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Private Investigator Garth Henderson, a former NYPD vice squad and homicide detective, is up to his neck on a case involving a murdered Powerball lottery winner, who happens to be the wife of a prominent senator. His New York rip-and-run glory days on the task force have not prepared him for the hell he is about to go through solving this crime. All motive and evidence points to a quick solve of this homicide but a sinister plot has emerged and gave new meaning to the word, diabolical.
Targeted Age Group:: 16-85
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I am a WGA east screenwriter for television and Film. I originally wrote this Novel as a screenplay. After a while I kept getting the urge to turn this script into a book. That way I can really explore the lead characters world and take the readers on a journey to solve this crime in real time, as the mystery begins to unravel. So I turned this script into a book, which is not the normal way of doing things. Usually writers adapt a book into a screenplay. This was a bit challenging but very fun to do. It came out great, as I was able to vividly tell a diabolical story of revenge and perseverance… along with good ol' fashion detective work to solve a crime. What really happened to the Senators Wife after she hit the jackpot. The truth will shock you.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
My Lead Character, Garth Henderson was a former New York City homicide detective. He has been single since losing his Wife and kid many years before. He moved to Caroline County West Virginia seeking a slower pace than the Big Apple. But when he arrived, he found out that crime is crime and evil is evil, no matter where you lay your head. So this case of a murdered lottery winner had him feeling like he was right back home. His Love Interest Sandy Lauson felt like a mission Garth had to deal with to make himself feel like a decent individual. Dirty cops and crooked Senators are all part of a bigger plot in the book. But in the end, Garth, who uses his NYC wits, puts it all together. He has a gift of connecting dots, even when there are no lines to follow.
Book Sample
CHAPTER 12
I’m back home with my dog, Maxi, pouring about 500 pellets of Science diet dog food in a big blue bowl. These Rottweiler’s can eat. Maxi was so hungry he couldn’t even wait. He’s chomping down and splashing food all over the place while I’m pouring. Has it been that long since I’ve been home? I walk into my bedroom that has a color-coded organization to it. Green is one of my favorites. I have a green Queen-sized quilt on my bed. My walls and carpet are green as well. Even my night tables but they’re all different shades of forest green. It puts me in an outdoor camping mood. So I jump in my bed and right on cue my dog Maxi jumps in with me. He has his own side right at the bottom of my feet. I have a nice little blanket set up for him and he even has his own pillow. I reach in my drawer and grab a few pictures out from my hit for hire case of Sandy Lauson. Still haven’t figured her out yet. I flip through a few pages and toss them on top of the night table. I had to get my head back in the game. I couldn't get too wrapped up in Sandy Lauson, her thyroid condition or her son. But I had to look at her photos just one more time. Sometimes the devil lurks at the most vulnerable hour of the day. It was 2 a.m. You have to always be on guard when dealing with the devil cause he doesn’t get tired and he never quits. My carnal flesh is screaming to call Sandy, as I take a glance at my phone but my spiritual side brings me back to my senses; she's still a married woman and I’m not an adulterer. I must wait. Even though my testosterone level was peaking from our earlier meeting in the hospital, I felt the need to win this war between the flesh and the spirit. Ah hell with it; I’m gonna give her a call just to say goodnight, knowing I’m slowly losing the battle. I reach for the phone, then; a ring goes off. Wow, maybe it’s her. Oh wait, that’s not my phone. Ring, ring, again. It’s my doorbell. I get up and quickly fix myself. I grab a wooden brush from off my dresser and take it to my hair. I must look presentable. Especially the way Sandy looked the last time I saw her with her son. Ring, ring the doorbell goes off again. “Just a minute.” I yell towards the door. I hustle over to the door but not before taking one last look in the mirror. I’m good. I finally open the door with half a smile, yearning to see Sandy’s beautiful face. Then__ “Senator Caldwell, how did you find my home?” I say in disgust while I glance at my watch. The Senator walks in right past me without uttering a word. Damn near brushed me against my door as he flew by. I’m reservedly disappointed to the point of it being readable on my face and I didn’t care. I wanted him to know he was Persona non grata in my home. Judging by the Senator’s demeanor and countenance, he wanted me to know that he didn’t care. “So how far are you?” he quickly asks. “Senator it’s two in the morning, these are not my working hours”. “How far Garth?” “From what?” I ask. “Solving my wife’s murder.” I finally close my door. “You're a Democrat, a pro-choice democrat at that. How could you be for Partial Birth Abortion? Don’t you know the baby is alive in the womb.” I say while glaring at him. “I wasn't aware of your sudden interest in politics.” He nonchalantly says with a slight head bobble. “Not really an interest. I just happened to hear your speech on C-span the other day and it sickened me to my stomach.” I tell him. “It's two sides to every story Mr. Henderson. Half of the country loves me for what I'm doing__ protecting their rights, free will and liberty to buy assault weapons, chew tobacco or legalize marijuana. The other half would rather see me dead, just like those unborn children you feel so sympathetic about. I'm just doing my job.” After a small chuckle, I shake my head in amazement. “Job! You're polluting the earth Senator. You’re no different from those bastards doing honor killings in Iran and Afghanistan on women that were victims of rape.” The Senator gave no reaction to my last comment. I almost felt like a child when he asks his mother; who are you on the phone with and
she keeps on talking without even acknowledging your question. The Senator quickly went back to why he was paying me in the first place. “Anyway Garth, where are you
with finding my wife's killers? Should I be getting another Private Investigator?” I let the Senator know that I took a trip to the Multi-State Lottery Association. I also told
him about being the beneficiary to his wife's estate. And though he hadn’t seen his wife’s last will and testament he didn’t seem surprised. I guess he figured he was the
husband, why not. So just out of curiosity I flat out ask him, “What were you’ll gonna do with all that money?” Suddenly the Senator gets up and helps himself into my
kitchen. He looks to the right and notices my dog, Maxy standing there with direct eye contact with him. Senator Caldwell opens the refrigerator and grabs out a bottle of
Chardonnay white wine. “My kinda man.” I hear him mumble under his breath.
