being observed. But do we know who is watching us
In the novel, when Rex Allen moves into a new neighborhood in a heat wave
and begins spying on his next-door neighbor, beautiful Evangeline Glass, his
obsession ends in disaster.
S. MAG.: What historical event would you like to have witnessed in
person
R.G.: The rise of the Roman Empire.
S. MAG.: What is the worst job you ever had
R.G.: Working for a multinational market research company years ago.
Utterly meaningless.
S. MAG.: Which of your books would you recommend to subscribers of
Suspense Magazine
“I think we live in an age of
surveillance, and “One Lost
Summer,” my latest novel,
dramatizes that.”
52  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

R.G.: “One Lost Summer” and “Apostle Rising.” Here are
the publisher’s blurbs:
“One Lost Summer”:
Rex Allen loves star quality in women. He moves into
a new house in a heat wave with few possessions apart
from two photographs of his dead daughter. His nextdoor
neighbor, beautiful Evangeline Glass invites him
over to one of her many summer parties, where he meets
her friends and possessive husband Harry. Rex feels he
knows Evangeline intimately. He starts to spy on her and
becomes convinced she is someone other than who she
pretends to be. When he discovers she has a lover, he
blackmails her into playing a game of identity that ends
in disaster.
“Apostle Rising”:
Detective Chief Inspector Frank Castle never caught the
Woodlands Killer and it almost destroyed him. Now
years later, mauled by the press and traumatized by
nightmares, he is faced with a copycat killer with detailed
inside knowledge of the original case.
He and his partner DI Jacki Stone enter a deadly
labyrinth, and at its centre is the man Castle believes was
responsible for the first killings. He’s running a sinister
cult and playing dark mind games with the police. The
investigation has a shattering effect on the lives of Castle
and Stone. The killer is crucifying politicians, and he
keeps raising the stakes and slipping through their hands.
Dark coded ritualistic killings are being carried out on
high-profile figures and the body count is rising. Castle
employs a brilliant psychologist to help him solve the
case, and he begins to dig into the killer’s psyche. But
some psychopaths are cleverer than others.
“One Lost Summer” is high psychological noir suspense.
“Apostle Rising” is darker and unresolved, and I am
writing the sequel.
S. MAG.: What can you readers and fans expect from
you next Is there something special you’re working
on
R.G.: I have been contracted by Italian publisher Atlantis
to write a miniseries and a novel for Christmas. It takes
place in various European cities, with an emphasis on
the crime of each city and with a Noir feel. Both the series
and novel will be published in English and Italian.
We at Suspense Magazine would like to thank
Richard for taking the time to talk to us and his fans.
To find out more about him, please visit his website at:
www.richardgodwin.net. ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
53

Special Preview from Author James Rollins
The Eye of
God
A Sigma Force Novel
By James Rollins
Summer, AD 453
Central Hungary
The king died too slowly atop his wedding bed.
The assassin knelt over him. The daughter of a Burgundy
prince, she was the king’s seventh wife, newly wed the night
prior, bound to this barbarian lord by force of marriage
and intrigue. Her name, Ildiko, meant fierce warrior in her
native tongue. But she did not feel fierce as she quailed beside
the dying man, a bloody tyrant who had earned the name
Flagellum Dei, the Scourge of God, a living legend who was
said to wield the very sword borne by the Scythian god of
war.
His name alone—Attila—could open city gates and break
sieges, so mightily was he feared. But now, naked and dying,
he seemed no more fearsome than any other man. He stood
little taller than her, though he was weighted down with
thick muscle and the heavy bones of his nomadic people. His
eyes—wide parted and deep set—reminded her of a pig’s,
especially as he had stared blearily upon her, rutting into her
during the night, his eyes stitched red from the many cups of
wine he had consumed at their wedding feast.
Now it was her turn to stare down upon him, measuring
each gurgling gasp, trying to judge how long until death
claimed him. She knew now she had been too sparing with
the poison given to her by the bishop of Valence, passed
through him by the archbishop of Vienne, all with the
approval of King Gondioc de Burgondie. Fearing the tyrant
might taste the bitterness of the poison in his bridal cup, she
had been too timid.
She clutched the glass vial, half empty now, sensing
other hands, higher even than King Gondioc, in this plot.
She cursed that such a burden should come to rest in her
small palms. How could the very fate of the world—both
now and in the future—fall to her, a woman of only fourteen
summers
Still, she had been told of the necessity for this dark
action by a cloaked figure who had appeared at her father’s
door a half-moon ago. She had already been pledged to the
barbarian king, but that night, she was brought before this
stranger. She caught the glimpse of a cardinal’s gold ring on his
left hand before it was hidden away. He had told her the story
then—only a year past—of Attila’s barbarian horde routing
the northern Italian cities of Padua and Milan, slaughtering
all in their path. Men, women, children. Only those who fled
into the mountains or coastal swamps survived to tell the tale
of his brutality.
“Rome was doomed to fall under his ungodly sword,” the
54  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

cardinal had explained to her beside her family’s cold hearth.
“Knowing this sure fate as the barbarians approached, His
Holiness Pope Leo rode out from his earthly throne to meet
the tyrant on the banks of Lake Garda. And upon the strength
of his ecclesiastical might, the pontiff drove the merciless
Hun away.”
But Ildiko knew it wasn’t ecclesiastical might alone that
had turned the barbarians aside—but also the superstitious
terror of their king.
Full of fear herself now, she glanced over to the box
resting atop a dais at the foot of the bed. The small chest was
both a gift and a threat from the pontiff that day. It stretched
no longer than her forearm and no higher, but she knew
it held the fate of the world inside. She feared touching it,
opening it—but she would, once her new husband was truly
dead.
She could handle only one terror at a time.
Fearful, her gaze flickered over to the closed door to the
royal wedding chamber. Through a window, the skies to the
east paled with the promise of a new day. With dawn, his
men would soon arrive at the bedchamber. Their king must
be dead before then.
She watched the blood bubbling out of his nostrils with
each labored breath. She listened to the harsh gurgle in his
chest as he lay on his back. A weak cough brought more
blood to his lips, where it flowed through his forked beard
and pooled into the hollow of his throat. The beating of his
heart could be seen there, shimmering that dark pool with
each fading thud.
She prayed for him to die—and quickly.
Burn in the flames of hell where you belong …
As if heaven heard her plea, one last rough breath
escaped the man’s flooded throat, pushing more blood to his
lips—then his rib cage sagged a final time and rose no more.
Ildiko cried softly in relief, tears springing to her eyes.
The deed was done. The Scourge of God was at last gone,
unable to wreak more ruin upon the world. And not a
moment too soon.
Back at her father’s house, the cardinal had related Attila’s
plan to turn his forces once again toward Italy. She had heard
similar rumblings at the wedding feast, raucous claims of the
coming sack of Rome, of their plans to raze the city to the
ground and slaughter all. The bright beacon of civilization
risked going forever dark under the barbarians’ swords.
But with her one bloody act, the present was saved.
Still, she was not done.
The future remained at risk.
She shimmied on her bare knees off the bed and moved
to its foot. She approached the small chest with more fear
than she had when she slipped the poison into her husband’s
drink.
The outer box was made of black iron, flat on all sides
SuspenseMagazine.com
with a hinged top. It was unadorned, except for an inscribed
pair of symbols on its surface. The writing was unknown
to her, but the cardinal had told her what to expect. It was
said to be of the language of Attila’s distant ancestors, those
nomadic tribes far to the east.
She touched one of the inscriptions, made of simple
straight lines.
“Tree,” she whispered to herself, trying to gain strength.
The symbol even looked somewhat like a tree. She touched
its matching neighbor—a second tree—with great reverence.
Only then did she find the strength to bring her fingers
to the chest’s lid and swing it open. Inside, she discovered a
second box, this one of the brightest silver. The inscription on
top was similarly crude, but clearly done with great purpose.
The simple strokes meant command or instruction.
Sensing the press of time, she steadied her shaking
fingers and lifted the silver box’s lid to reveal a third coffer
inside, this one of gold. Its surface shimmered, appearing
fluid in the torchlight. The symbol carved here looked like
a union of the earlier characters found inscribed in iron and
silver, one stacked atop the other, forming a new word.
The cardinal had warned her of the meaning of this last
mark.
“Forbidden,” she repeated breathlessly.
With great care, she opened the innermost box. She
knew what she would find, but the sight still shivered the
small hairs along her arms.
From the heart of the gold box, the yellowed bone of a
skull glowed out at her. It was missing its lower jaw, its empty
eyes staring blindly upward, as if to heaven. But like the boxes
themselves, the bone was also adorned with script. Lines of
writing descended down from the crown of the skull in a
tight spiral. The language was not the same as atop the triple
boxes, but instead it was the ancient script of the Jews—or so
the cardinal had told her. Likewise, he had instructed her on
the purpose of such a relic.
The skull was an ancient object of Jewish incantation, an
55

