Showing posts with label The Voxlightner Scandal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Voxlightner Scandal. Show all posts

Thursday, December 5, 2019

Voxlightner Scandal’s Out, So Let’s Take a Look at It


dontravis.com blog post #365
  
Artist: Maria Fanning
DSP released The Voxlightner Scandal, the sixth book in my BJ Vinson mystery series, last month. I’d like to present an excerpt of that novel for you this week. Part of the Blurb for the book serves to set up the narrative. Take a look:

No good deed goes unpunished, as investigator B. J. Vinson is about to discover.

Writer John Pierce Belhaven was murdered before he could reveal the name of another killer--one connected to the biggest scandal to rock Albuquerque in years. Two of the city's most prominent citizens--Barron Voxlightner and Dr. Walther Stabler--vanished in 2004, along with fifty million dollars looted from Voxlightner Precious Metals Recovery Corp. It only makes sense that poking into that disappearance cost Belhaven his life.

But BJ isn't so sure.


The following excerpt comes in Chapter 1. In the first part, BJ is calling his old partner from his days on the Albuquerque Police Department, Lt. Gene Enriquez, to solicit some information on the author’s death, but also to clear his investigation with the police. He always does this before snooping into an active police investigation. The second part is a conversation between BJ and the love of his life, Paul Barton, about the case.

*****
THE VOXLIGHTNER SCANDAL

Ignoring the mayor’s call, I scheduled my testimony on the embezzlement case with the ADA before dialing Gene’s private number. Our phone conversations, although increasingly rare, followed a pattern. Brusque greetings and catching up on domestic affairs before getting down to business. Given Gene’s family of five children, most afflicted with the dreaded teenage condition, he talked a lot more than I did. Today was no different. After he filled me in on Glenda and the brood, I brought him up to date with news of Paul and me. Once everything was covered, I asked if there was a police investigation of the Belhaven death.
“You mean the writer toasted in his garage? Why? Should there be?”
“You know the answer to that better than I do, but Paul’s convinced something’s funny. Claims Belhaven wouldn’t have attempted to repair a lawn mower or anything else. He wasn’t a hands-on type of guy.”
“We’ve had that feedback too.”
“So you’re looking into the death?”
“Like usual, we’re satisfying ourselves everything’s on the up and up… unless the medical investigator declares it an accidental death.”
“Paul wants to write a story on it.”
“Have him touch base with a detective named Roy Guerra. He’s handling it for us.”
*****
Midafternoon I heard Paul’s familiar voice in the outer office. Hazel’s delighted rejoinder hinted I might be relieved of my current task, at least momentarily. My office manager-cum-surrogate mother—although totally perplexed by my gay life—nonetheless loved Paul as much as she did me. After a hug and a once-over from Hazel, he came through the doorway to invade my private space, and a welcome incursion it was. I never tired of looking on his handsome features.
“Hi. Am I interrupting anything?”
“Nothing uninterruptable,” I quipped. “Come on in.”
“I talked to Detective Guerra. We’re meeting here later, if that’s okay. Thanks for getting the contact for me.”
“Pleased to do it. What did he say?”
“He has reservations about Belhaven’s death, and I added to them.”
“Any theories?”
“Couple. I found out Pierce was interviewed on TV the afternoon he died. The interviewer quizzed him about his new book, and his answers might have cost him his life.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked as we moved to the conference table in the corner of my office.
“He writes—or wrote—mysteries. Fiction. But according to the interview, his next book was going to be based on an actual event. Do you remember the Voxlightner blowup a few years ago?”
I nodded. “A big scandal. I was still at APD, so it was probably late 2003 or early ’04.”
Paul flipped out a notebook and clicked his ballpoint pen. “What do you remember about it?”
“Gene and I weren’t assigned the case, so I just remember bits and pieces. One of the local lights, a guy named Barron Voxlightner, and a fellow named Stabler found acres and acres of mine tailings in Arizona that tested positive for commercial grade silver and gold. All they needed to do was extract the precious metals and sell them.”
“Sounds like a sure thing,” he said.
“That’s what everybody thought. The whole town wanted a piece of the action. The money poured in. People went crazy.”
Paul checked his notes. “I take it they formed a company called Voxlightner Precious Metals Recovery to do the project.”
“Right. They took VPMR—as it became known—public and raised fifty million.”
“That’s a lot of dough.”
“Absolutely. And yet the bottom fell out within six months. It turned out the tests were rigged. The tailings were worthless. But before the hammer fell, Voxlightner and Stabler vanished, and the lawyer exposing the fraud was murdered. The thing was never solved.”
Paul’s face assumed a thoughtful look. “When I was a kid, I thought anyone called Voxlightner was royalty.”


