In a word: Murder

I started off thinking that murder was pretty straight forward, you know, someone pulls out a gun and shoots someone else: murder. Of course, there are any other means of doing the same crime, by knife, poison, strangulation, or suffocation.

Or, by endless inane conversation. Much less chance of going to jail with that one.

Its the stuff that keeps crime writers going, fictional detectives detecting and crime scene investigators analysing.

Still the fact someone might be getting away with murder, means they’ve successfully found a way to have their cake and eat it.

Come to think of it how many times have we used that word in vain, like when a child drives you to distraction, red-faced and you say with a great deal of conviction ‘you do that again I’ll murder you’.

Just make sure it doesn’t actually happen, or those words will come back to haunt you.

But this is only one aspect of using the word.

You could, if you want, scream blue murder, which is literally impossible. In fact, what the does that really mean?

It can also refer to an onerous task or experience, hence the possibility that listening to that discussion about hot water bottles was absolute murder.

For one thing, it probably murdered an hour or two of my time.

It could also describe a comprehensive defeat, that we murdered the other side 86 to nothing. Come to think of it, I never got to participate in such a game, so that might account for why I’d never heard it used before.

And, lastly…

Did you know it can refer to a flock of a particular type of bird, I think crows.

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

The cinema of My Dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 58

It goes exactly as planned

…

We were monitored from the moment we left the hotel. Cecelia had taken up her vantage point, and watched as we came out the front door. Two minutes later she said, quietly, “You’ve got two, man and woman. The woman is in communication with someone. Be careful.”

Francesca didn’t seem to have a care in the world. I suspected she had her phone on so those following us could keep track of when they lost us, but I wouldn’t be dodging and weaving this morning.

“What do you think our chances are of getting snatched off the street in a white van,” I asked her, after about 10 minutes.

“Why?”

“I’ve seen a few. Of course, they might just be delivery vans, and white is a common colour. Perhaps I’m just being paranoid.”

“Perhaps you are.” She gave me a curious look, enough to make me think she might think there might be trouble.

“What happened to Cecelia?”

Juliet was outside the hotel, coming back from a café not far up the road. I noted she had not bought coffee for the other two women.

“Out on a run. She’s one of these fitness freaks, or perhaps it has something to do with keeping in shape for the movies.”

Juliet looked Francesca up and down with the eye of a jealous woman, or so I wanted to believe. It could be that she simply viewed her with suspicion, much the same as I would in her place.

She knew me well enough to know Francesca was not there simply as a visiting friend. But just how curious would she be.

“Another actress friend of yours?”

Francesca views Juliet with a similar look of contempt.

Francesca looked at me. “Who is this woman and what is she talking about. You obviously know each other.”

“Is it that recognisable? This is Juliet, and ye, far back in a long-forgotten past we did spend some time together. And lately, for some strange reason, we keep running into each other. Other than that, she’s staying with the countess and her mother.”

“You brought her to see the countess? Is that wise?”

“No. But I’ve had a long talk to Francesca, that’s her name by the way, and she’s working with people who have the same goal as I have, protecting the countess and making sure she gets to the signing.”

“Who are her people?”

“Need to know Juliet.”

“Well, this is going to be a cat amongst the pigeon’s moment, Evan. You’re up to something, I know it.”

Francesca looked at her, then me, and went to say something, then didn’t. I wished, at that moment, that I could read minds.

In my ear, I could hear Cecelia. “They’ve stopped at the café just up from the hotel and the woman is talking earnestly into the phone. She is probably calling for reinforcements.”

“A white van, no doubt,” I said.

Francesca was beside me. “What about a white van? Did you see one?”

“No. Just muttering to myself.”

Juliet went first as we went into the hotel, over to the elevator, and then up to the room floor. The short distance to the room was slow, running into several other guests who were going down to the lobby.

Juliet was on first-name terms with them.

Cecelia was back. “As you said. A white van went down the alley to the back of the hotel. The two are staying put at the café. It’s either a delivery or your ride. What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing.” Alfie’s voice came on.

“What are you doing here?”

“Joining the party. Leave the van to me. If it is involved, we’ll be on it. If they take any one of the three, and they take their phones, we’ll have a trace. At any rate, I’ve got a car, and will follow the van, if necessary.”

“Ever been told about a party, and then not get an invite,” I asked no one in general.

Juliet gave me a strange look then unlocked the door, went in, I followed, and Francesca came in last and closed the door behind her.

The countess was sitting at the table and looked up. She didn’t recognise Francesca or if she did, she was a good actress.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“A woman who claims she has been hired to protect you too. There seems to be a few of us.”