invocation to God for mercy and salvation.
Pope Leo had offered up this treasure to Attila with a
plea for Rome’s salvation. Additionally, the pontiff had
warned Attila that this potent talisman was but one of many
that were secured in Rome and protected by God’s wrath,
that any who dared breach its walls were doomed to die. To
press his point, the pope offered up the story of the leader
of the Visigoths, King Alaric I, who had sacked Rome forty
years prior and died upon leaving the city.
Leery of this curse, Attila took heed and fled out of Italy
with this precious treasure. But as in all things, it seemed
time had finally tempered those fears, stoking the Hun’s
desire to once again take siege of Rome, to test his legend
against God’s wrath.
Ildiko stared across his prostrate body.
It appeared he had already failed that trial.
Ultimately, even the mighty could not escape death.
Knowing what she had to do, she reached for the skull.
Still, her eyes fell upon the scratches at the center of the
spiral. The skull’s invocation was a plea for salvation against
what was written there.
It marked the date of the end of the world.
The key to that fate lay beneath the skull—hidden by
iron, silver, gold, and bone. Its significance only came to
light a moon ago, following the arrival of a Nestorian priest
from Persia to the gates of Rome. He had heard of the gift
given to Attila from the treasure vaults of the Church, a gift
once passed to Rome by Nestorius himself, the patriarch of
Constantinople. The priest told Pope Leo the truth behind
the nest of boxes and bone, how it had come from much
farther east than Constantinople, sent forward to the Eternal
City for safekeeping.
In the end, he had informed the pope of the box’s true
treasure—along with sharing the name of the man who had
once bore this skull in life.
Ildiko’s fingers touched that relic now and trembled
anew. The empty eyes seemed to stare into her, judging her
worth, the same eyes that, if the Nestorian spoke truthfully,
had once looked upon her Lord in life, upon Jesus Christ.
She hesitated at moving the holy relic—only to be
punished for her reluctance with a knock on the chamber
door. A guttural call followed. She did not understand the
tongue of the Huns, but she knew that Attila’s men, failing to
gain a response from their king, would soon be inside.
She had delayed too long.
Spurred now, she lifted the skull to reveal what lay
below—but found nothing. The bottom of the box held only
a golden imprint, in the shape of what had once rested here,
an ancient cross—a relic said to have fallen from the very
heavens.
But it was gone, stolen away.
Ildiko stared over to her dead husband, to a man known
as much for his keen strategies as for his brutalities. It was
also said he had ears under every table. Had the king of
the Huns learned of the mysteries shared by the Nestorian
priest in Rome Had he taken the celestial cross for his own
and hidden it away Was that the true source of his sudden
renewed confidence in sacking Rome
The shouting grew louder outside, the pounding more
urgent.
Despairing, Ildiko returned the skull to its cradle and
closed the boxes. Only then did she sink to her knees and
cover her face. Sobs shook through her as the planks of the
doors shattered behind her.
Tears choked her throat as thoroughly as blood had her
husband’s.
Men shoved into the room. Their cries grew sharper
upon seeing their king upon his deathbed. Wailing soon
followed.
But none dared touch her, the grieving new wife, as she
rocked on her knees beside the bed. They believed her tears
were for her fallen husband, for her dead king, but they were
wrong.
She wept for the world.
A world now doomed to burn.
Present Day
November 17, 4:33 p.m. CET
Rome, Italy
It seemed even the stars were aligned against him.
Bundled against the winter’s bite, Monsignor Vigor
Verona crossed through the shadows of Piazza della Pilotta.
Despite his heavy woolen sweater and coat, he shivered—
not from the cold but a growing sense of dread as he stared
across the city.
A blazing comet shone in the twilight sky, hovering above
the dome of St. Peter’s, the highest point in all of Rome. The
celestial visitor—the brightest in centuries—outshone the
newly risen moon, casting a long, scintillating tail across the
stars. Such sights were often historically viewed as harbingers
of misfortune.
He prayed that wasn’t the case here.
Vigor clutched the package more tightly in his arms.
He had rewrapped it clumsily in its original parcel paper,
but his destination was not far. The towering façade of the
Pontifical Gregorian University rose before him, flanked by
wings and outbuildings. Though Vigor was still a member
of the Pontifical Institute of Christian Archaeology, he only
taught the occasional class as a guest lecturer. He now served
the Holy See as the prefect of the Archivio Segretto Vaticano,
the Vatican’s secret archives. But the burden he carried now
came to him not as his role as professor or prefect, but as
friend.
56  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

A gift from a dead colleague.
He reached the main door to the university and marched
across the white marble atrium. He still kept an office at the
school, as was his right. In fact, he often came here to catalog
and cross-reference the university’s vast book depository.
Rivaling even the city’s National Library, it held over a million
volumes, housed in the adjacent six-story tower, including a
large reserve of ancient texts and rare editions.
But nothing here or at the Vatican’s Archives compared to
the volume Vigor carried now—nor what had accompanied
it in the parcel. It was why he had sought the counsel of the
only person he truly trusted in Rome.
As Vigor maneuvered stairs and narrow halls, his
knees began to complain. In his midsixties, he was still fit
from decades of archaeological fieldwork, but over the past
few years, he had been too long buried in the archives,
imprisoned behind desks and stacks of books, shackled by
papal responsibility.
Am I up for this task, my Lord
He must be.
At last, Vigor reached the university’s faculty wing and
spotted a familiar figure leaning against his office door. His
niece had beaten him here. She must have come straight from
work. She still wore her Carabinieri uniform of dark navy
slacks and jacket, both piped in scarlet, with silver epaulettes
on her shoulders. Not yet thirty, she was already a lieutenant
for the Comando Carabinieri Tutela Patrimonio Culturale,
the Cultural Heritage Police who oversaw the trafficking of
stolen art and relics.
Pride swelled through him at the sight of her. He had
summoned her as much out of love as for her expertise in
such matters. He trusted no one more than her.
“Uncle Vigor.” Rachel gave him a quick hug. She then
leaned back, finger-combing her dark hair back over one ear
and apprising him with those sharp caramel eyes. “What was
so urgent”
He glanced up and down the hall, but at this hour on
a Sunday, no one was about, and all of the offices appeared
dark. “Come inside and I’ll explain.”
Unlocking the door, he ushered her across the threshold.
Despite his esteemed position, his office was little more than
a cramped cell, lined by towering cases overflowing with
books and stacks of magazines. His small desk rested against
the wall under a window as thin as a castle’s arrow slit. The
newly risen moon cast a silver shaft into the chaos found
here.
Only after they were both inside and the door closed did
he risk clicking on a lamp. He let out a small sigh of relief,
reassured and comforted by the familiar.
“Help me clear a space on my desk.”
Once that was done, Vigor placed his burden down and
folded back the brown parcel wrap, revealing a small wooden
SuspenseMagazine.com
crate.
“This arrived for me earlier today. With no return
address, only the name of the sender.”
He turned back a corner of the wrapping to show her.
“Father Josip Tarasco,” Rachel read aloud. “Am I supposed
to know who that is”
“No, nor should you.” He stared over at her. “He was
declared dead over a decade ago.”
Her brows pinched, and her posture stiffened. “But the
package is too pristine to have been lost in the mail for that
long.” She turned that discerning gaze back on him. “Could
someone have forged his name as some cruel hoax”
“I don’t see why. In fact, I think that’s why the sender
addressed this package by hand. So I could verify it came
from Father Tarasco. We were dear friends. I compared the
writing on the parcel to a smattering of old letters still in my
possession. The handwriting matched.”
“So if he’s still alive, why was he declared dead”
Vigor sighed. “Father Tarasco vanished during a research
trip to Hungary. He was preparing a comprehensive paper on
the witch hunts there during the early eighteenth century.”
“Witch hunts”
Vigor nodded. “Back in the early 1700s, Hungary was
beset by a decade-long drought, accompanied by famine and
plague. A scapegoat was needed, someone to blame. Over
four hundred accused witches were killed in a span of five
years.”
“And what about your friend What became of him”
“You must understand, when Josip left for Hungary, the
country had only recently shaken free of Soviet control. It
was still a volatile time there, a dangerous place to be asking
too many questions, especially in rural areas. The last I heard
from him was a message left on my machine. He said he was
onto something disturbing concerning a group of twelve
witches—six women and six men—burned in a small town
in southern Hungary. He sounded both scared and excited.
Then nothing after that. He was never heard from again.
Police and Interpol investigated for a full year. After an
additional four years of silence, he was finally declared dead.”
“So then he must have gone into hiding. But why do that
And more important, why surface a decade later, why now”
With his back to his niece, Vigor hid a smile of pride,
appreciating Rachel’s ability to get to the heart of the matter
so quickly.
“The answer to your last question seems evident from
what he sent,” he said. “Come see.”
Vigor took a deep breath and opened the hinged lid of
the crate. He carefully removed the first of the package’s two
objects and placed it in the shaft of moonlight atop his desk.
57

Rachel took an involuntary step backward. “Is that a
skull A human skull”
“It is.”
She moved past her initial surprise to step closer. She
quickly noted the hen-scratched inscription across the bone
of the cranium, following the spiral of its course with a
fingertip without touching.
“And this writing” she asked.
“Jewish Aramaic. I believe this relic is an example of
early Talmudic magic practiced by Babylonian Jews.”
“Magic Like witchcraft”
“In a way. Such spells were wards against demons or
impeachments for help. Over the years, archaeologists have
unearthed thousands of such artifacts—mostly incantation
bowls, but also a handful of skulls like this. The Berlin
museum holds two such relics. Others are in private hands.”
“And this one You said Father Tarasco had an interest
in witches, which I assume extended to an interest in occult
objects.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t think this one is authentic. The
practice of Talmudic magic started in the third century and
died out by the seventh.” Vigor waved his hand over the skull
as if casting his own spell. “I suspect this artifact is not that
old. Maybe thirteen or fourteenth century at best. I’ve sent a
tooth to the university lab to confirm my estimate.”
She slowly nodded, contemplating in silence.
“But I also studied the writing here,” he continued.
“I’m well familiar with this form of Aramaic. I found many
blatant mistakes in the transcription—reversed diacritics,
wrong or missing accent marks—as if someone made a poor
copy of the original inscription, someone who had no true
understanding of this ancient language.”
“So the skull is a forgery then”
“In truth, I suspect there was no foul intent in its crafting.
I think its forging was less about deception than it was about
preservation. Some group must have feared the knowledge
found here might be lost, so they hand-made copies, trying
to preserve something more ancient.”
“What knowledge”
“I’ll get to that in a moment.”
He reached to the crate and removed the second object
and placed it beside the skull on the table. It was an ancient
book, as wide as his outstretched hand and twice as tall.
It was bound in rough leather, the pages secured by crude
stitches of thick cord.
“This is an example of anthropodermic bibliopegy,” he
explained.
Rachel screwed up her face. “And that means … ”
“The book is bound in human skin and sewn with sinew
of the same.”
Rachel took a step away again, only this time she didn’t
return to the desk. “How can you know that”
“I can’t. But I forwarded a sample of the leather to the
same lab as the skull, both to test its age and its DNA.” Vigor
picked up the macabre volume. “But I’m sure I’m correct. I
examined this under a dissection microscope. Human pores
are distinctly different in size and even shape from that found
in pigskin or calfskin. And if you look closer, in the center of
the cover—”
He drew a fingernail along what appeared to be a deep
crease in the center of the cover.
“Under proper magnification, you can still make out the
follicles of eyelashes.”
Rachel paled. “Lashes”
“On the cover is a human eye, sewn shut with finer
threads of sinew.”
Visibly swallowing, his niece asked, “So what is this
Some text of the occult”
“I thought as much, especially considering Josip’s interest
in the witches of Hungary. But no, it’s not some demonic
manuscript. Though in some circles, the text is considered
blasphemous.”
He carefully parted the cover, cautious not to overly
stress the binding. He revealed pages written in Latin. “It’s
actually a Gnostic book of the Bible.”
Rachel tilted her head, well versed in Latin, and translated
the opening words “‘These are the secret sayings which the
living Jesus spoke …’ She glanced over at him, recognizing
those words. “It’s the Gospel of Thomas.”
He nodded. “The saint who doubted Christ’s resurrection.”
“But why is it wrapped in human skin” she said with
disgust. “Why would your missing colleague send you such
ghoulish items”
“As a warning.”
“A warning against what”
Vigor returned his attention to the skull. “The incantation
written here is a plea to God to keep the world from ending.”
“While I certainly appreciate that plea, what does—”
He cut his niece off. “The prophetic date for that coming
apocalypse is also written atop the skull, in the center of the
spiraling inscription. I converted that figure from the ancient
Jewish calendar to today’s modern accounting.” He touched
the center of the spiral. “This is why Father Josip came out of
hiding and sent these items to me.”
Rachel waited for him to explain.
Vigor glanced out the window to the comet glowing in
the night sky, bright enough to shame the moon. With that
portent of doom hanging there, a shiver of certainty rang
through him. “The date for the end of the world … it’s in four
days.” ■
Used with permission from William Morrow An Imprint
of HarperCollins Publishers. Copyright © 2013 by James
Czajkowski. All rights reserved.
58  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

