The Thomas Blume Series: Books 5-7

By Phil Reade

Three gripping stories. One breakneck ride...

This special collection includes books 5-7 in the acclaimed Thomas Blume series.

 

If you enjoy thrilling action, captivating characters and mysteries that keep you guessing then you'll love this three book collection from breakout author Phil Reade

 

GRAVE WALKER
An ex-cop haunted by his past. A body with a message. 72 hours to find the truth...

Ex-cop, Thomas Blume returns to New York hot on the trail of the man that killed his family...

But when the body of a former girlfriend unexpectedly shows up at police HQ Blume is suddenly thrust into an investigation to find the murderer and stop them killing again.

Now, in a race against time Blume must solve a riddle from his past and battle through a world of cops, criminals and organized crime… before it's too late.

Who can be trusted and who will survive?

Find out in the thrilling fifth book of the Thomas Blume mystery series today.

FLASH POINT
A devastating explosion in Manhattan. A bomber with an ultimatum. An ex-cop with 24 hours to save the city...

When former NYPD detective, Thomas Blume, narrowly escapes a deadly blast that rips apart downtown New York, he thinks he's gotten lucky, but things are about to get far worse. The bomber issues him a terrifying ultimatum; find and kill the man he seeks, or more people will die.

Now, in a race against the clock, Blume must battle motorcycle gangs, a private army, government cover-ups, and the demons of his past to find the man and save the city. Who can he trust and who will survive? Find out in the most explosive Thomas Blume novel yet; FLASH POINT.

END GAME
Could you trust a killer with your life?

When former NYPD detective, Thomas Blume wakes up in an unfamiliar apartment with no memory of how he got there, only one man can offer the answers he seeks; a man who took everything from him.

Forced to team up with his sworn enemy, Blume is dragged into a deadly race in pursuit of a file containing the answers he has chased for over two years … A file so dangerous powerful enemies are willing to kill to make sure the contents never see daylight.

With new allies and old adversaries rising, can Blume survive long enough to discover the true reason his family was killed?
Find out in the gripping thriller, END GAME.

Get your copy of this gripping series now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phil Reade
• Release date: Nov 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386967606

Book preview

—

A sibling may be the only enemy you can’t live without.

- Anonymous

Prologue

They were dead.

All of them.

Cops, criminals, I couldn’t tell. They were strewn across the floor like fallen mannequins, bloodied and ruined.

A section of ceiling fell ahead of me, and somewhere in the distance, a siren sounded.

I staggered through the destruction, trying to tear my eyes away from the death all around, but as always, it called to me, mocking my choices.

How had it come to this? What had gone wrong?

I didn’t have the answers, but that was nothing new. I’d been two steps behind ever since I set foot back in this country. Hell, I was so far behind the pace that it felt like I was running a different race.

Amid the stinging smoke and rubble, the doorway I needed emerged, and the fire in my veins grew hotter.

I had no delusions of morality anymore. As I drew my gun and stepped forward, there was no hesitation or crisis of conscience. It was simple. Primal.

The man I came down here to confront. The man I had chased for almost a year. The man who had taken it all from me. He was going to pay.

For everything.

Chapter One

I snapped awake from the dream. Or was it a nightmare?

The squeal of the aircraft landing gear tugged me from my thoughts. Last thing I remembered, I had been staring out the window, half a miniature bottle of whiskey shy of being drunk, when I must have drifted off. The cry of rubber on runway had been a rude awakening.

The light streaming through the oval window seemed hollow and sharp here, causing me to squint. Back in London, it would have been softer, more welcoming.

Or maybe I’d indulged in a few too many drinks during the flight and imagined it. The Jack Daniels and Coke mixtures I’d been making had become more Jack and less Coke the closer I got to the States. Perhaps I was anxious about returning to where it all began and seeing the faces of my past. Or perhaps I was just an old drunk who couldn’t go eight hours without the booze.

Either way, being back on American soil for the first time in a long time, scared me, brought back all sorts of memories.

The pilot made his usual announcements, and I remained seated as everyone around me bustled to their feet and reclaimed their carry-ons from the overhead compartments. I rolled my head slowly along the headrest of my seat, wondering whether I was ready to set foot back in New York, where it all began. I’d been in London for almost a year, not nearly enough time to wash away the mixed feelings the Big Apple had long ago planted in my heart.

Really, I had no choice but to return. The demise of my previous employer had not specifically pointed me back home, but it had given me the nudge. Somehow, chasing the one case that dragged me to London had, ironically, pointed me back to New York. After a year of ghosts and dead-ends, I was ready for some answers. The truth had been gnawing at the edge of my conscience for so long, taunting me with the fate of my family.

With the aisle traffic clearing out, I climbed to my feet and took down my small carry-on bag. As I struggled with it, the depth of my inebriation became clear. Christ, was I almost smashed? Stupid state to arrive in my old home town.

Different continent, but the same old demons.

One thing about New York, though, was the feeling you got from just being there, a feeling unlike anywhere else on the planet. More than anything, it felt good to see a bright and gleaming East Coast sun blazing down on the tarmac as I exited the plane and moved along the air-bridge. Trudging slowly towards the baggage claim, more things reminded me of what I had once loved about this city. Giants jerseys, Yankees caps, and advertising for Broadway shows.

And oh God, the delicious smell of greasy, overpriced pizza. My stomach growled.

I made my way toward the final security checkpoint that would lead me into the central hub of JFK International. I took out my wallet and passport, trying to be as ready as possible before reaching the kiosk.