“Protect or kill?” She stood and backed away. “Why did you bring her here?”

“The old adage, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. She’s better here than out there,” I waved my hand in the general direction of the street.

Francesca didn’t move, and, better still, didn’t produce a gun from her handbag.

“Who do you work for?” the countess asked.

“Anna von Burkehardt. She is very keen for you to make it to the signing alive. She also told us that she would like to have a chat about what you’re going to be doing with the property once the documents are signed. She would like to make you an offer. One, I believe, you can’t refuse.”

It sounded reasonable to me. What wasn’t was that she hadn’t moved from the door. That was a bad sign.

Cecelia again. “I’m on the floor, three hostiles heading to your door. Do you want me to stop them?”

“No.”

Francesca looked at me. “What do you mean no?”

“No, she can’t refuse it, like you said.”

The countess didn’t look particularly impressed with either of us. “That hag has no interest in making any offers other than putting a bullet in the back of my head. Take her away, Evan. She had no interest in protecting me. And, because of your incompetence, now Anna knows where I am.

I saw Francesca turn the handle of the door and quickly step to one side as it burst open. Standing on the side expecting such an entry, I saw the men come in weapons in hand, yelling for us to get on the floor.

Cecelia was in my ear again. “What do you want me to do?”

“Wait. But be ready.”

In the confusion, Francesca was too busy acting the part of a hostage, with adequate parts of fear and cringing on the floor.

One of the men pointed his gun at me. I was not the target.

I just realised that Vittoria was not in the room, so she was outside.

“Watch out for Vittoria,” I said.

Teo men grabbed the countess and gagged her. The one pointing the gun at me went back to the door and looked out. He waved his gun to say the coast is clear, and they quickly went out.

“Let them go. Alf, you better not lose them.”

“I won’t.”

Three minutes and it was over.

I got up and sat against the wall, and watched Francesca slowly raise her head and look around.

When her eyes reached me, she didn’t see my angry face looking at her, she saw a silenced gun pointed at her head.

“What the hell…”

The door opened again, and Cecelia came in, gun aimed, ready to shoot anything that moved. It too, ended up on Francesca.

“One chance. The next thing you tell me better be the truth or I will shoot you dead where you lie. Am I clear?”

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 59

This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.

The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Things are about to get complicated…

With Jan safely in custody, probably for about 15 minutes when Dobbin discovered she was in police hands, Jennifer and I were free to chase up O’Connell and maybe we would also find Anna.

It was a long shot at best.

But we had to find out more about Anna Jacovich. For that, we would have to go back to the office and talk to Joanne. I told Jennifer what I intended to do and dropped her at the safe house for some much-needed rest before we went after O’Connell.

Then, back in the car, I called the number I had for Joanne.

“Sam.”

“Memorised my number?”

“I like to know who’s calling before I answer.”

“Then this isn’t a restricted line?”

“Restricted enough.”

“I found your little toy?”

Did I hear a sigh?

“You know the world we live in Sam, trust no one not even your mother. Hard for me to trust or not trust her, she passed away when I was seven. Monica said you were good. What can I do for you?”

“A full workup on Anna Jacovich. I’m coming into the office now, and will be there in about half an hour.”

“No pressure then?”

“Not at all.”

“Try not to irritate security this time.”

I’m sure I saw a grim expression on the face of the soldier that had been there the last time I tried to run the gauntlet, and then disappointment when my card worked. I signed in and put the name of the department I was visiting down as Research.

When he asked for a name, I gave him Joanne’s. No doubt he would call her long before I got to her.

She met me at the second level of defence and then took me to a room where two folders sat at opposite ends of a table, two desk lamps shining light down on them. The rest of the room was in darkness.

When she shut the door, I said, “Please tell me there in;t a firing squad in black camouflage just waiting to shoot me.”

She smiled. “If it was more sensitive information, I’d let you read it, then have you shot. Not today.

That was a relief. Oddly, I believed that she would if the circumstances warranted it. Joanne was scary, nor scary than Jan. It’s the quiet ones you had to worry about.”

We sat.

“Read. Then I’ll answer questions.”

For the ten minutes, it took me to discover that Anna was a biochemist herself, and had worked in a not-so-secret government laboratory that had been unmasked with disastrous results, adding another dimension to the problem. I was beginning to think she might be the one who created the monster and had set her husband up to take the blame.

If that was the case, she was never going to pass it on to O’Connell or sell it to him, other than to take the money and run. If that was the case, Severin knew it was her all along, and how dangerous she was.