*****
I hope the above is enough to hook you on the book sufficiently to follow the next chapter in the career of Burleigh J. Vinson… do you blame him for going by BJ?

The following are buy links for the book”


Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

Thursday, September 5, 2019

Me’n the MVD (A re-post)


dontravis.com blog post #353
  
Courtesy of driver-tests.org
A news item on TV the other night about residents of some states not in compliance with secure ID requirements having difficulty gaining access to federal buildings and departure gates at the local airport this coming year reminded me of my tussle with New Mexico's MVD when they switched to secured IDs.

In other words, all state-issued driver’s licenses must have a white star in a circular gold field in the upper right-hand corner of the little piece of plastic. If your license does not already have one, be prepared to go through bureaucratic hell. Inasmuch as I had passed through these same fiery gates some years back, I dug out the post of November 15, 2016  and republished it below. 

That post also advised readers that the first of my BJ Vinson murder series, The Zozobra Incident, had been released that same day by Dreamspinner Press. Co-incidentally, the sixth in the series, The Voxlightner Scandal, is scheduled for release on November 19 of this year.

By the way, I passed up the opportunity to use a New Mexico license as photo art and settled on an Arizona license because that one has the coveted star in the upper right. And the photo of Mr. Sample certainly is not me. (You can tell from the hairline.)

My tussle with the MVD to obtain the coveted secure license is described below:


*****

ME AND THE MVD
Anyone going to the Motor Vehicle Division to get or renew a New Mexico driver’s license is in for a shock.
For some time now, the powers that be in the Land of Enchantment have dillied and dallied (not to mention dithered) over new requirements the feds imposed for issuing licenses that serve as secured IDs for boarding airliners or entering a federal building or base. Each year we failed to get our act together, and each year the federal authorities granted us a delay in coming into compliance.
I’m here to tell you that has come to an end. As of Monday, November 14, 2016, all New Mexico licenses issued—including both new and renewals—meet the federal standards. But getting them is something else.
My license expired a few days back, but I held out until we were FAA compliant. On Monday, I watched a local news program that explained you needed proof you were who you said you were and that you were legally present in the United States, either by birthright or by legal immigration.

Trip One
Went to nearest MVD office Tuesday a.m. a little before 9:00. Took a number (63) and was called to Window 10 about 20 minutes later.
“What can I do for you,” Window 10 asked.
“I want one of those super-duper driver’s licenses that serve as ID for airline flights.” With that, I confidently shoved both my driver’s license and the passport I got last year (in case NM didn’t get compliant before the feds banned our licenses).
“Where’s the rest of it?” he asked.
“Rest of what? My passport’s got everything you need. And it’s official. Confirmed by the good old USofA.”
“No, you need your Social Security Card and two things confirming your legal residency.”
He refused to listen to reason. Hopped into my car and raced back home (with an expired license, remember).

