An in-depth and realistic look at the hunt for a particularly nasty serial killer.
Two unusual and irreverent detectives search for a serial killer while battling politics, incompetent comanders and competing Federal agencies.
All that keeps them on the track is their sense of humor and determination to stop the slaughter. Never knowing just who to trust and who to suspect, the detectives learn to depend entirely upon themselves to catch the lunatic killer.
Excerpt
The bemused detectives couldn’t help but chuckle as they watched Foster waddle away, white socks showing beneath his too short trousers, feet splayed like a duck, scratching and picking at himself. “You two will screw up royally some day and I’ll be there to see it.” Foster screamed over his shoulder as he hurried out the door picking his over-tight pants from the crack of his ass.
“Now there goes a man you can respect.” Rafe smiled and shook his head.
“You better leave him alone for now. We can always go back to torturing him after we have these cases cleared. Right now we might actually need his help.” Rader replied. Rafe slowly turned and looked at Scott. The two broke into a fit of laughter at the thought of ever needing Foster for anything.
“Whadda ya think, Rafe? Should we invite Foster over for another pool party?” Scott deadpanned.
“You couldn’t get him within three hundred miles of you and a swimming pool even if you offered him a million dollars and your head on a platter.” Rafe shot back.
The previous year, Foster had been on another of his infrequent bonding kicks. Rafe and Scott decided to take advantage of his mellow mood and invite him over to Scott’s place for a cookout and pool party. Everything went well until Scott, under the influence of far too much tequila, wandered through the sliding doors of his apartment and spied Foster lying on the deck around the pool in a pair of short trunks, looking much like a boned walrus carcass. Flaps of fish-belly white flesh jiggled with every breath.
“Arrrgghhhh!” Scott bellowed as he dived back into the apartment only to exit scant moments later carrying a fireplace poker and running toward Foster. In his best Gregory Peck imitation, he spouted his favorite line from Moby Dick, “The white whale, he tasks me!” as he tried to spear Foster with the poker. It took six SWAT officers, Rafe, and Scott’s current girlfriend to tackle and disarm him just before he skewered Foster. Not surprisingly, Foster had not accepted another social invitation from either detective since then.
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Reviews for "Trinity Flesh Flowers"
Reviewed by Laurel Johnson
1/24/2003
Trinity Flesh Flowers is a complete change from Desert Sunshine. Two very different books, but both done well by a gifted writer in my opinion for whatever that is worth. The stark realism in this is frightening and will be difficult for sensitive readers to absorb, but your writing is top notch.
The short excerpt was dynamite, and the preview... wowsers! You have class, you have style, and you definitely have talent.
You draw the reader in well with your quick wit, realistic characters and attention-holding plot. I especially liked the scene in which Carver went to view the body and stepped away to vomit. No need to elaborate more there, because that in itself tells us how bad the crime scene really was.
Nothing fresh about your first chapter Reece.I gimaced and shuddered as you described the crime.I could smell the crime scene.Not my cup of tea, but you will hook the readers of crime fiction. Well done.
Reviewed by Hanley Harding
12/27/2002
Dear Reece;
I've never been much "into" detective novels (although my short story "In the Sight of God" and my in-work novel "The Box factor" both have major law enforcement roles in them). I do, however, very much enjoy the writing of your work and the humanity of your characters. If I get some more time, I will download the sample chapter and relax with it. Keep up the (very) good writing!
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