KILLING QUICK - A story of two friends: One, a quiet and mysterious university professor living in St. Croix, and the other, a hot-tempered San Franciscan millionaire. A Seattle reporter is found dead in her condominium, and her death is inexplicably tied to an unsolved 20-year old mystery. The childhood friends reunite and embark on a quest to find the killer. In their search for justice they find themselves pitted against a powerful politician, corrupt police, and the most dangerous man in North America. They quickly discover they’re in over their heads, and that they’re chasing a trail of empty leads filled with lies, misinformation, and cover-ups. The journey takes them into the very heart of the enemy, without a way home, unless they can find the one man who knows the real truth…a hunted fugitive.

CHAPTER 1 Dana Travis knew the minute he got home that someone had been there. Nothing obvious, just subtle signs that only a fastidious person like he would spot; particles of dirt resting against the base of a flowerpot, a shirt hanging carelessly off a hanger in the closet, furniture casters that didn’t match up with carpet indentations—all telltale signs that furniture had been moved. He grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator and went down the hall to his study. There he found more evidence of tampering. Reference books had been put back on the shelf in the wrong order, an accounting ledger was missing, and his desk drawer showed faint scratch marks from being jimmied. Travis propped his stocky legs on the desk and took another sip of beer. They have no idea what they’re looking for. By the time they figure it out, it’ll be too late. He thumbed through his Rolodex until he found the number. For a split moment he considered throwing in the towel and getting out of town while he still could, but greed won out. It’s just a matter of time before he pays—just a matter of time. What Travis didn’t know was that he didn’t have any left. *** The Legends Hotel lounge was adorned in burgundy and teal accented by brass handrails and trim with wine-colored Berber carpet covering all but 900 square feet of the floor occupied by the white Wurlitzer. Several people were listening to the latest pianist playing “Ribbon in the Sky.” The crowd gave her a warm and appreciative applause as she returned to the bar and her waiting husband. The white laminated piano seat sat empty, glowing like a radiant throne beckoning another challenger to come forth, but no one did. Anna Mateo sat at a nearby table cradling a margarita while staring at the blank laptop screen. This was her second notebook and third hard drive crash in the last six months and it brought to mind the conversation she’d had with her boss a few days ago in the office. “How do you expect me to write the news if you don’t give me what I need to do my job?” “I don’t like the situation any more than you, but money is tight right now,” he said. She reminded him that this was an election year and the paper had yet to hire a political analyst. Her boss shrugged his shoulders in despair. “We’ll have to use existing staff to fill the gaps until we’re able to hire more reporters.” “Filling the gaps” translated into Anna getting stuck with additional assignments and longer work hours. Tonight she was covering the state elections. She closed the defective computer and tossed it onto the seat beside her. A reporter from the Post entered the room and waved to her as she muscled her way through the crowed to get to the bar. On any other night the women would have been hanging out together, but this was no ordinary night. This was Primary Tuesday and competing reporters didn’t have time to be friends. People had been converging on the lounge since early afternoon. Now that the polls were closed, the room was crowded with onlookers watching the plasma screen. Crowds this large rarely showed up for a presidential election, much less a primary. Channel 5 began announcing their exit poll results. The race for Governor was going down to the wire. The Democratic incumbent was involved in a fight of his life against his upstart opponent, and the winner wouldn’t be known for hours. An even greater shocker was the race for the Republican U.S. Senate nomination. A former U.S. senator and heavy favorite to win the party nomination and general election, was going down in heavy defeat to the Mayor of Evergreen, Victor Alpine. Alpine had been behind in the polls just two weeks ago and now political analysts were projecting he would capture the nomination with fifty-six percent of the vote. Everyone in the room was stunned. Alpine had accomplished something no other politician ever had against this particular opponent; he’d won. There was a whirlwind of cellular activity as reporters scrambled to place calls to their counterparts at Alpine’s election headquarters in Evergreen. Every newspaper, radio talk show host, and television news commentator would be scrambling trying to reach Alpine’s campaign manager and publicist, Desmond Shaw. Anna could imagine the headline in tomorrow’s paper: Political Neophyte Upsets Underwood! Victor Alpine already had quite a track record. He had transformed the second-rate city of Evergreen into a first class economically vital metropolis of 300,000 with the best city services in the state and a revolutionary transit system that had garnered national attention. His accomplishments were nothing less than miraculous, considering he had only been mayor for eight years. Despite all his success, charisma, and popularity, Alpine faced two enormous political liabilities: his age and lack of political experience, either of which should have derailed his candidacy for senator. But here he was still standing. He had proven to be an adept politician who defied the odds. As much as she was dying to get an interview, Anna knew it wouldn’t happen. The only media people allowed access to Victor Alpine were A-team reporters and Anna was so far down the alphabet food chain she knew they’d have to invent a new letter for her. It was just as well because she didn’t have the time. She had other political races to cover along with the weekly column she was supposed to have ready by morning. She left the unfinished drink on the table and started to leave. The bartender caught her attention. “Anna, there’s a telephone call for you.” He tossed her the cordless phone. “Hello?” she said. “Are you Anna Mateo?” “Yes.” “My name is Dana Travis. I need to talk—” “How did you find me?” “Your newspaper told me where you were. I apologize for interrupting you, but I’ve got to talk to you tonight as soon as possible. I have some information you’ll find very interesting.” She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What kind of information?” “About Victor Alpine.” “What about him?” “I have Information that will kill him politically.” She could hear the tension in his voice, but she was irritated and in a hurry. “What is it?” He paused, but she could hear erratic breathing through the ear pierce. “A conspiracy of sorts.” “Excuse me, Mr. Travis, I don’t want to be rude, but can we cut to the chase? I was on my way out when you called.” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. “What would you say if I told you Victor Alpine knows what happened to Eva Ward?” Anna froze, almost dropping the phone as she sat down. Eva…it wasn’t possible. The glimmer of hope and exhilaration quickly gave way to common sense. Oh great, another headline hunter looking for his fifteen minutes of fame. All kinds of nuts flooded newsroom switchboards with ridiculous stories following elections. Usually they were pitiful losers who couldn’t accept the fact that their candidate had been defeated. The stories were almost always untrue or imagined accounts of grand conspiracies, adulterous affairs, or corruption. Usually the only truth they revealed was the deep-seated hatred and insecurity of the accuser. But this loser had done some homework. She didn’t know what made her angrier; the fact that he was trying to manipulate her loss to his advantage or that he had piqued her interest. “Are you still there?” he asked. “Yes. Look, I don’t have time to talk to you right now. If you have some information give it to the police, not me.” “I don’t trust the police or anyone else for that matter. The only reason I’m talking to you is that I know you were friends with Eva Ward. She’s the reason you moved to Washington.” Anna bristled. “How do you know that?” “It was in one our files.” She didn’t like where this was going. “What file?” “In a corporate vault in San Diego.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “I know this must seem strange to you, but I can explain everything when we meet.” In spite of her instinct to hang up the phone, she couldn’t. “I’m not meeti

Dwight Edwards grew up in the Pacific Northwest. He now lives with his wife near Olympia, Washington where he works for the Board of County Commissioners for Thurston County. Mr. Edwards has also authored the book “Chasing the Storm”, which is a continuation of the Julian Sebasst mystery adventure series.