A murder / mystery about twins, death, and personal pain. Detective Jake Barkley struggles to solve a murder while mourning the loss of his wife and twin brother.
A long, long time a go, in a land far, far away, lived three wondrous cops. A daddy cop, a mommy cop, and a wee little baby cop. Daddy cop’s name was Detective Jake Barkley, mommy cop’s name was Detective Archie Kantor, and little baby cop’s name was Captain Walter Allen. A crazy, bizarre family tragedy befell the space that held the attention of the three wondrous cops.
The family tragedy that turned into this book’s title, The Murder Gene: You Always Kill the One’s You Love, involved twins and parents and family. The family was distraught with pain and anger. This is a tale like none I’ve ever read from pages of professional binding.
Jake was assigned the murder, but the murder was assigned to a desperate corner of the atmosphere that regurgitates despair. The Story takes place in the bedroom community of Sandy, Utah. The town I grew up in and was a cop in over the course of four separate decades.
Between action-filled scenes that involve blood and mayhem, Jake sobs for his lost wife, Susan. Between sorrowful moments of dreadfully painful spaces in people’s lives, Jake sobs for his lost twin brother, Jack.
Lives become imperiled and lives seep away into the blackness. Jake realizes that if he is to be successful, he needs to drop his grief and fight the forces of evil.
Does daddy cop win in the end? Does mommy cop stay the course of vital support for daddy cop? Does wee little baby cop get his graduate diploma in “Pain in Everyone’s Butt?”
My name is Mark Nosack. I refer to myself as a Crusty Old Cop who has arrested thousands of people. I’ve written tens of thousands of police reports. Thus, I’ve been a professional writer my entire life. What sets me aside from most other authors is that I’ve lived the life described in my books. I’ve written a series of Jake Barkley mysteries. The Murder Gene is the first. I have written two other books.
I will be quite successful in my pursuit of becoming a published author. I hope that you will be part of that success.
Suddenly I heard a commotion inside the apartment and I saw the little streaking body of Enrique Parra run toward the rear sliding glass door. I pushed the door in and shoved Grunnel to the side and started to run toward little Ricky who had made it out to the rear patio. Immediately Ricky flung himself over the hand rail and plummeted toward the ground below. When I reached the rail, I looked down and saw little Ricky picking himself off the grass and look up toward me. In an instant he was racing away across the grass sprinting at an Olympic pace. I turned and ran toward the door passing Grunnel and Kantor. I turned toward the stairs and bounded down the stairs four at a time, reaching the bottom in seconds. I ran toward the rear of the complex seeing little Ricky as he hurled himself up onto the hood of a parked car and jumping over an old wooden fence. I ran with everything I had in Ricky Parra’s direction.
As I landed in the dirt on the other side of the fence I saw little Ricky pass through a gate on the right side. I believed that my longer legs were giving me the edge that I needed to catch the little bastard. I ran through the gate and saw Enrique Parra running along the sidewalk wrenching his neck to get a sight of his pursuer. I chased the man hoping that Davey Kantor had the mind to call for back-up. Little Ricky was about one half of a block ahead of me and I wasn’t gaining much ground. We approached the corner of the apartment complex when I saw the bright pink girth of Davey Kantor huffing and puffing for all he was worth running toward us through the parking lot. Enrique saw him also and immediately turned left and raced across the street and started bounding up the steps of an adjacent apartment building.
I turned the corner and hit the stairway just seconds after the man disappeared through the entryway. I slowed and stopped at the top of the stairs realizing that little Ricky was no where to be seen. I removed my firearm and started to slowly search the dark hallway that was bordered by apartment doors on both sides. There was no way that the little man was able to make it to the other end of the hall before I entered. Where the fuck was he? I heard the clamoring of Kantor as he ran up the stairs to finally catch me.
“He’s got to be in one of these apartments,” I said pointing my gun at a group of doors.
“I, I, I’ll take these,” Kantor said hardly able to get words out between gulps of breath. My partner was dripping with sweat so badly, he looked like a sunburned albino hippopotamus at a wet T-shirt contest.
“Check the doorknobs first. Maybe they didn’t think to lock it.”
We worked our way down the row of doors first checking every knob. Not finding any unlocked doors, we started back at the beginning knocking on each door. Out of the ten doors that we knocked on, only three people answered and all appeared normal without a hint of alarm. Where the fuck was he?
“My guess is he’s in one of these other apartments holding somebody hostage.”
“Yeah, but which one? We can’t kick all the doors. That would cost us each a year’s pay.”