Trip Two
 Spent half an hour trying to print online copies of a PNM bill, grabbed my lease agreement and Social Security Card and sped back to the MVD. The waiting room was full. My number this time was 112, with some 40 numbers ahead of me waiting to be called. If each one took 10 minutes, I’d be out of here in another 400 minutes. How many hours is that? Forgot to bring a calculator. Also forgot to bring something to read, so settled down to people watching… which got old. Fast.
Then I lucked out. The woman sitting beside me couldn’t wait any longer and offered me her ticket. Number 93. Thanked her and grabbed the scrap of paper that ought to cut 190 minutes off my wait time. Eventually, I was called to Window 12.
What can I do for you?” Window 12 asked.
A little more sullen now, I answered, “Driver’s license.”
I pulled out the sheaf of papers I’d brought and shoved them beneath the thick pane of glass between him and me, now appreciating his need for a protective device between him and his clients.
He shuffled through bits and pieces of my life until he came to the SS card. “This is your Medicare Card, not your Social Security Card.”
“It has the same information on it, they’re issued by the same agency, and they’re both red, white, and blue. Should be okay.”
“Afraid not. I have to have the Social Security card or your SS-1099 or—”
“Okay, okay! This is the second time I’ve been here, but I’ll go get it.”
After he condescended to tell me to return to him without pulling a new number, I risked another APD speeding ticket by racing home once again.

Trip Three
I located the Social Security Card (adjacent to where the Medicare card had been stored), jerked it out, and once again high-tailed it to the MVD. (Hey, APD… that’s four opportunities to nail me you missed).
Number 12 had a client, but he saw and acknowledged me. Ten minutes later, he was free, but indicated he had one other return customer ahead of me. I sat back down while the gentleman who took my rightful seat before Number 12 got titles transferred on two vehicles (a lengthy chore, I can tell you) before starting the process of getting a driver’s license renewed. As I fidgeted and fumed, I heard a number called. Number 112. Lo and behold, I still had that number in my pocket, so I beelined it to Window Eleven.
“What can I do for you today?”
I wearily shoved everything at her and leaned back wondering what he’d find wrong this time.
“Looks like you have everything, sir. Let’s get you taken care of.”
  
I walked out of the MVD for the final time at 12:26 p.m. Getting that license ate up almost four hours of my life… however, that did include travel time.


*****

AN APOLOGY TO THE 200 OR SO WHO CHECKED OUT THE SITE EARLIER, BUT FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON, THE TEXT FAILED TO PRINT. 

I hope this is fair warning to those just applying for a secure license and brings back fond (is that the right word?) memories for those who have already done so.

The advance buy link for The Voxlightner Scandal follows:  http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)
                                                                                                    
Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.


Thursday, March 28, 2019

Another Look at The Voxlightner Scandal


dontravis.com blog post #330

Artist: Maria Fanning
I’m constantly getting surprised by the blog world. I’ve told you of 3,000+ page-view hits from Israel and 1,500 hits from Russia and 1000+ hits from Brazil. Last month, I got almost 4,000 hits from Hong Kong, and on the twenty-fifth of this month, 4,480 hits from Israel again. I’ve tried to analyze the key words from the posts that generated such interest and cannot find a pattern. Maybe someone can explain it to me.

In January of this year, I gave you a look at the opening of my sixth book in the BJ Vinson mystery series called THE VOXLIGHTNER SCANDAL. I now have a cover for the novel and should have a publication date soon. In order to show off the book cover, I am compelled to share more of the novel with you. The excerpt below opens Chapter 2. The characters “on stage” are BJ Vinson and Lt. Gene Enriquez of the Albuquerque Police Department.

