It’s the obvious items in the photograph that you see first, or that your eyes go to first.
The ocean, the beach, the buildings. You can see a shopping mall with MacDonald’s sign above it.
Yes, it’s late afternoon, and you can see long shadows of the buildings.
So, if I asked you what did you see in this photo, what would your reply be?
From a thriller writer or murder mystery writer’s point of view, it’s what you don’t necessarily see.
So, for the purposes of the story, the opening line for the world-weary detective, handing the photo to his partner, “What’s is it you can’t see in this photo?”
A partner that hadn’t been on the job very long, in from the suburbs, and had seen little more than break and enters car theft, and school kids hi-jinks.
“What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“You want to be a detective, or be looking for old ladies cats?”
His partner takes the photo in hand and looks at it again. There has to be a reason why the old man had given it to him, or perhaps there wasn’t and he was just playing with him again.
No, he thought, there has to be something…
And then he saw it, quite by accident. A hand, a gun, and following the line of fire, at the end, what looked like someone in the bushes.
In a photo taken from a higher floor of the building over the road, looking down on what was supposed to be a rooftop recreational area.
Only there had been no report of a missing person or a gunshot wound in the last seven days.
“When was it taken?”
“Two days ago?”
“And no reports of a shooting, or a body?”
“No. And yet the person who took this swears he saw a body, but by the time he came back, there was nothing.”
The detective handed his partner a second photo. Time-stamped five minutes later. With no gun and no body.
Everyone always wants to change their circumstances, particularly if you are among those who are not so well off.
My father always said, whenever we complained about not having enough money to go on holiday, or buy something we needed, that there was always someone worse off than we were.
As a child, I could hardly believe that was true when it looked like everyone else had everything they wanted.
As an adult, I promised myself that I would never be in those circumstances, that I would always have enough money.
And, of course, what you want, what you would like, and what really happens are very different outcomes, and no matter how much planning, or how many contingencies plans you have in place, a single event can wreck everything.
When you open the front door and see policemen, two thoughts cross your mind. The first, they’re at the wrong place, the second, that something awful has just happened.
“George Williamson?”
It was the second.
“May we come inside?”
As I stood to one side, a thousand thoughts went through my mind until it settled on one, something had happened to Jane.
As she did on every Wednesday morning, she got up early, I made her breakfast, she kissed the tones and told them she would be back the next day, then headed for the airport for her weekly visit to hear office.
When we had to move, her company agreed to let her work from home, and it was an arrangement that worked well, she was only missing for two days a week, and a week when the annual accounting was done.
She was due back this morning.
Instead, I had to police officers in my lounge room, looking very somber.
“Something has happened to Jane, hasn’t it.” I almost couldn’t bring myself to say it.
The policewoman spoke. It was like they had drawn straws and she got the short one.
“I’m very sorry to say your wife was involved in an accident this morning, on her way to the Atlanta airport. We have just been informed she passed away.”
It was one of those moments when there were no words. In fact, I was not sure what I felt in that moment other than a great sadness.
“How?”
“We understand a car ran a red light, hit the limousine. Had she been on the other side…”
Not much consolation in speculation.
“Do you have someone you can call; do you need us to arrange for support…”
“I have a sister, I’ll call her. Thank you for coming and telling me, I guess this is not what you want to be doing at this time of the morning.”
“Part of the job, sir.”
I ushered them to the door and after reassuring them I would be OK, and getting out the phone to call my sister, they left.
The shock of it hadn’t set in. As I closed the door, my thoughts turned to the twins, now at school. They adored their mother and would be expecting her to pick them up from school.
I would have to get them before news of her death reached them. These days, with the internet, someone would find out and it would be better to hear it from me.
“George?”
My sister, Eileen. She had been amazed that I would find a girl like Jane let alone marry her. She had always expected me to be the philandering bachelor.
“Something very bad has happened?”
“Jane?”
“Killed in a car crash this morning in Atlanta. The police were just here.”
“Oh my God, George. The girls.”
“I know. I have to get to them. Can you be here when I get home? They’ll need you.”
“Sure. On my way.”
Next call, the girl’s school. I called the head Master and explained the situation, and he immediately had them brought to his office.
When I arrived, I put on my best ‘this is a happy day’ face and went in, mustering all of the courage I had to not look like something bad had happened.
The girls, of course, thought that their mother had arrived home early and come to get them. She had done it before.
They were only mildly disappointed to see me.
“Mommy not here?”
“Sorry, you have to tolerate me for a while. We have to go home and you’ve been given a day pass.”
Knowing how much they preferred not to be at school, the diversion worked.
The headmaster gave me a wan look as we left.