An accident that turns out to be murder …
a racist conspiracy … and a dirty bomb.
Can ex-military operative Joe Hunter face down a
white supremacist gang — before they reduce the free world to ashes
“Matt Hilton delivers a thrill a minute.
Awesome!”
—Chris Ryan, author of Who Dares Wins on Slash and Burn
www.MattHiltonBooks.com
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

Brad Taylor
Has a Tactical Advantage
Interview By Suspense Magazine
Press Photo Credit: Rod Pasibe
There are a handful of heavy-hitters
who come to mind when you think of
the best authors in the political thriller
arena: Brad Thor, Vince Flynn, Brad
Meltzer, and Brad Taylor.
Born in Japan, but raised in rural
Texas, Brad began his military career
after graduating from the University
of Texas. He served our nation for
more than twenty-one years, retiring
from the U.S. Army as a Special Forces
Lieutenant Colonel.
Consistent praise regarding
the authenticity and believability of
his characters is one of the reasons
fans clamor for more. Brad uses his
experience to breathe life into tough
subjects that hit closer to home than
we’d like.
Brad took the time to talk to us
about
his newest release “The Widow’s Strike,”
his main character Pike Logan, and
what’s on the horizon.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): Can
you give us some inside scoop on “The
Widow’s Strike” that’s not on the back
cover
Brad Taylor (B.T.): Well, for one, I left
the Middle East as a setting. With the
Arab Spring and all the other turmoil
penetrating throughout the Levant and
North Africa, I decided to go back to my
old Special Forces stomping grounds in
Southeast Asia. Doing the research for
“The Widow’s Strike” was a blast, and
there are some settings that I had no
intention of using, but ended up doing so
because of my travels.
For instance, the gambling
mecca of Macau, China, figures
prominently in the book, but
only because of happenstance.
We landed in Hong Kong with
about fourteen hours before our
flight was to leave for the United
States. With nothing better to do
than sit around an airport, and
being mildly insane, we decided
to take a hydrofoil to Macau.
Of course, we got no sleep
whatsoever, but it was pretty
fun, and it would have been a
mistake to not include that setting in the
dynamics of the Taskforce’s attempts to
stop a global pandemic. My only regret
is that Pike Logan doesn’t wear a tuxedo
and play baccarat, drinking a shaken
martini.
S. MAG.: This is your fourth Pike Logan
book. How has he changed from book
one, “One Rough Man”
B.T.: By the end of the third book,
“Enemy of Mine,” his redemption is
complete. He’s grown out of the cesspool
where we first found him in “One Rough
Man,” returning to what he once was.
Unintentionally, those first three books
ended up completing a trilogy. In “The
Widow’s Strike,” he’s back in charge
and more than capable of solving the
problem of the Iranian Qud’s force. The
true character growth is seen in Jennifer
Cahill, who, after having some heinous
things happen to her in “Enemy of Mine,”
has become a bit hardened, and more
comfortable with her combat skills. To
that end, for the first time, Pike Logan’s
team begins to accept her as an equal,
instead of calling her a potential liability
(something, of course, they’d never say
out loud to Pike, or even within earshot,
as Decoy finds out to his detriment).
S. MAG.: Why Pike Logan What
made you think of him as your main
60  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

character
B.T.: Pike Logan has been bubbling in
my head for years. People always ask
if he’s based on someone specific, or if
I’m writing about myself using fiction
as a tool. The answer to the first part
is, “Yeah, a little bit.” Pike Logan is a
compilation of men I have served with,
but only in their skill set and dedication
to our nation. The baggage he carries is
pure fiction. The answer to the second
part is a resounding no. I make it a
practice to never write about anything I
have ever done or witnessed, period.
In truth, I originally wanted to write
a story of redemption simply because
I like that theme, and, in the end, I set
out to write a story that I would like
to read. I wanted to show a distinct
moral component for the work that men
like Pike Logan execute. Too often the
characters in Hollywood run around
killing or torturing people without a
shred of remorse, instead throwing out
some wiseass quip, when that’s not really
the case.
A lot of time, effort, and thought go into
counterterrorist activities in the real
world, and the men and women who
execute them operate within a moral
framework. They make decisions with
life-or-death repercussions, and live with
those decisions—and not all are good
memories. They aren’t robots. I wanted
to show that through the interactions
between Pike—an operator experienced
with combat—and Jennifer, a relative
newcomer to what combat actually
entails.
S. MAG.: For readers new to your
series, can they start with “The Widow’s
Strike” and work backwards
B.T.: They certainly can. All of the books
stand alone. The only issue with reading
“The Widow’s Strike” first—or any of the
books out of order—is that they contain
small spoilers from the previous books.
Little references that have no effect on the
plot, but if the reader is paying attention,
he or she will know a few things that they
wouldn’t have known otherwise.
S. MAG.: Within the “The Widow’s
Strike,” which character had more of a
role than you originally planned
B.T.: Surprisingly, it’s Elina, the Chechen
Black Widow. Originally, she was nothing
more than a tool for General Malik,
the commander of an Iranian Islamic
Revolutionary Guard Qud’s force. In my
mind, the book was going to be a little
bit of force-on-force, with the Taskforce
pitted against a state-sponsored terrorist
group, the Iranian IRGC Quds. They
would have a deadly ballet, with both
entities fairly equal in terms of support
and skill.
As I wrote, though, Elina took more
and more prominence, with the novel
becoming a bit of a character study as to
why someone would be willing to become
a suicide bomber, only in this case,
instead of harming just those in the blast
radius, she’ll release a pandemic that will
sweep the earth. The Black Widows are
a real Chechen phenomena, as are the
Iranian Quds—but Elina became the
central focus, so much so the book’s title
changed to reflect that.
S. MAG.: With terrorism hitting so
close to home, are you worried the
subject matter in your books might
bring readers too much terror
B.T.: Not at all. Just the opposite. Have
you watched the nightly news lately
What scares me is coming up with a
scenario and having the reader say,
“What’s the big deal Why should I care
if the Taskforce stops this I saw worse
on the TV last night,” followed by them
putting the book down. Another question
I get asked, in a similar vein, is whether
I think I’m giving terrorists an edge by
creating the plots that I do, in effect, that
I’m giving them a blueprint. Once again,
I’d say no, not by using fiction.
Think about it: If English was your
second language, would you read fifteen
novels on the off chance that you’d find an
idea you could use I wouldn’t. I’d come
up with my own ideas based on specific
weaknesses I found in the open press that
I could exploit, which is exactly how I
come up with my plots in the first place. I
had a reader mention “Debt of Honor,” a
book written by Tom Clancy in 1994 and
involving a hijacked aircraft being used
as a weapon, as if that were a precursor
to 9/11. But the truth is that scenario
had been a threat for some time.
Israel, in 1973, went on red alert because
they believed a hijacked aircraft was
going to crash into Tel Aviv. It wasn’t
a new idea, and Tom Clancy didn’t
create 9/11. It was a weakness that was
exploited. A better question is whether
there’s anyone on the good-guy side who’s
reading fiction and then plugging holes
from the weaknesses that are shown.
Answer: No.
S. MAG.: When writing military/
political thrillers, would readers be
shocked at things that are really true
and done by certain governments
B.T.: This is a two-pronged question,
given the revelations of the last
couple of months. In today’s world,
everyone immediately believes the U.S.
government is doing evil, when I think
SuspenseMagazine.com
61

