The Runaway Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #3)

by Thomas Fincham

  Nolan and Hyder were at Damian’s bar watching the story unfold on the giant screen.

  “Should you even be here, surrounded by alcohol, now that you are sober?” Hyder asked.

  “Should you even be here, at a bar, knowing your religion does not permit the drinking of alcohol?” Nolan replied.

  “Point taken,” Hyder conceded.

  Damian came over.

  “Cranberry juice for you.” He placed a glass in front of Hyder. “Soda water for you.” He placed another glass in front of Nolan. “Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen.”

  They raised their glasses and smiled.

  “Cheers,” they said in unison.

  They drank and then made a face.

  “Next time we go for coffee,” Hyder said.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Nolan replied.

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  A serial killer is targeting Muslims in the city of Franklin and Hyder Ali could be his next victim.

  THE SERIAL REPORTER (excerpt)

  ONE

  Marilyn Green rattled the keys in her right hand while she hugged a stack of books to herself with her left arm.

  Marilyn was in her early fifties, with grayish cropped hair and an easy smile. She had on a blue polka dot dress and she wore bright red spectacles which, over the years, had become sort of her moniker. Without them she looked like any other middle aged person, but with them, she was Marilyn from the bookstore. The glasses made her recognizable.

  Discounted Detective Books, or DDB, as it had come to be known, specialized in crime fiction.

  Marilyn and her late husband, Jim, had initially thought of only keeping used detective fiction books, but they quickly realized that in order to survive they needed to broaden their scope. DDB now had cozy mysteries, romance mysteries, murder mysteries, historical mysteries, police procedurals, hard-boiled noir, and of course, detective fiction.

  Marilyn was reluctant to keep cozy or even romance mysteries. but they were her bestsellers so she had no choice but to stock them. Women were her biggest customers and they were more interested in reading ‘safe’ books, those that had little or no gore and violence, minimum foul language, and even the romance was tame by most standards.

  Marilyn, on the other hand, loved dark mysteries, where serial killers didn’t hesitate in dismembering or defiling their victims.

  She loved how deeply rooted they were to human nature. People were capable of some of the most horrible things imaginable. Just check the news, she always said. So it was natural for her to want to explore that dark side. She much preferred to do it with a good book, though. Real life could be scary.

  She found the key, unlocked the front door, and entered.

  “Agatha! Edgar! Chandler!” she yelled.

  The three tabbies came running to her. They were named after famous authors: Agatha Christie, Edgar Allan Poe, and Raymond Chandler. They used to have another called Conan. He was name after Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but the cat died a couple of years back from diabetes complications.

  The names were chosen precisely because the authors wrote detective fiction. Christie was known for her Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot books, Chandler for his Philip Marlowe series, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for his character, Sherlock Holmes. Edgar Allan Poe, however, was chosen because he was the inventor of detective fiction when he wrote The Murders in the Rue Morgue in 1841.

  Marilyn gave each tabby a treat, which they greedily nibbled on. When she learned she couldn’t have any children, she and her husband decided to adopt cats. This was after they had decided to open a bookstore.

  They didn’t have any experience in publishing or even at selling books when they opened their doors seventeen years ago. Jim sold insurance and she was a paralegal. When they knew their lives would not be filled with the joys of parenthood they decided to change course.

  They both loved reading, but what they loved most was murder mysteries, so it was natural to focus on that genre. It was in fact their love of books that had brought them together in the first place. In high school, they joined a book club, whereby they were chosen as co-presidents of the club. This had never happened before in the school’s sixty years. It was done because they both had read far more books than any member there.

  Soon after, they were not only co-presidents; they were also a couple.

  When Jim died of cancer last year she was left with the store. She was glad for it. The shock, pain, sadness, anger, despair, was mitigated by the amazing stories around her. If she didn’t have bookstore she would have committed suicide from the grief.

  Marilyn placed the stack of books on the counter. She had taken the hardcovers home to read. She was able to finish some, while others she wondered how they were ever published in the first place.

