Episode 103: Hillary Waugh

Today's episode examines the intriguing police procedural sub-genre of crime-fiction. Eric presents an exciting feature on one of the genre's most iconic authors, Hillary Waugh. In addition, Eric reviews the first installment of the vintage detective series Neil Hockaday and discusses some new book aquisitions. The episode also includes an audible story by crime-noir writer Jimmy McKimmey. Stream now or download the episode directly at https://tinyurl.com/mry7y6vh. 

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:20):
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen to a brand new episode of
the Paperback Warrior podcast. We're one of the premiere podcasts
dedicated to vintage twentieth century fiction. This show is an
offshoot of the Paperbackwarrior dot com blog and you can
follow all of our happenings on Spotify, Amazon, Music, YouTube,
and anywhere that hosts streaming podcast. My name is Eric

(00:43):
and I'm your host today. And let me just pause
and say thank you. You welcomed us back in like
grand style. We had a break something like fifteen months
between episodes one and one and one hundred and two,
but we hit it hard, like really really hard on
the last episode, and the people have spoken and you

(01:06):
guys want more and more and more, and that's awesome.
So today got another jam pack show loaded with awesome
book related stuff and I just can't wait to go
over all these cool things that I've been researching. So
what's on tap today? First off, I've got a comprehensive

(01:27):
feature on one of the most respected crime fiction and
mystery writers of all time. That author is Hillary Wall, which,
by the way, is a man. Not that it matters,
but some people seem to think that Hillary Wall is
a female writer. I don't know why in the world
they think that my feature will cover all of the
different series titles that Hillary Wall wrote, with an emphasis

(01:50):
on the Fred Fellows Police Procedural series. In addition to that,
I'm reviewing a nineteen eighty nine detective novel called Sea
of Green by a gentleman named Thomas Adcock. We'll talk
a little bit about him. Plus I'm going to talk
about some new editions here at the Paperback Warrior Camp,
And just like last week, I'm going to read you

(02:10):
a story that's right, an audio short story from the archives,
read and recorded by yours truly, and just as a reminder,
the story is going to be at the end of
the show, so those of you not wanting to hear
me read a story you can just hop off during
my segue into that. I'll be disappointed, slightly perturbed, but
I guess I'll totally forgive you. The story is called

(02:31):
The Tormented by an awesome author that we've reviewed a
few times here on the blog, James mckimmey. I think
we even did a feature on him, to Believe, and
this is a standalone story that originally was published in
Man from Uncle magazine way back in August nineteen sixty seven.
And this story is now featured in a brand new

(02:55):
anthology called the Starkhouse Anthology. Happy to talk about that
a little bit as we read that story, Well, let's
talk about new stuff. You know, that's always always happening
over here. So new stuff. I got some new books.
The first one I wanted to bring up. It's just
the first one here in my little small pile. I mean,

(03:16):
wrap these all right. So this book is called Overkill.
Not to be confused with the oh gosh, what's his name? Norman?
I would say, help me out, but there's nobody else
here but me. Anyway. It's not that book, the Overkill,
which is the man from Abe series, not that Overkilled.

(03:37):
Different different book. The author for Overkill is William Garner.
The copyright page says it was first published in nineteen
sixty six. My version is the July nineteen sixty eight
paperback by Fontana Books. You guys may have some Fontana
books in your collection. That's a British publisher. I didn't

(03:57):
know anything about this book other than their is a
scantily clad woman on the cover pointing a gun, so
you know, cat me in. The synopsis states that the
main character is Michael Jagger, a high living, self hating,
risk loving ex agent who's in disgrace who barnstorms his
way through this ultimate thriller. The first thing I always

(04:21):
do with any like espionage book or spy book, whatever
I get those books, I hop over to the excellent
Spy Guys in Gals page ran by our good friend Randall.
According to his page, Jagger was the star of a
four book series of unusual spy fiction. There's this book again, Overkill,

(04:43):
which kicked off the series, and it was followed by
a book called The Deep Deep Freeze, followed by the
US or Them War, and then ending with a big
Enough Wreath. The series ran nineteen sixty six to nineteen
seventy four. And from my research here, apparently this Jagger guy,

(05:05):
like he used to be an agent for British intelligence
and now he's living off of his pension and some
type of inheritance and he just gets tangled up into
like all kinds of crazy espionage and crime fiction stuff.
So I don't know, kind of like the real life
Tom Simon after his FBI retirement. Right, I'll try this

(05:27):
one out at some point, I guess and sort of
see what's shaking with it. But I'm not in a
huge hurry to read this book. But I just got
it just just to have it, I guess, and other
new stuff. Some of you may remember Harry Reasoner, not
to be confused with James Reasoner, one of our supporters
here at Paperback Warrior and great author, a great, great

(05:49):
cool guy, James Reasoner, which, by the way, he has
two Sword and Sorcery novella's out now on Amazon, and
you can query James Reasoner and a normally comes up
at the top of his new books. They look awesome.
I bought both of them today. Actually, I think they
were like a dollar ninety nine each. Swordan Sorcery Books again,

(06:12):
James Reasoner. Swordan's Sorcery Books out now, dollar ninety nine.
I bought both of them today. But anyway, we're talking
about Harry Reasoner. Harry Reasoner, he was the host of
the ABC Nightly News way back in the day. He
was also on CBS sixty Minutes. He I guess his
most famous thing that happened to him on air was

(06:32):
he participated in the CBS News when JFK was assassinated
back in nineteen sixty three. He was broadcasting Live as
It happened, also when the shooting of Lee Harvey Osweald occurred.
But Reasoner. He wrote sixteen non fiction books, according to Goodreads,
but he also wrote one work of fiction, and it

(06:56):
was titled Tell Me About Women, originally published by Dell
in nineteen fifty six, when Reasner was just twenty two
years of age. The book is about a reporter named
Joe who lives life in the fast lane with bourbon
and easy blondes, but then a really nice girl comes
to to his life and seemingly recks Joe's free spirited lifestyle.

(07:19):
Pulp International described the book as possessing themes like war, discharge, disillusionment,
and troubled relations with the opposite sex. But the good
folks at Cutting Edge have a brand new edition of
this book out now and both digital and paperback. That's
why I'm bringing it up now. Looks cool. I'm probably
going to read this at some point and again on

(07:40):
Cutting Edge Books, So go out there get that one.
Tell me how great it is. But again, I'll probably
get it at some point read it. I picked up
this pulp collection from a company called Age of Aces.
So Age of Aces is the publisher. They specialize in
aviation pulp fiction. I haven't read too much of that subgenre,

(08:00):
but I wanted to get sort of like a feel
for it, so I got this book called Devil Dogs
of the Sky, Volume one, The Crimson Fog. The top
of the book says Donald E. Keyho's Mad Marines in
eight weird World War One Adventures. And I'll have to say,
there's not a lot of World War One themed books.

(08:23):
I ran into like World War Two all the time,
occasional the Korean War occasionally. You know, I'll come across
a lot of like in between, like some other types
of wars, not the big ones. But also you know,
obviously Vietnam is pretty prominent in the in the used
book section, but I don't really see a lot of
World War One books, so this is kind of a

(08:45):
welcome change. The book contains eight novel lettes starring the
Devil Dog Squadron. These all first appeared in Skybirds magazine
nineteen thirty one and nineteen thirty two, again written by
Donald E. Keho. I think I'm saying that name right. Keiho.
He was an author with like real aviation experience, like

(09:05):
he was an actual pilot. He was a pilot in
Squadron A of the Marine Aviation Force in nineteen twenty
then became commander of forty second Company in Guam. This
author also wrote another series called the Jailbird Flight in
the Battle Aces pulp and then he also had Captain
Philip Strange in the Flying Aces magazine. But the Devil

(09:29):
Dog series, which is what this book consists of, ran
a total of twenty four stories, and this collection that
I got collects the first eight stories, and the series
stars Cyclone Garrity and his crew of the twenty eighth
Pursuit Squadron as they battle in the skies on the
Western Front. His team are all hard drinkers but tough,

(09:51):
two fisted fighters. So I'm assuming there's probably lots of
dogfights in the air and then a lot of scraps
and things like that on the ground, and I don't know,
weird World War one adventure something, and maybe there's a
weird minace thing going on to or some kind of
hint of supernatural, but we'll see. I'm excited to read it.
That's really it. I've got these three books. That's sort

(10:12):
of my new stuff I wanted to talk about. But
I'm gonna add two of these books over to my pile,
and then this other book for this reasoner book, I'll
probably wait a little bit on, but I'll read it
at some point. So anyway, that's sort of the new
stuff I wanted to talk about. And I'm going to
turn on some moody music here for you. I know

(10:33):
you guys love this thing intro music to talk about
today's feature, which I'm really excited about. All Right, Remember
last week that I had mentioned that I was going
to do mini features, like maybe two or three smaller
features on some episodes. Well, you know how things change

(10:56):
on a dime. So this episode is one massive feature
on author Hillary Wall And I've spent some time recently
on a few of his books, and I'm just really
liking this guy. He's got a lot of interesting tidbits
in regards to his career and his life, and he's
got a great body of work. So let's jump into

