The Original Jake Savior - Comic Relief - Cigarettes Will Kill You

Occasionally I take a break from the chaos, murder and madness of my mysteries and legal thrillers and write just for fun.  Prior to writing Beyond a Reasonable Doubt, Jake Savior was my comedy relief.  I loved his witty attitude, and sense of moral justice.  He was willing to kill for a price, but it was the freebies he really enjoyed. I knew I would never publish this book, but occasionally I look back and read what I’ve written and smile.  Sometimes I add a new chapter just for fun.  Have you ever read a book or watched a movie that was just, well, too far out there?  Good Intentions was that for me.  Good for a laugh, and brining an excellent character to mind, but not really marketable.  Still, I’ll always be grateful to Good Intentions and the Jake Savior contained therein, as he inspired portions of Beyond A Reasonable Doubt.  Working with the justice system I can totally understand his statement:  “The courts seen fit to let a pedophile go--I didn't.”  Poor Jake.  Life was tough for a killer for hire, but death without his cigarettes was even worse.

CHAPTER ONE

     You grow up poor you've got to wonder if God's got a sense of humor. All the crap life throws at you. And He gives you mothers. It's kind of like that guy Brandon Lee said in the movie The Crow--"Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children."

     He got that right. My momma wasn't just a good woman. She was a Saint. Somehow she managed to raise four kids on a waitress' salary. And three of them turned out pretty good. Or would have. But that's another story.

     Sometimes when I'm thinking about momma I have to wonder if she knew about God's sense of humor. She read us the good book every night, but she never said nothing about no sense of humor. Still, she had to know something. I mean, after three girls she got me. She had to figure God was up to something.

     I’m Jake Savior, and yeah you might as well go ahead and laugh. Everybody else does. My clients are always telling me God's got a sense of humor. The people looking for me weren't looking for a savior. They were mostly searching the want ads for killer for hire. That's me. For the right price I put a lot of people out of other people's misery. Heck, I even done some for free. Some people deserve to die, and being the nice guy I am, I gladly obliged them.

     But I'm digressing. Let's get back to God's sense of humor.

     I'd had a pretty good day. Won a few bucks on the horse races. Did a little charity work by ridding the world of one more piece of garbage. The courts seen fit to let a pedophile go--I didn't. So I was feeling pretty good about myself, except I was out of cigarettes.

     Now anyone that knows me knows I love a good smoke. Last count I was up to five packs a day. Momma always said those thing were going to kill me. Turns out she was right.

     Only a die-hard smoker goes out at 2:00 a.m. for smokes. Especially since all the safe places close down early, leaving only a few gas stations and convenience stores open at that hour. Still, I was willing to take my chances. It was too damn cold for thieves to be out and I really, really wanted that last cigarette before I turned the lights out and called it a day.

     You've probably already concluded that I'm a smart ass bastard that beats my own drum. Some people will smoke anything. Not me. I'm a strict Kentucky Red's Best smoker. Which means whether I liked it or not I was gonna have to hoof it over to Winchester Road at this time of night. Not everybody carried Red's Best.

     Being the cautious person I am, I scouted the parking lot and looked inside for milling customers. No cars and only one customer at the counter. I quickly ascertained he was one of the good guys like me, needing that last deep drag to calm his nerves before he called it a night. Boy was I wrong. Wrong place, wrong time and wrong guy. Five minutes after I entered the door of the Shaky Seven Gas to Go bullets started flying.

     I've always heard that your life passes before your eyes when you're dying. Trust me, that's all bull. My last vision was that pack of Red's Best I held in my hand, and my last thought was how good that cigarette was gonna taste as soon as I got outside. Of course, that wouldn't have surprised anyone who really knew me. It wasn't any big surprise to me. I was surprised though. Having listened to momma all those years and growing up with three sisters extolling virtues that I never needed or wanted, I was expecting either that bright light to take me to Heaven, or most likely in my case, a little fire and brimstone trail leading to Hell. That didn't happen either.

# # #

     "God, I'd kill for a cigarette."

     "You're kidding right?"