I walk into the kitchen behind him and get a wine glass out of the cabinet. He pours us two glasses. Suddenly I’m feeling like a guest in my own home.
The Senator walks back into the living room and takes a seat in my favorite reclining chair. How much of this can a man take I think to myself. Then he drops a bombshell on me. “I was going to drop out of next years Senate race and run for President. The money my wife received from the Powerball winnings was going to fund a strong two year long campaign, that would have pretty much assured me a victory.” Straightaway I feel a tingling sensation going up my spine. This case just took a turn for the elite of my kind and suddenly I’m in the big leagues. “Presidency!” I say.
“You think your plan leaked and someone wanted to stop you?” He takes a sip of wine. “Leaked how? I was still a year and a half away from my Senate term ending. Besides,
Jacqueline and I both made a solemn promise to keep it a secret. That's why she remained anonymous about her winning lottery ticket. No one knew about it outside of the police at the tenth division.” He tells me. “And the Powerball Committee.” I quickly spark back. Suddenly a bitter countenance grows on his face. “Yeah them.” He vehemently says. “They couldn't have seized the money fast enough.
What were their views on the matter?” He asks me. I tell him that the case is out of their hands. The money is in probate court, litigation and whatever else court. I let
him know that a probate judge has to rule on his innocence of the murder and pending on the outcome of a hearing, it’s ambiguously unclear what they will do. The Senator wasn’t really interested in hearing any of it. As far as he was concerned everyone thought he was guilty of murdering his wife. I can only imagine how it feels to walk around with such a label tagged on you, especially if you’re innocent.
Then he drops another bombshell. “You know by law they have three more days to make that decision and then the Multi- State Lottery Association has to resume sending me the checks. One year after the investigation started.” To my
surprise, I almost drop my wine glass. “I didn't know that.” I surprisingly reply. “I also happen to know the probate Judge in charge of my wife's case. Being a Senator
has it perks.” He says. “I bet you it does.” The hairs on my neck started to rise. “Do you know the Judges verdict too?” I candidly ask. “Never bothered to call.” He tells
me. “I didn't want to complicate matters more. Just think of what they would say if they thought I coerced the judges ruling.” I couldn’t figure out if it was the money the
Senator was after or did he want to clean up his image to get a clean run for Presidency. It’s one thing if you run for President being recently widowed because you can gain a lot of support just on sympathy alone. But if you run for
President and they think you killed your wife and on top of that, using her Powerball lottery winnings to fund your campaign, well; there’s just so much American voters can
take. “What is it you want, Senator?” Why did you come here this late hour?” I ask. “I feel somewhat guilty of my wife's murder, Garth, especially if politics played a part.
She always stood by me. I can't sleep at night. I need to know why they did it. I need closure.” The Senator takes another sip of his wine followed by a full on gulp,
finishing it. He looks at me, knowing I got a few questions to ask him but he beats me to the punch. “I know what you’re thinking, why they; plural, right?” he asks. I
slowly nod a yes. He gets up. “I want you to come by my house this weekend. I have something I want you to see.” The Senator tells me. I was hesitant at first because I
didn’t want to walk into any political snafus. Coming from New York you have to stay five steps ahead of your enemy and politicians are people I considered enemies. Besides,this case was starting to intimidate me in the worst way. I
was scared. It was big now. It didn’t take a genius to figure out I was way out of my league and getting deep into an area of investigation that I’m not familiar with nor do
I want to be. With political scandals you have agencies like Secret Service, FBI and CIA that deal with this, which are all for the most part government controlled police
organizations. They were threatening to an extent but not cynical because they still had a boss that they had to answer to. It’s those ubiquitous black tie suit-wearing
characters you see in movies you have to worry about. Those spooks, spies and men in black are the ones that really terrify me. If a Senators wife was murdered and it was
politically motivated, I really didn’t want to be part of it. These off the book, black op groups fight extremely dirty. They’re known to spray a drop whatever solution in
your drink while you’re not looking in a bar or take an eye drop of cyanide to your hair and three days later, you’re in a coma or cardiac arrest. I saw the picture of the
former KGB agent, Alexander Litvinenko in Time Magazine. They labeled him a Russian spy. He was sprawled all over the BBC channel, the UK newspapers and CNN in heavy
rotation with sunken dark eyes, bald head and yellow skin. It was a very dreadful image that showed what it’s like when you’re poisoned and clinging to life in a British
hospital. When you looked up this man’s life, just three weeks before, he was a happy go lucky, healthy man with a full head of hair, jogging five miles a day. Then boom, a
week later you’re deteriorating in some quarantined section of a hospital with plastic incubator drapes surrounding your bed and doctors honing you with blank stares. I did
not want to end up like Alexander but here I was, small time private investigator, Garth Henderson getting in too deep where I didn’t belong. I agreed to go by the Senators house that weekend anyway as much as I knew this case could possibly kill me. I just had to see what he had in hopes of closing this murder mystery. Truthfully speaking, I was already too far spent when the Senator walked through my
doors with that Manila envelope. There wasn’t no turning back now. Maybe I should write a will as well. The Senator had the decency to take his glass and put it in the kitchen sink. I look at my dog, Maxi, who was still sitting there not making a sound. “Never have I seen a dog so disciplined” the Senator says. “He doesn’t get too friendly
with people he doesn’t trust” I tell him. The Senator quickly laughs off my comment. “Can I ask you a personal question?” I prepare for anything as I head nod with a slow
blink. “I hear you were at vice in New York for six years, then went to homicide for seven.” “Eight” I quickly reply. “Sleazy sex crimes to murder; why? Did you expect a change for the better?” He asks. “See you been checking up on me.”