*****
                                                  THEVOXLIGHTNER SCANDAL            

          I managed to pry Gene away from APD headquarters to have lunch the next day at the Courthouse Café. As usual he was rushed until I prevailed upon him to sit back and take a deep breath.
          “Okay. Now what?” he demanded.
          “Now eat a lunch without gulping it down and take time to smell the roses.”
          “Grease,” he grumped. “BJ, all I smell in here is grease.”
          I knew exactly what was riding his back. “They still pressing you to move up?”
          He nodded and snorted simultaneously. “Yeah. I’m not gonna accept it.”
          “Are you thinking of yourself, or are you thinking of Glenda and the kids?”
          He bristled. “I make a decent living. Take care of them okay.”
          “Face it, Gene, you’re already an administrator. When was the last time you went out and worked a case?”
          “That case we worked together last year. What did you call it?”
          “Abaddon’s Locusts.” I eyed my former APD partner. “You’re avoiding the issue. What are your options. You turn down a promotion, you slam a lid on your career. You’ve got in your twenty, so you can put in your papers. Or you can accept what they’re offering and continue to build on what you have.”
          He scratched his chin before dry washing his face. “What the hell would I do if I retired? Go crazy, that’s what I’d do. Six months tops.”
          “Charlie and I talked it over. You can join us. Vinson, Weeks and Enriquez. How does that sound?”
          “Not bad.”
          "It’s there if you want it, but personally, I think you’re too much of a cop to be happy outside the department.”
          “I hear you and Paul met with Roy Guerra on the Belhaven thing.”
          “Yep. Have you called it yet?”
          “Homicide. Autopsy showed he was hit in the head with a blunt object before he caught fire. No smoke in his lungs. He was dead before he lit up.”
          “Will you have any heartburn if Paul and I work with Guerra?”
          “Naw. He’s new to his shield and can use the help.”
          “Do I read anything into the fact he doesn’t have a partner?”
          “Roy’s a quart in a pint pot. He’s going to turn out to be a good detective. We’ll get him a seasoned partner as soon as I find a good match.”
          “He and Paul both believe Belhaven’s killing ties into his promise to reveal the killer in the Voxlightner debacle.”
          “What’s your take?” he asked.
          “Things point in that direction, but I try to keep an open mind. Refresh my memory. Wasn’t Everett Kent murdered while looking into the scandal because his law partner Zachary Greystone was involved in incorporating the venture?”
          “Not only did Greystone handle the paperwork incorporating the company, he was promoting it big time,” Gene said. “Had a hand in setting up the list of initial investors.”
          “How was Kent killed?” I asked.
          “Shot to death in his office on the fourth floor of the Central New Mexico Bank Building. Working late alone in the office.”
          “Must have been someone he trusted if he admitted his killer after hours. When was this?”
          Gene stretched to ease his back. “End of February or beginning of March 2004.”
          “Not long before Voxlightner and Stabler took a powder,” I noted.
          While munching on tacos, we reconstructed as much of the old scandal as we could recall. In the remembering it was dry, boring stuff, but when bits and pieces had screamed headlines in successive editions of the Albuquerque Journal like some Hollywood serial, the scandalous affair gripped all of New Mexico and half of Arizona in its thrall.
           The whole thing began when a Nevada mining engineer named Dr. Walther Stabler claimed copper tailings just across the Arizona border in the Morenci district contained gold. Marshal Voxlightner’s son Barron hauled a ton of dirt to the New Mexico Institute of Mining & Technology for a series of fire assays. The tests consistently showed commercial amounts of gold and silver. Especially appealing was the fact the material did not have to be extracted from the ground because the ore was pre-mined copper tailings.
           The mine owners realized the dumps possibly contained commercially valuable trace minerals, but they also faced local pressure to get rid of some five million tons—and growing—of ugly piles of dirt. Therefore they were willing to sell the material for $1.00 a ton, the cost of removal and transportation to be borne by the purchaser.
          After a month of positive assays—some of which were performed on samples selected by prospective investors at random from the seemingly unending piles of dirt—Marshall Voxlightner, the retired oilman with a solid reputation—put in $250,000 seed money and agreed to lend his family name to the project. His son promptly incorporated the Voxlightner Precious Metals Recovery Corporation and put his team together. He and his group matched the old man’s $250,000, and the venture was off and running.