     I glanced over at the convenience store clerk floating next to me as we both looked down at our bullet ridden bodies. I had to chuckle a little. That pack of Red's Best was still clutched tightly in my outstretched hand.

     "Yeah, mom always said those things were gonna kill me. Guess she can say 'I told you so' now."

     "So, what do we do now?"

     "Beats the hell out of me," I stated turning to really look at the clerk. He was young, probably in his early twenties and looked like he was gonna cry any minute.

     "Jake Savior," I stuck out a hand. I sure as hell didn't need someone blubbering all over me.

     "Ronnie Smith," he stated, gaze still riveted to his body. "Mom's gonna be really pissed. I don't know how she's gonna pay the rent this month."

     "Maybe she'll get lucky. Sue the store and get a million dollars."

Ronnie finally looked at me, took the hand I still had stuck out and shook it heartily.  "Really? You think she can do that?"

     Truth was I didn't know shit about civil lawsuits. Criminal law, yeah, I could advise you all day long on criminal law, but civil suits were a different animal with a whole new breed of greedy demons. Still, we were dead and what was he gonna do, sue me if I was wrong?

     "Sure kid, happens every day."

     "That would be nice."

     "Hey, look, another late night smoker coming in." We watched as the guy entered the store, took one look at the blood and immediately jerked out a cell phone. A good Samaritan all the way. So what if he loaded up on a few cartons of cigarettes, a couple of gallons of milk, some bread and snacks and three cases of beer while he waited.

Sirens blared away and we watched as the local cops pulled up, followed by paramedics.        The good Samaritan stayed just long enough to give a statement before hopping in his now loaded Toyota and hitting the road. He'd be celebrating tonight and nobody the wiser.

I watched as the paramedic leaned over my body, checked for a pulse and shook his head.      "This one's dead."

     "No, shit, Sherlock. I mean, really, there's a hole right between my eyes."

     "Hey, Jake. . ."

     "Where the heck are you going?" I yelled. Ronnie was slowly drifting backwards as if drawn by some unseen force. I headed in his direction only to find myself up against an invisible brick wall.

     "Well, that sucks," I muttered, kicking the wall only to find another long held belief wasn't true. You could feel pain after death.

     Being the naturally curious person I was, and since death so far had held a hell of a lot more surprises than life, I drifted back inside the store.

     "We got a pulse."

     The kid was still alive. Hallelujah. Hope he doesn't tell his mother about that million dollars. She might really be pissed then.

     "Marty, you bag and tag that one when the coroners done."

     I'd always had a lot of respect for guys like Marty. The things they had to deal with every day. Bet his friends called him the bag and tag guy. I really wanted to pat him on the back until the fat bastard leaned over and picked up my pack of Red's Best, stowing them in his front pocket. "Don't guess he'll be needing these anymore."

     They all laughed. Laughed.

     I hope you get lung cancer you son-of-a-bitch and die a long, slow, painful death.

I watched as they loaded the kid into the ambulance, lights flashing, sirens blasting. Might have been happy about that if the fat bastard hadn't chosen that moment to light up one of my Best's. Smoke drifted my way. A tantalizing aroma of pure Heaven.

     "Hey, Marty, you got that body bag?"

     I watched the red tip as it arced through the air, landing a few feet away. There was still half a cigarette left. Dumb bastard. You don't throw away half of one of Kentucky's best brands. You smoke it slowly, savoring the aroma and taste.

     I spent the next five minutes trying to wrap my newly dead fingers around that cigarette. I could see it. Smell it. And if I closed my eyes, I could even taste it. But try as I might I couldn't pick the damn thing up.

     Frustrated I sat back down on the curb, listening as the cops made jokes as they loaded my body into the wagon. It wasn't funny. Wasn't funny at all.

     So the next time you're sitting around feeling sorry for yourself and you think life ain't fair, try dying at a late-night convenience store for a pack of cigarettes and then find out you've got to sit and watch some other lucky bastard enjoy them.

     That's when it hit me. Yep, God's got a real sense of humor. At least if Ronnie was here I'd have somebody to share my misery with.