they’d actually be shocked at how hard
it is to do anything in the intelligence
community due to the oversight in place.
We live in a democracy, and the men
and women who execute the activities I
write about do so under the constitution.
There is no Taskforce.
It’s fiction, yet when someone like
Edward Snowden leaks classified
information, claiming huge breaches of
the Constitution, everyone believes him
instead of all three separate branches of
our government and the leadership of
both parties saying it’s not true. I think
people would be shocked at how little
actually goes on in the “secret” world
as far as real action. There are heck of
a lot more briefings and talking than
any counter-terrorism activities, because
there are about four hundred layers to
wade through to ensure it’s legal. Layers
that are aggravating to people like me,
but necessary. That bureaucracy is
exactly what spawned the creation of
my fictional unit, The Taskforce. It was a
little fantasy we would have liked when I
was operational, but it isn’t real.
On the other hand, organizations like
the Quds force are real. While they rarely
make the news here in the states, the
Quds have been responsible for blowing
up embassies in Argentina, attempted
assassination of Saudi diplomats in
the United States, attacks in Thailand,
and the latest, a deadly bombing attack
in Europe. They created Hezbollah,
introduced tank-killing explosively
formed penetrators in Iraq, and are
doing they’re damnedest to destabilize
the country of Bahrain. And, of course,
they’re all over Syria.
They are a global worldwide threat,
and yet nobody’s really heard of them.
To me, it’s strange that most folks will
immediately assume the United States
is doing evil at any given time, going
ballistic based on one traitor’s fount of
lies, then shrug off other news reports
of real threats as exaggerations or not
worth their effort to read.
S. MAG.: If Pike Logan is sitting in front
of you, what would you like to ask him
B.T.: He sits next to me every day I work
my keyboard. There’s really nothing
I’d like to ask him. Or, more precisely,
nothing I haven’t asked him. I write an
action-oriented series, but getting the
reader to associate with the characters—
both on the “good-guy” side and the
“bad-guy” side—is what really matters
to me. It’s the heart of why I write, and
trust me, that’s led to a lot of WWPLD
questions of Pike Logan himself. Bullets
flying around and bombs going off are
great, but they mean nothing unless
someone is viscerally affected by the
action. That’s what brings the story to
life, and is the hardest thing I struggle
with. At the end of the day, it’s the impact
of those actions on the characters that
makes a reader want to continue, and
something I “question” of Pike Logan
constantly.
S. MAG.: What do you think makes a
great villain
B.T.: First and foremost, the reader has
to associate with him or her. Period. That
association may not be pleasurable, but
it has to occur. This means the villain,
just as the hero, must resonate with the
reader. He or she must show motivations
and depth just as strongly as the hero. In
truth, unless you’re writing about aliens,
the villain must be a human being, with
all that entails. A flawed human, to be
sure, but a human being.
This is exactly what I was talking about
above when I discussed the Black Widow.
I started getting into her head, and the
next thing I knew, I could understand
why she was doing what she was doing.
By the end of the book, I sort of liked her.
I didn’t want to, but I did. I definitely
think she will resonate with the reader,
but I’m not sure they’ll like what they
feel. You want to hate her for what she’s
trying to do, but you find it hard.
And, truthfully, at the end of the day, that’s
the real world. I’ve had the misfortune
of meeting a few real terrorists, and I
always scratched my head after the fact,
thinking, “Why does that guy want to kill
everyone He seems so normal. He seems
so human.”
S. MAG.: What does the future hold for
Brad Taylor
B.T.: Me, personally Well, after I receive
this year’s Nobel Prize, I think I’m going
to be the first author aboard the space
shuttle. Wait, what They no longer fly
the space shuttle Do they still give out
the Nobel Prize, or was that a lie from
my publisher as well Seriously, as far as
writing goes, I just finished the first draft
for “The Polaris Protocol” (to be published
in January 2014). Believe it or not, the
villain in this book is a contractor that
works for the intelligence community.
He believes in “transparent information”
and the “freedom of the internet,” and is
willing to harm our national defense by
giving up digital secrets.
And yes, I typed, “The End” two days
before Edward Snowden became a
household name, although my villain
doesn’t work for the NSA, but for the
50th Space Wing, which controls our
GPS constellation. I think the average
reader will be surprised to learn how
far GPS architecture has penetrated
into our society. There’s very little that
isn’t touched by GPS, from the timing of
your credit card swipes to the regulation
of Wall Street trades to the packet
synchronization of your cell phone calls.
People think of GPS as that annoying
voice in the car that gives directions,
but it’s much, much more. Yes, Pike
and Jennifer are in the thick of it, along
with two different Mexican drug cartels,
Hezbollah, and a Palestinian assassin
known as the Ghost—a name that some
readers will recognize—recruited by Pike
to, of all things, help solve the problem.
We’d like to thank Brad for spending
time with us. To learn more about this
very talented author, check out his
website at www.bradtaylorbooks.com. ■
62  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

By Donald Allen Kirch
Beware!
The Vampire Hunter
In every age there is a certain individual that sets the tone. During medieval times there was the
knight-errant, sworn to protect those surrounded by the forces of evil. The Dark Ages held the terror of the Inquisition, and
no one personified that terror more than the official Inquisitor.
In the Far East, there was the stoic Samurai, sworn to his master by the immortal Code of Bushido to be forever a servant.
Still another character walked these same halls, which like the con man of today played upon the fears and evils of his age,
draining each village and populace of their life’s blood. Like the mythical monsters they hunted down and destroyed, they
drained the life’s blood from the suckers who believed in them. They were simply known as “Vampire Hunters.”
Those of you who read this article may laugh, but vampire hunting has been a lucrative business since the early 1700s,
perhaps even farther back. The last recorded case of a hired hunter can be traced back to pre-Civil War days in Virginia, the
United States, in or around 1860. Vampires, at least in the fear of men’s hearts, were big business and indeed considered quite
real. Some claim that in certain parts of Eastern Europe this practice still lives on through modern witch doctors who use
science and superstitions to line their pockets with ignorant people’s fortunes.
What did it take to become a vampire hunter Well, what does it take to be a vagabond, hobo, or con man One needed
resourcefulness, a little courage, and a lot of chutzpah. Showmanship was the name of the game. Without capturing your
audience, what was the point of trying to convince a war-weary population, half sick with the black plague or cholera, that
Uncle Joe had risen from the grave to become a bloodsucking troll
There is not a culture that, deep down, hasn’t feared the returning of the dead. A person in ancient times often associated
bad omens with falling stars, the sudden changing of the weather, or in most cases, the unexpected death of a certain
individual. After a funeral, especially if the participant had committed suicide, the body had been discovered at a crossroad
or abandoned church, or who just “died” for no apparent reason other than to please Satan himself, a vampire hunter was
desperately sought out. It was his duty, and expectation, to explain the death of the victim, to reassure the citizens that he was
there to help stop the unknown evil, and to help cure those affected by the infected.
A vampire hunter also had to be part psychologist. If he could read the fears of those who would later become his
customers, he could go about his business pushing the right buttons, making it seem he had the ability to read minds and
have magical spells and powers of his own. If he were supremely talented, this would become a family business that could be
SuspenseMagazine.com
63

Vampire Hunting Kits came in all shapes
and sizes. As small as a toolbox or as
huge as an entire wagon.
Credit: www.paranormalbites.com
passed down for generations, and indeed some in Germany, Great Britain,
and America made a fortune on such supernatural endeavors.
One thing was certain: If you were going to become, or be, a vampire
hunter, you needed a “hunting kit.” Some referred to this as their “conjure
kit” for those rare occasions a vampire could not be found. If this were the
case, most would speculate that a ghostly force was at work, and suggested
to those few who would pay, that an exorcism would be needed at any
available crypt.
Point of fact: As far as the Catholic Faith is concerned, places of the
dead, homes, and inanimate objects CANNOT be possessed by an evil
force. This would require a living soul to battle over, and the dead are long
gone from that “earthly” equation.
The kit itself could be as small as an average toolbox, or as huge as a
wagon. It was said to contain all the earthly weapons needed to fight the
undead. That, in itself, was never an easy task. Crosses, garlic, wooden
stakes, and stakes made out of silver, lead, and gold were paramount to the
vampire hunter. So were the variations of the theme.
Unlike the vampires of the ’60s Hammer films, vampires walked the
earth in many different guises. There were the traditional Dracula types of
undead, which feasted upon the blood of the living, but there were also the
unusual Vampires that sucked away youth instead of blood. Vampires that lived off the positive emotions of those around
them. Even undead creatures that could sneak into the bedchambers of pregnant women and cause them to miscarry.
Vampires could be both human and animal, and for a fee, of course, the cursed villagers could be enlightened as to what
“classification” of Nosferatu they were facing.
There were a few hunters who did this as a humanitarian act. They, in their own ways, had been victims of a sickness or
unknown factor which caused deaths in their own families. As a means of helping with the pains of their own losses, they
took up the mantle of becoming vampire hunters to help others. These people deserve respect. In their own crude way, they
helped pave the way for science. Through acts of faith, observations, and dedication, they asked the right questions and
created circumstances that saved lives.
It is from these individuals that such noted writers as Bram Stoker and Ann Rice created their heroes.
Once, in England, around the time Bram Stoker was researching his novel, and when Jack the Ripper ruled the areas
around Whitechapel, there was a case of vampirism. A well-respected
cemetery had an odd problem. They couldn’t keep a deceased banker
within the confines of his tomb. Three times, it appeared that someone
had broken into the vault and taken the poor man’s body. After official
investigations, it was discovered that the vault was never broken into but
broken OUT OF! The man had been buried alive at least twice.
This was an occasional occupational risk of the time. Premature
burial has since been reduced with the betterment of medical science. It
still affects us to this day, however. Ever wonder WHY a body isn’t buried
until several days AFTER death That’s why. Superstition soon becomes
accepted dogma.
In any case, once the banker was returned to his grave for the
third time, a vampire hunter performed a rather odd addition to the London's Highgate Cemetery - the scene of
gentleman’s entombment: He added crushed garlic and a few rosaries to the
the Victorian Vampire.
cement used to seal the vampire up. Needless to say, London lost interest
Credit: Panyd at en.wikipedia
in its “Victorian Vampire.” Some claim that the event inspired Stoker. This
author, however, holds to the realism that it was Jack the Ripper who had given birth to Count Dracula.
Like gypsies, the vampire hunter kept a keen eye out for a village that either had suffered from a foreign war, or had a
series of unexplainable deaths. Then, like a knight from the old stories, would ride in with his bag of tricks to save the day.
64  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