          “How far did they get with the actual project?” I asked.
          “After the initial offering sold out, they bought all five million tons of copper tailings,” Gene said. “At the same time a couple of guys—Greystone and Pillsner, if I remember right—were working on permits for the mill to be located down in the Socorro area.”
          “Pillsner? I forgot Wick was involved.” Hardwick Pillsner, a local businessman, made his living—and a pile of money—as a promoter. He’d facilitated the buying and selling of various local businesses. Putting together the Voxlightner operation would have been right up his alley. “Was he an officer?” I asked.
          “He’s the one who introduced Stabler to Voxlightner. Helped put it all together. But he wasn’t even a board member. He had a policy against taking a hand in operating anything he helped form. He just took a stock position for his efforts in this one, I understand,” Gene said.
          “So Wick lost potential, not money.”
          “He’d disagree. He considers time as money.”
          “Can’t argue with the logic,” I said. “My time is all I have to sell. How much was the initial offering?”
          As Gene looked at me through tired brown eyes, it occurred to me why we worked so well together. What he couldn’t remember, I could. And our memories stretched back a long way. “What happened to the tailings after the company folded?”
          He assumed a thoughtful look. “As I recall the Greystone firm attempted to get the company’s money back and were met with a suit to remove the dumps as agreed under the sales contract. Greystone eventually settled for getting back something like a quarter for every dollar.”
          “So the investors recovered a million and a quarter of their money. Funny. I don’t recall shareholders getting anything back.”
           “The recovery was used to pay off other obligations of the corporation under bankruptcy proceedings. Investors got nothing.” Gene glanced my way. “Did you lose a bundle?”
          “A bundle to me at the time. I was an APD cop, remember?”
          “With a few mil in the bank.”
          “I never touched any of the trust money. The VPMR investment just ruined me personally for a couple of years.”
          Over the dregs of our meal we continued to reconstruct the scandal… the crime, really. In early 2004 VPMR’s problems came to light when board members expressed concern over the rapid rate of heavy expenditures. Money was flowing like oil from one of Marshall Voxlightner’s gushers, and red flags began to wave. The trucking company moving ore from Arizona halted work because of nonpayment. The School of Mines lab wasn’t paid for the last batch of assays. Wick Pillsner complained of unpaid rent for the building he rented the corporation on East Lomas.
          Kent Everett dealt the nastiest blow when he filched some of the copper tailing material and took it to an independent lab for assay. Traces of gold and silver and even platinum showed up, but not in commercial quantities. He then filed suit in District court—as a stockholder—for a complete accounting by an independent arbitrator. Within a week, he was shot in the back of the head in his office.
          But the damage was done. An investigation was under way and couldn’t be stopped. Then Barron Voxlightner and Dr. Walther Stabler vanished without a trace. They were last seen huddling together over a conference table in corporate headquarters on a Monday night in March 2004. The next day the Journal’s headline screamed something over $40,000,000 of the company funds were missing. Some was traced to the payment of phony accounts, some to bank transfers overseas and a series of cash withdrawals. In retrospect suspicious activity reports should have been filed by the bank, but the principals backing the company were highly respected men with proven business acumen. No such reports were filed.
          The FBI moved quickly after the disappearances, arresting company COO John Hightower, and casting suspicion over the other officers and members of the company’s board of directors. Eventually Hightower was revealed as a dupe and never prosecuted. His responsibilities were for operations not finances. Doubtless he was lax in the performance of his duties but not criminally so. His reputation in shreds, he moved out of state, no doubt carefully watched by the feds wherever he went.
          After the disappearances, authorities concentrated on the search for Voxlightner and Stabler. The locals pursued the murderer of Everett Kent with just about as much success as with the rest of the mess. Despite a massive manhunt for the missing men, the investigation went nowhere. The courts took over the dissolution of the bankrupt corporation, and eventually things died out. To the best of our recollection the whole thing from start to finish lasted just over six months—from early September 2003 to mid-March 2004. Just like that, some $50,000,000 had been sucked out of the fragile economy of New Mexico.