     So this is hell. Stuck here in what I can only describe as grey matter to watch life pass me by, totally unable to intervene or enjoy even the simplest of things. That's what I was beginning to think. But that was before the kid. The kid changed everything and hell started looking pretty good to me.

Excerpt - The Gifts - never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee

“Fire’s out, Sheriff. We opened the windows, but the smell is still pretty bad.”

Sarah nodded, her eyes misting. “Thanks, Billy.” Swallowing hard, she tried to stop the gagging reflex that hit her the second she entered The Lodge. There was nothing in the world worse than the smell of burned flesh. Tommy and three of the volunteer fire fighters were still outside vomiting, and Joshua looked slightly green, although he was holding up better than most. Dammit! They weren’t prepared for this. She wasn’t prepared for this.

“Are you okay, Doc?” Sarah noted the grayness of the doctor’s face, the blueness around his mouth as he slipped on his mask and nodded.

Sarah allowed her gaze to drift around the room, looking for something, anything to look at besides the badly charred body of what she knew must be Marisa Hutchins. They had caught the fire in time to save most of the room, but the body was burned beyond recognition. She swallowed hard again, concentrating on breathing through her mouth. She had to focus on her job, not her feelings. Her gaze fell on the small pink card on the dresser. Picking it up, she shivered as emotions ran up her arm, making her skin crawl, chilling her to the bone. Evil had its own special feel, and this was evil. A gift from me. You’re next.

“Anything on McAllister’s whereabouts?”

Sarah felt Joshua’s keen gaze on her face. She would have to look at him eventually. Struggling to control the overwhelming fear that threatened to pull her into the darkness, Sarah placed the card inside a plastic package and handed it to Joshua. She wanted a hot shower.

“He told me he was going to Richmond, but I didn’t ask where. Said he’d be back tomorrow.”

“I’m finished.” Doc Hawthorne rose, his shoulders drooping more than usual. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He’d delivered these children, watched them grow up. He shouldn’t have to sign their death certificates. “Not much more I can do here. I’d say it’s Marisa Hutchins. You can wait for the autopsy to make it official.”

Sarah grimaced. She didn’t need an autopsy.

“The Edgewood forensic team is on their way. Said they’d be here within the hour,” Joshua stated.

“Thanks, Joshua.” Sarah had hated calling in outsiders, but they just didn’t have the equipment, or the expertise, to handle this type of situation. Nothing like this had ever happened in Glade Springs. Gavin McAllister had a lot to answer for.

“What do you make of the card?”

Joshua was turning the package over in his hands. Sarah glanced at it, a cold chill running down her spine. . . . never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

“You’re next.” Joshua read the card out loud and glanced at Sarah. “Who do you think he means?”

“Not a clue,” Sarah lied. “We’ll run it through the system, see if anything like this has happened anywhere else.”

“Good idea.” Joshua hesitated, “Sarah, I think this card is for you.”

Sarah didn’t bother answering. She’d known the second she touched the card it was for her. You know, echoed in her mind.

“Joshua, stay here, lock it down and wait for Edgewood. Go ahead and do the photographs and sketches of the scene. I have to go tell the Hutchins.” Sarah knew her voice was quivering. She cursed silently at life’s cruel joke of giving her the ability to feel what others felt. She was having enough trouble controlling the pain and fear she’d picked up in this room. She didn’t know how she was going to handle the parents’ emotions.

“Sarah, why don’t you stay? I’ll go.”

Sarah met the concerned green eyes, not trying to disguise the pain in her own. “It comes with the territory, Joshua. It’s my job.”

“What do I do if McAllister shows up?”

Sarah considered her answer carefully. She knew Gavin McAllister hadn’t killed Marisa. The evil she’d felt in that room wasn’t attached to him. He could, of course, sue the city, but at the moment she didn’t give a damn. It wouldn’t hurt him to cool his heels for a couple of hours. And, dammit, he was partially responsible. If he hadn’t come here none of this would have happened. At least in jail he’d be safe and one less thing for her to worry about.

“Book him.”

Joshua nodded. Sarah was in charge. “The Hutchins are pretty religious people. Why don’t you call the new minister, have him meet you out there?”

