VAULT OF
SECRETS
By
Hawk McKinney
BLURB:
Vault of
Secrets is a compelling tale of intrigue, murder, deception and redemption that
leads retired Navy SEAL/part-time private investigator Craige Ingram in search
of the connection between seemingly random murders and a banking
conspiracy. Working with the local homicide investigator, who just
happens to be a former Navy buddy, Craige Ingram's attempts to protect a lonely
widow and solve the case before another person dies are only thwarted by a psychotic
killer whose motivation is based on pure pleasure. The instincts and
skills Ingram and his buddy acquired as Navy SEALS are tested to their limits.
EXCERPT:
Before
the forensic team videoed the kill zone, they took painstaking wide-angle
photos and close-ups, made a detailed sweep of the area, packaged possible
physical evidence and tagged the zip-locks.
The heavy, thick plastic body bag was zipped shut. The woman’s remains were then hoisted into
the van with County Morgue stenciled on the side—slaughtered meat on a
gurney. It was ready for storage and probably
a pauper’s grave.
In
one desolate corner of the garage, beyond the yellow marked area and oil
splotched parking slots, the two bag ladies tried to be inconspicuous, waiting
where they’d been told to stay. Her drab
gray-blond hair twisted into a bun, Sallie Mae Drutherferde darted distrustful
glances at the clusters of police. She
squinted a sky blue eye, didn’t like cops one iota, and gave a dubious,
all-knowing look at Agatha Ruth.
Together, the two were often pushing their rickety grocery cart with its
one lopsided wheel.
Sallie
Mae asked, “A’gatha, you not gonna tell ‘em anything?” Her eyes were cocked big
and round. Sallie Mae always called her
A’gatha ‘cause that’s the way Agatha Ruth Hutchers said it. Didn’t matter what others said. A’gatha nervously adjusted her
dumpster-discard, hairbare, blond wig twisted askance, which made her look like
she was staring sidewise.
A’gatha
shook her head, “Ain’t sayin’ nuthin’ ‘bout nuthin’—‘bout no big, show-off,
black see-dan automobile that pulled in here last night. Right off the bat, they’d be askin’ why we
was where we didn’t supposed to be. We
end up havin’ to find us another place to skitter in out of the weather. No sirree.
Ain’t sayin’ nuthin’.”
“Gonna
have to find us another place anyhow,” Sallie Mae muttered as she crooked one
finger to scratch her curls. “‘Sides, I
didn’t hear no scuffle.”
“Whole
lot of ‘em drunk as hoot owls,” A’gatha said.
“Was all set to have a wing-ding party long ‘fore they showed up
here. Poor thing yonder in that
amb’lance wadn’t no innocent church mouse.
She was more’n willin’.” She then added with a snap of her head, “Lordy
mercy. Tsk-tsk. More’n willin’ and a cagey type, too. The type who makes sure to be paid ‘fore puttin’
a foot in anyone’s big, long car.
Scandalous tight dress showin’ off her wares, and a skimpy blouse didn’t
hide nothin’—poochin’ out her chest for any fancy man long as they brung
money. Even if she was a harlot, ain’t
no bizness a ours.” Her face softened.
“Ain’t tellin’ nobody nuthin’.
You know how cops be.”
“The
likes a her endin’ up dead in some alley ain’t no surprise t’me one bit,”
Sallie Mae said.
“Sallie
Mae!” A’gatha eyed her. “You hush up
‘bout us seein’ them in that alley.
Bankers that works in this building won’t bat nary an eyelash payin’
some low life to dump us off the Fifth Street pier. We end up gator bait stuffed amongst swamp
sycamore tree roots.” Truth glimmered from her eyes like a cornered
rabbit. “Them kind got money to buy
their scutwork done.”
The
police finally got around to them. “What
were you two doing in here that hour of the night?” the beat cop asked.
“Passin’
through,” Sallie Mae said, her head up proud.
“Passing
through …” the cop snorted. “Up here on
the upper deck?”
A’gatha
scowled, “We got lost.” Her lips were tight as she glowered, “We ain’t done
nuthin’ wrong.”
“This
is private property,” he said. “Nobody’s
supposed to be in here unless you got business with the bank, and nobody’s
supposed to be in here at night.”
“We
didn’t bother nuthin’, didn’t see nothin’.”
Sallie Mae wasn’t about to let no cop push A’gatha around.
He
knew he was getting nowhere. He turned
to the lieutenant, “We’ve dealt with these two before. The only arrests they have is when some owner
found them sleeping in his garage or in the back of an unlocked delivery
van.” He knew they were tough, weren’t
about to crack, but finding them here meant an extra patrol for him and his
partner. There was no point in pushing
further, so he closed his notepad and shoved it in his pocket. “You two can’t loiter here,” he said. “The bank don’t like it.”
A’gatha
bristled, “Ain’t loiterin’.” She wasn’t
going to put up with being called a bum neither.
“Don’t
let me catch you two in here again,” he said and walked away.
“Let’s
git.” They scurried away. A’gatha knew they didn’t amount to anything
to any of these cops. They were nothing
more than dust in a world that passed them without ever seeing them. “Might be a good time to take us a Florida
vacation,” A’gatha said. “Ain’t never
comin’ back near this here place.” She could feel the spirits hovering
about. “Not ever.”
“Cops
don’t scare me none,” Sallie Mae said.
“Tain’t
the cops,” Agatha said, eyeballin’ the shady darkness ‘round abouts them. “They be a evil smell to this place. A hoary breath of death abouts. I can tetch it. You best listen t’me. Be like about that other time when I said
things wadn’t safe,” she said, directing a sidewise glance at Sallie Mae and
sensing the murky gloom behind the midday brightness. “I’m rollin’ the bones this night. Death be here.” Her eyes were big with
fear. “Ain’t stayin’ where demons walk
the night mist.”
AUTHOR INFORMATION:
With
postgraduate degrees and faculty appointments in several medical universities,
Hawk MacKinney has taught graduate courses in both the United States and
Jerusalem. In addition
to professional articles and texts on chordate neuroembryology, Hawk has authored several
works of fiction.
Hawk
began writing mysteries for his school newspaper. His works of fiction, historical love
stories, science fiction and mystery-thrillers are not genre-centered, but
plot-character driven, and reflect his southwest upbringing in Arkansas, Texas
and Oklahoma. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel
nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War
Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award, details the family bloodlines of his
serial protagonist in the Craige Ingram Mystery Series… murder and mayhem with a touch of romance. Vault of Secrets, the first book in the Ingram series, was followed
by Nymrod Resurrection, Blood and Gold, and The Lady of Corpsewood Manor. All have received national
attention. Hawk’s latest release in the
Ingram series is due out this fall with another mystery-thriller work out in
2014. The Bleikovat Event, the first
volume in The Cairns of Sainctuarie
science fiction series, was released in 2012.
"Without question,
Hawk is one of the most gifted and imaginative writers I have had the pleasure
to represent. His reading fans have something special to look forward to in the
Craige Ingram Mystery Series. Intrigue, murder, deception and conspiracy--these
are the things that take Hawk's main character, Navy ex-SEAL/part-time private
investigator Craige Ingram, from his South Carolina ancestral home of Moccasin
Hollow to the dirty backrooms of the nation's capital and across Europe and the
Middle East."
Barbara
Casey, President
Barbara
Casey Literary Agency
