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Pauline M Reckentin

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by Pauline M Reckentin   

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Books by Pauline M Reckentin
· The Mindplayer
· From Deepest Night
· The SHORTZ Short Story Book
                >> View all



Publisher:  Pauline Reckentin SHORTZ ISBN-10:  0957877811 Type: 


Copyright:  May 11 2001

This is a police procedural style of murder mystery introducing my detective - Heribert Finney and his lovely sidekick Constable Winsome Shirleen Love. This story is set in a suburb of Brisbane Queensland Australia and flushes out a serial killer and a hetman. A story told with humour as well as having its moments of heart stopping fear.

Barnes &

What happens when doppelgangers meet? What happens when mothers milk turns sour? Can this Inspector Finney uncover the mystery of these killings? Are they all drug related????? How does the killer disappear so successfully?



Arthur Saildon was lolling against the framework of the door coughing when Pete, the bodyguard come bouncer, opened the door. When he saw who it was he sneered, ‘Oh, it's you.’
He roughly yanked Arthur in by his arm and peered around outside to make sure he hadn't been followed, ‘Get in here, quick.’
Arthur sniffed and coughed.
‘Use a bloody handkerchief and stop that sniffing. You know it only aggravates Dave and I'm tellin you, you'd better not upset him today.’
Arthur reached into the pocket of his grubby jeans pulled out a crumpled rag and blew his nose loudly.
Pete watched him, the revulsion clear on his face, Saildon was always the same, skin and bone, long greasy hair to his shoulders, watery blue eyes deep-set in his puffy white face. As usual, Arthur's nails were filthy. Arthur was filthy.
‘Right, c'mon, Dave's waiting.’
He knocked and opened a door off the hallway, ‘In here.’
Arthur was stuffing the rag of handkerchief back into his pocket and raked his other hand through his hair. He hesitated.
Pushing him through the doorway, Pete closed the door behind him and took up his position outside. No one would go in or come out unless the Boss, Dave, said so. The fact that no one else was in the house at the time didn't enter into it.
Pete was an enigma. He watched all the old gangster movies and the heavies were his heroes. His interpretation of a bodyguard had always been something between a savage dog and a mad gorilla with thought processes in the same range.
The heavies he admired in the American movies had all been snappy dressers hence the latest fashion light wool suit, white shirt and colourful tie with matching handkerchief. His blonde hair was styled a la Ray Martin and the folded arm stance he had picked up recently out

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