(11:19):
a feature on Hillary Wall. Soall, he was born on
June twenty second, nineteen twenty in New Haven, Connecticut. I
was just there a few days ago, which I'm going
to talk about on my next episode. I did a
New England book book experience, but I'll talk about it later.
He attended Yale University in nineteen forty two and he

(11:40):
majored in art. It was at Yale that Wall enlisted
into the US Navy Air Corps and he went on
to serve in the Panama Canal Zone for two years,
flying different types of aircraft. Like so many other authors
that we talked about serving in the military, Hillary Wall
wrote his first book, and it was a book called

(12:01):
Madam Will Not Dine Tonight, and it was published in
hardcover in nineteen forty seven. It was later reprinted as
If I Live to Dine in nineteen forty nine. This
was the first of three novels starring a New York
private eye named Sheridan Wesley. The other books were Hoped

(12:21):
to Die in nineteen forty eight, which we mentioned last
episode as published by Handy Books. And he also finished
out the series with the Odds run Out in nineteen
forty nine. So those three books were Wall's first writing
efforts and all three star private eye Sheridan Wesley. I've
never read these books, but I have heard that they're just

(12:44):
not that good. They probably clearly display an author honing
his craft sort of. At the beginning of his career,
Wall described them himself as three private eye cute young
couple novels. Now. At that time, he also wrote a
story called Mister Airplane, and it was in Argusy's September

(13:05):
nineteen fifty one issue. He also appeared a couple of
years later in that same magazine with a story called
Ordeal of the Peter ten So. In nineteen forty nine,
Wall reads a true crime book. It's the book called
They All Died Young, written by a gentleman named Charles Boswell.

(13:25):
And this book it featured ten true crimes and one
of them really affected Hilary Wall. One of them was
about a college girl who went missing in Stanford, Connecticut
at Bennington College. So Wall reading these true crime events
in this book, he decides that he's going to incorporate

(13:47):
those elements into a fictional mystery novel, and that book
was called Last Scene Wearing Scene se n Last Scene Wearing.
His fiance at the time was attending a women's college,
so Wall decided to place his new mystery novel in
a fictional college. After working on the book for a
couple of years. It finally saw completion and publication in

(14:11):
nineteen fifty two. It was originally published as a hardcover
by Double Day. But this book is often considered the
absolute prototype for the modern police procedural novel. It takes
place chronologically, with time narrated from March third, nineteen fifty

(14:32):
until April eleventh, nineteen fifty. And I'm going to refer
to this style in just a few moments. But this book,
Last Scene Wearing, put Hillary Moall on the map as
a real heavy hitter of mystery and crime fiction. In fact,
this book was featured in a glossy mainstream magazine. Cosmopolitan

(14:55):
ran this book in their March nineteen fifty two issue.
That was big exposure for the author. And from this point,
Man he really gets rolling. He's got his standalone novels next,
which is called A Rag and a Bone, followed by
these books, The Case of the Missing Gardener, rich Man

(15:16):
Dead Man, The Girl who Cried Wolf, The Eighth Missus Bluebeard.
These were all published up until nineteen fifty eight. The
one book that I mentioned, the Case of the Missing Gardener.
He used a pseudonym for that book, probably because he
was so prolific during this short period of time. So
he used a pseudonym of Harry Walker to write that book.

(15:36):
Now we'll talk a little bit about Hillary Waller's pseudonyms
in a little bit as well. But at this point
wall wants to revisit the series idea again. You know,
he had those three books that made up his first series,
so he wants a new series. So he creates a
character in nineteen fifty nine. The character is Fred Fellows.

(15:56):
And I've got a lot to say about this fellow.
So Fred Fellows is the chief of police in this
small fictitious city of Stockton, Connecticut. He's got a wife
named Cecilia, and he's got four teenage children, two sons,
two daughters. Listen, Fred only drinks his coffee with sugar
and milk. He choose tobacco, and I'm not kidding. His

(16:19):
bulletin board in his office is like covered with nude
pin ups. But it's weird to say that because he's
actually a really classy guy. Seriously, he doesn't come across
as a guy who even choose tobacco and looks at
nudy mags. And sometimes I think that maybe it was
the other men in the station that put the nudes

(16:40):
on his wall, because Fred he always sort of just
dismisses that wall when people come in. He's also got
a really really messy desk, but he says he like
prefers that way because he can't he can find things
easier with his messy desk. At one point, one of
his men pokes fun at him because he's got like
he's got like this trivial receipt from buying pencils or

(17:01):
something three years earlier that's still sitting on his desk,
but Fred just says he may need the receipt someday,
so he kind of hangs on to it. But Fred
Fellows his police force includes twenty officers that are kind
of like a combination of full time and part time,
so he's got volunteers sort of thrown in there too,
just depending on, I guess the season. But the key

(17:23):
characters to remember with this series other than Fred Fellows,
the key characters are detective Sergeant Sidney Wilkes, as well
as Sergeants Unger and Gorman. But Wilkes is his right
hand man and often the two of them make up
a lot of the dialogue of the books. Because the

(17:44):
two of them conduct the majority of the investigations Fellows
and his force. They sometimes work with the nearest big city,
which is Bridgeport, Connecticut. Stockton is fictitious, as I mentioned earlier,
but bridgeportously is a real city. I think there's another
there's an actual city that's I can't remember the name

(18:07):
of it, but it sounds like Stockton, and it's right
on the coast. But I can't remember the name of it,
but I think that he was using that city as
sort of a template for Stockton, Connecticut. But anyway, sometimes
Fellows will have to go into other small towns across
the state trying to track down like witnesses or suspects,
things like that. But anyway, most of it takes place

(18:29):
right there in that little tiny town of Stockton. So
let me tell you briefly my experience with the Fred
Fellows series. I'm going to start with the debut book,
which was Sleep Long My Love, published in nineteen fifty nine.
What you need to know about this one is the
way it is written. First, it has a dragnet style

(18:52):
time system, so each chapter is the date and time,
so like, for example, it'll be like August third, for example,
at two o'clock to three thirty, the next chapter maybe
August third, four o'clock to four thirty, same day. The
reason is that ninety eight percent of the book the
reader is like, is right beside Fred Fellows the whole time.

(19:16):
I felt like when I read these books, I'm just
in the room with Fred at all times. So ninety
eight percent of the book is from Fred's perspective. You're
right there with Fred. Every interview, every crime scene, every
command the reader is involved in, which I think is cool.
It's in the third person. But Wall doesn't leave Fellows

(19:36):
like out of anything in this book. Just the first
few pages involves someone other than Fellows. In this way,
it puts the reader on the case. As Fellows finds
evidence and answers, the reader can decipher the same clues
for themselves. And I mean that is mystery writing anyhow, right,
kind of writing along with the author and starting with

(19:57):
the murder and then kind of working your way down
to the final solution, the resolution to the murder. I
used a little notepad to write down the clues and
the suspects, and I mean it wasn't like a heavy
lift or anything like that. I mean, it's not a chore.
I just did it to sort of keep track of
some of the suspects. In a way. It kind of
sort of made me feel like I was the police
officer handling it. But I had like a little notepad

(20:20):
that I was using. But from reading Wall's nonfiction book
on writing, which is called Hillary Wall's Guide to Mysteries
and Mystery Writing, which he put out later in his career,
just kind of recapping books that he felt were influential
into his career and how to write crime fiction. So
in that book he acknowledges that the first mystery writer

(20:44):
to have a professional policeman as the main character was
Lawrence Treat his book called v As in Victim, which
was published in nineteen forty five, followed by a sequel
called The Big Shout using those same characters. While he
says Treat was the first, he doesn't necessarily say he's

(21:04):
the father of the police procedural. That recognition would mean
a host of other writers were inspired to follow Treat's lead,
and that didn't really happen. Treat was even quoted as
saying that one time that he didn't even know he
was writing police procedurals until someone invented the term and
said that was the kind of thing he was writing.

(21:25):
But Hillary Wall says, the father of the procedural is
probably the program Dragnet, which makes sense. It created the field.
Dragnet was vastly popular, huge, huge radio show. I remember
watching it as a kid on TV in syndication. I
remember watching the old TV show. And when it comes
to the police procedural, Hillary Wall says that that genre

(21:47):
represented the second major change in the nature of the
mystery story, since it achieved really it's who done it
form with the advent of the classical detective story. This invention,
which established the classical period in the who donet form,
was the shifting of the reader's role from that of
observer like, for example, Watson watching Sherlock Holmes, to that

(22:12):
of the participants standing at the detective's side trying to
beat him at his own game. The detective is matching
wits with the criminal, while the author is matching wits
with the reader. Hillary Wall says the first change in
the handling of the mystery story was in the forties
and fifties, with a story emphasis from thought to action.

