Dr. Carlos and the Wicked Will

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

“Would it be impolite to ask you what your Human wills entail?” said N’Roku, one of the Tali, as they sat around the campfire not far from their crippled hovercraft.

“They’re rather traditional legal documents even if they’re just e-files now and stipulate how the property of a Human—or even a non-Human’s within the ITUIP, allowing for some local variations—are left to one or more people, or even charities and institutions. Conditions are often placed on those who would receive this property, though. For example, they must be alive. In this case,” he glanced at the Tali, which required a look upward, “the condition is that I’m dead.”

The spit was still turning slowly with half the carcass of a large hopping creature still on it. Not one tourist in the group who was a flesh eater had liked the wild taste. Of course, the Rangers had done fine with the fish-like creatures they’d caught in the lake. In a sense, Carlos envied them, but he hadn’t been too hungry since the AI had read the will.

Fortunately, one Human, a woman named Karla Ponce, had found both syntho tea and coffee in a hovercraft closet. Although it might have been there from an earlier time when Human employees of the tour company manned it and offered refreshments to passengers, all the Humans appreciated the hot beverages. Ah, progress, Carlos thought. ‘Tis a wonderful thing, except when it isn’t. And now that damn AI is almost completely offline!

The Tali’s ears were twitching in a way that Carlos knew signified amusement. “Should we all gang up on you now and tear you apart limb by limb?”

“Don’t be crass,” Thom Sideman, one of the Humans, said to N’Roku. “We have to ignore that old woman’s wishes. Clearly she was mentally disturbed and had it in for Dr. Obregon. Do you have any idea why that was, Carlos?”

They were all on first name basis now, so Carlos felt the group’s dynamics had ceased to reflect the wariness of strangers. He still didn’t know that much about their backgrounds, though, the Humans or ETs’, so he wasn’t about to mention what he suspected to be true. And maybe the common home planet and surname are still just coincidences?

Detectives throughout history often said they didn’t believe in coincidences, though. If there was anything to the ones involving the will’s creator, how had the old woman known he’d be on the same tour when he’d decided to go on it only at the last moment? And how had she added the reading of the will to the AI’s programming? For that matter, why was the AI now completely offline? The landing had been a soft one. Had she somehow programmed all that? Or, did she have an accomplice?

“Does anyone here know about programming an AI?” he called out to everyone huddled around the dying fire. “If we can reboot the hovercraft’s, we can guide our rescuers to this place. It might take them days otherwise.”

“I do,” Orl the Usk said. “But there are no tools.”

“There was a toolkit in the closet where I found the tea and coffee,” Karla Ponce said. “Let me show you.”

Carlos held up a hand. “We should probably all go inside now to sleep with the hatch closed. You’ve all seen those local predators from the air. N’Roku, could you help me put out the fire?”

“What about the leftover meat?”

“Give it a good fling. Maybe it will keep the predators busy enough to forget about us.”

***

After everyone was comfortably settled in their seats, Carlos and Orl went to work. The toolkit seemed to be designed for making repairs to electronics, even living biocircuitry, the AI’s wiring a combination of both, so the Usk was happy about that. He was very good with his hands and, of course, Carlos’s surgical expertise using the kit’s many tiny tools allowed him to help a lot. Knowing that the translation software still worked allowed them to quickly find the problem and begin repairs. They soon could converse with the AI again, but it informed them there was no comlink to base, which had been their main goal. Nearing the end of the repair process, Orl had run a diagnostic subroutine, and the AI had informed them that whatever software changes Alger had made had also created a time-delayed power surge that had fried the comlink. They couldn’t repair that.

“You had a good idea, Carlos,” said the Usk, “but she was a right nasty old female Human, wasn’t she?”

He sighed but was glad that most of the others were already sleeping. No wonder. I’m exhausted too. “Can we at least rig some sort of beacon? If bright enough, it might be seen from Euphoria’s space station where my ship is docked.”

“Bad line-of-sight angle,” said Swims-in-Shadows, one of the Rangers, who’d come to peer around Carlos at their repair job. “How about a controlled burn? There’s a cluster of those huge trees not far from our hovercraft. I saw it when we were landing.”

“How long would that last?” Orl said.

“No idea,” said the Ranger, “but it would be brighter than anything we can create artificially.”

“I hate to destroy the local environment,” Carlos said. “And fires all too often get out of control. It might even reach the hovercraft.”

“I can move the hovercraft farther away if that occurs,” said the AI, startling everyone involved in the conversation. “Com’s out, precluding any major flights, but a quick hop locally is possible.”

“That settles it,” Orl said. “Where are those flares we used to start our cooking fire? We’ll begin at the near edge of that cluster so the burn moves away from the hovercraft. When we return, we’ll watch carefully to see if the AI’s hop is needed. I doubt it.”

“The other side of the cluster abuts the far end of the lake,” said the Ranger. “I saw that when I went fishing.”

Carlos shrugged. “Okay. At least it will keep us busy.”

***

Carlos woke N’Roku early. The three, N’Roku, Orl, and Carlos, left the Ranger to guard the other tourists who were still sleeping and headed for the copse of trees.

As they walked, Orl said to Carlos, “Not afraid we’ll gang up on you?”

“I trust you and N’Roku and Swims-in-Shadows as well. And there’s no other option. The other tourists seem to be simple souls with no survival instincts, except for Ponce for the coffee and tea. Of course, if you and the Tali want to kill me, there’s not much I can do about it. Humans are fragile creatures compared to Tali and Usks.”

They got a nice fire going, although the burn went slowly, so Carlos suggested that they scout out the lay of the land as it sloped down toward the edge of the lake, which would stop the fire from advancing any farther. N’Roku returned to the hovercraft to inform the others of their progress and warn the AI to move if that was required.

“Swims-in-Shadows was right,” Carlos said to Orl. “The trees go right down to the lake’s edge.” Carlos stared across the shimmering waters. “This is a beautiful and peaceful place.”

“A fitting place for you to die, Dr. Obregon,” said a voice behind them.

They turned and saw the female Human Karla Ponce. She held a needle gun, and it was pointed at Carlos.

“Where’d you get that gun?” Carlos said.

“Same closet as the toolkit and flares, you idiot. I’m sorry. You seem like a nice man, but I can really use those funds.”

He laughed. “Obviously enough to commit murder. Congratulations. I would never have suspected that you’d be the one.”

“Ideally, all the Humans are going to split the inheritance. I just drew the short straw.”

Carlos wondered what they’d used for straws.

“I’m not a participant in this conspiracy, Carlos,” Orl said.

“Of course not,” Karla said. “I said just we humans, you fool. Why should we split with any slimy ETs?”

Carlos was always amazed how often Humans’ xenophobia reared its ugly head. Other ET groups had that mental disease as well, of course, especially when they had their first contacts with other intelligent beings—the Tali and Usks were examples—but for the most part the disease succumbed to the realization that peaceful coexistence and cooperation were beneficial to all. The Union was built on that principle.

“I see that Alger chose wisely,” Carlos said. “Just to humor me, to grant my dying wish, if you want to call it that, how do you plan to use those funds? You’re not likely to escape from Euphoria’s authorities.”

She shrugged. “To be determined. But we’ll all get our story straight, don’t you worry. The AI can be put out of commission again, so it won’t be reporting on anything. And a needle gun will work perfectly well on the non-Humans.”

“Are you sure about that? I’m a medical doctor, and I’ve studied and attended a lot of ETs in my time.” Carlos jerked a thumb toward his Usk companion. “The poison in your needle gun won’t even affect him. Not Rangers or Tali either. They all use blasters for that reason.”

She hesitated. “Will it slow him down?”

Carlos nodded at Orl. “She’s so stupid that she expects me to answer that.” He turned back to Karla. “Forget the needle gun. You have something else to worry about. Can you swim? The fire soon will be upon us. If you kill me and manage to slow down Orl, you will still have a long swim back along the lake. Without knowing what lethal fauna might be found there.” He now winked at Orl.