I say. The Senator smiles then Shrugs. “Just curious of man that makes a move like that. Usually it's from vice squad to a new job, not homicide.” I stare at the Senator
and don’t offer a word but he’s not budging. The man wants answers. I tell the Senator a story about my last year at vice and what went down to make me switch from vice to homicide. “It was spring ninety-two and I'm doing surveillance on a tenement building in the upper west side of Harlem. A rapist was preying on dancers of the night coming from two adjourning strip clubs off of the west side highway. The Golden Circle and Naughty Boy were the names. He would snatch his victims coming off the late shift and hit the highway. Not really sure how he would get them in the car but I’m thinking stun gun. Most of them would be found under the George Washington Bridge the following day with marks all over their bodies. So I'm casing both joints for six hours and it's starting to turn daylight. I was dead tired and in between dozing off when I decided to call it a night. Suddenly I see a man come running by my car, profusely sweating with a petrified look on his face. He was sporting a Tee shirt and boxer underwear that were also fully drenched. Then about fifteen yards behind him was another man toting a double barrel Remington shotgun. It was a long sucker too. He's chasing this guy down 12th avenue from out of the Taft housing projects. My natural instinct kicks in and I jump out my car and draw up quick. I yell FREEZE to the guy with the shotgun. The perp stops and turns just for a second but long enough to get a shot off. He looked like he had the devil in his eye with the Remington double barrel shotgun pointed right at my mid- section. It was him or me as I saw it. Sometimes that's all it takes; a split choice. I drew down and fired on him with two rounds to the chest and liver. I sat there and watched his eyes dim out as he died.” “Was it a clean shoot?” The Senator asked. “Turns out he was chasing the very same suspect I'd been surveying for all night. The first man I saw running had just raped this man’s sixteen-year-old daughter. Caught him right on top of her in the actual act. Pants down and all, knife to her throat, whole nine. And me trying to be a hero shot him. A father that was only trying to protect his daughter.” I tell the Senator as I daydream off for a moment, recalling the story of that fateful night. “First time I ever killed a man.” I mumble out while still in a in a daze. I believe I blacked out for a minute before I feel the Senators hand on my shoulder shaking me. I come to and rub my head to clear myself. “So I left vice squad division to chase murderers with the homicide division, because that's what I felt like. A murderer. Alright, so now you know, you can leave now.” I say. “Why do you hate me?” the Senator blurts out. “Just your views, Senator. Your legislation laws and your politics, Sir; they don’t sit to well with me. I don’t hate you, though. I don’t know you well enough to hate you.” I tell him.
“You're a spiritual man, Garth, make a connection?” Then a thought comes to mind of what Terry Ogden at the Lottery commission said. “The wickedness in the hearts of men goes way beyond first impressions, Senator.” And right on key,
like a child wanting to get the last word, the Senator fires back. “This is your second.” Finally he walks out. Suddenly my dog Maxi comes out the kitchen. Surprisingly he
gives a single bark. “What do you think about him boo, boo. Huh boy. What you think about him?” I ask my dog. Then Maxi gives another bark. “Yeah me too”.
Maxi just breathes quickly. Panting. Then follows up with one more bark…
Author Bio:
Benjamin Moore is a writer from Hollis Queens, New York. He has been writing in the film and Television Business for over 30 years. This is his 3rd book, as he also has a children's book out as well. He started out as a sandman on Movie sets and TV shows, commercials and music videos. With his down time, he always wrote. Being around creativity all day gets your mind going as well. So he decided to become a full time writer. He is now a WGA east screenwriter and has written for Networks and Studios. Writing is his passion. His favorite genres are Suspense, Drama, Action and Political.
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