*****
I know this was a little long, but I hope you stuck with me to this point. I also hope you found it interesting.

Abaddon’s Locusts, the fifth in the BJ Vinson mystery series, received several positive reviews. I hope you’ll consider buying a copy. If you do, please post a review of the book on Amazon. Each one helps… as do letters to the publisher.

My mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it.

My personal links:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.


Thursday, January 10, 2019

A Look at the Upcoming The Voxlightner Scandal


dontravis.com blog post #319

TO MY READERS: The “Contact” section has disappeared from my Web Site, so I have no way of reading or responding to your comments. I’ve tried all the corrective suggestions by “experts” to no avail. Please make any comments directly to my personal email, dontravis21@gmail.com, until this situation is corrected. Thanks.

As I wrote last week’s post,  flakes of snow feathered lightly to the ground outside my patio door. Some of the cursed stuff is still there, especially in shady parts of the parking lot. Unusual for snow to last this long in Albuquerque.

Another matter of potential interest. Once or twice a year, the site gets 3,000 or so hits from Israel, usually all on one day. For last week’s posting, I noticed a new phenomenon: 1,700 hits from Russia. They can’t all be spies, can they? Even so, I encourage them to continue reading my blog.


Last week, we looked at my most recent novel (release date January 22), Abaddon’s Locusts, the fifth in the BJ Vinson mystery series. This week, I’d like to give you a peek at my latest, and as yet, unreleased novel, The Voxlightner Scandal. The story begins when BJ’s young companion Paul Barton, a budding investigative journalist, decides to look into the murder of an Albuquerque author. That leads to reopening one of the state’s largest scandals. The excerpt that follows is set in BJ's and Paul’s home on Post Oak Drive NW in Albuquerque in July 2011.


Alas, no artwork yet exists on Vox, rendering this week’s post pictureless.

*****
THE VOXLIGHTNER SCANDAL
Chapter 1

          If this was the year of the Arab Spring, this morning’s Albuquerque Journal neglected to mention it. The international lead story—above the fold—reported the bombing of the government quarter in Oslo and the subsequent murder by gunfire of sixty-eight youth activists of the Labour Party by a native Norwegian terrorist.
          The below-the-fold story told of the death of local author John Pierce Belhaven in a garage fire mere blocks from my home. What snagged my attention was that the terrorist attack in Norway took place today. The local tragedy occurred two nights ago. Our paper reported foreign events faster than local ones.
          Paul strode into the kitchen where I sat at the table munching an English muffin slathered with cream cheese and dusted with ground black pepper. He brought with him the aroma of his shower. He was using a new aftershave lotion… Axe, possibly.
          He halted at the sight of me. “Whoa, Vince, I was gonna fix omelets.”
          The rest of the world called me BJ. This young man, my companion and the love of my life, preferred Vince, a pet name derived from my family moniker of Vinson.
          “My stomach wouldn’t wait. By the way I know why we heard all those sirens Wednesday night. Garage fire just down the street.”
          “Where?”
          I checked the news article. “Forty-eight eighteen.”
          “Belhaven’s place?”
          “I’ll admit you’re more neighborly than I am, but how do you know who lives four blocks down the street?”
          A minute later he plopped a bowl of instant oatmeal on the table, apparently abandoning the idea of an omelet. “I know him from SouthWest Writers.”
          Paul joined the professional writing association a year ago when he got his Master’s in journalism from the University of New Mexico and decided a membership would provide him some valuable contacts. He was probably right, although I never considered journalism as writing until he pointed out that’s exactly what it was.
          “Can I see the article when you’re finished?” he asked.
          After I commandeered the sports section and handed over the rest, his voice startled me out of a story about the Lobo baseball team.
          “This can’t be right.”
          “Uh.” I refused to be distracted.                                                   
          “Vince.” He shoved the newspaper in front of me. “I didn’t know Belhaven well, but I know one thing for sure. He wouldn’t repair his lawn mower. He’d have the kid who mowed his lawn do it or else buy a new mower.” He paused. “The rest sounds right. Belhaven would probably spill gas all over himself and somehow manage to light it up. But I’m telling you… he’d never even try it.”
          “A klutz, huh?”
          Paul nodded. “You could say that.”
          “I’ll tell you what I can’t believe. This happened two days ago, and Mrs. Wardlow hasn’t broadcast the gory details all over the neighborhood.”
          Gertrude Wardlow, the septuagenarian widow living across the street, was a retired DEA agent and the grande dame of our local neighborhood watch. But I had no gripes coming. She’d saved my bacon a couple of times when suspects tried to bring grievances to my home. More importantly she’d warned me Paul was in trouble when a gang kidnapped him a few years back.
          “Can I assume you smell a story?” I asked.
          “I smell a rat. But you’re right, I’m going to look into it. Who do you know in the fire department?”
          I gave him the name of the AFD Arson Squad commander I’d worked with a couple of times. “You can call Gene Enriquez if you want to know if there’s a police case working.”
          “You call Lieutenant Enriquez, okay? He’ll talk to you. You’re the confidential investigator, not me.”
          “Don’t sell yourself short. Way I figure it, an investigating journalist is simply a confidential investigator without a license.”