“Bless you, Joshua. You always seem to know the right thing to do.”

“Comes with the territory, remember? It’s my job.”

Sarah exited The Lodge, her thoughts serious. Joshua would make a good sheriff. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about that when she left. She turned her thoughts to the new minister. She hadn’t had an opportunity to meet him or his wife. What was his name? Cooper. Picking up the cell phone, she automatically dialed the number and hoped it hadn’t been changed. How was she supposed to address him? Was it Reverend, Father, Pastor?

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Cooper?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sheriff Burns. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to call on you and welcome you to Glade Springs, but I wonder if I could speak with your husband, please?”

“He’s asleep, Ms. Burns.”

Sarah frowned. No Sheriff Burns, and the Ms. Had been spoken with disapproval. It was apparent Mrs. Cooper didn’t believe in women sheriffs. She probably didn’t believe women should work at all.

“Could you wake him, please? It’s an emergency.”

“Oh, no, I could never do that. Never.” The voice had changed, a slight tremor just beneath the words.

Good Lord, she’s afraid of him, Sarah thought. What kind of minister instilled fear in his wife?

“Mrs. Cooper, I’m sorry, I’m a little upset, and I’m afraid I haven’t made myself clear. I know it’s late, but we’ve had a,” Sarah paused. “We’ve had a death in the community. The family is going to need him. Please put your husband on the phone.”

“I’ll have him call you in the morning.”

“Mrs. Cooper . . .”

The phone went dead. And people wondered why Sarah didn’t go to church. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in God; she just didn’t believe in organized religion. As usual, she was on her own.

A half hour later Sarah stood outside, breathing deeply in an attempt to control the tears streaming down her face as she waited for Doc Hawthorne. Thank God he’d been here. She should have known he would feel an obligation to do just that. He’d been there for thirteen years through every broken bone, every cough or late night fever. He wouldn’t desert them now.

Sarah watched his approach, realizing for the first time just how old he was getting. She’d ignored the Mayor’s ravings at the council meetings that they needed to start looking for a younger doctor, someone more up to date. How much longer could he last? And getting a doctor to come to a small town like Glade Springs wouldn’t be easy. Of course, there was always Edgewood. It was only a two-hour drive, but what about emergencies? The next time the mayor brought up the subject, Sarah would be more open-minded. Not a replacement, because no one could ever replace Doc Hawthorne. Maybe a partner.

“I gave Irene a sedative. She’ll sleep until morning.” His eyes never left Sarah’s face, the question left unspoken between them.

“Dammit, Jim, I can’t stop him if he wants to see her.”

Doc nodded. Edsel Hutchins wanted to see his daughter. “Call me when he comes in. I’ll be there.”

Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He would be there, sedative in hand. They both knew sedatives weren’t going to help Edsel Hutchins when he saw his daughter’s body. It was almost two a.m. and Sarah felt a desperate need to hold Nikki. To know she was safe. That, like sleep, was a luxury she didn’t have. It was going to be a long night.

Tell Me Your Dreams - A short story WIP

This is actually the first draft of something I hope to make much better, and I hope you'll let me know what you think of it. Not my normal genre, or normal style, but something that kept rolling around in my head until I put it down on paper. I hope you enjoy it.

Tell Me Your Dreams

"Dr. Centers?"

"Yes, Maralee."

"Miss Bishop is here to see you."

Mark Centers frowned, checking the calendar on his desk. Crystal wasn't scheduled today. In fact, if he had his way Crystal would never be scheduled to see him again. One of those patients every psychiatrist hated. Nothing wrong with her that a good old fashioned spanking wouldn't have cured years ago. Too pretty, too rich and definitely too spoiled.

"Send her in Maralee."

Crystal smiled as she pushed her way past the receptionist, closing the door in her face. "Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Centers. Daddy will be so pleased with you, and I'll make sure there's a little something extra on your next check."

Mark watched as she took her seat on the sofa, hiking her skirt to show off a brief outline of pink lace. At least she was wearing underwear this time.