As Carlos expected, she turned to look back toward her rear to see how near the burn was. The Usk moved with lightning speed and was soon standing over Karla and covering her with the needle gun.

“What the good doctor neglected to tell you, although I’m sure he knows, is that we Usks can move very fast and have fast reflexes. Our bodies’ form of adrenalin is much more potent than Humans’, which is also why a needle gun doesn’t usually kill us.”

“Where’s the fire?” Fear was etched on Karla’s face now.

Carlos laughed. “Unlike Orl, my friend here, it can’t move very fast. The ground is too moist and the trees too wet. You were so intent on following us that you missed those details. You and the other Humans will soon be living in the nice penal colony they have here on a nearby island. I don’t think ITUIP will be negotiating for your release either.”

***

“You know, Dr. Obregon, we treat tourists well here,” said the local police commissioner, a nice woman Carlos was having some kind of local tea with. “We hate to punish them for crimes they commit, often looking the other way. But this case will be an exception, let me assure you. Maybe their actions surprised you?”

He looked at her over his teacup and took another bite of his cookie, also a local concoction that was delicious. He seemed to remember that afternoon tea had once been a tradition in some ancient Earth country. It was a nice one, especially when the person serving was an attractive Human female.

“Oh, I’m not surprised, especially in this case.” He told her the story about Alger’s brother. “So, you see, it was simple revenge. Quite cleverly done, I might say. But let’s change the topic.” He eyed her. “I have a few days of leave left me, Commander. I took that tour because I was bored. But I’m sure you know a lot more about local sights to see and places to visit. Can I invite you to dinner so we can talk about them.”

She laughed. “I can do more than that. I have the next two days off. We won’t do justice to our lovely planet, but I can give you a grand and personal tour. My only condition?” He nodded. “That you tell me more about your adventures in the SEB.”

He offered a hand. “That’s a deal, Commander.”

“You can call me Twill for the next few days.”

“That’s a lovely name for a lovely lady.”

***

Comments are always welcome. (Please follow the rules listed on my “Join the Conversation” web page. If you don’t, your comment will be considered spam.)

The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection. In this ebook bundle of the three novels, Survivors of the Chaos, Sing a Zamba Galactica, and Come Dance a Cumbia…with Stars in Your Hand, the reader can find much of ITUIP’s history that Carlos Obregon is referring to in the above story. These three hard sci-fi novels, all “evergreen books” because they’re as fresh as the day I finished their manuscripts, can be considered my Foundation trilogy. Unlike the famous Isaac Asimov, though, there are plenty of ETs, something that’s obvious even in this short story. The most unusual ones are the Rangers, the first ETs Humans encountered on Carlos Obregon’s home planet New Haven. For more Carlos Obregon tales, see “Dr. Carlos, Chief Medical Officer,” a free PDF download from the list on my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: I’m one of the few reviewers who reviews entire series. Below I review yet another series of British-style mysteries, interesting police procedurals with scary criminals and interesting coppers filled with intrigue and suspense. They have greatly influenced my recent stories. (See the ad at the end for an example.)]

The “Inspector Nikki Galena” series. Joy Ellis, author. This series begins darkly with the inspector as a loner and loose cannon whom none of her colleagues in the nick like very much—she’s obsessed with finding the drug dealer who put her daughter into a coma with some bad drugs. She’s forced to work on another case with a new sergeant, Joseph, and he turns her life around, basically saving her from herself. She helps him a lot too. Case after case, sometimes multiple ones at a time, the two become closer, even though he has a daughter who hates him and all coppers. She changes her mind when she becomes romantically interested in one of Nikki’s detective constables.

What’s odd about this series is that I’m not quite sure where it all takes place. The titles all contain the word “Fens” (Americans might call them marshes or wetlands), and their location must be somewhere on England’s east coast. It’s the same location as a secret RAF airbase in WWII that figures prominently in one of the novels. Some of the names of nearby towns and villages are recognizable. I get the feeling that the author is from this area or knows it well, so she presumes her readers will have no problem recognizing it, but I don’t. Of course, I’m not British! This is only a very small nit to pick in this otherwise excellent series.

I’ve read a lot of good British-style mystery series. This is one of the best. Dark and foreboding at times, with the protagonist having to come to terms with death, the coppers also have some successes despite the twists and turns of their cases. Highly recommended.

***

Comments are always welcome. (Please follow the rules on my “Join the Conversation” web page. If you don’t, your comment is considered to be spam.)

Fear the Asian Evil. My British-style mysteries are more complex and international than most. This third book in the “Inspector Steve Morgan” series might seem ripped from the headlines after reports that President Biden strongly warned President-for-Life Xi about invading Taiwan. The book deals more with China’s long-standing policy of industrial espionage and fomenting unrest in western democracies. While it starts out as a typical police procedural not unlike the books in the above series—the sister-in-law of Morgan’s sergeant is shot—it acquires a spy-fi flavor that goes far beyond Christie’s typical British-style mysteries. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold (but not on Amazon).

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: It’s been a while since I’ve posted a short story featuring the starship Brendan’s Chief Medical Officer Carlos Obregon. You might have read about some of his adventures in “Dr. Carlos, Chief Medical Officer,” a PDF you can download for free—see the list of available downloads on the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page. This one is a bit different because the good doctor has to be more than an amateur sleuth. It also might be a bit humbling for Human readers because it shows that once-evil ETs might be able to perform morally a lot better than Humans can. Enjoy. And, oh yes, Happy New Year everyone!]

Dr. Carlos and the Wicked Will

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

Carlos Obregon studied the other people in line and immediately felt out of place. He was a starship’s medical officer, after all, not a typical tourist. On a scheduled leave on the planet Euphoria that his captain had made him take, he’d become bored among an entire world of tourists and those who catered to and exploited them. The planet was a tropical paradise, though, and its shimmering seas; towering mountains, many of them volcanoes; and interesting flora and fauna seemed to beckon him. A quick trip around the planet to take it all in was a good way to spend the idle time forced upon him.

Among those in the same line were the ET tourists: Two Rangers—unusual to see the strange fellows from his home planet on a tour, but they’d always been a curious folk; a short, oily-and-mottled skinned Usk, looking more bored than Carlos; and three Tali, orange and furry fellows who towered above everyone. There were also eleven Humans of all shapes and sizes and attitudes, including a wrinkled old lady who made Carlos wonder why she’d not taken anti-senescence drugs. He supposed her choice was due to some religious bias. Human religions often went up against modern science, and their members often died because of those choices. All intelligent beings in near-Earth space seemed to have some strange beliefs.

One by one, they all moved forward. The check-in seemed complete and efficient, the syntho voice of the hovercraft’s AI seeming to ring in all their ears only because it was a nearly instantaneous translation from Standard to the ETs’ different languages transmitted to their now ubiquitous implants in their sound-receiving organs. While his rendering was in Standard without need of translation, he thought that even some of the Humans would receive a translation into their planets’ dialects, especially if they came from outlying worlds.

“Carlos Obregon, Chief Medical Officer of the starship Brendan. Welcome to Euphoric Tours’ sightseeing trip around our lovely planet.”

Everyone glanced his way. They all knew he was out of place too, and, as often happened, he regretted how much technology encroached on people’s lives. The old woman even studied him, her wrinkled face becoming even more distorted by a frown. She was ahead of him, so he knew she was from one of those outlying worlds, a planet outside the Interstellar Trade Union of Independent Planets, aka ITUIP. When he found a seat inside the hovercraft, she chose the seat next to his, glared at him, and then proceeded to ignore him. Maybe she’s a member of some religious cult? The outer worlds in near-Earth space were full of them, their vary existence often making their joining ITUIP impossible.

***

The AI’s programming was good. It flew them over some atolls where strange fish soared out of the water to nab four-winged flying creatures; then over snow-covered peaks, some of them topped with craters with volcanic smoke reaching up into the cirulean sky; and down to a vast savannah where herds of ungulates fed on the tall and waving yellow-green grass, all the while being stalked by some fierce-looking but smart, stealthy carnivores.