  Marilyn had read almost all the books in the store. She prided herself in knowing what she sold. If a customer came in looking for a particular type of book, she was confident she could recommend something to them.

  The ones from today, however, were nothing short of trash. The authors paid no attention to characterization, to plot, to even the crime itself. If she didn’t care for the characters, then she most certainly would not care for the crime, or how they solved them. Thank heavens she had not paid much for them. They were now destined to be dropped into the store’s bargain bins.

  There was another reason why they only sold used books: most books didn’t sell, they just sat gathering dust on the shelves of bookstores worldwide. It was just a cold fact of the business. It was easier to get rid of them then send them back to the publishers.

  Marilyn pulled out a ledger from underneath the counter. She scanned yesterday’s sales figures and made a face.

  Sales were at their lowest they’d ever been. The industry had gone through a revolution with electronic books. More and more people were consuming books on ereaders, so print had become an option rather than the only means.

  Initially, she had detested the new medium. She even found it offensive when her niece gave her an ereader for Christmas. Nothing could replace the touch and smell of paper, she said to her niece with a scornful look.

  But Marilyn’s feelings changed when she gave it a try. She hated to admit it, but reading could be enjoyed in any form. The only thing that mattered was the story. She knew that if she could be a convert to ebooks then so could anyone else. This would lead to dramatic changes for DDB.

  She felt a bit sad knowing one day she may have to shut the doors for good. She wasn’t concerned about the business—she would find something else to do. She was more concerned about her companions. The books had become her friends and she hated the thought of not being surrounded by them.

  She sighed. After Jim’s death, her life had become dull and mundane. Thanks goodness she had books to keep her excited. It was why she was at the store on a Sunday. It was closed, but it gave her an opportunity to clean up the place and even catch up on some reading.

  She filled the tabbies’ trays with food and then grabbed several empty cardboard boxes. She went to the back of the store toward the large metal dumpster.

  She lifted the lid, gasped, and dropped the boxes.

  Lying inside was the body of a young man. His eyes were open and they were staring directly at her.

  Marilyn Green wanted to scream but her voice was stuck down her throat. She vomited on the pavement instead, and ran back into the store.

  TWO

  “Flight 8122 to Guadalajara, Mexico is now boarding in Gate 7,” the speakers announced.

  “Hyder, are you sure you’ll be okay without me?” Tom Nolan asked. Nolan was wearing a light blue dress shirt, and white dress pants with matching white dress shoes. He was clean shaven and his hair was combed back.

  Hyder Ali pushed his browline glasses up his nose and smiled. “I’m sure I’ll manage, Tom,” he said. Hyder was in his mid-twenties, around five-ten with a brown complexion and had thick
shaggy hair that he found difficult to keep straight.

  “You know I can stay, right?” Nolan insisted. “For me you come first.”

  “I thought I came first,” a woman said from behind them. Marina Lopez was wearing a light green dress than flowed down to her ankles. She had on brown sandals that matched the designer hand bag she was carrying. Her brown hair was tied back into a pony tail, which accentuated her olive skin and hazel colored eyes.

  Nolan coughed. “You do come first, Honey,” he replied. “But Hyder needs me right now, don’t you, buddy?”

  “I’m good,” Hyder said.

  “Are you absolutely certain?” Nolan gave him a look.

  Lopez rolled her eyes. “You’re finding excuses not to go.”

  Lopez’s sister, Angela, was getting married to her fiancé, Enrico, in Guadalajara, Mexico, where Lopez’s family still lived. As they were now a full-fledged couple Lopez had decided to bring Nolan along.

  “I do want to go,” Nolan assured her. “But, I still don’t think it’s a good idea for me to meet your family, just not yet.”

  “If not now, then when?”

  “Um… once I’ve fully recovered from my wounds,” he said. “I’m still suffering from PTSD, you know.”

  “You are fine,” she said. “The doctors have given you a clean bill of health. And don’t worry, my family will love you.”

  “It’s not them I’m worried about,” he said. “What if I don’t like them?”

  “You don’t like a lot of people, Tom,” she said.

  “I like you, and I like Hyder,” he replied.