(22:33):
The detectives were loners trying to save their clients and
sometimes even themselves later they became spies with different sets
of problems. So Hillary Wall says that the police procedural
changed all of that. The procedural thrust the detective into
the middle of a working police force full of you know,

(22:54):
rules and regulations. The detectives can't really bypass the police
because they are the police. It takes the reader into
the police department and displays how it operates. So a
big difference. Right, you go from I don't know, like
a smoky office where you've got the detective and he's
got like a you know, sexy receptionist and he's bypassing

(23:19):
the police to soft crimes. And normally with these detectives,
they normally had like one police officer or chief of
police or something that they use as an ally. But
most of the time they have to circumvent the law
to figure out, you know, the mystery. But with this,
it's really putting the reader right there into the working
development of everything with the police force. So I love

(23:40):
what he's saying there how different it is, And really
it's simple, it's how Wal quoted it. It's the business
of moving towards the police instead of away from the police.
And that was a radical shift in the character of
the mystery story. So for me personally, the police procedurals
are realism versus suspending disbelief, which is something Wall touches

(24:05):
on as well in his book. But anyway, back to
Hillary Wall's Fred Fellows series of police procedurals his debut
Sleep Along My Love. In that book, the story involves
Fellows and Wilkes finding a human torso in a trunk
tucked away inside an abandoned rental house. I read this
and I was like, what, this is crazy for that

(24:29):
time period. In that book, they have like this, it's
like a rental house and inside they find human bones
in the fireplace and furnace. I mean, like really kind
of an edgy thing. The torso has the limbs hacked off,
and there are signs that something was being cut up
in the bathtub. I mean, this is nineteen fifty nine,

(24:50):
for God's sake, So I mean this is pretty edgy.
It's very modern. So the case is who is the
dead woman? Because they don't have a head, so they
have no way to get teeth records, there's no dental
records to really access, there's no hands for fingerprints, so
the mystery is who's the victim, but also obviously who's
the killer, So pretty cool little crime you double feature,

(25:12):
if you will. Victim and murder need to be found.
So the case winds through the typical interviews, little pieces
of evidence, and it's really cool because the tiniest little
clues here and there create a path to eventually solving
the case. And it was just awesome to be involved
in it as a reader, just working with Fred and

(25:35):
Wilkes through all these suspects and clues and things like that.
Wall's writing it's almost tutorial, which I think was sort
of like the spin he took with Last Scene Wearing.
Wall gets the police procedure, he understands it. This book
was adapted into a British film called Jigsaw, and I
was spoken around online even Pan which is a British publisher.

(25:59):
They published a paper version of the book as Jigsaw,
And just like his Last Scene Wearing book, this book
Sleep Along My Love appeared in the October nineteen fifty
nine issue of Cosmopolitan, so big time exposure. Wall's next
book in the series is Roadblock, published in nineteen sixty.

(26:21):
It's the second Fred Fellow's installment. I reviewed it a
while back, and you don't need to know anything about
the first novel to read this, and I believe most
of the series works that way. You don't necessarily have
to read the prior book. You can just pick them
in any order. But Wall does a little something different
with Roadblock. The entire first half of the book is

(26:43):
the crime. Fred Fellows isn't even involved. In the first
half of the book, it's just the criminals. That's the
only perspective is just the criminals, and the reader sees
the crime happen, knows where the criminals have gone and hiding.
And then the book second half it switches completely to
just Fred Fellows and the police the criminals. You know,

(27:05):
you don't get anything from the criminals perspective in the
second half. You just get Fellows and the police trying
to figure out where the where the criminals are and
trying to you know, saw the case. The first half
is about these criminals that knock off a payroll truck
at a local factory and then they go scrambling to
a planned hideout. And then the second half of the

(27:27):
book is literally Roadblocks. This is Fred Fellows setting up
roadblocks all through town and then on the outskirts of town,
so lots of roadblocks, lots of car chases and things
like that. So, you know, I felt like whenever. This
was the first Fred Fellow's book I had read, and
I didn't really get it. I liked it just fine,

(27:48):
but it didn't impress me that much. In fact, it's
kind of like a getaway type story that I think
that Richard Unckus, I think I'm saying that name right,
Richard you Neckis may have I've read this book because
his novel The Chase was published three years later in
nineteen sixty three, and it's a heist in getaway things

(28:09):
with It's a heist and getaway thing with cops setting
up roadblocks. And that book was adapted into a film
that you guys may know called Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry,
which had Peter Fonda and Susan George in it. So
I think maybe Yunckus read Roadblock and then sort of
got an idea there of making a story all about

(28:30):
roadblocks and a heist. I don't know, remains to be seen,
but the first this was the first Fredfellow's book I
had read, and again I sort of dismissed it. And
I didn't really care that much about the Fred Fellows
series until I started digging a little bit more into
Hillary Wall, and I wanted to try it again. The
last one I'm going to tell you about real quick

(28:51):
is the series fourth novel, which is called Born a Victim.
Now in this one, while still keeps the same blueprint
of the reader being right beside Fellows the entire book.
If Fellows can't see it or hear it, then the
reader can't either. Again, it puts the reader right into
the case, examining the clues and evidence along with the police.
And this one, though, the time stamps and the dates

(29:12):
go away, so Wall just goes with just chapters that
are numbered. This story has Fellows looking for a missing
girl and just finding all sorts of crazy skeletons in
the closet with the girl's wild family history. This book
is dark, I mean, like really dark, and I loved
this book. You're going to see reviews on the blog

(29:34):
in the coming days for Sleep Along My Love and
then also for Born a Victim. All right, And so
the Fred Fellows series it ran eleven books from nineteen
fifty nine through nineteen sixty eight, but at the same time,
Wall was also writing other books at the time period
as pseudonyms like H. Baldwin Taylor. Those books were The

(29:58):
Try and Virate, Trouble with Tycoons, and a book called
The Duplicate. During this time, he also wrote one story
for The Armchair Detective. But during that nine year period
of writing the Fellow series, Wall also wrote five standalone
mysteries as well under his name. But then in nineteen
sixty eight, after he said everything he needed to say

(30:20):
about Fred Fellows, Wall decides he wants to create another series.
This one is called Homicide North. So Homicide North started
with a book called thirty Manhattan East. It's a terrible title,
by the way, because it's confusing with two cardinal points
and then it just doesn't make any sense. But thirty
Manhattan East is the debut of the Homicide North series.

(30:44):
There were three total Homicide North books. The other two
were The Young Prey and Finish Me Off. These ran
from nineteen sixty eight to nineteen seventy. The thirty Manhattan
East novel also appeared in the August nineteen sixty eight
issue of art See as well. With this series. It
stars Lieutenant Frank Sessions and the detectives working out of

(31:07):
the homicide squad in Manhattan North. Frank Sessions is thirty seven.
He likes women, food, liquor, and books like in that order.
I like his clothes. The food and liquor have to
be good, but books and women he wasn't so fussy about.
He's also divorced. Sessions works with detectives Echeln, Connegar, and Dunford.

(31:29):
There's also homicide sergeants in there as well, a guy's
named Remick and Laird. These books work the same way
as the first two Fellows books, where each chapter is
a date and timestamp, so again the reader's right there
with the police on every page. The reader only knows
what the police know, which which I think is pretty cool.
For whatever reason, I don't really know why, but the

(31:49):
Homicide North books only ran three total novels, and then
after nineteen seventy, Wall goes back and writes on another
nine standalone novels through nineteen eighty, some of which were
like a different genre which we're going to talk about. So,
like so many mid twentieth century writers, wallpinned gothic romance novels,

(32:12):
so in you know, you may kind of laugh that off,
but I mean you think about it. You know guys
like Gil Brewer, John Messman, Irving Greenfield Y. It wasn't
uncommon for those guys to write Gothic romance novels because
it was a hot market. The nineteen seventies were ripe
with those Gothic romance novels from publishers like Falset, Gold, Medal, Avon,

(32:34):
paperback Library, you name it. They were all in the
goth game. So for these books, while used the pseudonym
of Elisa Gradoer gr A d W E. R. Alisa Gradover.
The names of the books just real quick, Summer at
Ravens Roost nineteen seventy six, Seaview Manor nineteen seventy six,

(32:56):
The Secret Room of Morgate House nineteen seventy seven, Blackbourne
Hall nineteen seventy nine, Rivergate House nineteen eighty and then
under his own name he wrote another Gothic called A
Bride for Hampton House, which I think is more romance
than goth but you get the idea, so you can

(33:16):
kind of see the pattern right. Wall would do a series,
then a bunch of standalones, then another series, then standalones.
So by nineteen eighty guess what, he wants to create
another series, so this is his final series. This series
stars a character named Simon K Kaye, So Simon K.

(33:38):
He's a private detective. He's in New York City. He's
got an office. He employs a dark haired beauty obviously
that serves him ten o'clock coffee along with doing administrative stuff.
His friend is father Jack McGuire, and the two of
them play chess with each other. There's six total books
in the Simon K series from nineteen eighty through nineteen

(34:02):
eighty six. I don't have any experience with these books
other than they all have the word case at the end,
like the Glenna Powers case or the Veronica Dean case.
So we were all the way up to what does
that put us? Out? In nineteen eighty six, and Wall
has two more novels left in his career, Murder on

(34:25):
Safari in nineteen eighty seven and A Death in a
Town in nineteen eighty eight, which I can't remember the
synopsis on a Death in a Town, but it sounds
like really gory, and one of the covers on there
is kind of a violent, kind of isolent looking. But
one year later I guess to celebrate his remarkable career.

(34:46):
As I mentioned earlier, he put out that guide to
Writing fiction, but sort of celebrating his career, Wall was
named Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America. He
also served as president and executive vice president of Mystery
Writers of America. Almost oh, I forgot one more tidbit.