The constant drone of the AI gave local names to all the sights they were seeing, but some had no real translation. The locals of Euphoria spoke an ancient Earth dialect called Yiddish, although Carlos recognized a few corruptions within it from ancient Chinese dialects. That wasn’t that uncommon. The Chinese had established the first colony on Mars millennia ago, its autocratic government there mimicking the homelands; it had failed, as had the Earth country, but the Chinese language continued to corrupt the language of the Spacers, which had evolved into Standard.

As the hovercraft flew around some jewel-like lakes, the old woman collapsed.

“A passenger is ill!” Obregon called out. “We need to either land or head back!” He was already leaning over the woman, pressing fingers to her carotid after noting the blue tinge to her wrinkled, pale skin and especially her lips.

“Please tighten your seat belts,” the AI announced. “The hovercraft will be landing—”

They were already losing altitude, but Carlos wondered if its software was failing. Is the AI dying as well? He normally wouldn’t worry about the announcement because he’d already suggested two possible courses of action, and the AI had chosen the easiest one at that moment. They’d come a long way. Moreover, he’d landed—crash-landed, to be precise—on a more than hostile planet and knew how to survive. But not with a bunch of tourists!

He was about to try CPR when he noted a peculiar odor. He’d grown up on New Haven and identified it as a strong poison used against local pests that lurked around the New Haven Humans’ dairy farms. Did the woman commit suicide?

“AI, this is passenger Obregon again. As soon as we’ve landed, the air onboard needs to be replaced with outside air as soon as possible!”

The AI didn’t reply, but the landing was a soft one and they all staggered out of the hovercraft feeling a bit dizzy.

***

“What’s wrong with that Human female?” said one of the Tali.

Carlos gently placed her body on the ground. “She’s dead. I believe she’s been poisoned. Anyone remember her name?”

“Alana Alger,” the Usk said.

“Why would she commit suicide?” the Tali said. “She was a tourist just like all of us. Her home planet is Verdant. I’d never heard of it.”

Now Carlos remembered reacting to the woman’s name and where she was from when the AI had announced her name and citizenry during check-in. He’d written it all off to coincidence. Decades ago, Brendan had made a port of call at that planet. A Human male had tried to kill Carlos; his name was Edo Alger, and Obregon’s testimony against him sealed his fate, a complete mindwipe, a gift considering the options the jury had to consider.

Apparently self-correcting code woke up the AI. It announced, “To all surviving hovercraft tourists, the dead woman has a will on file. I’ve been programmed to read it to you.”

Carlos didn’t like the sound of any of that. Who at Euphoric Tours had programmed the AI for this trip? Like everyone else, though, he listened.

The reading of Alana Alger’s last will and testament was brief. She left all her considerable fortune, millions of credits in a bank located on the planet Sanctuary—he had to smile at the woman’s use of irony in choosing that particular planet considering their current situation—to be shared equally with all the passengers onboard the hovercraft as long as Carlos Obregon, starship Brendan’s Chief Medical Officer, did not make it back alive to Euphoria’s capital city.

Everyone was stunned as much as Carlos was. One could see it on the Human’s faces, and, as a ship’s doctor who had to attend to many different types of ETs, he read that emotion in them as well. He decided to not attach any importance to the old woman’s will. She’d obviously been mentally ill, probably for a long time.

***

“Curious burial rites,” Orl the Usk said to Carlos as they all walked away from Alger’s grave. “Quite touching words too, considering that old Human wanted you dead, Carlos.”

Carlos glanced at the short ET who looked like a turtle from ancient Earth without his shell. Like the Tali, the Usks had been thwarted in their plans to conquer Earth centuries ago, their respective defeats also centuries apart. Also, like the Tali, they’d become well integrated into Earth society and ITUIP.

Carlos worked for the Union’s Space Exploration Bureau. Would that stop Orl or the others from trying to claim Alger’s millions? Most were ITUIP citizens. He still appreciated that the ETs seemed loathe to do the old woman’s bidding and had become even more friendly, though, while the Humans seemed a bit more ambivalent.

“Usks’ burial ceremonies are more like our ancient Vikings’,” Carlos said, returning to the Usk’s first comment. “Very similar, in fact. Many Humans also cremate their dead too, perhaps not so elaborately as you folk but the same idea. We just couldn’t leave her on the ground. We don’t want to attract carrion feeders or predatory animals. Our only choice was to bury her or cremate her. I chose the former for lack of material for a pyre.”

“That shovel and rake in that closet were a great find. Who are these Vikings?”

Carlos explained. He was a student of Earth’s history and customs, many variations of the latter also prevalent in near-Earth systems, especially in Human colonies outside ITUIP like Verdant. Some were like Euphoria, which seemed to have a cultural milieu dedicated to having a good time and tending to the tourist trade.

“I understand,” Orl said. “Those Vikings did have a culture that had a lot in common with our old traditions.”

Carlos could only nod, thinking that it was probably not the time to observe that those ancient Usks were even more vicious than the Vikings. One could find common characteristics for ancient Humans, Talis, and Usks. Only the Rangers had avoided those tendencies toward savagery. Having grown up on New Haven, a world shared by Humans and Rangers for millennia, Carlos knew the latter had had their disputes, but they’d been settled peacefully. Nevertheless, they’d become fearsome allies with the Humans in the battles against the Tali and Usk!

Will someone in this group of tourists attempt to kill me? His first suspects would be his fellow Humans, but he would carefully study all the tourists stranded with him. At the same time, he would try to help them get organized. They could be waiting for a search party to find them for a while.

The AI was now offline, and that meant the hovercraft’s communication with its base was no longer operational. In fact, the only AI function that seemed to be left was its translation subroutines that allowed everyone to communicate without knowing the others’ languages. That was done via their implants and most necessary for the Rangers because of their complicated buzzspeak, but Carlos’s knowledge of the Tali and Usk languages was minimal.

All that meant there was plenty of time for someone to organize an accident to befall him.

***

Comments are always welcome. (Please follow the rules listed on my “Join the Conversation” web page. If you don’t, your comment will be considered spam.)

The Chaos Chronicles Trilogy Collection. In this ebook bundle of three complete novels, Survivors of the Chaos, Sing a Zamba Galactica, and Come Dance a Cumbia…with Stars in Your Hand, the reader can find much of ITUIP’s history that Carlos Obregon is referring to in the above story. These three hard sci-fi novels, all “evergreen books” because they’re as fresh as the day I finished their manuscripts, can be considered my Foundation trilogy. Unlike the famous Isaac Asimov, though, there are plenty of ETs, something that’s obvious even in this short story. The most unusual ones are the Rangers, the first ETs Humans encountered on Carlos Obregon’s home planet New Haven. For more Carlos Obregon tales, see “Dr. Carlos, Chief Medical Officer,” a free PDF download from the list on my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: Wishing a joyful holiday season and Happy New Year to all my readers. This is the third story about the “Earl of Penrith.” Enjoy!]

The Fishing Trip

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

“I don’t understand. I gave you that business card. He gave it to me.”

“Did he or does anyone in your family have connections to Scotland?” Sally said.

Earl was letting her run the interview again. Women often thought he was a gruff old bloke.

“Some cousins, Sergeant. A lot of people across northern England have Scottish friends and relatives.”

“Whereabouts, ma’am?”

She sighed. “I suppose I could make a list. They’re mostly in the west and center. One family even runs an inn near Loch Ness. Not the best place in winter, I dare say.” She smiled. “I guess the tourist industry is in our blood. I know my relatives best. My husband had some in Glasgow as well. I’ve lost contact with most of them. But why would Wayne be living up there?”

Earl didn’t want to say what he was thinking. He could imagine a very lucrative employment for an expert pharmaceutical chemist. He’d need to consult with Penrith PD’s Drugs Enforcement Division. Their investigations often led to liaisons with the NCA’s drugs division, but the coppers at Penrith PD knew a lot about the drugs trade.

“We’d appreciate a list of any names you can remember, Mrs. Simmons,” was all he said.