  “Last call for Flight 8122 to Guadalajara, Mexico,” the speakers announced again.

  “We have to go,” Lopez said. She quickly hugged Hyder. “Take care of yourself and give my best to your mom.”

  “Will do,” Hyder said.

  Nolan leaned over and said, “Are you sure you’ll be able to pick up my friend?”

  “No problem, Tom,” Hyder assured him. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “If anything happens, you call me and I’ll take the first flight back, okay?” Nolan said.

  Hyder smiled. “Sure.”

  Lopez grabbed Nolan by his arm and dragged him toward the gates. “I’ll call you every day, Hyder,” he yelled. “I love you.”

  Hyder laughed and waved. “Have fun, guys.”

  THREE

  The old red Ferrari pulled up to the bookstore and parked next to a newer model.

  Detective Angelo Pascale got out and pulled down his sunglasses. He examined the exterior of the new vehicle and raised an eyebrow. “Sweet,” he said, twisting the toothpick in his mouth. His thick hair was greased back and he wore a black leather jacket.

  After admiring the vehicle for a few more seconds, he turned and entered the bookstore.

  He spotted a uniformed officer standing next to a middle-aged woman. The woman looked pale and ill. The officer rushed over.

  Pascale flashed him his badge and said, “What’ve we got here?”

  The officer looked at him. “I’m not sure, sir,” he replied.

  “You’re the first officer on the scene, right?” Pascale said, annoyed.

  “Yes.”

  “Then haven’t you examined the body yet?”

  “No, the other detective is already doing it.”

  “What other detective?” Pascale spat out his toothpick and marched to the back of the store.

  When he reached the dumpster he was startled to see a woman waist deep in it. She was slim, with smooth black hair and full lips. Her jacket sleeves were rolled up and she had on latex gloves.

  “What the hell is going on?” Pascale said, confused.

  “You must be Detective Pascale,” she said with a smile. “I’m Detective Evelyn Lin from the Greenville PD. I’ve been assigned to lead this case.”

  “But this is my case,” he said.

  “Maybe you should talk to Sergeant Halton.”

  “I will,” Pascale fumed. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the Sergeant’s number.

  “Doug Halton speaking,” the voice on the other end said.

  “Sir, this is Pascale, I just arrived at a crime scene and I found someone else on my investigation. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, right,” Halton said, as if he just remembered this vital fact. “Detective Lin comes highly recommended, and with two of our detectives on vacation, we could use an extra pair of hands.”

  “It was one thing to have Lopez telling me what to do,” Pascale said. “But I’m most certainly not going to take orders from someone from another department.”

  “It’s not my call,” Halton replied, his voice suddenly taking on a serious tone. “It was the Captain’s decision.”

  “Do you think he’s…?” Pascale stopped short from saying more.

  It was a known fact in the department that there was some resentment between the Captain and Halton and Pascale. They had been too eager to close the case involving the Captain’s son. If they had rushed in, the outcome would have devastated his family. The Captain wasn’t too pleased when he had found out, but there was no evidence that he was out to punish both of them. Pascale, however, felt otherwise.

  He sighed, knowing there was nothing else he could do. He shut the phone.

  He then turned to the woman standing in the dumpster.

  THE SERIAL REPORTER now available!

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  OTHER WORKS

  The Blue Hornet

  The October Five

  The Paperboys Club

  Killing Them Gently

  The Silent Reporter (Hyder Ali #1)

  The Rogue Reporter (Hyder Ali #2)

  The Runaway Reporter (Hyder Ali #3)

  THOMAS FINCHAM holds a graduate degree in Economics. His travels throughout the world have given him an appreciation for other cultures and beliefs. He has lived in Africa, Asia, and North America. An avid reader of mysteries and thrillers, he decided to give writing a try. Several novels later, he can honestly say he has found his calling. He is married and lives in a hundred-year-old house. He is the author of THE PAPERBOYS CLUB, THE OCTOBER FIVE, THE BLUE HORNET, KILLING THEM GENTLY, and the HYDER ALI SERIES.