Some even went as far as to befriend a deformed or crippled sidekick
who would share with the villagers “his” story about how gifted and kind
his master was.
If the sidekick failed at his task, at winning the hearts and minds of
the village, the noble vampire hunter would torture him, beat him, and
leave him to starve after both were run out of the city.
Being the sidekick of a vampire hunter had its dangers.
In the hills of Virginia, in the United States, about a decade before
the Civil War, there was an unexpected plague of cholera. The citizens
knew not the cause, nor really what the sickness was since there were no
doctors within a hundred miles. A traveling vampire hunter convinced
the city council that they were being victimized by creatures of the
undead.
What was their only salvation
It seems that a Catholic had recently perished and had been buried
Vampire skeletons found in Virginia with
iron stakes in their hearts.
Credit: AP
just outside of town. Since Catholics were treated as badly as Jewish people had been treated in Europe, the recently dead
individual seemed a logical target. In the early colonial days, when a new Catholic settlement had been spotted, it was not
considered “unchristian like” to nail the churches shut with the followers inside, and then light a match. Vampire hunters of
old loved to use minority religions as a means to conjure up fears of the undead.
So, this vampire hunter had the corpse dug up, its heart was removed and burnt to ashes, and all around the site were
invited to eat a small teaspoon of the vampire’s ashes. This was so that the village could build up their immunity in case of
a future attack. The vampire never again showed itself, so the trick worked. Years later, in the early 1970s, the graves were
excavated by a local college and were found to be mutilated and the bones were scattered and torn apart.
The vampire hunter, like his European counterparts, lived off these people’s fears for
the remainder of the Civil War, and sometime after, until he
fell victim to cholera himself.
In modern-day Romania, it is not uncommon to
discover a long wooden stake driven through the chest
cavity of young people who die for no apparent reason, or
suicide victims beheaded to keep them from rising from
the grave in Satan’s service.
Since the dawn of civilization there have always been
mysterious creatures of the night. Monsters that lurk within
the boundaries of both fact and fiction. Of them all, the
vampire has retained the most staying power. In him, we
see the vile sickness that lies within our own human psyche.
Maybe the vampire hunter existed to help explain this part of
mankind that religion and a good storyteller could not.
Still, to those who did not know, but would later find out,
most vampire hunters were worse than the creatures they had
sworn themselves to destroy. They were champions of their
day and used the tools that both God and mankind gave them. Now, we see them as B-rate heroes in B-rate movies—exactly
where they should be!
So, if you ever end up in a mysterious mountain village on the outskirts of the world, and there end up being a lot of
mysterious deaths, think twice about hiring a tall and mysterious man who claims to be able to get rid of all your problems.
Chances are he’s just a flim-flam man with a box of cheap tricks.
“Cave! Immortuorum inquisitor!”
Translation: “Beware! The Vampire Hunter!” Eh, roughly. ■
If you are interested in this author and would like to see more of his work, please go to: www.donaldallenkirch.com.
SuspenseMagazine.com
65

FROM SIX STRINGS TO SIX
SHOOTERS—IT’S TIME TO ROCK
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THE RHYTHMIC ORIGINAL
THE ROCKING FOLLOW-UP
—Amazon.com
“Price handles a keyboard the way Keith Richards handles
a black, three pick-up Gibson Les Paul Custom.”
—Michael Sherer, author of Night Blind
“Eyre Price is rock fiction’s front man.”
——Rick Robinson, bestselling author of Alligator Alley
AVAILABLE NOW ON KINDLE AND AS TRADE PAPERBACK

“The 9th Girl”
is a Perfect10
An Interview with Tami Hoag
Interview By Suspense Magazine
Press Photo Credit: Jan Cobb
Tami Hoag is a number-one New York
Times bestselling author. According to her bio, she
started writing at age nine and apparently hasn’t
stopped—fortunately for us. She has been a New
York Times bestselling author fifteen times now.
Some of the titles include “Deeper Than the Dead,”
“Secrets to the Grave,” and “Prior Bad Acts.” She has
more than thirty-five million books in print and
is published in over twenty languages worldwide.
She started writing romance novels then eventually
switched to thrillers.
Tami was born in Iowa, but raised
in Minnesota and left there in 1998 for
warm rays. She currently lives in Palm
Beach County, Florida, where she
competes her horses in the prominent
winter show circuit.
We were able to catch up with
Tami and ask her a few questions.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): “The
9th Girl” returns fans to the popular
investigative team of Kovac and Liska.
Did it feel like a homecoming to you
Did you always plan to return to this
series
Tami Hoag (T.H.): Absolutely. They’re
SuspenseMagazine.com
67

“ I’m very protective and
secretive about my work
when I begin a new project. ”
like dear old friends to me. I first met them in “Ashes to Ashes,” where they were only meant to be secondary characters. But I
loved writing them so much that I’ve brought them back again and again. “The 9th Girl” is my fourth outing with them, and it
won’t be the last.
S. MAG.: Can you now tell us something about “The 9th Girl” that new fans won’t find on the back cover
T.H.: That Liska’s fifteen-year-old son, Kyle, has a prominent role in a storyline that tackles the topic of bullying.
S. MAG.: We know authors who have kept early rejections as a motivational tool even while they sit on bestseller lists. When
you first started out, how many rejection letters did you receive—if you received any—and did any impact your writing in a
positive or negative way
T.H.: The first book I tried to publish was rejected a couple of times, but I got a letter back from one agent that told me he didn’t
think that book would sell, but that he felt I was a good enough writer that I would eventually be published. Based on that, I quit
my day job, wrote another book, and sold it to the first publisher I sent it to.
S. MAG.: Having begun your career as a romance author, how difficult was it for you to switch genres With the rapid changes
to the publishing environment, do you think it would be easier or more difficult to do in today’s climate
T.H.: It wasn’t difficult at all for me in terms of the writing. Writing romance was always about exploring the psychology and
dynamics of human relationships. I do the same thing in suspense; I just get to explore some much darker stuff. My publisher was
back and forth as to whether or not I should make the switch when I wrote “Night Sins.” I was having a lot of success in romance.
Nobody knew how I would be received as a suspense writer. But I never had any doubt about it. Suspense was what I wanted to
do, and I was going to make that happen. Would it be more difficult today I don’t know. It
seems like everything in this business is harder in the current climate. Publishers seem to
live in such a constant state of fear that they’ll be even less inclined to let a writer having
success in one genre move to another. They want a sure thing.
S. MAG.: Which one of your fiction books was the most difficult to write and why
T.H.: “The 9th Girl” was a long and difficult birth for a couple of reasons. First, my focus
was interrupted when my publisher wanted me to also write an e-book short—“The 1st
Victim.” Publishers think we can just knock these things out, like it’s just typing. That’s
not how I work. I’m never going to compromise the quality of what I do, so it took
two months out of my schedule. I felt it should be tied in to “The 9th Girl,” which also
complicated my life tremendously. In the end, I was really happy with the outcome,
but the process made my life a living hell there for a while. I barely left my house for
months. Friends brought food by and left it at the front door. Also, this book has a cast
of teenagers in it. They were predictably difficult to deal with!
68  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

S. MAG.: Is there a subject matter that you find too taboo to write about
T.H.: I know the minute I name something, I’ll get an idea for just that topic,
but I don’t think I could ever stomach writing about child sex trafficking. That
would push me over the edge. I couldn’t take it.
S. MAG.: Do you have any superstitions or idiosyncrasies when you write
T.H.: Well, they all seem perfectly normal to me, but I’m sure other people would
call them idiosyncrasies. I’m very protective and secretive about my work when
I begin a new project. I won’t even tell my editor much about it. He just has
to trust me. During the work, I have to have the television on, but sometimes
without the sound so I don’t get too distracted. I’ll play music and run the same
five movies over and over and over without the sound. It’s like the actors are
old friends keeping me company. Then I’ll watch MMA fights at three in the
morning to unwind, as weird as that sounds. Suffice it to say, it’s a good thing
I’m single.
S. MAG.: What is the oddest, wildest, or most unusual request ever made of
you by a fan
T.H.: I recently had a guy propose to me on my Facebook page, pledging to be
submissive to me! Yikes! For the record, submissive men need not apply.
S. MAG.: What is the single most important piece of advice ever given to you
and one that you would offer up to other aspiring writers
T.H.: That if one in a million people is going to make it in this business, it might
as well be me (you). That was my attitude going in with that first book. I believe
in setting a goal and achieving it. If someone closes a door in my face, I’ll go in
the window. If I can’t get in the window, I’ll get in through the basement. There’s
no quit in me. I’ll pound a square peg into a round hole all day long until the
bloody thing fits. You have to be tenacious and determined, and work your butt
off.
S. MAG.: What can you readers and fans expect from you next Is there
something special you’re working on
T.H.: Like I said, I won’t reveal much, but I’m just beginning a book I think is
going to be really special. It’s about a young woman whose tragedy in the present
makes her look at her past and the people she has known her whole life through
a much darker lens. Things that seemed innocent and believable at the time now
look sinister and suspicious to her, and her life will be put in jeopardy because
of it. I won’t say anything more. Just telling you that much is making me break
out in a nervous sweat.
We would like to thank Tami for taking time to speak with to us, her
readers, and her fans. To find out more about Tami Hoag, please visit her
website at http://www.tamihoag.com. ■
THE 9TH GIRL
By Tami Hoag
Outstanding! Tami Hoag continues to
set the standard for excellence in her genre.
“The 9th Girl,” a return to the popular Kovac
and Liska team, circles two very powerful
storylines—one, the incredibly painful issue
of teenage bullying and the other a lunatic
with a penchant for publicity.
Detective Sam Kovac and Sergeant Nikki
Liska are not starting the year as planned.
Sub-zero temperatures, dark of night, and a
zombie corpse are not what the duo intended
for their New Year’s Eve festivities, but frankly,
neither did the victim. And this case is not a
run of the mill murder. Initially—though
it takes a small stretch of the imagination
on the part of Liska—it appears to be the
continuation of a string of gruesome holiday
murders by the aptly dubbed ‘Doc Holiday’
killer—making the latest female victim
number 9. But is it really
Lacking leads, identifying the victim
is priority number one, but it’s not going to
be a simple task because she’s been stabbed,
has fallen out of the trunk of a moving car,
been run over by a party-Hummer, and
mutilated by acid, which sets the tone for this
investigation. Nothing about this case is easy.
So the aging and technologically challenged
Kovac has to think outside of the box when
attempting to track down this particular
monster—and he does so, only slightly
griping as he’s brought into the social media
age.
With a carefully planned media leak, a
taskforce is assigned, but more questions than
answers arise. For Liska, this investigation
becomes a personal matter and the questions
asked are issues parents face every day. Do you
really know what your children are doing Do
you really know who they’ve become or what
they deal with What happens to socially
aloof teens on the fringe of society Who
cares when something bad happens
A smartly written, one-day read, “The
9th Girl” offers an emotional connection
to incredible characters, and the distinctive
style only found in a bestseller by Hoag.
Reviewed by Shannon Raab for Suspense
Magazine ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
69

THE
MYSTERY
OF WHAT TO READ THIS
SUMMER..
ṠOLVED.
Available on Kindle and as trade paperbacks