(35:06):
We mentioned that he did a story in The Armchair
Detective and the Three Stories in Argacy. He also wrote
stories for Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, Mystery Writer's Annual, Ellery,
Queen's Mystery Magazine, and his book The Shadow Guest appeared
in Star Weekly. And on a personal note, he was

(35:29):
married twice had three children. He passed away in Torrington, Connecticut,
on December eighth, two thousand and eight. Remarkable career, great writer.
My sources for this feature was the Fiction magazine Index,
the Stop You're Killing Me blog of course at archive
dot org, and as I mentioned earlier, Hillary Wall's Guide

(35:52):
to Mysteries and Mystery Writing. So that is all I
have on Hillary Wall. I hope you enjoyed that, and
hope you'll go out and search for some of his books.
He's worth pursuing. So let's move over to my promised
review today. My promised review sort of goes back to
the police procedural theme sort of in a way. So

(36:16):
what we're talking about is Sea of Green and it
was written by a gentleman named Thomas Adcock. Now some
of you may remember Thomas Adcock's name because he was
in a previous or he pinned a previous series called
Ben Clayton t Man, and those were five books starring

(36:37):
a US Treasury Department agent. The books were published by
Warner Books from nineteen eighty one to nineteen eighty two.
But shortly after that series, Adcock branched out into what
I would consider more of like a mainstream series because
the books are fatter page counts. I mean we're talking
like three hundred to four hundred page books, which is

(37:00):
mammoth to me because I'm used to reading like one
hundred and eighty page books, so those are pretty big,
but three hundred four undred page books. And the series
that he created was the Neil Hockaday series. So Neil
Hockaday Series. There are six total books published from nineteen
eighty nine through nineteen ninety seven, published by Mysterious Press,

(37:24):
and all of them. From what I can tell is
they're presented in first person narrative. So I decided to
start at the beginning with a series opener, Sea of Green.
So here's the scoop on Hockaday. So Hockaday is a
divorced plain clothes detective. He's working the streets as part
of New York City's Street Crime Unit, which is in Manhattan,

(37:49):
out of Midtown North. So he calls it Scum Patrol,
Scum being the acronym for street Crime Unit, Manhattan. He
knows the area well. He's Irish, which ties into the
Sea of Green part. He grew up in Hell's Kitchen.
He was an altar boy there. As he got older,
he works his way through the police ranks and now

(38:09):
spends his day just collaring small time swindles. He does
a few drug busts, the occasional shooter stuff like that
for you savages out there, your firearm enthusiast out there.
He carries a forty four Charter Arms Bulldog and a
shoulder Hoster, and he carries a thirty two Bretta Puma

(38:32):
on his left ankle and a thirty eight Police Special
in a belt snap holster. Because I know those things
are important to you, right, Hackaday moves into a tiny
apartment house on West forty third Street and tenth Avenue.
And so after you get this brief history sort of
introducing the character, the book kicks off with Hackaday discovering

(38:52):
that one of his snitches has been murdered. When Hackaday
investigates the murder, he interviews the man's landlord. It's kind
of a ski actually, guy named Howie. A few days later,
Hackaday returns back to his home and discovers Howie's naked
dead body in his bathtub. That's a surprise. Right next
Hockaday Superior puts him on the case of I'm not

(39:15):
making this up. Puts him on the case of the
most reverend Father Love of the Healing Stream Deliverance Temple.
It turns out that this preacher, a guy named Waterman,
has received numerous death threats. In his offering plate, there's
little notes saying you're gonna die, things like that we're
gonna kill you. So during the investigation, this unknown shooter

(39:39):
assassinates Waterman like right in front of Hockaday. And somehow
the murder of Waterman ties into a real estate swindle
involving the very dead Howie and Hockaday's snitch and this
huge swath of land that's called the Jungle. So that's
sort of the premise, that's the idea of the book.
I don't know. This book was just it was just

(40:00):
okay for me. I sound like Randy Jackson on American Idol.
I don't know. It was just okay for me, man,
it was just okay. I was really kind of hoping for,
like some action, but I don't get the impression that
Hockaday has a violent bone in his entire body. There's
just no action. What there is is a lot of
Hockaday at the bar. And seriously, this dude does nothing

(40:23):
but set at the bar and drink for one hundred
pages of this book. I mean, I get that he's
there to talk to people that may be helpful in
the case, but it's just so focused on his bar scene.
And if that isn't bad enough, Hockaday gets romantically involved
with this cabaret dancer. Her name's Mona, and that's what
this book is about. Honestly, this book is about Haackaday

(40:44):
and Mona having this romantic accounter and dating and doing
this weird romance thing. The Reverend Thing and the Shady Landlord.
It's really on the back burner on like a totally
different stove and a different restaurant. It just it seems
like it's so far down on the priority list for
the author. I don't even know what's going on, but

(41:05):
the author just sticks to Mona and Hockaday front and
center throughout most of the book. My other issue with
this book is politics. I totally get that Adcock is
a liberal, and he spends the entire book trashing Ronald Reagan,
like annihilating Ronald Reagan in the same way that any
modern Stephen King book will absolutely trash Trump for entire chapters.

(41:28):
When I read these books, I really don't care if
the author is red or blue, if he's an elephant
or a jackass. I just don't care. And I'm here
to have, like, you know, a good time. I want
to escape the modern world of nonsense. Alice Cooper, the
rocker Alice Cooper said it best. He said, keep politics
out of rock and roll. That goes for books too.

(41:48):
And while I'm on this sort of pedestal, I really
hate election years because some of my favorite authors, like
they turn their social media into this political pulpit, and
it's just so annoying. Years ago, I used to combat
people about politics on Facebook and then I just threw
my hands in the air and I just don't gauge
in that any longer. It's a pointless exercise. It just

(42:09):
leads to grief. It's senseless anyway. That's all I want
to say about that. So I think if Sea of
Green was trimmed to like two hundred pages, it would
have been, like you, a much better experience. I mean,
it still isn't terrible by any means, but there's a
lot of room there for improvement. Maybe he did improve
with the series because the second novel, which is called
Dark Maze, earned him an Egg Award, So maybe there

(42:32):
was some improvement there. Maybe I need to try it again.
Maybe I'll try that book. But that's my take on
Sea of Green by Thomas Adcock. And before I jump
over to storytime and read this episode's story selection, here's
a warm farewell to those of you that aren't sticking around.
I hope you enjoyed this episode. Again. You can follow
us on paperback Warrior dot com. We've got new reviews

(42:53):
every single day except Tuesdays and Thursdays and Sundays. Tuesday, Thursday,
Sundays we get days off. But our social media on
Facebook and on x I'm loading that thing up about
five six seven posts every day, digging into the pulps,
digging into a book series, cover artists, occasional comic book

(43:13):
here and there. That's in our wheelhouse. I'm gonna get
into some MAM's been talking to Bob Dice. He's the
international expert on MAMS, so I may be talking about
some MAMS stories in the future. That's it. I'm gonna
put another episode out here in about two weeks, and
I've got I'm gonna tell you this next episode is
gonna be really, really cool. I'm going to talk about
my New England trip, all the bookstores I hit I

(43:36):
went to a really cool Oh. I can't get into
it right here, but anyway, two weeks i'm gonna have that.
So if you're signing off now, thanks for listening, much appreciated,
and those of you who are sticking around. I've got
our story right here. As I mentioned at the top
of the show, this book, or this story, i should say,
is called The Tormented by James mckimmey my disclaimer here,

(43:59):
I'm just gonna I'm reading this story aloud as a
fan and reader. I received no monetary incentive whatsoever to
read this story. I've got no skin in the game.
I didn't even request permission from Starkhouse Brass. So maybe
it'll be okay with them. Maybe not. I'm sure they're
gon let me know, but I'm just going with it.
So here we go with the Tormented by James mckimmey.