Their calls back at the station soon included the new names. One of Mr. Simmons’ relatives in Glasgow was candid. “I once asked Wayne why he hadn’t taken advantage of all that schooling. His answer was, ‘I am.’ I didn’t like his sleazy smile. But I’m prejudiced. I never liked his sister, but I liked him even less.”

“So, he was in Glasgow?”

“Oh, sure. For a while. Can’t say we saw him that much, which was okay by me. He was a bit creepy, I dare say.”

“So, you weren’t going to the daughter’s wedding?”

“What wedding? I didn’t even know my cousin had a daughter, Inspector.”

“Um, thank you for your information, sir.”

***

When Earl told Sally about that conversation, she had the same reaction. “Maybe Mrs. Simmons’s baby brother had a life she didn’t know about. In any case, Wayne ended up in Glasgow. We still have to connect the dots from Birmingham to there, and from there to here.”

“A very secretive life, Sally, one that might have got him killed.”

She nodded. “Someone wasn’t too happy with him, that’s for sure. Someone who doesn’t like boats.”

“How’s that?”

“I would have filled his pockets with rocks, rowed him out to the middle of that lake, and dumped him. Depending on that boat sinking was a mistake.”

He smiled. “That’s why we’re such a good team. You see things that I don’t.”

“I can’t see that my observation helps. A scrote who’s afraid of water or boats was obviously still a murderer.”

“It might limit our search to the middle of the country, though, away from the coastal areas. I’m afraid we’re going to have ask NCA for some help, bless their dark, spooky souls.”

Long ago in London, Earl had worked under DS Matthew Finley as his DC. They’d shared a loathing for their DI at the Met and become friends and drinking mates. Matt was now with the NCA, so Earl called him.

After some pleasantries, Earl got down to business. He told Matt about the case and what they knew about the victim so far.

“I know Drake, and let me warn you that you should take what they told you with a grain of salt. Big Pharma is often international—they like to test questionable drugs in Africa, for example—and they don’t even like the whiff from authorities snooping around. Drake might be clean in general, but they probably cut corners just like the worst of them. I’m suspicious of any pharmaceutical corporation that manufactures both the patented and generic forms of a drug overseas and markets them both in the UK.”

“That’s allowed?”

“Just about everywhere for the international corporations.”

“So, you think Ross might have really worked for Drake?”

“Doing things we might not approve of, yes. The most profitable way to market a drug these days is to make it addictive so customers keep buying it. So many people self-medicate now. My daughter ordered some cough syrup from Bulgaria. I had it tested. It had some trace amounts of some really nasty stuff in addition to codeine. Definitely not appropriate for young children! If anything, these places’ quality control can be sorely lacking.”

“Um, I guess they think adequate quality control costs them too much money. But how would Ross be involved in something like that? He’s a skilled scientist.”

“Good question, and I can’t answer it specifically for him. What I can do for you, old friend, is push it up the ladder, maybe even to Gretchen herself.”

“Who’s Gretchen?”

“Gretchen Williams, the director of our drugs division. She’ll know someone who might be able to tell us how Ross was spending his time, and why he was so secretive about it.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Not if you lose the case.” Matt laughed. “Marra, I know you so well.”

“Indeed. I just want to solve a murder case. NCA’s investigations all too often go far beyond that. They want to close down an entire drugs syndicate. They can do that if that’s what this case leads to as long as I can solve my case.”

“From what you’ve told me, the world’s probably better off being rid of Wayne Ross.”

“That’s not for us to say.”

“Of course not. I’ll try to get back to you by day’s end. On a lighter note, how was the fishing?”

“Neither the father-in-law nor I caught anything, but my other guest landed one. Beginner’s luck. He also spotted the rowboat with Ross’s body in it.”

“Sign him up!”

Earl decided not to tell Matt that was what MI5 or NCA had wanted to do.

***

Matt didn’t return Earl’s call; Director Williams did. “Matt brought me up to speed on your case. We’ve been interested in Drake, and Wayne Ross in particular, for a long time, Inspector Wilson.”

“You can call me Earl, ma’am.”

“If you call me Gretchen. Ma’am makes me feel old. You will be asking why we’re interested, I’m sure. There’s a lot of bad stuff coming in over the border. Maybe Drake’s not involved directly, but they’re not drugs you can produce in an old farmhouse somewhere.”

“Coming from Glasgow, are they?”

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There are a lot of new movies out—I’m up to seeing the new Daniel Craig mystery and the new Cameron film, series that are just getting started—but those movies caused me to reflect on which movie series I think are the greatest. In lieu of reviewing single books, I’ve been reviewing entire series, mostly because no one else seems to do that. I can say the same for movies. So here goes:

The “Lord of the Rings” movies. This might be the biggest, boldest, and best example of how Hollywood makes its greatest movies when the scripts are based on great books. Tolkien’s excellent fantasy series sat the bar high for all those that have followed, and this movie series brought to life on the big screen (and my TV with the DVD set) all the Christian mysticism and mythical languages created by the world’s greatest fantasy writer. And, by the way, all that great New Zealand scenery!

The “Jason Bourne” movies. You might identify Sean Connery with 007, but I identify Matt Damon with Jason Bourne even more. It took a while for me to get beyond the fact that Hollywood wasn’t following Ludlum’s storyline, especially with the second two movies in the series (I knew the third book quite well because I’ve used in as a reference on China, most recently in Fear the Asian Evil and earlier in Goin’ the Extra Mile—that third movie never mentions China!), but the essential mystery, thrills, and suspense from Ludlum’s books are there in the movie. And the third Bourne movie is probably the best action film ever made with a great actor performing. Eat your heart out, Tom Cruise!

The “Indiana Jones” movies. Harrison Ford was only a goofball hero in the goofy fantasy series Star Wars that wants to be but fails miserably as hard sci-fi, and his best performance was in classic sci-fi film Blade Runner, but he is Indy in this Spielberg series. To not slight Sean Connery (his spy-fi slapstick roles as 007 don’t do justice to Fleming’s books), he almost steals the show as Indy’s father. That third movie was the best of the lot, but they all blazed new frontiers. Who knows how the new one will be.

That’s it, mostly because Hollywood doesn’t do series well…or even sequels! (Look at all the Jurassic Park sequels, which are terrible.) Two of the three movie series mentioned here are based on book series, which helps, and one can argue that even the “Indiana Jones: movies are based on H. Rider Haggard’s “Alan Quatermain” series. (Don’t know that one? I pity you.) Perhaps Hollywood should come to its senses and use more books as a basis for movie scripts? (Of course, squeezing all that’s in a novel into a two-hour movie is a daunting problem!)

***

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Rogue Planet. Here’s one of my books I’d like to see made into a movie! On a quarantined planet in the far future (the quarantine exists because it’s a brutal theocracy), a prince struggles to save his world. It has all the elements found in Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, and Game of Thrones without being fantasy—warring armies, suspense and thrills, and lots of romance. And iit’s all hard sci-fi! I suppose there are nuances Hollywood would surely miss (readers won’t), but it would take a really incompetent director and studio to ruin this one. Available in both print and ebook format wherever quality books are sold.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[Note from Steve: This is the third story about the “Earl of Penrith.” Enjoy!]

The Fishing Trip

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

DI Earl Wilson had to smile and then laugh when Simon hooked his first fish and nearly went overboard using the net to snare it. Old Kevin had to grab his new son-in-law by the belt to keep him from falling in.

Earl had to admire the lad. He’d turned his life around and become a card-carrying and honest member of the great middle class. With a new bride—Earl could imagine that Kathy and Simon might soon make Martha and Kevin new grandparents—a steady job at the auto repair shop where he’d soon have a chance to take over when his boss retired, and plenty of extra work helping Kevin, the busy handyman and father-in-law, Simon would be more than okay. He was even losing some of his Geordie accent and sounding like a Lake District local at times.

DI Earl Wilson was a police veteran who had started out as a patrol constable in London, a “bobby” or “top” as they were called, the latter for the helmet—and then bounced around the country after being promoted from PC to DC and finally DI, finally ending up in the Lake District, where he suspected he would retire someday because he loved hiking and fishing.