“...a common superstition among the Mongol people is that if
Genghis Khan’s tomb is ever found and opened, it will mark the
end of the world. So, of course, I had to tell that story.”
Join
The
Force
With James Rollins
Interview By Suspense Magazine
Press Photo Credit: David Sylvian
James Rollins is a regular guest within the pages of Suspense Magazine and any fan of his work can certainly understand
why. Sometimes an author is just so talented that with one book released, or even two a year, it’s still not enough to quench
our thirst for more. James’s work is a magical blend of historical secrets, science, and exotic locales. His newest release, “The
Eye of God,” fits that mold.
An avid traveler, James not only regularly meets his fans at conferences and bookstores, he’s developed a reputation of
being accessible to his fans with a strong online presence in an era where the pressures of social media can be daunting to
both new and established authors. An advocate for his peers, James was also active in breathing life into the distinguished
International Thriller Writers group.
Whether writing his Sigma series, his standalones, or teaming up with a peer, James always shocks us with his pace and
intensity, all while walking the tightrope of giving his fans exactly what they want: a remarkable story with characters that are
loved or loathed, and an intriguing mix of reality and pure imagination.
We were lucky to get a few moments with James before he began his “Eye of God” tour, and we hope you’ll enjoy the
insider look.
Suspense Magazine (S. MAG.): Give us look inside your latest book “The Eye of God” that is not on the back cover
James Rollins (J.R.): In all of my books, I love to blend truth and fiction. In this novel, a major plot element is a comet that
sweeps past earth—but there’s something “strange” about this comet, something that sets the astronomical world on fire. I based
this celestial event on a real comet that is due to pass by our planet this coming November. What’s intriguing about this comet
is that it will be the brightest comet ever to light the night sky, so bright in fact that it will be visible during the daytime. And as
comets have historically been harbingers of doom, I knew this spectacular November visitor needed its own mythology—and that
became “The Eye of God.”
S. MAG.: With this being the ninth book in the Sigma Force series, what surprises have you learned along the way with the
series
J.R.: Every book surprises me. Sometimes it’s that character that walks onto stage—someone who I thought was going to be a
bit player—but who becomes a significant element to the series. Some of the deaths have also caught me off guard. But I think
SuspenseMagazine.com
71

what surprised me most about the series is how much I’ve grown to consider these
characters as real people. Between books, I find myself often wondering what they’re
doing, what they’re having for dinner, what they’re doing on vacation.
S. MAG.: What one piece of advice did you receive about writing that has stuck
with you all these years
J.R.: I have it written on a yellow Post-It note and stuck on the side of my computer
monitor: Today I give myself permission to write crap. I received this mantra from
an early writing teacher, who warned that sometimes you need to get that editor out
of your head and simply write, to shed any expectation of perfection and to simply
get words onto paper. I think the road to writer’s block is paved with those nagging
fears that everything you write must be gold.
S. MAG.: What is the most difficult part of writing a series that has continued
now for nine books
J.R.: The biggest challenge is to make each book fit into the series, yet be freestanding
enough that new readers could hop aboard at any point and be fully up to speed.
It’s a juggling act to fill in that back story for new readers while not slowing down
the storyline. I think a majority of readers have read the Sigma series out of order.
And that’s okay. In fact, I’m happy to hear that. I want each book in the series to be
as open and inviting to new readers as much as it is rewarding for those who have
been following the series since the beginning.
S. MAG.: Which character in “The Eye of God” had a larger voice than you
thought they would when you started
J.R.: That would be Duncan Wren, a new member of Sigma whose role in the book
grew larger and larger. I crafted this character after attending a “body modification
fair” in San Francisco. I met some individuals who had implanted rice-sized slivers
of rare-earth magnets in their fingertips. These magnets vibrate in the presence of
electrical fields and stimulate the nerve-endings in the fingertips, opening an entirely
new way of experiencing the world. I was fascinated by this and gave Duncan this
new “sixth sense.” What he ends up doing with this new ability grew from a novelty
to a profound significance. Plus he was simply a great character to write.
S. MAG.: Which sentence or scene in “The Eye of God” do you feel captures the
essence of the book
J.R.: That’s a tough but intriguing question. It would perhaps be easier to pick a
scene, but I’ll go for the challenge of a sentence—or perhaps a few sentences. In
regards to plot, I would pick this line:
Vigor glanced out the window to the comet glowing in the night sky, bright
enough to shame the moon. With that portent of doom hanging there, a shiver
of certainty rang through him. “The date for the end of the world … it’s in four
days.”
But in regards to the book’s essence, I think these words from a man who is dying
and is closer to the central theme of the novel. It is a message about the gift of life:
Do not waste that gift, do not set it on a shelf for some future use; grab it with
both hands and live it now, live it every day.
THE EYE OF GOD
By James Rollins
When Rollins writes, readers
bite. This is a fact of life in the literary
community. And this book is yet another
‘goodie’ from a creative mind that never
lets readers down.
The world is ending. And even though
many have written about this fact, Rollins
never stoops to stereotypical plots. With
this, he provides the ultimate story.
The reader is offered a prologue set
in the summer of 452AD. The location is
the kingdom of Attila, where the historical
figure has just married his seventh wife.
This new wife, with the help of a Cardinal,
causes Attila to meet his maker—saving
the people she knows he will kill in his
plans to take over Rome. When she
succeeds in her plan, however, she realizes
that with her actions, a future tragedy has
been created.
In present day, a research satellite
crashes in Mongolia. This satellite is the
core of a project meant to study dark
energy. Meanwhile, at the Vatican, a
package arrives that includes a skull with
Aramaic writing and a book bound in
human skin. DNA evidence shows that
these items were once in the possession
of Genghis Khan, King of the Mongols in
ancient times.
The Commander of Sigma Force,
Gray Pierce, and his cohorts are called in
to discover the real truth behind the fall of
the Roman Empire. Following clues that
date back to the beginning of Christianity,
they must find a weapon that has been
hidden for centuries; made to bring about
the end of the world.
The Sigma Force books have been
incredible. Mr. Rollins describes ancient
times and connects them with present day
so well that it’s a truly fascinating read that
will hold the attention of any mystery/
thriller fan. Carefully researched, the
characters both old and new literally come
to life—offering an ending that is truly a
surprise.
Reviewed by Amy Lignor, author of “The
Sapphire Storm: Tallent & Lowery Book
Two” published by Suspense Publishing,
an imprint of Suspense Magazine ■
72  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

S. MAG.: What is your favorite word and least favorite word, and why
J.R.: I love including one word in all of my books. It is the word “sluice.” I thought it was an ordinary enough word, until its
frequent use was brought to my attention by fellow author and friend, Steve Berry. He hates that word. So now I make sure that
word is in every book or short story I write—if only to irk him. As to a least favorite word, it’s probably the pantheon of curse
words. Not that they don’t appear in my books, especially coming from the notoriously foulmouthed but lovable Kowalski. But I
try to use such language sparingly as cursing can become an easy crutch to lean on versus using more effective language.
S. MAG.: Is there a mystery that you feel could actually be solved in our lifetime
J.R.: A central treasure hunt in “The Eye of God” is the search for the lost tomb of Genghis Khan. This Mongol warlord had
conquered most of the known world during his lifetime, and all the wealth of those conquered lands vanished into Mongolia,
including the crowns of dozens of defeated kings. But presently—using modern tools like satellite scans and ground-penetrating
radar—archaeologists are zeroing in on his tomb. Whenever it’s discovered, the treasures found there will likely alter much of
what we know about history. But even more ominous, a common superstition among the Mongol people is that if Genghis Khan’s
tomb is ever found and opened, it will mark the end of the world. So, of course, I had to tell that story.
S. MAG.: Are we any closer in seeing The Sigma Force on TV or made into a movie
J.R.: Lots of interest and many film options have been bought, but nothing has been concretely green-lit. But I did get a chance
to meet the famous Dino De Laurentiis, the producer of such classics as Three Days of the Condor and Dune. It was one of my
greatest thrills to share a lunch at his home with his family. As an avid movie junkie and someone whose DVR is always full, I
would love to see Sigma cast onto some screen in the future—big or small. But for now, it’s still a waiting game.
S. MAG.: What was your goal when you started writing
J.R.: To simply walk into a bookstore and see my book on a shelf. I didn’t care if I was paid a dime. I just wanted to see the book
on that shelf. Of course, don’t tell my publisher that.
We’d like to thank James for spending his time with us and we always look forward to what’s coming next. To learn more,
please check out his website at www.jamesrollins.com. ■
SuspenseMagazine.com
73