(44:24):
A chilling evening wind blew across the small crossroads town
on the spine of the Coast Range Mountains. Inside the
Copper Lantern Bar and Restaurant, the air was fragrant and
warm from logs blazing in the huge stone fireplace. The
aroma of charcoal broiled steaks and garlic bread came from
the restaurant section, whose broad windows overlooked the vast spread

(44:44):
of the San Francisco Peninsula below. David Ferrell sat at
the l shaped bar and ordered another beer. It was
a Thursday and customers were sparse. Only two parties were dining.
Ferrell and three other locals sat at the bar. One
was Vince Ecker, a regular egg skull. Eker boomed to Ferrell,
from down the bar. Loudly, Farrell thought, always loudly. He

(45:06):
turned his head to look at the large, sinewy man,
whose eyes were the color of gun metal, which was appropriate,
Farrell thought, I'm thinking Eker. Ecker wheezed, and there was
no other description for his laughter. That's what you do,
all right, egg scull think, but it don't make you
any money. The man wore a black knilon jacket, tan
leave eyes, and hunting boots. A white stetson was pushed

(45:27):
back from his pulpy, cruel face. His ski styled sunglasses
rested on the dark wood beside his beer bottle. He
grasped the bottle with a broad, stub fingered hand and drank.
He was a primitive, Farrell thought, bitterly, borne into an
advanced civilization that had done little to bring him up
beyond his animal status. He had been able to secure
himself a good living as a construction foreman. He also

(45:49):
owned a shrewd childlike ability to make the savage cut,
as he had just done. Again. He knew that Ferrell
had received a lengthy college education, But Ecker also knew
that Farrell was presently living near Popperhood, trying to support
a wife and child on the meager pay he received
as a book clerk in Palo Alto, ten miles below,
but that particular situation was going to be corrected. Farrell thought,

(46:13):
Is that the extent of your contribution? He asked acidly.
He was as large as Eker, but there was a
difference in their physiques. Beneath Ferrell's bulk was fat, not muscle.
His face was pale against the weathered brownness of Eckers.
He would have liked to have suddenly transformed into a
tough and muscular specimen in order to take care of
Ecker physically, but there were more realistic ways. I was wondering,

(46:37):
if you want to go night cooning again, Ecker said.
Ferrell turned away as Ecker began wheezing again. He remembered
vividly that night two weeks ago, when he'd gone hunting
with Ecker out of some foolish belief that he should
test his courage in Ecker's presence. He'd agreed to it,
despite the fact that, unlike Ecker, he had never wanted
to see any animal killed. He got into the man's

(46:57):
pickup truck with four lean hounds in side. The special
compartment built on the flat bed behind. They drive onto
a narrow road at the rear of the large rental
ranch owned by Martin Brenmark, a retired investor who lived
in seclusion and a sizeable house built on that land.
He got out of the cab as the carbine carrying
Ecker had walked behind the truck to open the dog's compartment.

(47:19):
The hounds sprang out in smooth, stretching leanes and immediately
began ranging noses to the ground and yipping. Ecker switched
on his powerful flashlight as the dogs found a scent
and gathered to bound into the darkness. Ferrell was a
lover of nature. He particularly liked animals. He loved to
hike through the hills to observe deer grazing on the
highest slopes. He liked to see rabbits springing away from

(47:41):
his step. He liked cats and dogs, even the hounds
owned by Ecker, who had been bred and trained to
lead the butcher to his quarry. All animals he thought
could be categorized into just what they were. The devious
breed was human. He cared little for any one of those,
including his son Jolly, and certainly his wife Mill who
refused to allow him to own a pet of any kind.

(48:03):
Yet here he was walking across a field with a
killer of deer raccoons, anything on which he could sight
his gun. Because he was growing increasingly more nervous, he
tried to make conversation. Doesn't Brian mart mind our being
out here at night? Mine's any time? Agged skull? To
hell with him? I've took more deer meat off this
land of his than you can figure. What's he gonna

(48:23):
do about it? He's peculiar, isn't he? Hermit? That's what
he is? Even his own foreman. Don't get beyond his fence.
Only me when I deliver his supplies every Saturday. How
come you, Ecker? I trained his dogs? You ever see them?
I hiked in one day to where Rawl's house is
by the gate. I saw them. He pictured those two

(48:45):
dogs running back and forth behind the steel barboire topped
fence that Martin brenmart had ordered built around his house.
German shepherds trained to attack on command, trained, he now
learned by e Vince Ecker. Them dogs will listen to
two people only bren Martin, me no more, though they're
dead and buried. What happened. Someone threw them a hunk

(49:09):
of poisoned meat. Now I gotta train me two more
for him. Ferrell stepped gingerly over the tufted grass. I
hear Brnmarch's rich, yeah, Eger said shortly, Why does he
hot away like that? Who knows he's a nut? But
Pharre was not so sure about that. Having seen Brenmart's sanctuary,

(49:31):
he'd become increasingly envious of the man. Bridmart's life, he decided,
was one of perfection, free of all worries and all responsibilities.
He could live exactly as he chose. As Farrell moved
apprehensively through the night, with the dogs running ahead of them,
he was regretting everything. Because of a small inheritance, he'd
been able to remain in college for graduate study in

(49:52):
English literature. He'd been content there, but then he'd met
Milly and made the unfortunate mistake of marrying her on
a slightly trunk and weakened in Reno. Now they had Jolly,
a bit under two years old. Farrell, who failed at
a brief stint of teaching, had been required to become
a clerk in a bookstore to support them. He would
gladly he thought trade places with Martin Brindmark. The sound

(50:16):
of the dogs turned into a wild chorus of barks
and yelps. Eker hurried his pace. They got one. Farrell
followed him reluctantly over the rise of a hill, then
down where the dogs were gathered around the trunk of
an oak. Ecker pointed his flashlight upward to find the
treed raccoon. The animal's eyes glowed against the light. Eker

(50:36):
handed Farrell the flash listening to the bedlam of the dogs.
Feeling his throat dry, Farrell held the beam on the
raccoon as Eker carefully lifted his carbine. There was the
crack of the rifle and Farrell closed his eyes. As
Ech reclaimed the flashlight. Pharrell looked again and saw that
the raccoon had dropped to the ground, where it was slashing, biting,

(50:57):
and growing viciously as the dogs darted at it. You
didn't kill him, he managed, Hell no, Ecker said, happily.
The dogs do that. I just winged him. Farrell watched
in horror as a small hound's belly was slashed by
the raccoon's claws. You're letting your own dogs get killed.

(51:19):
I get some more Eckers said in delight. Parah looked
again at the bloody, raging battle. Then he trotted away.
He stumbled over another small rise and sat down weakly
beside the trunk of a small windwarped tree. He thought
it would be sick for a time, listening to that
wild sound of battle behind him. Then he came to himself.

(51:39):
He finally realized that he was sitting in a small
cleft of a hill which rose directly above Martin Brendmart's
house no more than five hundred yards below. Outside the fencing,
there were the lights of the smaller house used by
the foreman cast rawl, then the long run of dark
space to the larger house, where light shone from a
wide window. Farrell used his excellent eye to see that

(52:00):
Brenmart was reading a book in a leather chair beside
a desk and a fireplace. He was lean, white haired,
and wore dark rimmed glasses. He put the book down
and walked to a wall. He reached under a corner
of the desk, and a panel of the knotty pine
wall slid back. He reached inside the recess and drew
out what was obviously a packet of currency. He put

(52:21):
his hand beneath the corner of the desk again, the
panel closed. He placed the packet in a drawer of
the desk, then returned to his chair and began reading again.
Ferrero rubbed his mouth. Finally, he returned to the truck,
where he waited in the cab until he was startled
to find Eker's flash suddenly lighting the hood. A ripped
carcass of a raccoon was slapped down on the metal.

(52:44):
Eker wheezed with laughter, what's the matter, egg skull, you
don't like a little fun. Ferrell poured beer from his
new bottle and listened to Ecker wheezing again. He just
don't like that night coon in no way. The bartender
diplomatically refused comment. Instead, he said, how's that new Winchester
working out? Vince? Best you can buy? Ecker said, with enthusiasm,

(53:10):
I got that thing zeroed in so I could shoot
the eye out of a gnat at a thousand yards.
Ferrell sat holding his glass, staring straight ahead, reviewing everything
he'd learned since he'd seen Martin. Brinmart removed that currency
from the recess hidden behind the paneling by discreet questioning,
he'd found out that Brindmart never left the privacy of
his fenced acreage. One of the single personal contacts he

(53:33):
made was with cast Rawl as foreman. Most of that
was accomplished by phone. Fees for renting his ranch land
were collected in cash by Rawl, who then turned them
over to Brnmart. Ferrell was reasonably certain that the man
used no bank. The only other person who dealt with
Brenmart was Ecker, who was paid to bring in Bridmart's
supplies every Saturday morning. A habit begun when Brenmart had

(53:56):
added the attack dogs to his protection. No one but
Ecker could have gone past them. But Brynmart was now
temporarily without dogs, and that, Farrell thought was going to
make the difference give credit to Ecker for it. Ferrell
had heard the general community opinion that it had been
Ecker himself who poisoned the animals. They would have accepted
meat from no one but Eker or Brindmart in order

(54:18):
to sell Brynmart two new ones. Eker was disliked by
most every one who knew him, and that too, Ferrell
told himself, was going to count. The door opened, the
cutting wind blew through the interior. The logs in the
great fireplace snapped as blue yellow flames wavered cass. Rawl
stepped in wearing a cow hide jacket with butter colored
shirp of pile, a full black stetson, overall pants, and

(54:42):
worn cowboy boots. He was a thin man in his
early thirties, but his face was already deeply lined from
exposure to weather. He nodded briefly to Ferrell, who had
talked to him casually last week, when Rawl had stated
his dislike for Ecker in his North Texas Drawl a
damned sadistic butcher. If mister Brynmart hadn't got hooked up
with him on account of the dogs, I'd never let

(55:04):
him sit foot on the branch. The way it is,
he delivers supplies every Saturday, nine in the morning. I
press the switch open the gate, wave him through. That's
all I'll have to do with him. I ever catch
him hunting on mister Brind's Arn's property, I'll see he's prosecuted.
Rawl walked to Ecker, who smiled and looked at his
beer bottle. Rawl handed him a folded sheet of paper,

(55:28):
list of stuff he wants Saturday, O K somebody was
coon hunting two weeks ago heard it at night. If
I catch a man doing that on mister Brinmarch's property,
I go for him personally. You told me that already.
You think it was me? I know it was Maybe
it was Farro over there. Give him the lecture. Somebody's

(55:50):
been night hunting deer too, freezing them with a flashlight
and shooting him that way. Next time he does it,
he'll get the book thrown at him. Wonder who it was,
Ecker said, still smiling. Somebody using a Winchester seventy. How
do you know I know the sound? Ecker shrugged. Doubt it.