"We've talked about this before, Crystal. You can't just come in any time you want. You need to make an appointment."

Crystal Bishop put on her best poor little rich girl pout. The one that always got her what she wanted. "I want to tell you my dreams."

"We've also talked about that before, Crystal. I don't believe that telling me your dreams would be in your best interest. There are other areas you need to work on. Areas you keep avoiding."

Crystal wound a strand of long blonde hair around her finger. "You listened to Jennifer Dick's dreams and I know her father isn't paying you what my father is paying."

Mark sighed, closed the file and stood up. "It's not about the money, Crystal. Jennifer's dreams were different than yours, something that was beneficial to her therapy."

Crossing to the sofa he handed her a business card. "I've arranged for you to see a very good friend of mine. I think you'll be much happier there. She'll listen to your dreams if that's what you want."

Crystal took the card, stared at it for a moment and tossed it on the floor. "You're dumping me? Nobody dumps me, Dr. Centers. Nobody."

Mark watched the gentle flush spreading up her face. "I'm sorry, Crystal. I just don't think I'm the right therapist for you. Dr. Barnes is a lovely person, and she specializes in helping children understand their nightmares. You'll like her."

Crystal stood, face totally red now, eyes glittering in a way that bordered on insanity. Mark took a step backwards as she ripped open her blouse and placed both hands under perfectly formed breasts, pushing them towards him. "Children's nightmares, Dr. Centers. Do these look like they belong to a child? Do they?"

Mark couldn't help the smile that played around his lips, further infuriating her. "Looks can be deceiving, Crystal. You may look like a woman, but it's apparent from your actions you're very much a child." Turning his back on her he walked back to his desk. "Put your clothes on and get out. You can see Dr. Barnes, or you can find someone else, but we're finished."

"I'll destroy you, you bastard. I'll tell Daddy you raped me and we'll find others that will say the same thing. You'll spend the rest of your life in jail."

Mark turned to face her, his own eyes darkening, jaw setting as his fingers clenched into fists. "You'd do that just because I won't listen to your dreams?"

Crystal smiled at him, slowing buttoning her blouse. "I told you. I want you to listen to my dreams."

Reaching into his desk Mark pulled out a business card. He'd tried. God knew he'd tried. Handing the card to Crystal he barked out at her. "Read it. And if you still want me to listen to your dreams, then I will."

Crystal glanced at the card before sticking it inside her purse. "Now, why don't you get comfortable. I have several dreams that are truly just a little disturbing to me."

Mark took his seat behind the desk reaching for a notepad. "One dream, Crystal. Just one. And be as detailed as you can."

Crystal eyed him across the room before stretching out on the sofa in a provocative pose. "Should I lie down for this?"

Mark shrugged. "It's your dream. Tell it the way you want it."

Crystal pouted for a moment. He was angry with her. And he really wasn't as cute as she'd first thought. Maybe she would tell Daddy he touched her. Not raped, because she really didn't want to go through all those stupid tests, but he could lose his license for touching her.

"Crystal?"

Stretching she turned to face him. "Tomorrow's my birthday, so I'll tell you about that one. It's a horrible, horrible dream."

Mark nodded to her, jotting down a few preliminary notes.

"I always go home for my birthday. Especially this year, as I just know Daddy has bought me that little red Porsche I've been wanting so much. It's a long drive, and I'm tired and thirsty when I get there. And suddenly I see it. Parked in the driveway with this huge yellow ribbon tied around it. I'm horrified. Simply horrified."

Mark glanced at her, raising and eyebrow. "You don't like the ribbon?"

Crystal gave him a withering look. "The ribbon was fine, but Annette Jenkins got the same car for her birthday last month. I mean, she's had it for a month. Daddy couldn't possibly expect me to drive a car that Annette had been driving for a month. It's like showing up at a party with the same dress. I would simply die of embarrassment."

Mark sighed heavily. He could feel the fires closing in. He knew that in reality that was the end of the dream. To Crystal that would be the nightmare of all nightmares. But she wasn't going to leave it there.