He was a big bear of a man, an oversized version of that American telly detective, Columbo, complete with old car and dirty raincoat, but he didn’t smoke cigars and didn’t drink much. In fact, for his age, he was in good shape. A criminal might outrun him, but they’d be hard-pressed to outfight him. He had once broken one’s jaw, but he’d gone to the hospital later to apologize to the hand-cuffed scrote for doing that.

Earl thought the lad had hooked another fish—beginner’s luck!—when he stood up in the boat and pointed across the lake waters. “There’s a boat with a body in it, Inspector!”

Earl didn’t stand—he knew better, and the boat was already swaying side to side. “Sit down, lad!” He squinted but still shaded his eyes. “I believe you’re right. Hopefully, just some fisherman taking a catnap. We made an early start too. The fish wake up and have breakfast early.”

Kevin and Earl took the oars, not wanting to wake the bloke up by starting the motor if he was asleep but still feeling the responsibility of checking up on him. Unfortunately, Simon had been correct. There was a body in the boat, and the head trauma and blood indicated the man had been attacked.

“Lash the boat onto ours, you two,” Earl said. “I’m cranking up the outboard. We need to go ashore so I can use the radio in my old truck. We’ll need the SOCOs and a pathologist.”

“Is the boat a crime scene now, Guv?” Simon said.

Earl had to smile. The lad was mimicking his sergeant. She was a frequent guest at Martha and Kevin’s house along with Earl and Simon. Kathy and Simon lived above the repair ship in a bedsit; Earl had seen bigger closets in rich people’s mansions. The two were saving to lease or buy something bigger.

***

By the time the pathologist and SOCOs arrived, Earl had recorded what the three fishermen had seen. He sent Kevin and Simon home in Earl’s truck with his boat because Sally had arrived too. She could drop Earl at Martha and Kevin’s house so he could get his truck.

DS Sally Hill was from the other coast, loved the Lake District as well, and loathed southern England. Her birthplace was Morpeth, a regional capital not far from Newcastle-on-Tyne, so she felt right at home in Penrith that might be considered a left-coast town in comparison to Morpeth, without any polical meaning intended—the area along the border with Scotland was a conservative one.

Twenty years younger than her Guv, she was coming into her own as Earl’s partner in policing. She was fleet of foot and good enough at martial arts to compensate for her small size, as many a criminal had discovered. She also could turn on the charm, though, if she felt inclined or needed to do so in an interview or interrogation.

Sally became busy on her moby trying to identify the victim—miraculously she had a few bars; Earl’s 4G model had none—so Earl walked the lake shore, trying to find the spot where the rowboat had been set afloat with the body. There were two more moorings to the east and three to the west. He’d chosen to use theirs because he’d had the most luck fishing there.

His surveillance task took him a good forty minutes, but he found the probable launch point, the second of the three western moorings. He checked the third to make sure and then briskly returned. Arriving at the original site, he waved Harry, the lead SOCO, over.

“Second pier west of here has reeds beaten down. There are two old rowboats still there. I’m thinking our victim’s funeral boat might have been a third. There are recent car tracks, maybe from a Rover with one bald tire. Get what spoor you can find there, if you will.”

Harry nodded. “Any idea who owns those rowboats?”

“Maybe you can tell me that eventually. No names on the boats. Couple of diners and pubs hereabouts might know. I’ll be sending some DCs to help. The boats might just be abandoned, though.”

“Could be. The one the victim was in was old and ready to sink with a small hole in the bottom. Might have been the idea, to be honest, but his bloody shirt acted like a cork. Otherwise, we’d never have known what happened to the old geezer.”

“Old? How old?”

“Older than you, and that’s saying something.”

Earl ignored the taunt. “A local maybe?”

“We need to ID him, Guv. Could be, but you don’t know him and Kevin doesn’t, so maybe not. Not tourist season either, though. Someone passing through from down south maybe?”

“Any idea how long he’s been dead?”

“I’d guess he was put out in the lake last night sometime. Otherwise, the boat would have sunk despite the bloody shirt tail. But you’d better wait for Doc’s official TOD.”

“Might not be the same as the boat launch. You fellers can send me your reports. Sally and I had better start looking for mispers. Like you said, we have to ID this bloke.”

***

If Harry was right about the time the rowboat was launched, which meant the victim had been killed sometime before that, it was possible no one had reported the man missing yet. As a consequence, Sally and he stopped at a convenient pub during the trip back to the nick to have a quick pint and an early lunch. Earl took the opportunity to query the publican, who had no idea who their victim might be; the victim hadn’t patronized the club, which started selling breakfasts early in the morning.

Sally eyed her guv over her ale glass. “How did Simon handle that experience on the lake?”

“Happy to land his first catch, the lad was. He and Kevin are tight now. I guess the old man is the father Simon never had.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“He spotted the rowboat and the body. Didn’t seem to give him much aggro. Can’t say he’s seen as many dead as a soldier might, but he’s certainly seen enough in his short life. Kind of gives one a thick skin. Almost seemed like he was more excited about us having another case to solve.”

“Maybe wanting to forget about his?” Earl shrugged. “I’d think the experience would have taken all the joy out of catching his first fish.”

“Lad’s a natural for that if he learns to handle the net. A few practice casts and he was ready to go.”

“And Kevin?”

“He’s an old hand.”

“I meant, how did he react to finding a body?”

“He’s an old soldier. He was more worried about Simon tipping our boat over. He didn’t know the victim, by the way. Neither do I. We need to get busy back at the station. I want to know who that bloke is. Or was. We can then pry into his life to see who would want to kill him.”

“Brutally.”

“I’ll give you that. Lots of anger at the very least.”

“So…should we get to it?”

“As soon as I can flag down Rita.”

“This place is busy, and it’s only eleven-thirty. I’ve never been here.”

“You should see it during the tourist season. We locals take these places for granted, but all the hikers and twitchers want to experience a cozy Lake District pub. They’ve turned the typical pubs into American sports bars in the Big Smoke, you know. They call it making London cosmopolitan.”

“That’s occurring in Newcastle too. Morpeth is a bit more sedate.” She frowned. “I’m not looking forward to preparing another murder board, Guv.”

He smiled. Their last major case had been Simon’s; they’d started out with eight victims in a case that eventually involved both MI5 and NCA. “Hopefully, we can keep the spooks off this one. Rick Barnes was a bit hard to take.”

Sally smiled. Earl knew she fancied the MI5 agent.

Major crime in the Lake District was rare except for spillovers from the big cities in the south and east: Birmingham, Durham, Liverpool, Manchester, and Newcastle. The Penrith Police District spent most of its time on solving lesser crimes, from stealing livestock and farm equipment to peddling illegal drugs. There were plenty of yobbies around, among them those who preyed on tourists, and they all kept the police busy enough. It was rare when the district’s CIDs saw the crime the big cities saw, though, especially what occurred so often in London.

***

As it turned out, there was a missing person. Mrs. Helen Simmons, a woman who ran a boarding house in a hamlet not far from the lake had been expecting a visit from her brother, Wayne Ross, a resident of Durham. The woman’s daughter was getting married and wanted her Uncle Wayne to give her away because her father had passed on.

Sally and Earl paid Mrs. Simmons a visit. She was already accompanied by a Family Liaison Officer who warned the two detectives that her charge was quite unstable. But the elderly woman agreed to talk to them, sitting down with them in the boarding house’s comfortable parlor with tissue box at the ready.

She didn’t look like a dowdy boarding house manager. Dressed to the nines, including what looked like a pearl necklace and earrings, fashionably coiffed hair, and expertly applied makeup, she could have looked good on any MPs arm…or an MP herself like the Iron Lady about to give a speech on the floor of Commons. Is the boarding house business that good? It wasn’t tourist season.

“Can you imagine? We’ve had to postpone the wedding to have a funeral!”