(56:12):
But even if you do, lots of people use a
Winchester seventy. Deliver the supplies, Ecker rawl said, Tightly train
the dogs. Otherwise, stay off the land and away from
mister Brenmark. He wheeled and left. Eker delivered his laugh
and pushed his empty beer bottle away. I gotta get
home and feed them dogs. Seven I got now, counting

(56:34):
the new shepherds. Ferrell tapped the bar and placed the
bill in the wood. Buy him a beer. Ecker looked
at him in surprise. What's gotten into you? I'm trying
to make friends, complaining, Hell no, he said contemptuously, Let's
have the beer. Fararell observed the few cars parked in
the near darkness outside. There were no street lamps. The

(56:58):
only lightning came from an orange neon sign on top
of the building and another in the window the General's
store down the street. Eker's pickup was part beside Pharall's
old Plymouth sedan. He stepped between the two vehicles and
looked into the interior of the pick up. The keys
were in the initioni. Eker's Winchester, with its mounted scope,
was held by specially installed clamps along the front edge

(57:20):
of the seat, just above the flooring. The habits of
a man Ferrell thought were in direct ratio to his personality.
Eker was an egotistical bully. He believed that no one
would dare take something he owned. As a result, he
carelessly left his car in this condition, looking toward the bar,
hoping the extra beer would hold Eker in there. Farrel

(57:40):
opened the left hand door. He leaned inside and carefully
removed the rifle from the clamps. He moved quickly to
the rear of his own car, lifted the door of
the trunk and placed Ecker's rifle there. Then he picked
up a second rifle, same model, with an identical scope,
and closed the trunk. He stepped back to the pick up,
pushed the second Winchester into the cl lamps, then softly

(58:01):
closed the truck's door. As he got into his plymouth,
he realized that he was breathing Quickly. He drove away,
regretting only the memory. He'd paid for that rifle at
a large and busy sporting goods store in San Francisco,
where he was certain he would never be remembered. It
had taken most of what meager savings he'd had in
the bank, but it was an investment that would pay
returns if it worked. He stopped his car beside the

(58:23):
small cabin he'd rent into House's family, then walked through
the wet wind into a steamy kitchen, which smelled familiarly
of ham and lima beans. Millie looked at him reproachfully.
Her hair was in curlers, her permanent dew, he thought dismally.
The lines of her plump face she was fifteen pounds
heavier now than when he'd married her, were set in
that vacant expression warned ever since jolly had been delivered.

(58:46):
Her voice came forth in a thin, high whine. I
have to hold dinner every night, so you do, he
said wearily, and looked into the living room, where Jolly
was trying to work his portable crib into a wall
by yanking back and forth on a top slack night
after night. Milly shrilled. He walked into the living room
and sat down in an ancient easy chair. Jolly saw

(59:08):
him and started babbling loudly. Moments later, the crib jarred
into one of Ferrell's shins. Grunning with pain, he stared
back in fury at the wet, wicked smile Jolly was
showing him Finzaker's redwood house, its shingles catching. The last
light of the following day was in a secluded hollow
at the north edge of the sparsely house community. Farrell

(59:29):
stood in the protection of a thick grove of trees above,
watching the man working one of the shepherds in the
fenced area of his dog run. He wore the protective
gear of an attack dog trainer and held a small
leather whip with frayed ends, which he repeatedly snapped into
the dog's nose. The dog, its eyes growing brighter, snarled
and attacked with greater vengeance. Ferrell jogged a hundred yards

(59:51):
back to where he'd parked his car. He drove to
the cross roads and got out to enter a public
telephone booth. As he dialed, he felt his blood warming.
He let the rings repeat until he heard the breathless,
angry voice of Ecker. Yeah, he assumed a nasal drawl,
which he'd practiced repeatedly through the week. Rawl. Ecker, So

(01:00:13):
forget bringing in those supplies tomorrow morning. Why the hell not.
He doesn't want to be disturbed, all right. Let him starve,
then hurry it up on those dogs. That's what I'm doing,
Ecker said. He returned to his car as darkness began
enveloping the community. The Macadam leading in the direction of

(01:00:34):
Martin's Brindmart's land ran south in dipping curves. Ferrell drove
in that direction, passing the ranch, then turning right on
another highway. When he reached the small road at the
rear of the property where Vince Ecker had brought him
the night of the hunt, he got out and opened
the trunk to re moved the rifle. A cow was
standing in the distance, but he could not see it
because of the increasing darkness. He moved swiftly over the

(01:00:57):
tufted field, over a rise, and into the small valley
where the raccoon had been killed by the dogs. He
walked over another rise and stopped beside the small wind
shaped tree. The windows of the house used by cast
Raw were dark. He truly hoped that Raw was gone.
The wide window the large main house was lighted. Feeling
his nerves tingling, he saw that Martin Bridmart was reading

(01:01:18):
in the chair near the desk and fireplace. Farrell lifted
the rifle and sighted through the scope. His heart was bumping,
but he forced himself to hold the rifles steady. His
fingers squeezed. The report sounded cannon like in his ears.
The kick of the rifle spun him half around. Then
he looked again. Brynmart was slumped in the chair. He

(01:01:40):
hurried to his car and placed the rifle in the
back seat. As he drove away, he was thinking that
he might not have been able to shoot a deer,
or a raccoon, or even a rabbit, but Brynmart was
just another human being. When he reached the edge of
the community, he stopped the car off the highway. He
put on leather gloves and quickly cleaned, then oiled the rifle.
He returned it to the tree run, and minutes later

(01:02:01):
parked in front of the copper lantern. He was seated
at the bar sipping a beer when Eker arrived. Eker
ignored him and sat down angrily. Damn stupid dog, Farrell
half smiled. How's the hunting Ecker might be all right
if they knew how to make rifles. Thought you said
that Winchester was the best. Tried it this morning. I've

(01:02:23):
done better with the car being it was off a mile,
had to fix it all over again. Maybe now you
can hit a raccoon clean enough to kill it, Pharaoh
said dryly. Raccoon, I'm going for the big stuff from
now on. Like what, Maybe go up to the sierra
and get a bear cat. Maybe maybe go down south
and find a pig. I told you about them wild boars,

(01:02:45):
didn't I? Yes, Farrell said, and finished his beer. He
walked outside and stood beside his car until another pulled
away from the general store down the street. Then he
put on the gloves again and exchanged the Winchester from
the trunk with the one held by the clam sent
Ecker's pickup. He placed that in the back section of
the Plymouth on the floor, then drove down a winding
road to Palo Alto. He crossed through town to the

(01:03:08):
Dumbarton Bridge, where traffic was light. Half way across, he
stopped and leaned from a window to throw the rifle
over a guardrail into the bay. At twenty minutes to
nine the next morning, he again stood inside the public
telephone booth, dialing Vince Eker's number. Who Ecker demanded Ferrell,
So you were talking about cats last night? I saw

(01:03:31):
one down the highway. Ecker's voice assumed immediate interest. Where
you know that little road that cuts off the highway
just north of the road to Brent Mart's place. What
kind of cat? Big? Wild cat looked bigger? How big?
Five feet long? Maybe six? He could hear Ecker's breath

(01:03:53):
drawing in. Mean looking. Ferrell said, mountain lion. I figure
maybe came down from the north. I ought to phone
the sheriff. Animal like that. You leave it to me,
you hear, I'll take care of it. Small Creek Road
is just that place, That's it. Farrell drove south, meaning
a single car. He turned onto the narrow length of
black top marked small creek road and stopped out of

(01:04:16):
sight from the highway. Minutes later, Ecker's truck skidded to
a halt behind the Plymouth. Egar got out with his
rifle held tightly in one large hand. He released three
dogs from their compartment, which way the sun glinted against
his sunglasses down, Farrell said, through those trees along the
creek towards the valley five six feet swear it was.

(01:04:40):
Eker motioned his dogs ahead and followed running. Farrell waited
until he heard them deepen the trees. Then from a pocket,
he drew a bottle of tan makeup purchased at a
variety store. He smoothed it over his face. He fitted
on a pair of ski type sunglasses. Finally, he removed
from a foil lined carton a black parka in a
white medium brim stetson. He put them on and placed

(01:05:03):
the carton on the right hand side of the seat
of Ecker's truck. He turned the key of the pick
up and back to the highway. Then he drove to
the road leading to Martin Bridmart's fenced acreage. When he
neared the small house used by cast rawl, his palms
had became so wet, he could no longer hold on
to the steering wheel. He stopped and put on his gloves.
Then he forced himself to drive the truck to the gate.