I fielded a hundred questions on the way home, all of which centered around what surprise Mom had in store for them, and the fact it had to be monumental since they had to go home early.
All the tome I was trying to think of a way to let them down gently, but there wasn’t one. Being blunt wasn’t the way either, they deserved the truth.
As soon as they saw Eileen, I could see the hesitation and a note of trepidation. Usually, Eileen came over when Jane was going to have an extended stay away.
“I need you two to go into the lounge and sit down. I’ll be then in a minute.”
“Is mommy’s not coming home today?”
They knew something was wrong.
“I’ll be in in a minute and will explain everything.”
At least Eileen had to foresight not to show any sign of the distress I knew she must be feeling.
When the girls had gone into the room she gave me the teary-eyed look, and a hug.
“You must be devastated.”
“It hasn’t sunk in. I’m still expecting her to walk in the door, and this is all a bad mistake.”
“The girls…”
“This is one time I hate the idea of being a father.”
“Then I’m glad you called me. You could not break this alone. They are going to be devastated.”
Everyone who knew her would be.
Once again I had to find the courage to keep it together, but at least I had support.
It went better than I expected. At first, they thought it was an elaborate prank, though I was not sure how they could think that.
Then, when they realized it was true, they, like I was when I first heard the news, were in shock, and barely able to comprehend the reality of it.
I did remember saying at one point, “I wish she was still alive, and that she would walk back through that door…” but not able to finish.
So, we just sat there, in silence, the rest of the world passing by, going about its business.
Until there was another knock on the door.
I was going to ignore it, but a nod from Eileen got me off the seat.
Perhaps the police were back to tell me it was all a big mistake, and it was someone else who’d died.
I opened the door…
…and neatly had a heart attack.
“Jane?”
A wish come true? Standing before me was a woman who looked exactly like Jane, down to the last detail, including the unmanageable whisp of hair.
“You must be George. No, not Jane, Jill, the banished evil twin. Now, where is she?”
Just when you think you’ve got a good start, it all comes crashing down.
Here’s the thing…
I’ve been planning the sequel for quite some time, and from time to time, I’ve been jotting down notes about how the story will go. I thought I had filed them all in the same place, and because I thought I had all of them, I missed a part.
This was confirmed when I found a synopsis, something I rarely make before writing a story, with details of several sections I obviously added when the thought came to me. Perhaps the idea of the synopsis was to consolidate all the ideas, at a time when I thought I was going to sit down and write the story.
Dated a month or so before covid came along, I suspect it all got set aside for the two-odd year’s hiatus.
Now, the time has come, and today, I went n a detailed search of three computers, four phones, cloud storage, and the boxes that hold all the handwritten notes.
I have a reference to the section, several chapters, but no writing. In the back of my mind, I have a feeling I’d written the chapters, but the evidence says otherwise.
Damn!
I’ll move on, and come back to it later. At the moment it doesn’t have relevance.
Oh, and Zoe has now become Mary-Anne. What is John going to think when he finally finds her.
…
Todays writing, introducing Mary Anne, 1,501 words, for a total of 3,610.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.
“So,” Lallo said, “you’re telling me you landed separately, Treen and his group advanced towards their position without waiting for your team, that shortly after landing you heard gunfire exchanged, that the members of your team broke ranks and went to help their comrades and that all of them, as far as you were aware at the time, had been killed or captured.”
“Yes.”
“And the two operatives you’d come to rescue?”
“At the time, I had no idea what their status was, but I did make a preliminary assumption that if our mission was blown, then they would hardly be left alive unless the enemy thought they had some strategic value.”
“Or intelligence?”
“It hadn’t occurred to me at the time because my job was to simply to aid the extraction team. To be honest, I had no idea who they were or what their value was.”
That was not exactly the truth because I could hardly say I hadn’t overheard a conversation between Treen, the briefing officers, and an unseen, unnamed officer discussing the two operatives, and the fact it was imperative we get them out at any cost. It wasn’t said why, but I could guess.
It didn’t take long to realize that if our arrival had been known, so would the location and worth of the two we were to rescue. I didn’t think they were killed out of hand, not until they’d told the enemy’s interrogators everything they knew.
And I got the impression they knew enough to cause our whole operation in that country ended up with a great deal of irreparable damage.
No wonder they wanted to sweep it under the carpet.
I watched Lallo scribble a long not over several pages. Was his conclusion the same as mine, but based on truth rather than hearsay?
Then, “Were you met by the person who has been referred to as the so-called source?”
“No.”
“Do you know if Treen’s group were met?”
“No. I was given to understand that source had gone quiet, I suppose another word for either captured or defected to the other side.”