"So I went in the house and Daddy was there, and mommy was there, and I told him, I said Daddy I told you I wanted the red Porsche. You'll just have to take that thing back.

Well, Daddy got all red in the face and starting spouting off something about my being ungrateful. Fortunately mommy totally understood and she told Daddy that I couldn't possibly drive the same car as Annette Jenkins. They would be the laughing stock of the country club if he allowed that to happen."

Mark wrote a couple of notes waiting for her to continue. The fires burned hotter.

"And then it got really ugly. Daddy and mommy were screaming at each other. But I wasn't worried because mommy always won. I knew I was getting the red Porsche before the day was out."

Mark looked at her, jaw set in rigged lines of displeasure as he closed the notepad. The fires had completely consumed him now. He no longer felt any compassion for her. His face twisted in an ugly smile. "So, I suppose you got your Porsche and everyone lived happily ever after."

Crystal felt the heat flooding her face. She'd wipe that smile off his face, and then she'd report the bastard.

"No, that's where the nightmare really began."

Mark relaxed his face muscles, opened the notebook and gave her a genuine smile. "So tell me your dream."

Crystal sat up, hands folded in her lap. "Daddy disappeared into the kitchen and mommy followed him. I was so upset that I called Annette and told her what Daddy had done. She was appalled, just as I knew she would be."

Her eyes widened, lower lip trembled slightly. "Daddy came out of the kitchen and he was wearing the cook's apron and it was covered in blood. He was carrying this thing and blood was dripping from it."

Mark leaned forward, watching her face. She was totally caught up in the lies now. She'd even managed a single tear. "What kind of thing?"

"You know, one of those meat hacker things. Huge and sharp."

"A meat cleaver?"

Crystal nodded. "And I was so shocked because I'd never seen Daddy like that before. And he said, aren't you going to join me for supper, poopsie?

That's what Daddy always called me when he was upset with me. I pointed at the apron and said, you're disgusting. And mommy is going to be really mad at you for messing up the floor."

Crystal stopped for a moment, savoring the rapt attention she saw in his eyes. "I had my hand out like this, just pointing at the bloody apron and he cut it off. I screamed and screamed and blood was spurting from my wrist. He raised the cleaver again and I ran for the kitchen. I knew if I could find mommy she'd save me."

Mark's voice was low, encouraging. "And was your mother in the kitchen?"
Crystal swallowed hard, eyes misting over. "She was everywhere. Daddy had hacked her up and, and..."

"Details, Crystal. Remember, I need details."

Crystal sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "We have this big shiny thing in the center and mommy's body was lying there only it had no head, no feet and no hands. There was this pot on the stove and when I got close I saw mommy's head there. He was boiling it. I screamed and tried to run, but Daddy was in the doorway with a shotgun. He looks at me and says, happy birthday, poopsie. And then he shoots me."

Mark finished recording his notes, watching as she shed a few more fake tears. "That really was a horrible dream, Crystal. And right before you birthday."

Crystal stood up, smiled and smoothed her skirt. "See, and I feel much better now. I'll stop by tomorrow and show you my new Porsche. If you're nice to me I'll even take you for a ride."

Mark watched her leave, his eyes dark pinpoints as the fires totally consumed him. He laughed softly, closing the notebook and locking his office.

# # #
The couple stood in the shadows as the gruesome scene played out before them. Blood splattered the marble floor as screams of pain and terror filled the room. They followed her to the kitchen, a scene of total carnage. More screams rang out until finally a single blast and blessed silence.

"You did everything you could, Mark. You even gave her the card. The choice was hers." Jenna Barnes picked up the discarded purse retrieving the business card and handing it to him.

A second blast filled the night.

Jenna placed her arm around him. "I think our work is done here. Buy me a drink?"

Mark smiled at her as the flames subsided. He'd never wanted this, but he had given her the card. The sound of sirens filled the night. "One drink. I'm working tomorrow. I have this little girl who has a dream about being adopted by a wonderful family."

Cattitude by Edie Ramer - $.99 on Amazon Kindle

Edie Ramer loves her cat so much, she wrote CATTITUDE, a book in which a cat changes bodies with a woman. Edie tried to put herself in her cat's mind. She managed so well it was eerily freakish.