Sally glanced at Earl with eyebrows raised; he nodded. They had no idea when the pathologist and coroner would release the body, but Earl didn’t want to get into that. Sally followed his lead and made no comment about the dowager being more worried about the wedding than her brother’s demise.

“Tell me, Mrs. Simmons, about your brother. What did he do for a living?”

“Some kind of research. He is-was-a brilliant man, my little brother, a chemist who worked in a pharmaceutical company in Durham. Way beyond my understanding is what he did, but I think he invented new drugs to help people. I don’t think the rest of the family knew that. You know how it goes, detectives. I dare say none of them cared.”

For a moment, her grief had turned to anger. Sally was very familiar with dysfunctional families. She wondered how many guests had been coming to the wedding.

“What about his life in Durham? Was he married? Does he have family there?”

“Heavens no. We’re northerners, our Ross clan.” She slipped into some distant memory. “Simmons was my dear husband’s name. We owned and ran this establishment. Some of our customers return every year during the summer months. Other times we survive with traveling salespeople. Not the most elegant boarding house in the area, but our service is exemplary. Breakfast and/or dinner plans are available. Tell your relatives and friends.”

Sally smiled at the advert. “Do you remember the name of Wayne’s company?”

“No, but I have a business card somewhere. Hold on a moment.”

She left the room. They heard drawers opening and shutting. She soon returned triumphantly and handed Sally a card.

“Drake Pharmaceuticals,” Sally read. “Did he describe his work there in any more detail?”

“Only what I already said. And I wouldn’t have understood much more. Oh, he once told me had several patents. I think he meant he created several new drugs, right? Doesn’t one’s company hold the patents?”

“Generally that’s the case,” Earl said. “The researcher signs an agreement. Do you know anyone in the Penrith area who would want to harm your brother?”

“He got along with everyone, Inspector. He had the usual barneys with schoolmates growing up, but that was long ago. And he hasn’t lived in this area for donkey’s years. But he’s Barb’s only uncle. Barbara is my daughter.”

“I assume she’s disappointed,” Sally said.

“For the wedding, yes, but she’s enraged about how someone would do this to her Uncle Wayne. As we all are in the family. Please find who did this despicable act!”

“We’ll do our best, as always,” Earl said. He handed her his own card. “We might have to talk with again, Mrs. Simmons. And feel free to call us if you can think of anything more that might help us.”

***

Drake Pharmaceuticals had never heard of Wayne Ross. Had he lied to his family all those years? Had he even lived in Durham? Earl didn’t know what to think.

Sally managed to verify that he’d received a doctorate from Birmingham University. What could he have been doing if not employed by Drake?

They decided not to tell Mrs. Simmons, her daughter, or any other family members for the moment. Earl wanted to find out more about the mysterious scientist. He and Sally began to call other police departments in northern England, Earl using many contacts he’d developed over the years. Two DCs were trawling for anything in social media about Wayne.

The Home Office’s Border Force came up with one interesting item: Wayne Ross made a round trip in 2027 to Prague, capital of the Czech Republic.

“Not first on my list as a place to visit as a tourist,” Earl said, “so maybe he went for some other reason. Obviously not a business trip for Drake Pharmaceuticals, but maybe one related to his research?”

It all came down to knowing what the secretive man had been doing since he left the university years earlier. Someone had to know.

As much as Earl hated to trawl computer databases, he stubbornly went at it, finding one more item: Ross had purchased a new Range Rover in Aberdeen four years earlier, and he had paid for it in cash. The dealer had no home address or telephone number for the scientist. Earl bet it wouldn’t have been Durham at any rate. Had he been living there or some other place in Scotland?

Earl gave his team the task of answering that question, but that datum also suggested that Sally and Earl should pay Mrs. Simmons another visit. It was time to tell her that her little brother’s life wasn’t what she’d thought it was.

***

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“Inspector Steve Morgan” novels. You met DI Morgan in The Klimt Connection. In these three stories, he has a starring role. In Legacy of Evil, loose ends from Celtic Chronicles are resolved…and then some. The brutal murder of an old man starts things off, and three more occur. In Cult of Evil, Morgan’s team has a cult murder to contend with, and an assassin after Morgan adds an additional worry. In Fear the Asian Evil, the sister-in-law of Morgan’s sergeant is shot, and pursuing her shooter leads the team to a spy network. As a set, these three novels represent an ideal holiday gift for your family and friends who love British crime stories. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold, just not on Amazon.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Some readers know that I give away most of my short fiction in blog posts (see the “Steve’s Shorts,” “ABC Shorts,” and “Friday Fiction” archives) and as free PDF downloads (see the list on my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page). But there are two free novels you can download as PDFs as well.

Defanging the Red Dragon is a a crossover novel: Half takes place in NYC and features NYPD detectives Chen and Castilblanco; the other half takes place in London and features Esther Brookstone and Bastiann van Coevorden. So, it’s #8 in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” series and #6 in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series.

There’s just one plot, though: China is trying to steal Australia, the UK, and the US’s plans for new software and hardware upgrades to their nuclear submarines. (Remember the past scandal caused when Australia bailed out on the project with the French? That left egg on Biden’s face!) This novel’s spy-fi with a lot of mystery, suspense and thrills…and it’s free.

Intolerance is a complete shift. Esther Brookstone is involved in three different cases: A cold case from Ireland, the case of an old soldier murdered at a nursing home, and a case involving domestic terrorism. (That last case isn’t completely resolved and continues in The Klimt Connection, #8 in the “Esther Brookstone” series.) All three cases consider various aspects of intolerance, something that seems to be tearing apart civilized societies with uncivilized acts of terror.

Why did I make these novels free? The easy answer: Because I could! But a better reason might be that I didn’t know at the time if I wanted to publish any more Esther Brookstone books. I was going through “a rough patch,” as the Brits might say, and didn’t know if I could continue the mental marathons that novel writing requires me to run. Defanging the Red Dragon was also a holiday gift to my readers, as you can see from its title page. Readers can consider them both gifts, in fact.

While you can still jump directly from Leonardo and the Quantum Code to The Klimt Connection in the “Esther Brookstone” series (I provide enough background in #8 to allow you to do that without reading #6 and #7), a simple click will give you two free novels to read this holiday season. You can even download the two PDFs and give copies to your family and friends (as long as you respect the copyright).

[Note from Steve: This is the second story about the “Earl of Penrith.” There might be a third. Stay tuned.]

The Recruit

Copyright 2022, Steven M. Moore

They kept the investigation focused. Normally for a major case, Earl would get help from other stations in the Penrith Police District. His DCI agreed with the MI5 agent, though, so Earl and Sally had to make do with three of their station’s DCs along with a SOCOs’ unit if needed.

That was why Sally showed up alone to talk with Kathy Kilborn, Simon’s girlfriend who worked at a gift shop in a nearby village. After the usual introductions, Kathy invited the DS to a storeroom in the shop’s rear to get away from the worried looks of the storeowner who’d already told Sally that she loved Kathy as if she were her own daughter.

“She means well, sergeant, and she’s very nice to me, always saying that I should marry Simon.”

“When did you last see him?” Answer: The day before the shooting. Sally nodded. “The repair shop’s owner said Simon had decided to work late on some toff’s car.”

“Yes, I think the car’s owner promised him a nice bonus to finish the repairs ahead of schedule. Did the repair shop’s owner say anything else?”

Sally almost felt Kathy was running the interview. “He said Simon closed up things like he always does.”

Kathy nodded. “He often works late because he lives right above the shop. He says we can’t get married until we can manage a flat somewhere.”

“Did you try calling his mobile?”

“He doesn’t have one. He uses the phone in the repair shop, or my moby when he’s with me. My parents pay for mine as part of a family plan.”

Sally’s next question danced around the truth. She hadn’t provided the young girl with details about what had occurred at the farm. “Do you know if Simon has any enemies?”

“Heavens no! Even strangers like him, but, to be honest, he doesn’t have many friends. Me, my parents, his boss, my boss—that’s about it. He’s from down south. Cardiff area, I think. No family, though.”