“Apparently there was a report that the agent in situ was going to be at the landing site.”
“Well, there’s your explanation as to why the mission was blown from the start. Whoever it was, was either captured, or a double agent, and told the enemy of our plans.”
“A reasonable assumption in the circumstances, but not necessarily correct.”
“And you know this because…”
I was curious. The agent’s defection would explain everything.
“That agent resurfaced three days ago, again asking for repatriation, and is in the air to a secure site as we speak.”
He stood and took a moment to stow the pencil in the binding of the notebook before giving me his attention.
“We will also be in their air tomorrow, headed for the same secure location. I’m, sure you will be available for that interrogation, because I, too, have serious doubts about this agent’s shall we say, loyalties.”
That still didn’t mean I wasn’t going to finish up at a black site, or worse.
OK. So the story is about Alistair’s mother seeking revenge on Zoe for killing her son.
She’s not the only one.
Zoe is or was an assassin. She had a substantial number of kills to her credit, she doesn’t share numbers so we won’t find out exactly how many, and there are others who seek revenge too.
One is co-incidentally, the head of the intelligence service John’s friend Sebastian works for, a man by the name of Worthington, who had a twin brother whom she killed by mistake.
He has been using his position in intelligence to track the woman who executed his brother for some time, and being in Venice at the time of the Alistair affair, catches sight of Zoe recovering in a hospital after requesting to meet Sebastian’s newest recruit.
Of course, Sebastian is playing fast and loose with the truth, as always, but the damage is done.
Zoe aka Mary Anne aka Chantal is not being hunted by three different people and has just had a bounty put on her head guaranteeing even more people searching for her.
All while heading to a meeting in Marsailles about a freelance hit.
…
Today’s writing, with a target, firmly painted on Zoe’s back, 1,991 words, for a total of 5,601.
“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?
At the end of the first book in the series, Alistair, Zoe the assassin’s handler, was killed.
As far as he was concerned, Zoe had reneged on the contract to kill a target, and for that, she had to be punished, just to let the rest of the team know they could not decide arbitrarily who or who they would not kill.
For her sins, Zoe had been captured and was about to be executed when John, the man who wanted to become her boyfriend, turned up in a luckless and unplanned rescue mission.
But as ad-hoc operations go, that one was very successful. Zoe, though badly injured aided John in a do-or-die escape.
Alistair learned to his chagrin, that a badly injured Zoe and untrained well-meaning friend trumped overconfidence.
Of course, Alistair’s death does not go unnoticed, and his mother, a renowned and very capable ex-KGB agent with connections, wanted to avenge his death. Her influence reaches as far as the upper echelons of the State’s intelligence services, and requests from her would never be ignored.
Such a request for information is made, and so starts the next book in the series.
Revenge.
Of course, nothing to do with Zoe, or John, or their relationship, runs smoothly, and once again in pursuit of the impossible, makes it his mission in life to win over the assassin-on-sabbatical.
But first, he has to find her., and sort through the lies and treachery of his best friend who is also looking for Zoe, but for entirely different reasons.
…
Todays writing, the first three chapters, 2,109 words
It was a routine call, that a man was behaving strangely in a shopping mall. It was passed from mall security to the local police, and then, when the man became agitated and produced a weapon, they called in the next line of police, and they called us.
At the scene, I counted 12 police cars, marked and unmarked, a van, SWAT, several fire and rescue trucks, and a host of bystanders, all crowding at the barrier that was set far too close to the exit.
“You don’t mind if I take the lead on this one?” Josephine had been my partner for the last six months, at first training on the job, then started taking cases. This would be her second.
“Not at all. You’re ready.”
It was a relief, the last event was difficult, long, and both mentally and physically exhausting, but we saved the wife and two children. There was never going to be an option to save the husband. I realized too late that it had always been his aim to be killed by the police, and sadly, two trigger-happy deputies were only too happy to oblige. A bad day all around, in the end.
Logistically, the mall had been emptied in a brief window when the man was engaged in talking to the local police, except for two shop assistants. When the man realized what was happening, he had taken them both as hostages. Had he not, we would have had a quiet afternoon. Now, deputies were stationed inside the ball, cutting off an easy retreat, outside the front entrance, and one inside, but pinned down.
While we were en route, the local negotiator had been establishing communications with the perpetrator, and this had been completed when we got there.
The perpetrator had fired off seven shots, and it was estimated that he may have up to 12 remaining shots. Based on the seven shots fired, it was assumed he was a very good shot, even though he had not hit anyone.
Nor had he made any demands, other than to suggest they find a proper negotiator, which was odd because the one in situ was one of the best in the country.