(01:05:24):
Through the dark glasses, he saw Rawl appear at the
doorway of his house. Rag glared at him, but the
gate opened. Ferrell drove through, breathing hard. He stopped at
a side door of the large house and carried the
empty carten out of the truck. His worst moment arrived
when it became certain that the door would be locked.
It wasn't. He stepped inside and began looking for the
room where brenmart would be in that leather chair. After

(01:05:47):
several tries, he found it. He looked at the man,
at what was left of him after the tearing slug
from the high powered rifle had created its destruction. Then
he strode to the desk and located the lever beneath
the corner Paneling slid back, Ferrell stared at the packets
of currency stacked there. Finally, with shaking gloved hands, he
was able to transfer the packets into the carton. He

(01:06:09):
looked around the room, feeling an increasing greed, and noticed
a sheet of paper on the surface of the desk.
He stepped closer and read the beginning of the note,
to whom it may concern, Ay Martin, Brinmart hereby reveal
the following events. He read no further, feeling a fresh panic.
Had brynmart somehow known that he had been observed, had

(01:06:32):
Ferrell been seen that night of the raccoon hunt, and
had Brynmart written something. Ferrell grabbed the paper, folded it swiftly,
and slid it into an inner compartment of his wallet.
He picked up the carton and returned to the truck.
He did not look at Ral's house. As he drove
through the gate. Through a rear view mirror, he saw
it closing behind him. He re parked the truck where

(01:06:52):
he'd met Ecker and carried the cart into the trunk
of his car, where he placed it beside a small spade.
He removed the sunglasses, parka and half put them in
the garden, and closed the trunk. He wiped his face
with a handkerchief, then got behind the wheel of the
Plymouth and drove back to the highway. Following the undulating road,
he drove fifteen miles south. He stopped on a turnout

(01:07:13):
in a heavily wooded area. When no other cars were
in sight, he got out and retrieved the carton. He
carried it with a spade into the woods. In a
small clearing, he dug a deep hole, fitted the carton down,
then scooped earth back and smooth pine needles over the surface.
On the way home, he threw the spade and make
up stained handkerchief from the window. When he walked into
a small cabin and sat down in his chair, he

(01:07:36):
was exhausted. His mind went entirely blank. Millie kept complaining
to him, but her voice seemed very far away, and
the words she spoke were unintelligible. One year, two months
and five days later, David Ferrell sat near a window
of a large stone house encircled by a corrugated steel fence.
The structure had a fortress like quality and blended smoothly

(01:07:58):
with a flat Nevada sagebrush land. Located well off the
highway outside Reno, Pharaoh could see nothing immediate but sage
and brown earth and rock. In the distance. The bluish
rise of mountains was fading in the waving light of
late afternoon. He stood up, feeling edgy. There were smudges
of darkness beneath his eyes. He paced slowly through the

(01:08:19):
silent house from room to room, trying to find satisfaction
in this haven, and finding none. He thought of going
out to the front patio to sit for a while
before the cold night sharpened the air, but he decided
against it, as he had for weeks. A bit later,
he would have to walk out to the gate anyway
to see if there was mail. That would be enough exposure.

(01:08:39):
He could never be certain he knew what a good
rifle could do at five hundred yards. He sat down
in his living room and stared at a cold fireplace.
He thought back, as he did every day, to how
well had it gone. Once Kasraul had decided to go
into Martin Bridmart's house and found him dead in the library.
They arrested Vince Ecker two hours later. The next day,

(01:09:00):
a sheriff's detective had come to question Pharaoh at length.
When Eker's case had come to trial, Farrell had been
required to go on the witness stand. Ecker kept shouting
his accusations. Several times he had to be physically restrained,
but Ferrell had answered the questions in a polite, shy manner,
which he knew had suited the jury. His performance had

(01:09:21):
been in complete contrast to Ecker's screaming and shouting. The
defendant has made the claim, mister Ferrell, that he was,
in his words, framed, that you in fact fired the
rifle that ballistic tests have proven to be the murder weapon.
I'm aware of that. Is there any truth to it?
Certainly not. Ecker, swearing was in high fury, his face

(01:09:44):
modeled with rage. It is the defendant's contention that you
switched rifles in his truck, shot that deceased yourself from
a hill, then tricked the defendant into trailing a non
existing cat of some description, while you entered the fenced
retreat of the deceased in the disguise of the defendant
to steal valuables which might have been hidden behind paneling
in the library. Did you? Ferrell displayed a certain amount

(01:10:07):
of incredulity at the proposition. I've heard the contention, Sir,
I continued to be surprised by it. No, Sir, nothing
like that happened. The cords of Ecker's neck bulged like
taut ropes. You did not exchange rifles with the defendant.
I did not. You did not shoot the deceased. I
wouldn't kill a rabbit, sir, let alone, mister Brentmark, I

(01:10:30):
did not. You did not phone the defendant to explain
that you'd seen a wild animal which caused to meet
you at a location called Small Creek Road. No, sir,
you did not send the defendant on a chase after
that animal, then disguise yourself in apparel similar to his
and drive his truck on to the property of the deceased.
Certainly not. You did not see the defendant at all

(01:10:53):
that day, Yes, sir, as I was driving south on
the highway near nine o'clock, as I often do on
a Saturday, I saw him drive his truck onto the
road leading to the house of the deceased. When his
testimony had been completed, he'd smiled at the jury, then
left the stand. He known fairly certainly that it was
going to work when he'd heard the testimony of cass Rawl.

(01:11:13):
Please tell me, mister Rawl, are you absolutely certain that
the driver of the truck who went through the gate
the day following the established murder time of the deceased
was Vincent Albert Ecker. Pharaoh watched cass Rawl's eyes shine
with the hatred of the devoted servant who has lost
his master at the hands of the enemy. Cass Rawl,
said Vince Ecker, all right, he knew positively that was

(01:11:35):
going to work when the prosecuting attorney summarized his case
by characterizing Ecker as a sadistic killer who would go
to any means to accomplish his selfish mission, in this case,
the theft of an undetermined amount of money still unfound
because it had been hidden away by the defendant. Ecker
had put the finishing touch on the performance by shouting, accusing,
and raging in such a fashion that not a juror

(01:11:57):
felt him to be anything but what he had been
betrayed to be by the prosecution. Ferrel had hoped that
he would be given the gas chamber, but Ecker had
gotten a life sentence instead. That had been good enough anyway.
Ferrell had since learned that Ecker's performance in prison as
a surly, halting, bullying, provocative inmate continually precluded any possibility
for eventual parole. Ferrell stalked into his library line with

(01:12:20):
every book he had ever wanted to read, but he
had not been able to concentrate on anything these past weeks.
He was nervous, feeling a growing fear of some unknown
quantity which could destroy him. Yet he knew that was absurd.
He had perfect protection here. He had not made the
mistakes benmart had. He had refused to bring in dogs
because that would have required dependence upon a trainer. He

(01:12:41):
allowed his supplies to be brought only to the gate
and left outside until he picked them up. Nobody came
through the gate but himself. Yet he had to walk
through the open to reach that gate and collect supplies
and mail. Each time that he was required to do it,
his apprehension became greater. He sat down and rubbed his
palms over his knees. He'd also been thinking about women,

(01:13:02):
not Milly, Certainly, he'd taken care of her easily. After
Ecker had been sent to prison. He had picked up
an easy brunette in the copper lantern, then began an
obvious affair that had reached Milly's ears quickly in that
small community. She divorced him, but based on his book
clerk's income, she had gotten very little from him. She'd
remarried in a short time, and even that small alimony

(01:13:23):
was no longer necessary. No, he did not want Milly,
but any other woman. Yet, how could he risk leaving
this place to find one. He tried not to think about,
repeating his most familiar thoughts, reviewing the possibility of having
made a mistake somewhere. The largest he was certain had
been taking that sheet of paper from Martin Bridmart's desk.
He stood up again and resumed pacing, feeling his blood pumping.

(01:13:46):
At first, he had worried most about the condition of
that money and the foil lined cartan, but when he
had finally dug it up, he discovered that it had
been preserved perfectly. Then he'd worried about demonstrating any sort
of affluence by spending some of it, but he'd got
in the eye moving to Reno, where he had claimed
heavy winnings on small stakes in the casinos. He had
even declared the winnings on his income tax report and

(01:14:07):
paid taxes on them. No one had questioned anything. It
all came back to having taken that note brenmart had written.
Because of the state of shock that had hit him
that evening, he could not remember removing it from his pocket,
the wallet which contained the note, but he must have,
because it disappeared. He recalled that he had demanded a
Milly that she find it, but she could not. Finally,

(01:14:29):
he had looked at the moist, wicked face of Jolly
and realized that the baby had picked it up and
hidden it somewhere, But up to the time of his
divorce he had not found where. That was what, he
asked himself, had been contained in the rest of that note.
Where was it? Now? Who had read it? Would it
be enough to implicate him? And did Milly have it
waiting to use it on him? He turned on a

(01:14:49):
transistor radio on a shelf, wanting to remove that thought.
Then he switched the radio off immediately. Voices coming into
this house and telling him of the outside world had
ceased to interest him and only made him more nervous.
He had also canceled his newspaper subscription weeks ago. He
paced again, thinking of all he had planned to do
if he should ever gain the seclusion and independence owned

(01:15:11):
by Martin Brenmark. Now that he achieved them, he could
concentrate on nothing. He had even begun to hate his
once loved animals, which had become hated sounds in the night, rabbits, coyotes, wildcats,
mountain lions, prowling and searching, padding and climbing, causing him
to lie in his bed with sweat beating on his
forehead and his nerves trembling. All he could honestly think

(01:15:34):
of was having made a mistake somewhere, leaving a small
gate open, something that would bring destruction down on him.
At the near gloom of twilight, he stood beside a
window and peered toward the highway as the red mail
truck stopped beside his box on the other side of
the gate. He watched the carrier, who was a slope
shouldered man with a reddish mustache, deposit something the man
had in the beginning tried to stall till Farrell came

(01:15:57):
out to inspect that box, but Farrell would have none
of it. Even now, the man looked curiously and hopey
toward the house, as though Ferrell might come out. The
truck finally rolled on. Then he walked to the heavy
front door, which he kept locked and bolted. He well
remembered that Martin benmart had failed to do that. He
stood there, feeling a familiar weakness going through him. His

(01:16:17):
palms became moist. Finally he slid the bolt, then turned
the handle. He pushed the door open and stepped out.
He looked across the expanse of white gravel drive that
he would have to traverse in order to reach the gate.
Then he would have to unlock that gate and hurry
out to check the contents of the mail box, all
of which become a nearly unbearable task these past days.

