When the Dead Speak

by S. D. Tooley

Overview

The body of a U.S. soldier reported AWOL during the Korean War is found encased in a concrete pillar. Clasped in his hand is a gold pin shaped like a lightning bolt. What secret did he carry to his grave and why is someone hell-bent on keeping that secret buried? The puzzle pieces pile up. A state representative owns a pin identical to the dead man's. And Sam discovers another pin in her father's jewelry box. What story had her father, an investigative reporter, been working on at the time of his own death years ago?

Detective Sergeant Samantha Casey has an advantage over other cops. The dead speak to her, tell her secrets about their life and death. But sometimes what she learns can get her killed.

When the Dead Speak is a fast-paced, tension-filled joy ride sprinkled with humor, plot twists, romance, and a touch of Native American culture.

This is Book 1 in the Sam Casey series. Previously released in hardcover and mass market paperback (1999/2000), currently out of print, it is now being re-released in trade paperback.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780988868328
Publisher:	Full Moon Publishing
Publication date:	02/28/2013
Pages:	258
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.58(d)

Read an Excerpt

SAMPLE CHAPTER

Prologue

Legend says that overcast skies are nature's way of hiding evil, protecting the gods from seeing sinister deeds. So the clouds hovered, suspended by some unseen cosmic force. Even the Chicago winds weren't able to blow the thick clouds away. The sun had tried to make a showing, desperately seeking a flaw in the haze. But it finally gave up as dusk bullied its way in, permitting the sun one brief shining moment before sinking below the horizon.

Like a string of dominos, expressway lights clicked on in succession along the Bishop Ford Freeway. A thunderous crash filled the air. Billows of smoke drifted up, spewing grainy dust in front of headlights, pitting windshields.

In an attempt to avoid another vehicle, a semi had swerved onto the median plowing headlong into the center support pillar of the overpass. The collision had sent the back of the semi fish-tailing into a jackknife. Tires screeched and rubber burned as cars and trucks slammed on their brakes. Loud, shrill horns replaced the sound of the disintegrating column. Chunks of concrete pelted the cab of the semi sending the driver running for cover.

Above the cab wedged under the overpass, the concrete pillar began to change. As if flicking a pesky insect, another piece of concrete dropped away followed by others, pounding out a musical tune on the cab.

A portion of the pillar was taking form, a recognizable shape as it seemed to shrug out of its concrete tomb. Little by little, more of its tomb crumbled away revealing a town's long-kept secret. Fingers clenched tightly, a mouth silently screamed freedom. Eyes wide in terror reflected the victim's last fatal seconds.

Harvey Wilson had a story to tell. And only one person would be able to hear him.