But and there was a big but in all of this. She needed an accomplice to get to England, which was O’Connell. Now he was no longer needed…

Yes, she would also need both Severin and Maury off her tail, and that had been taken care of.

Jan? Unless I completely misread her, it was not possible she could be the accomplice; she was doing what Dobbin requested. Or had she? Dobbin did say she was able to make executive decisions on the fly.

“The threat isn’t O’Connell. He’s just a pawn.”

“Not just a pretty face then?”

“I never regard my face as pretty.”

She shook her head. “It’s Anna. She played Severin and Maury, she played Dobbin, and she played Dobbin’s little toy soldier, O’Connell. Or Quigley I believe his real name is. I hesitate to say O’Connell played you.”

“Call a dog a dog, Joanne. If I had more experience and more information I might have seen that. You can’t keep people in the dark, and then expect miracles.”

“I’m the messenger, Sam.”

“I’ve been known to shoot messengers, just because I can.”

“Save your bullets for the bad guys.”

“How do I know you and Monica are not the bad guys?”

Another shake of the head. “OK. You’ve passed the scepticism test, Sam. Now put it away. We have to work together on this. It’s a condition for continuing to work on the case.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I don’t need to answer that. But, I get it. You’re a self-starter and will keep at it, with or without us. I can see why people like you. To me, your just another dangerous amateur.”

There were words I could say, but judging by the reek of self-aggrandisement, it would not penetrate the thick hide.

I smiled. “Not noted for your charm then.”

“No. Where is Jan?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play games, Sam. They don’t become you. You went to see Severin, but he ended up dead, and she shot him. Why?”

“You read this file?” I picked it up and dropped it on the table.

She was the sort that read the first page, the preamble, and the last page, the result or desired result.

“I did.”

“Then you know why, as for Jan, if you know I was there when Severin was shot, you’d know where Jan is.”

“She disappeared into the trees. And no doubt in the wind. You should know she’s a trained MI5 assassin on loan to Dobbin.”

Who was now in jail somewhere pending the Detective Inspectors leisure, unless she filed a report. If she did, she would be out now, and looking for O’Connell and Anna.

“Then how should I know?”

She shrugged. “I thought I’d ask. I’m not sure I like having to peel away the layers of this story one by one.”

“Be more forthcoming.” I stood. I had what I needed. “If that’s all, I’ll go on with the job.”

“O’Connell?”

“He’s probably dead by now, but I have to find him, one way or another.”

“Keep me in the loop. Monica wants to know.”

“Of course.”

…

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 56

What story does it inspire?

…

…

While the first thought you might have of what this photograph represents might be of the water, yet again, as it is the same place as that of yesterday, in contrast, this was two days later and later in the day.

What fascinated me this time was the clouds.

I have it in mind that we always seem to imagine that very large alien spaceships are going to come out of the clouds, and that one I saw, well, I stood there for a while half expecting to witness the first alien visit.

It’s probably too much to expect that they would come to Australia first before they went to America, and even less so Queensland.

Except of course, they came to see Surfer’s Paradise, stay in one of the many hotels overlooking the beach and ocean, go to one of a zillion restaurants, get in some surfing, or just laze around for a week or so before they did what they came to do.

Just think, your famous catchline could be, “A funny thing happened on the way to the casino … I ran into this group of aliens … or at least I think they were aliens, it’s hard to tell the way our younger generation gets around these days…”

Writing a book in 365 days – 44

Day 44

Why do we do it?

That’s the eternal question asked of nearly every writer/author whether successful or not.

Of course for the successful writer, though it’s hard to put a correct label on what constitutes successful, it’s either because we can make an adequate living out of it, and if it’s not that, for me anyway, it is the life of writing and the joy when someone reads a piece and leaves s review that makes it all worthwhile.

It’s not always about the money.

Most writers have a day job and squirrel themselves away in a variety of places they call their writing space and yoil long into the night, or over the weekends, trying to fit in everything else.

For most out happy times are when we are constructing a story, lost in another world, away from the everyday hustle bustle and problems usually left behind when the kids go to sleep.

I’m sure I would like to travel the world but it would only to be in search of locations of my stories, there is no such thing as a holiday that is just a holiday, and there’s a reason why Venice is a favoured location, as is London, as is New York.

These days when my other half is visiting doctors, hospitals, and specialists, those long hours in the waiting room are spent conjuring up new stories, working on current projects and just dreaming.

We spend a lot of time in these places, and she gets to read and I get to write. I’m sure a lot of the others wonder what it is that I am up to. Our GP whom we visit at least once a month and the wait can be up to about an hour has noticed when he comes out to call us in, and always asks what I’m up to.