(01:16:39):
But his curiosity was too strong. The mailman had placed
something in there. It might be a bill, or it
might only be junk mail, but he had to know.
He ran along the gravel to the gate and inserted
a key into the lock. He turned it, then jumped
out to yank the lid of the box down. He
grabbed a small package wrapped in brown paper, seeing that
it had been addressed to him in mell familiar hand.

(01:17:01):
He returned through the gate, kicked it shut and locked it,
then trotted back towards the house. When he had nearly
reached the door, he was certain that he saw something
moving beyond the fence to the east. He stopped, heart speeding.
There was a clumping of sage there. Whatever it had
been he was certain had moved behind that protection, But
the light now was deceiving. He broke into a run

(01:17:24):
and leapt into the house to close the door behind
him and bolt it. He threw the package on a sofa,
then hurried to an east window. He looked out, his
face by the seal, but he could see nothing imagination,
he thought, or something harmless, like a jack rabbit. He
returned to the sofa and sat down. Not assured, he
picked up the package and looked at it more carefully

(01:17:45):
to see that was correctly addressed. Well. He had made
no effort to go into absolute hiding. He'd give an
a fording address to the small post office in that
cross roads community. If he had tried to disappear entirely,
it would definitely have been suspicious. She probably inquired of
the postmistress and got in the address that way. He
tore the brown paper away from a flat pasteboard box.

(01:18:07):
He opened it to see his wallet. He removed it
as a small white card fell away, he read the message, David.
I found this when I was cleaning the house, as
George and I are moving to much larger quarters. It
was inside the register of the heater in the living room,
where I guess Jolly put it, signing it down a vent.

(01:18:28):
As you noticed, there are only two dollars inside, which
I did not touch. I am sending it not out
of any respect for you, as you hurt me, all right,
but because it has your various cards you were so
upset about losing. I'm only trying to be honorable, no
matter how much anguish you have caused me. Yours truly, Millie.
He opened the compartment which contained his various cards. Then

(01:18:48):
he looked inside the second compartment where he placed the
note from Brenmart's desk. He pulled out the folded paper.
Had she opened that compartment too to find this? He
threw the wallet aside and got up with the paper.
He walked in a fast circle around the room. Then
he hurried to his library, where he switched on a
desk light and set down the read To whom it

(01:19:09):
may concern, I, Martin Brimmart hereby reveal the following events,
beginning with the decline of my partner, Albert Hinshaw. It
was true that Albert engaged in dishonest measures which profited
him greatly at the expense of many innocent people, as
was stated in his suicide note found beside his body
in his car, where he died of carbon monoxide poisoning.

(01:19:32):
What is not true is that he later filtered away
those profits, as was stated in his note. What is
not true is that I knew nothing of his dealings.
What is not true is that he willingly committed suicide.
I discovered his manipulations, after which time I confronted Albert
with my knowledge, by threatening exposure of him to his wife,
to his daughter, to his son, to his friends. I

(01:19:54):
was able to extract the whereabouts of that money. By
working on his shame and guilt, I was able to
get him drunk, after which I carried him to his
garage placed him in the car. It will be remembered
that a large percentage of alcohol was found in Albert's blood,
as well as a half consumed bottle beside him in
the death car. But Albert was intoxicated before the car's
engine was started by me. I have since experienced an

(01:20:18):
increasing torment for that deed. The money first gained by
Albert is tainted money. It has made me a prisoner
in this hated stockade I've created in these wretched hills,
I have received nothing but hell in exchange, secluding myself
in this fashion. Afraid, afraid, nerves, nearly shot I damned
the money and all it is caused. All that I

(01:20:40):
desire now, as Albert did before me, is some release
from my torment. I invite, welcome any release. The handwriting
became nearly illegible near the end. The letter had not
been completed. Ferrell continued to stare at the words. Then
he stood up suddenly, eyes shining with fear. Millie had
read it, he thought, Yet why did she send it

(01:21:01):
to him, giving the evidence away that he had been
in Bridmart's house. Then he nodded quickly, a muscle flickering
along a cheek. She was playing with him, like Ecker
playing with a wounded raccoon, sadistic, devilish. He whirled, hearing
something moving outside. He ran to the window and yanked
the cord to snap the drape shut. His mouth had

(01:21:24):
turned dry. He tried to swallow and could not. Ecker,
he thought, reaching that absolute and inevitable conclusion he should
have reached months ago. You couldn't cage a man like that. Somehow,
some way, He switched off the desk lamp and stood
in the darkness, shaking with a strong chill. His hearing
for any alien sound had become acute. Now he heard

(01:21:45):
something very alien, some one running out there. He fell
to the floor and pressed his cheek tightly against the rug.
He listened, shaking badly, licking his dry lips, but now
there was only silence. Slowly he crawled toward the shelf
where the transistor radio rested. He reached up and turned
on the switch. Soft music played through the room. He lay,

(01:22:08):
shaking very badly. Now the music stopped abruptly, and a
man's voice said, there have been no further developments on
the escape of a convicted killer believed to have fled
to this area. As his hand jerked up to turn
up the volume, the radio was jarred from the shelf.
He crashed to the floor, and the voice was gone.
He pressed his cheek against the rug again, breathing hard, listening.

(01:22:30):
He should have known that he could never have defeated
an animal like that. It was like trying to defeat
a wild boar, as Eggar had so often described. You
shot to kill, and if it didn't work, it came
looking for you, tracking you mean and vicious. Ferrell began
to whimper, eyes hot with tears. He thought of Martin
Brnmark's written words, I damned the money and all it

(01:22:52):
has caused. Cheeked a rug lying flat beside the desk.
He envisioned the special womb he had created for it
with his own hands, a trap door recess right there
beneath the desk. He heard that sound of running again.
Closer now, he whimpered once more, shaking violently. Finally, he
rolled to his stomach, then began inching closer to the desk.

(01:23:13):
He slid his trembling fingers along the grain of the rug. Searching,
he found the clasp that held the fabric flat, loosen them,
then peeled the rug back. He managed to find a
key in his pocket and inserted into a heavy lock
built into the oak planking of the floor. He turned
the key and lifted the trap door. He began removing
packets of currency. At last, he pushed himself up to

(01:23:34):
his knees, then to his feet. He stood swaying trunketly.
Holding one of the packets. He staggered to the drape
cord and yanked it. The drapes were drawn open with
a thin whistling sound. With his free hand, he reached
out and switched on the ceiling lights, bathing himself in
hard white brightness. Gasping for breath, eyes wild, he unlatched

(01:23:54):
the window and threw it open, staring into the darkness.
Acker he listened, had heard nothing. He held up the
packet of money and shook it, wanting only to be
free of his torment. Vince Ecker he saw the muzzle flash,
he did not hear the explosion. Dusty, thick soled shoes
stopped beside the bloodied body. A stub fingered hand gathered

(01:24:17):
up the packets of currency, A pulpy, ultimately cruel face
creased with a smile. Minutes later, David Ferrell was alone
in his house. Well there you go. That was the
tormented by James mckimmey. As I mentioned earlier, this story
is included in a Starkhouse anthology literally called The stark

(01:24:38):
House Anthology, edited by Rick Ullerman and Greg Shephard. This
book's for sale on Amazon, and Tom Simon actually reviewed
this book. He can go on the blog and go
the tags for Starkhouse Press and you probably see that
one come up first. He reviewed it a couple of
weeks ago. But again, really appreciate you stick looking around

(01:25:00):
to listen to this story. I appreciate you listening to
the whole episode, and as I mentioned earlier, I've got
a new episode coming in about two weeks. Stay tuned
for that. Continue to follow us on Facebook X you,
and read all of our reviews on Paperbackwarrior dot com.
And of course, you can stream this podcast through YouTube, Spotify,

(01:25:22):
Amazon Music, Spreaker, and a lot more. Take care and
I'll talk at you in two weeks. Bye for now.