*****
And so it opens, reeling backward in time to 2003 and 2004 when a gigantic scam took $40,000,000 out of the local economy and resulted in multiple deaths. I hope you found this teaser interesting.

I encourage reader feedback on all my novels, and if you do read one, please post a review of the book on Amazon. Each one helps… as do letters to the publisher.

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it.

My personal links:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:


See you next week.

Don

New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.


Thursday, April 5, 2018

The Voxlightner Scandal, the 6th Book in the BJ Vinson Mystery Series

dontravis.com blog post #279

Last week, I told you I have started the sixth book in the BJ Vinson Mystery series. Today, I’d like you to take a look at the Prologue and let me know if it sparks any interest.

*****
Courtesy of Pixabay
THE VOXLIGHTNER SCANDAL
           Prologue

          Relaxing in the den of his comfortable home at 4818 Post Oak Drive NW, Pierce picked up a book from the lamp table beside his recliner and inspected it closely. His latest novel—his third—just delivered from his publisher in this morning’s mail. In a rare moment of brutal honesty, he admitted the most impressive thing on the cover was his name: John Pierce Belhaven. A good name for an author, it rolled off the tongue and lent gravitas to the trite title, Macabre Desserts. Although too egotistical to admit being a hack, in moments such as this, he silently acknowledged he was no James Lee Burke. Whenever he attempted some of the Louisiana writer’s soaring, poetic passages, they always ended up as muddied puddles of worthless ink that contributed nothing to the plot. What was Elmore Leonard’s rule number ten? Leave out the parts that nobody wanted to read.
          His next book would be a game changer. Just as the others, it would be a mystery, but this time he’d solve a real puzzle. One that had plagued Albuquerque for a generation. One involving the theft of millions and the death of a respected attorney. A mystery that only he could solve. He stumbled on the crucial clue years ago in his capacity as a utility company executive but hadn’t understood its significance until he researched his new book. It was a work that would carry him from humdrum to bestseller. And the interview with Wilma Hardesty on KALB-TV that aired that very afternoon had put the world on notice he was reopening the moribund Voxlightner case
          This would set them on their ears down at SouthWest Writers, make them sit up and take notice of him… not as a writer, but as an author. He quelled an urge to rush to his office on the other side of the house to assure himself the growing file of research on his desk was safe.
          A noise from the front of the house brought him out of his chair. He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Ten-thirty-four. Who could that be at this time of night? Melanie? He shook his head. His daughter hadn’t indicated she was driving in from Grants where she lived with that odious husband of hers. Harrison wouldn’t deign to show up at his door, probably not even to pick up his inheritance, should Pierce decide to leave his estranged son one.
          He smiled and then faltered. It wasn’t sweet Sarah. She was in Arizona visiting her family. His heartbeat quickened. It must be Spencer, although the lad didn’t usually show up on Wednesdays. Before walking to the garage door, he adjusted the book on the coffee table in such a way that Spence could hardly miss it. As he reached for the brass doorknob, he heard the gas-fired lawn mower roar to life.
          What the hell? John Pierce Bellhaven opened the door and entered the darkened garage.

*****
In the words of my last three posts—the book has been inseminated and is now gestating. Please let me know if you find the prologue interesting.

In the meantime: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. And keep on submitting your work to publishers and agents. You have something to say… so say it.

If you feel like dropping me a line, my personal links follow:

Facebook: Don Travis
Twitter: @dontravis3

Here are some buy links to City of Rocks, my most recent book.


See you next week.

Don

New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.


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