She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her husband, two dogs, and the original Belle the cat. She started writing in the 1990's, selling short stories in the mystery genre to National magazines and two Women Sleuth books. In addition to non-fiction articles, she wrote verses for greeting cards, and she possesses a drawer filled with cards for any occasion.

She's co-founder of Write Attitude (writeattitude.net), an inspirational website for writers, and a popular group blog, Magical Musings (magicalmusings.com).

You can visit Edie at www.EdieRamer.com.
*************************************************************************************

After Belle the cat switches bodies with a psychic on the run from a murderer, she wants her perfect cat body back instead of this furless human one. But she doesn't count on falling in love with her former owner. Or that a CEO and a beauty queen want to use up her nine lives. Now is her chance to prove anything a human can do, a cat can do better.


"Cattitude is a magical tale that you won't soon forget. Edie Ramer has a writing voice that charms, and she pulls the reader right into Belle's amazing world." -Cynthia Eden, author of Deadly Fear and I'll be Slaying You

Download a Sample or Buy Now

Writing Crime Scene Investigation-Part 1

I thought I’d try something different this month. As a court reporter who has sat through several murder trials, and an author who occasionally writes a crime scene investigation, share a little of the knowledge I’ve gleaned from both my job, personal experience and a host of great authors who have written novels related to this subject.

You’ve decided to write a crime novel, wherein your protagonist is probably a detective with an attitude. The great thing is that in fiction writing you have leaway to let your character break the rules. However, if you want those who actually work in the field to take you seriously there are some rules you shouldn’t break without giving an explanation.

First: You need to decide what type of crime has occurred. In most crime novels, of course, there is a dead body at the heart of the matter. So, let’s assume you have a dead body. And let’s assume it’s inside an abandoned house or warehouse. Someone calls in a bad odor coming from the house or warehouse.

Second: Where is the crime? Are you in the middle of a major city, or a small countryside, with only one or two local police, and possibly a Sheriff.

Third: You have to establish jurisdiction. Who gets the first call? Almost every American city has 911, which is, probably the first call someone would make. However, in small towns a person may know the local Sheriff or Police Chief and actually call them. Normally a patrol car will be dispatched to check it out.

Fourth: Deciding who is at your crime scene. Once again, this is determined by “where your crime occurred”. EMS? Coroner? Medical Examiner? Homicide Detectives?

Be sure to research your area. Some small areas may not have either a medical examiner or coroner and one may have to be called in from another area. In some states the medical examiners and coroners work together. In large areas there may be multiple medical examiners and/or coroners. Research your state and the city of your crime.

Fifth: Do you need a search warrant? In the past search warrants were not necessary in cases of suspected murder or even suicide. However, Supreme Court rulings have changed that, and a search warrant is normally necessary before you can legally search the premises. Of course, if the person in charge of the property, owner or renter, is available then they may give you permission to search. You need to know who has control of the premises.

Sixth: Don’t touch anything. Of course, if your detective is a rebel, he or she is probably going to break this rule right up front. But in most cases a good detective knows not to touch anything until the scene has been totally documented. That includes documenting anyone at the scene. Isolate witnesses. Wait for the search warrant if necessary and delegate, delegate, delegate. The time of day needs to be documented. Day of week. Weather conditions. Photos taken. Witnesses interviewed. Only when everything possible has been documented does the detective start to look for and collect evidence.

Seven: Don’t be too quick to diagnose the cause of death. Leave that up to the ME or coroner. Sure, there may be a bullet hole between the eyes, but when the coroner’s report comes out you could be surprised to find that the actual cause of death was a broken neck. The shot to the forehead was an angry overkill, or something to throw the detective off because it would take a really strong person to physically break someone’s neck.

In summary, choose your crime then choose your state and city. Once you have that down start your research into who, why, how and when so you know, 1) who arrives first on a scene; 2) why they have to wait; 3) how they proceed and 4) when does the remainder of the crime scene investigators arrive.

