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!

[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

DI Earl Wilson was already walking around the crime scene leaving DS Sally Hill to other chores. She’d be taking notes on her moby too, mostly about the obvious; he’d be looking for things that weren’t so obvious. They were a good team.

He 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.

Sally 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 political meaning intended—the area along the border with Scotland was a conservative one.

Twenty years younger than her guv’nor, 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.

“Seven combatants dead, lass. Looks like Fallujah or some other killing fields in the Middle East, not here in our Lake District.”

“Um, I recognize this bloke, Guv,” Sally said, bending over one of the bodies to study the face, its features distorted by the rictus of death. “Ed Chance, muscle for the Crystal Boys. Clean shot to the heart.”

“Turf war between two gangs then? Who’s invading whose patch?”

“Being as near to each other as they are, I’d think they joined forces and were pursuing someone.”

“Going after some yob who betrayed both gangs? Isn’t greed wonderful?” He’d already moved far away from the inglorious seven. Across a pretty lea and about a soccer field away, he halted. “Blood traces here. Whoever they were after stood his ground and blew them all away. Weird.” Earl picked up one shell. “Automatic weapon. Maybe a Chinese copy of an Uzi? We see more of those than the Americans’ AR-style rifles. None of them legal outside our ARUs or military units, of course. And I don’t think our Rambo wasted much ammo. I count only ten shell casings. So maybe a semi-automatic?” His gaze became more distant as he surveyed the abandoned farm. “If this place were drier and had a bit of sagebrush, I’d compare the bloke who did this to the Earps at OK Corral.” He spotted the pathologist and SOCOs’ vans moving up the track that led to the farm’s main buildings. He pointed. “We’ll let Harry and his science lads and Doc Simpson do their bit here. Let’s take a look down there.” He pointed to the main buildings nestled in a dale. “Our morning exercise, lass.”

In the old farmhouse, they found some interesting evidence. An empty sitting room contained only one chair. Ropes that had been sliced through still hung from it. There were some blood traces on the old rug around the chair, new stains to add some color to the old ones.

“Someone was being held here.”

“And maybe tortured?” Sally said.

“But he managed to escape. Our lone shooter with the Uzi copy?”

She walked around the rest of the sitting room and visited the outside hall while he went into the kitchen that featured a relic from the past, a handsome wood stove. In the back corner by the door, he found something more interesting than the stove.

“Lass, back here,” he called out. When she appeared, he pointed to the corpse. “Might be who had the task of guarding the prisoner?” A penknife was sticking in the man’s neck, its damage leaving the man’s head resting in a large pool of blood. Using his many years of experience, Earl put all the data together to make a tentative theory. “Crystal Boys and/or the other gang holds the bloke for whatever reason, he escapes his one guard while they’re off somewhere else, kills the guard, and does a runner, taking the guard’s weapon along as a memento. The gang members return and chase him, he stops and turns, and blows them away.”

“Good enough theory for now. But how does the other gang come to be here?”

Earl shrugged. “They were both after the yob. Maybe he was a snout working against both of them? They were either in business together or temporarily joined forces to take him down, but everyone forgot he had the guard’s weapon.”

“Harry and his SOCOs might be able to refine your theory.”

“Or show it’s completely wrong. In any case, seven gang members, no, eight, counting this yobbie here, are dead. That’s a miracle. Eight against one. And don’t forget the bloke was able to cut through those ropes binding him. He’s good.”

“Admiring him, are you?”

Earl shrugged again. “Enjoying it, I dare say. Eight gang members we no longer have to worry about in our patch, I dare say. And maybe a message to scrotes elsewhere? Is Ed Chance from Manchester?”

“One of their local reps, if memory serves.”

Earl nodded and pulled out his mobile. He told Harry Simpson, the lead SOCO, that his team would need to go over the farm buildings after finishing their work at the shooting site.

“Now the question becomes: Why were all these lovely maggots who live in England’s underbelly here at this old farm?”

They were outside now. She pointed. “There’s a newer building up on the hill, Earl.” He squinted. The lead SOCO was still on the line. That building was nearer the SOCOs, so Earl suggested to Harry that they hit that building first.

“Katie thinks it has surveillance cameras,” the SOCO said, referring to one of his team members.

“It might be why all these thugs were here,” Earl said. “I’m willing to bet the gangs were using the abandoned farm for a manufacturing plant. Fine-tooth comb and all that, lad, and some surveillance video would be much appreciated.”

***

Hours later, Sally and Earl were examining their third surveillance video. The newer building had been a lab to make illegal or controlled pills, and a lot of product was still there, hence the videocams. Number three was wide-angle and provided a panoramic view of the shootout in the vale below.

It was like watching an action film on the telly. A young man came running out of the old farmhouse. Gang members from that same farmhouse poured out in pursuit. Earl thought the young bloke might be between twenty- and thirty-years-old. The seven gained on him because he was limping slightly. Why didn’t they shoot? Suddenly their quarry turned and sprayed them all with bullets. He then disappeared behind the same hill where the drugs lab sat on top, going out of the range of all the cameras.