“No violent pub barneys or drinking or drug problems? Other problems with the law?” Sally had already checked HOLMES. A negative shake of the head from Kathy confirmed the lack of a record on that police database, but the last question had also been a test to see if she knew about his past in Northumberland that had been erased when Simon went into witness protection.

“He’s a saint. I fell for him the day he came in here to buy his boss a pipe for his birthday.” She smiled. “My Pops smokes one, so I could make a few good recommendations. He didn’t want to go into Penrith because he doesn’t have a car.”

She’s quite smitten, thought Sally. “Has he met your parents?” The answer to that could indicate how serious the relationship really was.

“Two dinners. Pops was impressed, and Mum, who’s so protective of me and my little sister, told me he was a keeper.”

Would they still feel that way if they saw that video? “We might want to talk to your parents. Would that be possible?”

“I suppose. I don’t want them to think he’s in trouble with the law, though.”

“We’ll be clear about that and just say he’s missing, which he is, and we’re worried about him.”

“They will be too. So will my boss when I tell her why you’re here.”

“That’s all you can tell them for now. We’ll keep you informed.”

Sally didn’t want the worried young woman to know anything more. She was a complete innocent.

***

Earl had sent some SOCOs to the bedsit above the repair shop. After talking some more to Tim Dalton, Simon’s boss—he’d given the SOCOs a copy of the key—Earl climbed the stairs and stuck his head in the open door.

He saw that most of the SOCOs were still back at the farm. The newer building on the hill had been confirmed to be a drugs lab. Earl had informed the drugs unit but refrained from mentioning Simon’s history or the connection of the case to MI5 and NCA. That unit would be busy enough tracing that lab back to the two gangs because the ones on site hadn’t survived. Earl did want them all in jail, though.

Harry, the SOCOs’ leader, was in Simon’s bedsit, though, with one of his minions.

“Anything yet of note?” he said to the lead SOCO who waddled up to him looking like a NASA astronaut on a Mars mission. With the Yanks’ Artemis mission successes, one had to wonder when the first one might occur. Or would that jerk Elon Musk be successful with his own plans? Or the Chinese who still seemed to be chomping at the bit even though their economy was in a shambles now, something they caused themselves.

“Only that there seems to be a woman’s touch in play. Very neat and orderly. Two sets of fingerprints. Not much of anything else.”

“Easier to have a few trysts here with his girlfriend, I suppose, than at her parents’ house.”

“There’s a box of condoms. Is her name Kathy Kilborn?” Earl nodded. “That’s on several receipts we found in a bureau drawer. For the condoms and some takeaway, although there’s no rubbish corresponding to the latter. Clean place for a bachelor, I dare say.”

“A serious relationship then. Nothing wrong with that as long as the lad isn’t being abusive with the lass. No sign of drugs, weapons, or ammo?”

The SOCO waved a hand at the bedsit. “It seems there’s not enough space here to hide even that penknife. But we’ll keep looking, though.”

At that moment, Earl received a message. He checked his mobile and read it. Sally was meeting him at the parents’ house.

***

Kathy’s father was a handyman who worked in the area with the parents’ home as base; her mother was a seamstress who worked in the house. Sally could understand how Kathy had such a good disposition and seemed so nice because both parents were like that. She could see her Guv liked them too.

“Simon’s a good bloke,” Kevin Kilborn told them. “Fixed my truck for free, the lad did. Helped me load it for my next day’s work too, when he was here for dinner. Treats Kathy right too, he does.”

“Says we’re the family he never had,” Marsha Kilborn said with a smile.

“Marra, that lad has good son-in-law potential.” The father said that to Earl but flashed a wink at Sally afterward.

“Did he ever talk about his family?” Earl said, wondering if Simon had divulged anything about his troubles in Northumberland.

“Seems like he’d been in the foster system in Wales,” Kevin said. “Reading between the lines, as it were. That’s always tough. Young ones always do better in a loving family, even if it’s a poor one like ours.” He thought a moment, but Earl had learned patience. The man shook his head. “Can’t think of anything specific. Kept himself to himself a lot, so the missus and I think he’d just as soon forget about his early years.”

No surprise, thought Sally. She glanced at Earl to see if he wanted her to jump in. He nodded. “Do you think he’d be able to support your daughter?”

“Handy with his hands, he is,” Kevin said. “And he could help me a lot when he has time off at the repair shop, though I wouldn’t be surprised if his boss gives him more duties as well. He already closes up a lot. He’s a good worker, sergeant. So my answer is yes.” Martha nodded.

“Do you have any idea where we might find him?” Sally said.

Kevin glanced at this wife; she shook her head. “We’re worried. That repair shop’s in a seedy area. We’re afraid something has happened to that young man. He’s never disappeared before.”

“Couldn’t he just have taken some time off? Maybe he felt trapped in his relationship with Kathy?”

“Heavens no! They were already engaged in a sense,” Martha said. “But he couldn’t yet afford a ring. That’s why she invited him to dinner. He has plans, that young man. They revolved around Kathy, but he has ambition. Wants to open his own repair shop. Smart as a whip, he is. Not school smart, but practical.”

“Always knew what to do,” Kevin said. “Caught on to installing quarter-round right off, he did, just by watching me.”

“Excuse me?” Sally saw Earl smile.

“That’s tricky when going around corners,” Earl said.

“Aye, you have to miter it just right,” Kevin said. He sighed. “My old knees aren’t so good anymore, so he scooted along the floor and finished in a flash a task I had.”

“I gather those plans included marrying your daughter and staying in the area?” Earl said.

“Told us that,” Martha said. “We believed him. He wouldn’t just do a runner, not that lad.”

“Do you know about any pub brawls or other incidents? Did anyone have it in for him?”

Sally saw that Earl was dancing around the truth too.

“I don’t even think he drank all that much,” Kevin said. “We’d each do a pint, but that was about it. Not typical, I dare say—young lads these days like the drink too much—but I figured that maybe one or both of his birth parents could have been sots, and he hadn’t liked that. In any case, everyone he met seemed to like him. At least, that’s what Kathy has told us. She saw more of how he related to people, of course.” Kevin cleared his throat and Martha nodded. “He even had patience with toffs and their rich men’s cars at the repair shop. They can be…” He searched for the right words. “Rather demanding, let’s say. I see that in my own work as well. Bloke has to have patience when dealing with the rich snobs who think they’re better than common folk.”

***

The SOCOs found the gun. They’d spotted a loose ceiling tile above the bedsit’s counter and sink. Simon had expertly broken down the Chinese Uzi-copy.

Did that mean that Simon had done a runner despite what Kathy’s parents had said? Earl wouldn’t blame him if he had. Witness protection had failed to protect him. He was probably only alive because the two local gangs weren’t sure whether the Newcastle syndicate wanted him alive. But after Simon had killed eight gang members, they now probably wanted him dead no matter what that Newcastle gang wanted.

“Someone must know where he is if he stayed in the area, Guv,” Sally said. “He can’t be that familiar with the Lake District. There are places I don’t even know about, and I’ve been here a while, but how could he find them?”

“Aye, there be plenty of places out among our wonderful natural treasures. A fishing cabin on some secluded lake, a cave in the mountains. Who knows?”

“But he wouldn’t know about any of those. He had no time for tourism. He was working 24/7, it seems.”

Earl nodded. “I see your point.” He thought a moment. “There are two blokes who seem to have earned Simon’s trust, Tim Dalton, his boss at the repair shop, and Kevin Kilborn, Kathy’s father. He’s worked with both of them. Working men can become close mates.”

“Over pints at the pub,” Sally said with a smile. “As far as we know, Simon didn’t frequent them.”

“Um, no money, no time. But he’s still close to those men. Let’s visit Dalton first and then Kilborn, if only for lack of better ideas. The spooks at MI5 are depending on us.”

Sally saw his grimace. Her Guv didn’t like either MI5 or NCA. She was more ambivalent and liked Rick Barnes.