Diving
to Depth
By Joe Becker
Kal heaved his equipment bag upon the truck’s rusty tailgate and took a glance at the ashen sky. It
was quarter past eight, the season of summer coming to an end in the foothills of the desolate western plains, tree insects
claiming their final calls, crops wobbling on tired, ochre ground, sweat still sticking to grimy necks.
“Maybe half-hour before we go down, Sepi.”
“Alright then,” replied Sepi, readying his gear.
Sepi was only a nickname, one given by Kal during one of his frequent barbecue cookouts. As the region’s only diving
instructor, Kal felt all his students needed some kind of moniker, comfort in their relationship being the prime reason. Years
as a diving instructor taught him this, especially when it comes to those destined for night-diving certification. After all,
when you submerge yourself into complete liquid darkness, with nothing but the stark beam from an unearthly light cutting
the path in front of you, partner congeniality is paramount not only to your safety, but your sanity. To Kal, the guy looked
Italian, so “Sepi,” the first name that arose from his then-inebriated lips, was chosen.
For the same reason Kal slung out nicknames—a sense of camaraderie, bonding, goodwill—he’d host the cookouts for his
students. Good grub, too. The very thought of which was beginning to ping around Sepi’s echoing gut.
“So, time’s the next feast, Kal”
Kal shook his head. “Shoot, ain’t no gas ‘round for cooking. Damned place. Haven’t seen propane for weeks. I’d have to
run fifty miles just for a tank. Or charcoal. ‘Cause last time I checked, Meyer’s is clean the fuck out of both. But hell, whatcha
gonna do It’s a distribution thing they always say.”
“Yeah Plenty ‘o wheat around, though.”
They both heard the sound—a thud followed by water crashing against itself—but neither thought so much of it at the
time to interrupt their conversation. Sounds like these were common around the quarry, although more so when college kids
were still around for summer. Rarely, however, was anyone near the quarry so close to twilight hours.
“Guess we can burn that. Got a big ass harvester” laughed Kal.
Sepi looked into the quarry, to the deep-blue water darkening by the minute, to the wide hole in the earth where he would
soon be certified for nighttime diving. It was his last in a series of underwater certifications, before he could get licensed as an
undersea welder. Then he could move out, very far out, if one happened to look at working on oceanic oil platforms that way.
Kal stared out along with him, then flopped himself upon the tailgate. He launched a spit to the dirt and furrowed his
eyes.
“Kids. Rock jumping at this hour,” came his complaint. “Stupid, man. They can get caught on something down there. You
better be careful, too. Happened before, trust me.”
“Dumbasses,” replied Sepi, as a way of seeking mentor approval.
They slipped into their wet suits, attached their buoyancy vests, slung their weights and tanks over their shoulders, and
headed along the quarry’s hardscrabble upper edge. Before long, Kal pointed down towards Monolith Rock, the local name
given to the large abandoned slab that stuck out from the liquid like a shoreline glacier. It was their point of entry, and they
turned into the narrow path that wound in its direction. The path was tight, shadowy at this hour, with only enough of the
moon to distinguish the collection of debris to its side strewn over the years by restless teens.
When they reached the rock’s edge, another thud resounded throughout the quarry, its sound waves lingering over the
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ippling water. It came from their left, from the other side of a steep rock isthmus jutting out over the quarry. They eyed each
other, shaking their heads. So be it, they seemed to say, kids will be kids.
“Guess we’ll have company,” said Kal with resignation.
They dropped down on their backsides like a pair of penguins, sliding along the slick smoothness of Monolith Rock, air
tanks dragging behind them. When their feet found water, they adjusted their gear and came into their fins.
Kal peered at his student one last time, questioning his bravery and intent. The kid was solid, he thought, unfazed, cool
as ice. Seemed like the perfect candidate—the type of guy that didn’t let much get to him. Levelheaded. Stolid, in both his
manner and demeanor. Yes, he reckoned, he picked the right guy. The right guy, indeed.
When both were ready, they gave each other the thumbs up sign and donned their masks. They sucked in their
mouthpieces, and without such as a wave, slid into the quarry.
Deep onyx enveloped around them, disappearing their body parts inch-by-inch. In accordance with their dive plan,
they descended slowly at first, progressing past tepid shallow waters and acclimating to the changing pressures and dropping
temperatures. Ultimately, they reached the zones of depth that have never felt the warmth of the world.
Kal motioned for Sepi to stop with a signal of his hand. They held their position level, and checked their gages under their
bright flashlights. Fifty-plus feet. Kal threw out an O.K. signal and Sepi reciprocated in kind.
They hovered there a moment, surveying the surroundings, adjusting to the blackness and to their beams of light that
penetrated into it. As well to the shocking cold.
Sepi could almost feel the trauma of the water through his wetsuit, and on top of that, he felt the ethereal openness of the
space beginning to alter the connections of his brain. The water at this depth was almost incapacitating; his entire body felt
like it was being subjected to a brain-freeze. A three-millimeter wetsuit Maybe that was too conservative, he realized. He’d
have to tough it out, but that was nothing new of a task for Sepi. Block out the pain, he said to himself, allow enough time
for the body to heat up the suit. Stay relaxed, and keep breathing. Then rational thought would move in and counteract the
benumbing shock of the deep quarry waters.
If there was any consolation to Sepi’s burgeoning terror, it was in the luminosity of his flashlight. It spread wide and bright,
capturing small particles floating through the water, bringing them into relief against the endlessness spread out before him.
He gave his beam a sweeping arc across the void. It was a way to reassure himself that the black beyond was indeed capable of
taking in his rays and wasn’t a realm of the complete unknown; that he wasn’t submerged within some underwater purgatory
to which his final fate was waiting. He gave a downward tilt to his flashlight. The sobering light captured the jagged remains
of rock left behind by excavation crews working many years ago, giving proof, more than anything, that he was in fact within
a pocket of the earth, and not some other place. This reality became more evident as he illuminated the scattered debris—
bottles, cans, sheaths of plastic—that clung to rock shards or were tucked into their crevices.
True, if Sepi’s flashlight did provide a feeble sense of security to a liquid world shown as vaguely surreal and hallucinatory,
it was still enough of a crutch to allow him to steal away from Kal—if only temporarily. He was an independent type, and
the sense of aloneness often intrigued him, pulled him into vicinities that even he couldn’t foresee. It’s what his mother
complained about on many occasions—”your carefree meandering”—and his grade school teachers were right on board
with this assessment. He was always the last to enter the class from recess, preferring to wander the woods alone during these
breaks, exploring and discovering the new and foreign.
His affliction, if you could call it that, was a bad case of wanderlust. It was an unshakable condition, and naturally, this
became his identifying persona, and one that would stay with him to this day. “You’re such a rogue,” he would often hear them
say, “an aimless vagabond.” In turn, Sepi became (and was thought of as) a sober-minded fellow, earnest and introverted, who
typically denied the fool-hearty their due and refused to take lightly the bullying ways of the world.
Gradually, Sepi found himself favoring the direction of deeper and away, loosening with each graduated stroke the
emotional bonds that attached him to his instructor. The emptiness around him drew him further into his beam of light,
inescapably and inexorably, like a marble drawn into the nozzle of a vacuum.
Up ahead, a large abandoned hunk of quarried stone stood on end like a wreck at sea that never correctly settled to the
floor. It was a behemoth that resisted the journey earthward with the determination of its massive weight. Drawn by its shape
and magnitude, Sepi headed in its direction. Kal noticed Sepi’s drift and gave casual pursuit, pausing briefly to assume the task
of reading his instrumentation gages. Time, depth, compass, oxygen levels. All was going according to plan, he determined.
Sepi figured the face of the off-kilter slab—gray, cold, and immovable—to be about seven feet across, nine high. He
cornered its left; Kal its right; their beams splitting around it like divergent tracks of rail.
Another sound penetrated downward, echoing against the face of the stone. Distinctive and telling—a heavy splash. Very
heavy, coming from the left. Even at fifty feet below, they could tell as much.
Sepi buoyed himself higher and headed in the direction of the splash. He couldn’t help himself, curiosity and impulsivity
being a natural part of his constitution. Whoever the kid was, he needed to be seen, his body needed to be tinseled with
a spectrum of light to verify his existence. Besides, there’d be nothing like shocking some punk kid braving his ability and
temerity in the late summer hours of a darkened quarry. Nothing like assaulting his fragile nerves with a blast of light from
76  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049