“Wow!” said Earl.

“I agree!”

They’d been so engrossed in the action that they hadn’t realized that a tall stranger now filled Earl’s office doorframe.

He stood. “Who the hell are you? How’d you get into our CID? And how long have you been watching?”

The stranger smiled. “Rick Barnes, MI5 agent, at your service.” He offered a handshake to Earl, who ignored the offer as if the hand belonged to a zombie-like Putin. The stranger then showed his credentials. “Duty sergeant waved me through and no one else tried to stop me. And I saw most of what you saw. It has increased my appreciation for that lad’s skill.”

“Okay. Just what do you want? Why is MI5 interested in this case?”

Read the rest of this entry »

I often think of tweens and teens these days; how they’ll make out in the world we leave them, the new trials and tribulations awaiting them that previous generations didn’t have to survive, and so forth. Like everyone else, they were affected by the Covid-19 pandemic, but their lives were more adversely affected and interrupted than those of adults. Moreover, because they’re on the path of turning into adults, they’ll have intense adolescent problems to contend with long forgotten about by most adults plus a mountain of new ones to climb.

That’s how I became interested in young adult (YA) literature. I’d read Heinlein’s Podkayne of Mars as a kid long ago and immediately liked that novel about teen angst set in the future, something I and my nerdy cohort could easily identify with. Later, with that fond memory, I knew I had to try writing a YA novel. I didn’t embark on that marathon immediately. As I did with my mystery and crime novels, I studied what was “out there.” (That included those Harry Potter books, which taught me what not to do. Thank you, J.K.!) As with the mystery and crime stories, I discovered that sci-fi and YA literature weren’t incompatible, just like Heinlein had indicated.

My first YA sci-fi novel, The Secret Lab, was a sci-fi mystery set on the International Space Station (ISS) far in the future when families with tweens, not just astronauts, form a tight-knit little community living aboard a much-enlarged station. This YA novel’s timeline coincides with what was going on Earth below as the “downies” struggle through the Chaos in the hard sci-fi novel I titled Survivors of the Chaos.

In the two YA sci-fi novels after that one, we followed J. K. Rowling’s trajectory a bit: Tween to young teen and on to older teen, in The Secret Lab, The Secret of the Urns, and Mind Games, respectively. I say “we” because A. B. Carolan rewrote, reedited, and republished The Secret Lab and then authored the next two novels. But, in another major difference with Rowling’s fantasy series, besides those three novels being hard sci-fi as well as YA, their young heroes were all girls. Why is that?

You might think it was because of Podkayne? No, I had more a more profound reason that A. B. fully agreed with: Too many YA authors refuse to recognize young girls’ importance! (That’s true in general, of course, probably more so.) Young women aren’t sexual objects or childhood brides. They’re not men’s slaves. They’re not breeders who should stay home taking care of men’s children. Good things happen in societies when they can be creatives—artists, storytellers, techies, and scientists—even entrepreneurs, and yes, politicians. Our societies only have to give them the chance to realize their full potential to reap the benefits!

I’ll leave it to MFA students’ theses to analyze how many YA heroes are girls. Heinlein, of course, was a pioneer when he created Podkayne. I’d still bet the number of male YA heroes is larger than the number of female ones. Having known and admired many strong women in my long life, and having taught many years in academia where girls are often told they can’t do math or science (today called STEM), it was easy to get motivated and create Shashibala in The Secret Lab, Asako in The Secret of the Urns, and Della in Mind Games. (Readers will note that A. B. and I have followed the timeline of the three books in the “Chaos Chronicles Trilogy”—making a YA version of each one, if you will.) These three girls are young female heroes who represent the future power of women that lamentably is only beginning to be unleashed in some of Earth’s current societies.

Hopefully, I can get A. B. to finish the “Denisovan Trilogy.” His Kayla Jones could really kick ass in Origins! (That novel is not set in my usual sci-fi universe, but it’s hero is still a young adult female—something like a wizard, in fact, so take that, J.K.!)

***

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Three A. B. Carolan YA sci-fi mysteries. They’re listed above. The Secret Lab has Shashibala and her friends out to find a cat loose in the ISS. In the process, they uncover a conspiracy. The Secret of the Urns finds Asako befriending some strange ETs living on an Earth-sized moon of a Jupiter-sized planet. Humans are persecuting the ETs, and Asako wants to stop the persecution. Mind Games has Della trying to find her foster father’s killer. She has to use her ESP powers fully to thwart a plan to take over the fledgling ITUIP (“International Trade Union of Independent Planets”). These three novels, available in both ebook and print format wherever quality books are sold (even on Amazon—they were published before our boycott), would make a great holiday gift for the young adults among your family and friends. Many adults who are young-at-heart have also enjoyed them!