Josephine had been waiting for me to finish my observations, and, when I joined her, she dialed the perpetrator’s number.
“At last.” Male, agitated, angry perhaps, but definitely on the edge. The fact that he hadn’t threatened or harmed the hostages yet told me there was a chance this might be resolved.
“My name is Josephine McTrantor, can you start by telling me your name?”
“Is Oliver Strand there?”
That was me. Surprise number one.
She looked at me, and I shrugged. It was her negotiation. “I will be handling the negotiations today, sir, but it would be helpful if I had a name?”
“He is there. I want to talk to him. I don’t want to talk to anyone else. Tell him to call me when he’s ready.”
The line went dead.
“Well, that’s a little unusual,” the local police commander muttered. He had been observing events from a distance, although he still had overall control of the situation. “Your fame precedes you, Mr. Strand.”
“What would you like to do, sir?” Josephine looked as though she would be more than happy to pass this on.
I held out my hand, and she put the phone in it. “I suppose we should find out what he wants. The trouble is, he hasn’t been making wild demands or threats, just getting our attention. It makes me think there’s something else in play.”
I dialed the number.
When he answered, he said, “This better be Oliver Strand.”
“It is,” I said, “but you have me at a disadvantage. What is your name, sir?”
“Gerald Rawlings. We have matters to discuss, and I would prefer to do that in person.”
Railings. That name had some significance, but for the moment I couldn’t think where or why.
“I will arrange safe passage to a neutral place, but it can’t be in the mall.”
“I’m not leaving here. You will come to me, not the other way around. I will exchange all if the hostages and allow you to remove everyone else, but only once you are here, with me. You have an hour to comply otherwise the hostages die.”
Once again the phone went dead.
I looked at the phone, though I’m not sure why then put it on the makeshift table. I looked at the police commander, “Well, now we know what he wants. Me.”
“You’re not going to agree to those terms, because it seems to me he has an ax to grind.”
Then it hit me. He did. I knew the name was familiar. He had what I presumed to be a brother, Axel Rawlings. Two years before, another hostage situation, one that could have been avoided, only by the time we were called I’m, two hostages were dead, and there was nowhere for Axel to go, even if he surrendered, which he didn’t.
I had made progress, but some overzealous marksman took the shot, without my permission, and a tragedy followed, compounded by the fact the officer in question got off without any charges.
Now the past had caught up to the present. I could have avoided that tragedy with a little more effort. I wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.
“He does, and I know what this is about.”
Josephine looked concerned. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“No, but if I don’t, then this is going to go down exactly the same as it did with his brother.” I took the phone and dialed the number. “Ten minutes, Gerald. Be sure you honor your part of the deal.”
To the others, “I expect you all to remain on standby, but under no circumstances is anyone to take any shots unless I say so. Is that clear?”
A nod from both.
Time enough to steel myself before going in. I gave Josephine my gun, and they fitted a mike. At least someone would be listening this time.
Everyone always wants to change their circumstances, particularly if you are among those who are not so well off.
My father always said, whenever we complained about not having enough money to go on holiday, or buy something we needed, that there was always someone worse off than we were.
As a child, I could hardly believe that was true when it looked like everyone else had everything they wanted.
As an adult, I promised myself that I would never be in those circumstances, that I would always have enough money.
And, of course, what you want, what you would like, and what really happens are very different outcomes, and no matter how much planning, or how many contingencies plans you have in place, a single event can wreck everything.
When you open the front door and see policemen, two thoughts cross your mind. The first, they’re at the wrong place, the second, that something awful has just happened.
“George Williamson?”
It was the second.
“May we come inside?”
As I stood to one side, a thousand thoughts went through my mind until it settled on one, something had happened to Jane.
As she did on every Wednesday morning, she got up early, I made her breakfast, she kissed the tones and told them she would be back the next day, then headed for the airport for her weekly visit to hear office.
When we had to move, her company agreed to let her work from home, and it was an arrangement that worked well, she was only missing for two days a week, and a week when the annual accounting was done.
She was due back this morning.
Instead, I had to police officers in my lounge room, looking very somber.
“Something has happened to Jane, hasn’t it.” I almost couldn’t bring myself to say it.
The policewoman spoke. It was like they had drawn straws and she got the short one.
“I’m very sorry to say your wife was involved in an accident this morning, on her way to the Atlanta airport. We have just been informed she passed away.”
It was one of those moments when there were no words. In fact, I was not sure what I felt in that moment other than a great sadness.
“How?”
“We understand a car ran a red light, hit the limousine. Had she been on the other side…”
Not much consolation in speculation.