the inhabitable depths below.
He cut off his light. Only Kal’s flashlight—which was veering off somewhere behind him—illuminated the liquid world
around him. Sepi knew the eventual reveal had to come out of nowhere, so he swam further ahead and gave the dark a few
seconds to grow, to expand into consciousness. As it did, he questioned himself, his juvenile motives and the crass notion
of fright in general. But he knew there was no turning back—under the circumstances the idea was too compelling, too
inescapable. He was already visualizing the outcome, claiming it as foreordained. Kal would understand. Hell, he’d probably
even appreciate the execution of the terror.
Sepi figured his depth was close to thirty feet, thirty-five at most. He swam further and higher, the water pulsing with
bursts of warmth that he could feel against his face. He was edging closer to the region below the sound of the splash. Then
he stopped.
“Now!” he said to himself. He pushed the button on his flashlight. A movement, swift and fleeting. It came against the
furthest reaches of his light. Was he mistaken Was it still descending Only the craziest of kids would be diving down this
far. That’s it, he thought, I’ll give it to him good.
He swam faster. Rising bubbles wavered in his light, giving him a jolt. He turned back around, and looked below. Twenty
feet deeper was Kal’s beam heading in his direction. Sepi could see Kal’s light shining into the depths, and while gazing past
his fluttering fins, he saw it: the mass assembled on the quarry floor, incongruous and out of context.
With a head of light, he descended, closer and closer toward it.
It wasn’t just one—if that was all, Sepi’s heart might not have skipped a beat—but a heap of them, their alabaster flesh
peeling away in the current’s easy sway. Skulls atop torsos, legs and arms twisted perversely around like tangled wire, soft
white flesh mixed with even whiter bone. The fresher ones were amassed atop figures of indeterminable decay. All were
quieted by their conjoined company, all except the school of bottom-feeding fish milling about, nibbling from cranial cores
and pecking at limbs that dangled with scraps of clothes. Hollowed skull holes, that once held eyes that held the world, stared
blankly at him. From above, another thud. From behind, Kal’s light, adding depth-of-field to a field of death. Cinderblocks,
everywhere cinderblocks, holding the beings to their grave, keeping the crush and pile forever entombed.
A swiftly sinking human figure raced by, roped at the waist, fingers twitching in the water’s resistance. The bottom edge
of Sepi’s light caught the eyeballs, saw them briefly locking into his own. Alive Possibly. (Or tricks of a panicked eye). But
what he saw—if for only a split second—was a human being beckoning for succor, grasping for one last moment of existence.
He couldn’t give that to him, no, he could only give that to himself.
In a frenzy, he headed to the surface, with Kal trailing directly behind.
They surfaced at Monolith Rock, slamming atop it with the same haste as sea lions under pursuit. They threw their arms
and chests against its slope, tanks bobbing behind them in the water. Sepi spat out his mouthpiece and threw his mask to the
crown of his head. He gasped for air. His eyes froze into Kal’s, not so much for comfort, but for an explanation to what he
had just witnessed.
Kal pointed up over Sepi’s right shoulder, straight up over the rock wall that jutted out beside them. He could tell Sepi was
in a state, foggy-eyed and panicked. But he knew they had to be quiet, that revealing themselves would be disastrous. They
were in no position to be exposed. Gingerly, Kal held his index finger to his lips and portrayed an unmistakable calmness.
Sepi took a deep breath, nodded, and laid his wobbly arms flat out against the rock. He rested there a few seconds, silent,
shaken. Then Kal gave a gentle push against Sepi’s arm, motioning him to move along the rock, real slowly towards the edge.
He wanted to get a direct look at whoever was up there and verify their presence without being seen. With their air tanks
holding them buoyant, they eased along, hand over hand, until a clear line of sight was achieved.
By the falling crescent moon, they could make out a truck’s tailgate laid open fifty feet above them. Despite the cliff ’s edge
obscuring their vision, they were able to make out two burly figures, chest high to head, standing on either side of the truck,
their backs turned. The distant resonance of their voices seeped down into their ears, like the murmurings in a troubled
dream.
They both kept a keen eye to the cliff for a moment, trying to maintain a low and calm posture, but Sepi’s stomach had
a hard time not retching for relief. A mouthful of mucus and water shot out. Quickly, Kal grabbed his arm, forcing him to
tread back out of sight.
“Get off your gear,” demanded Kal.
“What”
“I said take it off. Quietly, up on the rock.”
“Why” Sepi asked in a faltering whisper. He was already shedding his vest and fins.
“We need to get up there and we can’t have all this shit on us. Got it”
“The authorities. We need to call...the sheriff or someone.”
“Hell that,” struck back Kal. “Ain’t no time for that. They’d be gone by then.” Kal’s voice began to rise, and he checked it
down. Distant and desultory laughter could be heard, and they inched over to take a look up again, to make sure they weren’t
discovered. In the pale light, they could make out one of the figures hoisting a cinderblock overhead with each arm, up and
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down, over and over.
They crawled back over and Kal continued. “And then we’d have to answer...fuck, answer to all those bodies down there.”
“But…”
“But what You’re certified now,” whispered Kal as he jabbed his finger at Sepi. “Hell, yeah, you are. You want that job
Doing clean-up and removal ‘Cause that’s what you’ll get. You’ll get just that, Maxwell.”
Sepi paid no notice to the use of his real name. He could only hear the question, like a white-hot metal prod poking
through his eardrum. Between his moments of revulsion, he was forced to ponder that which Kal asked. “No,” he replied.
“Well then,” issued Kal, directing his attention above.
“The bodies...who’ll get the bodies”
“No tellin’. But I know they’re not leaving nowhere.” A darkness overtook Kal’s eyes, a disposition brought on by the
harrowing situation. “This shit ain’t right. You know it ain’t.” He grabbed Sepi’s arm, tight. “O.K., Sepi O.K. First things first.
We take care of business.”
They shed their wetsuits and laid their gear atop Monolith Rock. Still dripping, they headed up
the path. Kal led the way, but he stopped midway, figuring it was always best to hash out a plan beforehand, and better still
while out of earshot. “Get a number off the truck if you can. And only if they’re headin’ out, that is. Otherwise, we overtake
‘em together, quick and quiet. From the rear, blades on the back.” He held up his scuba knife with conviction. “Take ‘em down
to the ground, but we do this only when they’re occupied with...with their weight. Got it Surprise ‘em, get ‘em down, hands
behind the back, then tie ‘em down tight.”
Sepi nodded along with each of Kal’s points, patting his pants to double-check that knife and rope were contained within.
He was still disoriented, disarmed by what he was asked to do and how quickly he had to do it. His mind was floating in a
weightless void, with death still an arm’s length away. Somehow, the information he was given was able to sift through all
those interferences; it even slipped through the interference that manifested as a physical form—body and face—that came
amid Kal’s sharply spoken words. It was as if the person himself was overlapping Kal’s own features, shaped slowly into
existence like a ghost from an old cartoon. Sepi saw him leaning against the classroom door, waiting there as he often did to
taunt him following his return from lunch break. He could even hear Bryce Taverns’s sinister voice.
The extra weight Bryce Taverns carried could have been fat, but it also could have been muscle buried beneath fat. No
one in high school, including Sepi, dared to test which one. His face was flattened and dominated by red boils. Whoever cut
his hair—barber, father, mental health professional—cropped it close, giving him a deranged look. These were the features
that stood out as Sepi stood there listening to Kal’s orchestrated plan.
“What, were you out meeting your maiden, Maxwell No Guess it was your sissy-ass boyfriend then. Huh, Max-i-well”
Then he’d feel the slap to the back of his head. He felt it then.
He wanted to punch Bryce Taverns square to his gut. Wanted to double him over, and more. But he didn’t; he was recoiled
by a fear that locked his fists firmly to his side. And he had terminal regret over this. It was possible, however, that someone
else didn’t, as one weekend night Bryce Taverns found himself headlong into the grill of a Mack truck with a fifth of whiskey
gurgling in his stomach. The driver swore he saw two other people next to him before impact. Human or divine, Sepi figured
justice was served. Next time, if there ever was one, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the offering. He’d take it raw on a cold plate.
They reached the clearing and tucked away into the brush. The moon was crouched low, hidden amidst the trees’ foliage.
The truck was parked ahead, its darkened headlights facing them like dead eyes of a demon. In the dimness, they couldn’t
tell if the truck was grey or red (or was covered over in mud or rust). They couldn’t possibly tell its make—Dodge or Chevy
or Ford—let alone pick out a license plate number. Nevertheless, one of them was able to make out the figures from the facial
contours of their silhouettes. And their voices—deep and callous and irreverent—also helped give them away.
“Hell, I know those fucks,” Kal said, cupping his hand to Sepi’s ear. “Guys from the crematory. Everyone outta gas ‘round
here. Pitchin’ clients where nobody’d find ‘em, right down in the drink.”Sepi squinted his eyes and looked to the tailgate. He
thought it was bare feet he saw hanging over its side, but he wasn’t sure in the dark. The guy who had been military-pressing
cement blocks was leaning his stomach against the back of the truck, watching the other one, who, as far as they could
discern, was busy twisting rope between block and flesh.
A flashlight suddenly blasted to the ground. Kal and Sepi ducked lower. They could hear the voice of the guy working the
rope: “Comb it around good. Don’t leave no evidence.” The light zigzagged around awhile, discovering nothing. “O.K.,” he
said again, “grab your side, Billy.”
Kal elbowed Sepi in the ribs, giving him a firm nod of his head. He peered into his eyes, hard and unmistakable. The time
was now.
Kal and Sepi inched towards the front of the truck, eyes focused on the backs of the guys. They stopped at the hood of
the truck, each peering through the windshield at the sight of the two large men readying themselves for the dead weight
laying on the tailgate. Sepi could see the figure: middle-aged man, semi-clothed, pale and listless. They watched as the
guys positioned his body forward, then struggled to hoist the cement block atop his midsection, trying to achieve a proper
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alance. When the man’s stomach went flaccid under the dense concrete form, the two men reached for their ends.
Kal pointed to himself, then to the left side of the truck. He jabbed his finger at Sepi, then pointed right. His finger against
his lips was followed by a circular motion in the air.
“O.K., Billy. Heave on three...”
They advanced. It was the stealth of wolves. Scuba knives substituting for teeth and claws. Thought process instead of
carnal instinct. Revenge for raw need.
“...and fuckin’ let go on time...”
In seconds, Sepi’s knife came against his man’s back. The cloth and flesh was hard, but he knew there was tenderness to
be found under metallic sharpness. He tightened his grip and pressed closer against it. He felt the man’s body twitch from
shock. He looked at his hand and knife. The image was surreal, electric. He found himself saying something, something
definitive and clear into the guy’s ear. He pulled him close with his other arm. Then he heard it: the garbled noise of a recently
cut throat.
Sepi glanced over to see Kal holding his guy’s hair, blood spilling from the neck. The man collapsed, and with him went
the weight he held. Sepi’s man never let go of the dead man’s legs; the fall shifted the weight, a shift Sepi couldn’t foresee. He
heard something guttural, an utterance of extermination.
He looked down. He found his hand holding tight to the handle of the knife, with its remainder submerged well into
cloth and warm flesh. It felt good. He plunged in further and twisted, no doubt reaching a vital organ that soaked his shirt
with blood.
As Sepi sat in Kal’s pickup truck, staring at the truck’s headlights as they carved road out of the
night, the enormous echo of crashing water still rang his ears. It was one of the last things he remembered. That and Kal
calling out orders, hollow and translucent, like the moon breaching through the passing trees: to search the place clean—”not
a fucking drop”—and to cram the cab with fresh death. The rolling tires, breaking limbs, the sight of it over the cliff. Then the
sound. That’s really what he recalled amidst the density of fog that saturated his brain.
Kal grabbed the coffeepot off his counter and topped his mug off with a substance that poured
like tar. On his kitchen table, the local morning edition was splayed out in front of him. Nothing out of the ordinary: a
ribbon-cutting ceremony, a feel-good 4-H story, a brief on wheat futures. Typical stuff in a small rural town dotting the
western plains. No mention anywhere of a local business missing its operators.
It was three days since, and Kal hadn’t heard word one from Sepi. He dropped him and his equipment off that evening,
with a wordless understanding and a feeble handshake. Not hearing from him was fine by Kal, just fine. He wasn’t expecting
as much either, but one never knows. All seemed well that morning as Kal dumped spoon after spoon of sugar in his cup.
The phone rang. He spilled his coffee, obliterating instantly a picture of a local high school football player. He picked up
the phone, but didn’t answer.
“Kal” the voice said.
“Yes”
“Sheriff Woodbine here.” Kal hesitated then set his coffee cup upright.
“Sheriff. How are you,” he said calmly.
There was moment of silence, then the sheriff spoke, “Line’s secure on this end. You”
“Completely.”
“They put up a fight”
“Didn’t have a chance. Went down like lambs in a slaughterhouse.”
“Good. Clean it good Please tell me you did,” said the sheriff anxiously.
“Left it bare. Quiet and clean. No kids around either, made sure of that. Haven’t heard much in town, which is good,”
remarked Kal.
“Don’t worry ‘bout that. I’ll cover those variables when they come up, and they will. Remember, those boys were hunters
and there’s a lot o’ country out there. How ‘bout our boy”
“Well, you don’t worry ‘bout that one. Told you, I picked the right guy,” Kal said with proud assurance.
“Good, good. You know it was time they had to go. Those guys had shit-for-brains and hell, they just couldn’t be trusted.
Made the wrong choice with what they were doing, anyway. I told ‘em that, but they don’t listen, never did and never would.”
“And never will,” remarked Kal with a bent laugh.
The sheriff went quiet, and it occurred to Kal there was more the sheriff needed to know. It was the main reason for the
call, the most important aspect of their conversation. The sheriff spoke. “So, you see our guy down there”
Kal poured some more coffee and drew a long sip. “Nope, he wasn’t below. Found him still up with the guys in the truck.
And that’s where he’ll stay, in the truck, keeping the dumb fucks company. Sixty feet below, along with the rest of ‘em.” ■
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80  Suspense Magazine July 2013 / Vol. 049