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

I have a few series—seven, not counting A. B. Carolan’s—and Vladimir Kalinin has the role of arch-villain in four of them and in two bridge books between them. He also influences many of the events in a fifth, because five of the seven series are on the same fictional timeline that starts with The Midas Bomb and ends with Rogue Planet. (Both have paper editions if you’re interested.) I don’t know if that’s a new record for one fiction author, but it’s certainly evidence for Vladimir’s long criminal career.

Why do I keep returning to him? (Most recently, I did that in the “Inspector Steve Morgan” series, located midway along that timeline.) It’s complicated! He’s a complex and interesting villain, for one thing. While not afraid to commit violence to further his many nefarious schemes, he shows flashes of caring and compassion that could make readers used to simpler villains scratch their heads. While using his genius to gain influence and riches, a true master of the art of the deal, he also sometimes exhibits admirable feelings for his fellow human beings that can be surprising. His long friendship with Sean Cassidy, the old ex-pat Irish bomber, for example, which lasts all the way to No Amber Waves of Grain, is as solid as any friendship between strong personalities can be. In fact, they’ve formed more of a close partnership in which they trust each other more than their many accomplices.

But Vladimir also obsesses about revenge, a very human emotion. His long pursuit of Putin’s oligarchs is aimed at paying them back for forcing him to flee his native Russia when Putin grabbed power there. He’s also always thinking about revenge against those NYPD cops, Chen and Castilblanco, although he respects them and others for having thwarted him. He does eventually manage to take revenge against some oligarchs and other enemies, in particular the oligarch in Gaia and the Goliaths and the Korean industrialist who killed his protégé in No Amber Waves of Grain. Yet he’s not above trying to assassinate a few US presidents—he succeeds with a second attempt on one in Soldiers of God.

Many literary critics see authors’ villains as representations of authors’ dark sides. That’s not the reason Vladimir has appeared in so much of my fiction, though. Instead, he’s evidence for my belief that no one is purely good or evil. That yin-yang simplification so ubiquitous in fictional fluff isn’t justified because human beings are so complex. If fiction is to seem real, its plots and characters must both seem real as well.

A good thesis for an MFA graduate student (do they even do them?) might be following Kalinin’s career from The Midas Bomb to Soldiers of God and on to his influences beyond that, i.e. following my extended timeline. Because I don’t write all these novels in sequential order, that wouldn’t be a trivial task. And that student might prove that my development of Kalinin, if followed sequentially along that fictional timeline, is as complex and chaotic as his character seems to be!

***

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

Here’s a question you might be dying to ask: How is it that an old half-Irish curmudgeon (my desktop’s scene is a photo I took of Ireland’s Blarney Castle!) enjoys writing about British detectives? (Some of them are Celtic, though—Irish, Scottish, and Welsh.) I started down that road with Esther Brookstone and have written twelve novels that can be called British-style mysteries, which include the three “Inspector Steve Morgan” novels as the most recent ones.

The answer isn’t what you might think. While I’ve always been an internationally oriented author—about half the “Chen & Castilblanco” series takes place outside the US—and I’ve spent a lot of time outside the country, that international perspective, while unusual among American authors, that doesn’t completely explain my recent focus on British-style sleuthing. In fact, there are two more important factors: One, I loved reading Christie’s stories as a kid, and survived Covid-19 by reading entire series of British-style mysteries; and two, Asimov’s two sci-fi mysteries, Caves of Steel and The Naked Sun, also read at an early age, showed me that mystery tales could be more universal than any other category of fiction. Christie barely probed into the possibilities. (That binge-reading didn’t either.)

Rembrandt’s Angel, the first book in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” series was written more as a personal challenge to myself to put together Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, Christie’s two famous sleuths, and create a twenty-first century crime-fighting duo, something I always considered an error Christie made. (Brookstone is a modern Miss Marple; and her paramour and later husband, van Coevorden, is a modern Hercule Poirot.) But those two more general motivations remained.

A writer-friend among Black Opal Book’s authors writes mysteries set in ancient Egypt. Another sci-fi writer writes excellent mysteries set far in the future. (I think I’ve reviewed both these authors’ novels a while ago.) Many of my own Dr. Obregon stories are sci-fi mysteries, and, in my binge-reading, I’ve enjoyed mysteries set in the nineteenth century, some even written by Americans. In other words, mystery provides a large umbrella to tuck stories under. Authors and readers should never forget that mystery has that positive influence on fiction literature.

Yes, mystery stories’ characters can be from any country and any ethnicity, and their settings can be from any time and place, even in outer space.

But in my recent works, I returned to mystery’s roots more as an homage: Christie’s Britain, with new twenty-first century wrappings. Despite reforms and reorganizations (the NCA and Police Scotland represent two major examples), policing in the UK is still steeped in tradition. The “Inspector Morgan” novels are much more police procedurals than Rembrandt’s Angel and Son of Thunder, the first two novels in the “Esther Brookstone” series. I’m guessing that this turn in my writing journey might not resonate with UK readers. So be it. It’s a detour I needed to take to round out that part of my writing journey into the strange lands of mystery and crime writing.

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