***

They found Tim Dalton hard at work on a van. He took a break to have a mash with them. They got no joy from him about where Simon might be hiding, but the mash came with biscuits that were good.

“Missus baked them just last night,” the big man had said, patting his large belly.

They moved on to find Kilborn in a similar situation. He dusted spackling dust from his overalls, shook hands, and then sat on a rock wall to answer their questions. Sally perched on the step up to his truck parked next to the wall, and Earl stood on either side.

“’Ave no idea where that lad might have gone, like I said before. ‘Tis very strange. Maybe the missus was a bit pushy ‘bout marriage. When we married, we lived in a bedsit smaller than Simon’s at first, poor as poor can be. Without the Council housing, we’d still be homeless. Them and the NHS, who saved Martha when she gave birth to Kathy, are services that will forever make me vote against the damned Tories. ‘Course the recent ones have carried on the Iron Lady’s policies without being half as smart as she were. We’d have lost World War Two if they’d been in charge instead of Winnie.”

Earl only half-listened to the workingman’s twisted version of English history that had a ring of truth to it. With only two dinners at the Kilborn house, could Kevin be that close to Simon? But factoring in the truck’s repair and that story about quarter-round, one had to consider that manly discussions might have occurred.

“Did you ever talk about the Lake District, Kevin? Things to do that don’t cost too much money?”

“Sure. I go fishing from time to time. We talked about that. Man talk. Women are generally bored with fishing.”

Bingo, thought Earl.

***

What was the Yanks’ adage about failures? thought Earl. Something related to their version of cricket. The answer came to him after they failed to find Simon at the first two fishing spots Kevin had recommended to the lad. Three strikes and you’re out! Earl turned to face the handyman in the backseat of the station’s pool car.

“Those two spots were a bit questionable, to say the least.”

“Aye, but those twitchers’ blinds still make good spots to seek refuge when the cold winds come roaring down from the mountains. Beats being out on the lakes in a rowboat.”

“You couldn’t start a fire in them for a mash or fish fry. They’d catch fire with one spark. All dead, dry wood.”

“I always have a thermos and packs me catch in wet moss, Inspector. ‘Tis easier to clean the fish at home.”

Earl bet Martha liked that.

“Do you ever run into twitchers?” Sally said without taking her eyes off the narrow and muddy road they were now on that was worse than the first two.

“They’re more common than the birds themselves during summer months, but not where I fish. And those two are old. Next one’s a bit newer, but more distant. We’ll have more of a hike too, so you’ll need your wellies back on, sergeant.”

Earl and Kevin still had theirs, but Sally had removed hers to drive.

Kevin told Sally to pull over when the road widened a bit. “‘Tis a walk from here.”

“And quite a walk from Simon’s bedsit,” Earl said.

“‘Member that wee café we passed?”

Read the rest of this entry »

Even though I know you’re suffering with all the hustle and bustle and blather and twaddle associated with the ubiquitous commercialization of the holidays, I’ll still start this post with some commercials from the sponsors of this blog. (Hey, that’s me!)

Books make good gifts for the readers in your circle of family and friends (assuming they’re readers like you). They’re easy to wrap and send (especially ebooks!), and they’re a far better and less dangerous entertainment than the neighborhood’s lightshows (remember that Chevy Chase movie?), new dog walkers out walking the kid’s new dog without a leash (young dogs have sharp teeth), or neighbors with their AR-style rifles looking to start an argument about how much fire your BBQ produces. In fact, they generally offer better quality entertainment than a streaming video subscription or a new computer game.

All my books are available in ebook format wherever quality ebooks are sold. (The latest ones just aren’t on Amazon, but who says that giant retailer sells anything of quality?) If you want print format, try the mystery-thriller The Midas Bomb or the hard sci-fi thriller yet Game-of-Thrones-like Rogue Planet; or A. B. Carolan’s sci-fi mysteries for young adults (and adults who are young at heart), The Secret Lab, The Secret of the Urns, and Mind Games—all of these are available in both ebook and print formats and reasonably priced. (You’ll spend more at MacDonald’s and have a healthy meal for your mind!)

I can also offer some freebies: Check out the list of free PDF downloads found on my “Free Stuff & Contests” web page—two free “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” novels, Defanging the Red Dragon and Intolerance, are even on that list! (One occurs at holiday time in NYC and London!)

Holiday greetings. Now the above commercial messages weren’t all that painful, were they? And we have them out of the way, so there’s still some time for holiday greetings.

Human beings are so damn creative that they’ve created many ways to celebrate the winter solstice and the beginning of winter. (Maybe more to mourn the dying of the light and have a funeral for the old year?) Most of these traditional celebrations have their origins in the northern hemisphere and are a simple consequence of the Earth’s axis tilt. Those origins are interesting if only because that tilt affects the entire globe, of course, yet the same calendar holidays are celebrated at the same time in southern climes when it’s summer! (I suppose there are older cultures in the southern hemisphere that celebrate their coming of winter in July, but I’ll leave it to readers to tell me about them.)

In any case, to all those celebrants around the globe, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!

And that’s all I’ll write about this for the rest of 2022! I have my own shopping to do!

***

Comments are always welcome! (Please follow the rules on the “Join the Conversation” web page. If you don’t, your comment will become spam.)

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Yes, my fiction is often complex. I sometimes receive that critique and then ignore it. You see, I don’t do simple; I refuse to write fluff. Even my comedy is complex; the rom-com The Time Traveler’s Guide through the Multiverse is hard sci-fi, and a lot in it informs and goes far beyond the fluff one often sees in that rom-com genre. (Did you know a secret op took place in Norway and destroyed the Nazi’s heavy-water production facility during WWII, helping to put an end to Hitler’s plans to develop the atomic bomb?) My stories’ plots, settings, and themes are designed to inform readers as much as (hopefully) entertain them.

I also inform readers and writers with my end notes. While many probably ignore them, nearly every book has them. I discuss what motivated me to write the story and offer references for further reading; I also acknowledge the real people who influenced the novel. I’m guessing people don’t read them because they’re not used to seeing such artistic candor? Most authors don’t bother. But both readers and writers can benefit from the information contained in them.

Of course, this blog also offers a wealth of information contained in these articles about reading, writing, and publishing. While my ideas on those subjects have evolved (and perhaps have become more acerbic and less mainstream?), I modestly believe that they inform readers of the blog about what goes on in this modern world of storytelling. (For writers and maybe readers, my course “Writing Fiction” collects many of those ideas. It’s a free PDF download available on the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page.)

All too often, authors only see their writing as a business and determine success by sales figures. I’ve never thought that way. Instead, I believe every author has an obligation to give something back to the community of writers, readers, and publishers (yes, even those associated with the Big Five and its sycophantic cadre of agents, although those authors never do), offering information others can use (or ignore at their own peril!), facts they might not know but can appreciate, and perspectives about our wonderfully diverse world and its peoples that can enrich their lives. I want to do my small part in achieving that.

Of course, I want to be true to myself and stick by my opinions, but I’ll often present the viewpoint of “the other side” in my prose. I will not be the next Ayn Rand or Karl Marx and write pure fiction that’s propaganda, but I might have characters who espouse libertarian or communist ideas. I realize that the spectrum of human beliefs and behavior is a wide one, and I want my prose to reflect that. Human beings are also political, and so I want my characters to be political as well. Fiction has to reflect reality; simple fluff never does!

***

Comments are always welcome. (Please follow the rules on the “Join the Conversation” web page. If you don’t, your comment is considered to be spam.)

Fear the Asian Evil. This third book in the “Inspector Steve Morgan” series might seem ripped from the headlines after reports that President Biden strongly warned President-for-Life Xi about invading Taiwan. The book deals more with China’s long-standing policy of industrial espionage—they’d rather steal ideas than have to invent them—and fomenting unrest in western democracies. While it starts out as a typical police procedural—the sister-in-law of Morgan’s sergeant is shot—it acquires a spy-fi flavor that goes far beyond Christie’s typical British-style mysteries. Available wherever quality ebooks are sold (but not on Amazon).

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!