A great source of information is, of course, the local homicide detectives, ME’s, Coroners and Sheriffs and Police Officers. If you approach them properly with your request at a time they aren’t swamped with an overload of cases, most of them are more than happy to discuss your crime and the proper sequence of investigation with you. Remember, though, if they are helpful to give them all at least a research line in your book.

Join me tomorrow for Part 2.

Book Review - The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Originally released in 2006, now available on Amazon Kindle for $.99. A bargain for Mystery Lovers.





The Gifts:
A Jacody Ives Mystery
By Linda S. Prather
Echelon Press
ISBN 1-59080-462-7
279 Pages

Linda S. Prather gives us a wonderful first novel! I am constantly amazed at the quality of books being submitted for reviews by new authors. I wholeheartedly recommend The Gifts: A Jacody Ives Mystery to lovers of mystery and suspense.

Prather is interested in and has studied metaphysics, delved into touch healing, dream analysis, meditation, psychic phenomena and hypnosis with a degree in metaphysics. She is now a Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist. With this background, she provided two benefits in her book. One is that she talks about “gifts” as part of daily conversation. This makes her writing much more fluid and knowledgeable and thus more enjoyable to the reader. Second, she brings characters into play with little emphasis on these gifts. The story is suspenseful and action-packed, and some of her characters just happen to use their gifts to help solve crimes. Little emphasis or mystique is applied. I found this, perhaps, more intriguing than those authors who are bringing together these individuals into special “groups” who then can apply their special gifts to resolving crimes that nobody else can. It isn’t that I don’t like these others, because I do. I just found Prather’s approach a little more sophisticated and perceptive.

Jacody Ives is a master at uncovering secrets. So is the man who wrote under that name, Gavin McAllister. One of the secrets that had been uncovered was that Gavin had been a twin at birth, but they had been separated and adopted by two different families. The first twist is that Corrine, his sister, had met her adopted brother and had fallen in love with Gavin’s brother. As happens nowadays, Gavin’s sister was going to marry his brother. But, before that could happen, Corrine (Cory) was murdered. And, so, this time finding out the secrets of the murder was personal…and became even more so! Gavin discovered that he would have to use all of the skills and gifts that he had given to Jacody Ives in order to work through the madness he would encounter.

Gavin’s brother, Rob, was completely broken by Cory’s torture and murder but in the midst of this turmoil, Cory “appears” to Gavin and sends him, not only on the trail of her murderer, but to save the life of a young girl. Torn between the two, Rob’s partner and close friend to both of the boys, Carl Jackson, promises to be there for Rob. Gavin goes to where he had been sent by Cory’s ghost: Glade Springs, West Virginia.

“The Mother’s Day Killer” had entered many lives. He had once had a lover and in her law enforcement position, she had helped to put him in jail for a long time. But because of her involvement, she and her daughter were moved into the witness protection program. They now lived in Glade Springs, West Virginia.

Ghosts, dreams, and visions have become part of every day for a number of people. Why? Because murders are occurring. They repeat the horrendous actions of the Mother’s Day Killer…and now he’s letting them know that “every day” is Mother’s Day! What has happened? Has the killer been released from prison? Did they convict the wrong man? And why is everything happening in Glade Springs? Could a ghost really lead the way to solving these crimes? One thing is certain, she’s there to help protect the little girl, but even ghosts need help!

You got it! This mystery keeps the pages turning! In the back of your mind, you are trying to figure out whether it’s the pastor, the deputy—just who is the killer and how will he be stopped?

During all the danger, Gavin finds he is attracted to the Sheriff, Sarah, and also that her daughter has won his heart. He comes to believe that this little girl is the one Cory sent him to save. If he’s going to be able to do it, he’s going to have to become a real-life Jacody Ives!

Prather’s characters become real to you—even the ghost! Her story is well developed and sufficiently complex to keep you wondering all the way to the end. The ending has both happy and sad results, but what better way than to have characters who are true to life. I’m hoping that Prather brings Jacody back to us in the future. I’ll be looking for her next book, and her next book and the one after that…hey, buy The Gifts! You’ll love it!



G. A. Bixler
IP Book Reviewer