If I didn’t have something to write, I think I would go bonkers.

Searching for locations: The Mary Valley Rattler, Gympie, Queensland, Australia

I have a passion for visiting transport museums, to see old trains, planes, buses, cars, even ships if it’s possible.

This has led to taking a number of voyages on the TSS Earnslaw in Queenstown, New Zealand.

Many, many, many years ago on Puffing Billy, a steam train in the Dandenongs, Victoria, Australia.

The steam train in Kingston, New Zealand, before it was closed down, but hopefully it will reopen sometime in the future.

The London Transport Museum in London England, which had a lot of buses.

The Workshops Railway Museum in Ipswich, Queensland, where once the many steam engines were built and maintained, and now had only a handful of engines remaining.

However, in the quest for finding and experiencing old transportation methods, we came across the Mary Valley Rattler, which runs out of Gympie, Queensland, Australia.

The ride begins in Gympie at the old Gympie Railway station, and as can be seen below, is one of the relics of the past, and, nothing like the new more modern stations. Thankfully.

If you’re going to have a vintage train, then you have to have a vintage station.

The Class of engine, seen below, is the C17, a superheated upgrade to the C16 it was based on, and first run in 1903. This particular engine was built in 1951, although the first of its type was seen in 1920 and the last of 227 made in 1953. It was the most popular of the steam engines used by Queensland Railways.

The C designation meant it had four driving axels and 17 was the diameter of the cylinder, 17 inches. It is also known as a 4-8-0 steam locomotive
and nicknamed one of the “Brown Bombers” because of its livery, brown with green and red trimming.

Also, this engine was built in Maryborough, not far from Gympie by Walkers Limited, one of 138.

This photo was taken as the train returned from Amamoor, a trip that takes up to an hour.

The locomotive is detached from the carriages, then driven to the huge turntable to turn around for the return journey to Amamoor.

This is the locomotive heading down to the water station, and then taking on water. After that, it will switch lines, and reverse back to reconnect the carriages for the trip to Amamoor.

The carriages are completely restored and are extremely comfortable. It brings back, for me, many memories of riding in older trains in Melbourne when I was a child.

The trains, then, were called Red Rattlers.

This is the locomotive climbing one of the hilly parts of the line before crossing over the Mary River on a trestle bridge.

This is the engine at Amamoor near the picnic area where young children and excited parents and grandparents can get on the locomotive itself and look inside where the driver sits.

And, no, I didn’t volunteer to shovel coal.

This particular locomotive spent most of its working life between Townsville and Mount Isa and was based in Cloncurry, Charters Towers, and Townsville, before being sent, at the end of its useful days in the late 1960s, to the Ipswich Railway Workshops.

The day is disappearing, and nothing is getting done

…
Do you have days when you feel like you’ve achieved nothing, even after getting through what might appear to be a lot? It’s the ancillary stuff that’s the bugbear of anyone who simply wants to get on with what’s important, and that’s writing.

You know, sit down in front of a blank page on the computer, for on your writing desk, if you have one, ready for the words to come.

Except there’s the email to check.

Then there are ads to be sent out on Twitter and the general Twitter feed to look at just to keep up with what’s happening out there.

Then there’s the news usually that arrives on my desktop computer, the feed from the major papers around the world, for me, the New York Times, in the US, the Times in The UK and the Australian, in my country.

And, dammit, each has a challenging crossword that I really don’t have time to do, well, not in the morning.

Then there’s the stuff that has to be done around the house, I’m home but my wife still works so there’s washing, cooking, and domestics to be done which eats into the day.

Sometimes it’s not until mid-morning before I get to sit down with a cup of tea.

The point is, it’s not conducive to writing during the day because you can’t get a run at it, time enough to think about what you’re going to write before committing it to paper.

That is, before the phone rings with another scammer, and breaks your concentration. Right, I hear you, cut the phone off.

So, three phone calls later, I’m about to give up. It’s time to get the dinner on with family coming. Perhaps I’ll have a few bottles of beer instead.

This is why I write at night, sometime after ten. No phone calls, no distractions. Well, that’s not necessarily true because what you didn’t get done earlier had a way of backing up if you don’t get through it in a timely manner.

Perhaps I’ll get a blog post or two done, another episode of the trip to China, upload another photo to Instagram and look at the current novel I’m in the middle of editing.

By that time it will be two am, way past anyone’s decent time to go to bed. In fact, it’s ten past two, and I’ve got an early morning.

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there

What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4