“Do you have someone you can call; do you need us to arrange for support…”
“I have a sister, I’ll call her. Thank you for coming and telling me, I guess this is not what you want to be doing at this time of the morning.”
“Part of the job, sir.”
I ushered them to the door and after reassuring them I would be OK, and getting out the phone to call my sister, they left.
The shock of it hadn’t set in. As I closed the door, my thoughts turned to the twins, now at school. They adored their mother and would be expecting her to pick them up from school.
I would have to get them before news of her death reached them. These days, with the internet, someone would find out and it would be better to hear it from me.
“George?”
My sister, Eileen. She had been amazed that I would find a girl like Jane let alone marry her. She had always expected me to be the philandering bachelor.
“Something very bad has happened?”
“Jane?”
“Killed in a car crash this morning in Atlanta. The police were just here.”
“Oh my God, George. The girls.”
“I know. I have to get to them. Can you be here when I get home? They’ll need you.”
“Sure. On my way.”
Next call, the girl’s school. I called the head Master and explained the situation, and he immediately had them brought to his office.
When I arrived, I put on my best ‘this is a happy day’ face and went in, mustering all of the courage I had to not look like something bad had happened.
The girls, of course, thought that their mother had arrived home early and come to get them. She had done it before.
They were only mildly disappointed to see me.
“Mommy not here?”
“Sorry, you have to tolerate me for a while. We have to go home and you’ve been given a day pass.”
Knowing how much they preferred not to be at school, the diversion worked.
The headmaster gave me a wan look as we left.
I fielded a hundred questions on the way home, all of which centered around what surprise Mom had in store for them, and the fact it had to be monumental since they had to go home early.
All the tome I was trying to think of a way to let them down gently, but there wasn’t one. Being blunt wasn’t the way either, they deserved the truth.
As soon as they saw Eileen, I could see the hesitation and a note of trepidation. Usually, Eileen came over when Jane was going to have an extended stay away.
“I need you two to go into the lounge and sit down. I’ll be then in a minute.”
“Is mommy’s not coming home today?”
They knew something was wrong.
“I’ll be in in a minute and will explain everything.”
At least Eileen had to foresight not to show any sign of the distress I knew she must be feeling.
When the girls had gone into the room she gave me the teary-eyed look, and a hug.
“You must be devastated.”
“It hasn’t sunk in. I’m still expecting her to walk in the door, and this is all a bad mistake.”
“The girls…”
“This is one time I hate the idea of being a father.”
“Then I’m glad you called me. You could not break this alone. They are going to be devastated.”
Everyone who knew her would be.
Once again I had to find the courage to keep it together, but at least I had support.
It went better than I expected. At first, they thought it was an elaborate prank, though I was not sure how they could think that.
Then, when they realized it was true, they, like I was when I first heard the news, were in shock, and barely able to comprehend the reality of it.
I did remember saying at one point, “I wish she was still alive, and that she would walk back through that door…” but not able to finish.
So, we just sat there, in silence, the rest of the world passing by, going about its business.
Until there was another knock on the door.
I was going to ignore it, but a nod from Eileen got me off the seat.
Perhaps the police were back to tell me it was all a big mistake, and it was someone else who’d died.
I opened the door…
…and neatly had a heart attack.
“Jane?”
A wish come true? Standing before me was a woman who looked exactly like Jane, down to the last detail, including the unmanageable whisp of hair.
“You must be George. No, not Jane, Jill, the banished evil twin. Now, where is she?”
Just when you think you’ve got a good start, it all comes crashing down.
Here’s the thing…
I’ve been planning the sequel for quite some time, and from time to time, I’ve been jotting down notes about how the story will go. I thought I had filed them all in the same place, and because I thought I had all of them, I missed a part.
This was confirmed when I found a synopsis, something I rarely make before writing a story, with details of several sections I obviously added when the thought came to me. Perhaps the idea of the synopsis was to consolidate all the ideas, at a time when I thought I was going to sit down and write the story.
Dated a month or so before covid came along, I suspect it all got set aside for the two-odd year’s hiatus.
Now, the time has come, and today, I went n a detailed search of three computers, four phones, cloud storage, and the boxes that hold all the handwritten notes.
I have a reference to the section, several chapters, but no writing. In the back of my mind, I have a feeling I’d written the chapters, but the evidence says otherwise.
Damn!
I’ll move on, and come back to it later. At the moment it doesn’t have relevance.
Oh, and Zoe has now become Mary-Anne. What is John going to think when he finally finds her.
…
Todays writing, introducing Mary Anne, 1,501 words, for a total of 3,610.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 