The terse woman behind the counter barely looked at me as I slid my documents through the slot at the bottom of the glass. She examined them for a long moment before looking up at me with a little too much scrutiny for comfort. Finally, she shrugged and pushed my wallet and passport back before yelling out: Next!

American hospitality. Don’t you just love it? So warm. So Goddamned welcoming.

Glad to be out from underneath her scowl, I carried on and made my way to the restrooms. Jetlag and an impending hangover threatened, so I headed straight to the wash basins. I splashed cold water over my face and then wiped the excess away with a handful of paper towels from the wall dispenser.

I avoided looking in the mirror. I knew what I’d see there. The ragged-looking reflection, the three days’ worth of beard, the messy hair that somehow made the gray streaks around the edges more pronounced. At my age, was all of that gray just the natural progression of time or the high stress my job often placed on me? Maybe a bit of both.

I still carried the strong jaw and sturdy build of my father, but the steel blue eyes and dark hair was pure mom.

I stepped back out into the growing bustle of JFK airport, wondering whether I could do anything else to procrastinate. I had to stop being such a damned coward. New Yorkers are supposed to be tough and mean. That’s the cliché I needed to mimic. Yes, it was the stereotype, but I was certain it didn’t apply to New Yorkers who had escaped overseas when life had gotten too hard for them. Maybe I could develop a new image—the cowardly New Yorker. A stereotype of one.

With the familiar heaviness of a few drinks affecting my balance and an even more familiar sense of uncertainty, I made my way through the terminal. I headed for the exits, moments away from setting foot into the city that had given me so much and taken so much more. And while they had not died in New York, the city had practically taken my wife and son as well.

And that’s what it came down to. The driving reason I pushed down all the uncertainty and fear. I’d returned to New York for one reason, and I’d be damned if I left before confronting the man who killed my family.

Chapter Two

This early in the morning, I didn’t have to fight my way through much of a crowd to reach the baggage carousel. I grabbed my suitcase and joined it with the carry-on strapped over my shoulder.

As with just about any airport on the planet, an anticipated few minutes to the exit turned out to be much more. After a while, unable to ignore the enticing aroma of pizza, I ended up dropping six dollars for a slice that looked and felt like cardboard. I ate it in a few quick bites and then claustrophobia started to push in at the edges. Although the waiting streets would be no more open, I needed to get out of the airport, to be outside and officially starting my self-imposed, self-designed crusade.

A minute later, as I passed a Thai restaurant and a bookstore and wondered how many varieties of different cuisines people thought they needed in a single airport to be happy, two security guards appeared out of a small door to the left. Mouths shut, gazes set dead ahead, they walked in lockstep, side by side. Something was happening, or about to happen. A few paces closer to the exit, I became sure they were following me. Either that or the booze was making me paranoid.

I needed to keep it together.

No. No faulting my judgment this time. The two security goons were doing their best not to make it obvious, but there was no mistaking it—they were tailing me. To make certain, I stopped by a small Apple kiosk, pretending to look at the shiny gadgets I couldn’t afford. I watched them in the reflection of the glass case along the top of the display. They walked further on along the other side of the corridor and stopped. They stood side by side, still not talking, keeping me in view.

I left the kiosk and within a few steps, the exit loomed up ahead. But as I shifted to the right, as though intending to head towards a Mexican restaurant, the two guards did the same. Up ahead, a group of people milled around taking pictures—a large family traveling on vacation, I assumed.

I started in their direction, and despite the rudeness, I cut straight through them, earning a few curses and quickened my pace. When I made it through the other side of their impromptu photo session, I glanced back. My actions had caused the guards to misstep. They spotted me as I resumed a regular walking pace, but they were still on the other side of the annoyed family.

Smiling, I stepped into the flow of foot traffic like any other person in the airport. I hurried to the exit and finally made it outside. Beyond the cool, calm environment of the air-conditioned terminal, I was hit by the familiar assault on the senses that typified New York City. Taxis and buses churned by, horns blared, and marshals blew their whistles—ushering the ubiquitous yellow cabs back and forth. People of all shapes and sizes swarmed the sidewalks while the howl of a police siren echoed in the distance.

The summer heat stifled and smothered. Even this early in the day, it was building, mixing with the exhaust fumes like a sticky blanket, covering everything it touched. To any outsider, it would have been overwhelming, but to me, it felt like home.

I didn’t have time for nostalgia, though. Instead, I tried to blend in with the cabs and shuttle buses, and the throngs of people coming and going.

A quick glance over my shoulder. No sign of the two guards.

I hurried to the far end of the airport sidewalk, content to catch one of the rattier-looking cabs likely to be overlooked by pickier travelers. I didn’t bother looking behind me for the guards again. Being outside in the open made me realize how foolish I’d been. In New York no more than fifteen minutes, what could I possibly have done to attract the attention of airport security?

Paranoia is a terrible thing.

I smiled at my idiocy and shook my head. Damned fool. The city had already gotten to me, affected my reason. I needed to man up. Much more of this and I’d end up a babbling mess.

Then I saw them. Two cops appeared up ahead. No more than ten feet away, moving straight in my direction. One of them looked directly at me and spoke into the shoulder-mic on his uniform.

Shit.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. Had someone from London—perhaps someone I had crossed and not even known it—made a call to the NYPD? Hell, I’d put away enough scumbags in this city as a detective that there would be no shortage of locals wanting a shot at me either.

Mr. Blume? the lead officer said as they closed the distance between us. He was in his fifties, tall with gray hair and a thin build. His partner was shorter and overweight but around the same age. They reminded me of some kind of double act past their prime—an aged version of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy.

Yeah?

How was your flight?

Fantastic, I said sarcastically, knowing he was stalling for something. Hell if I knew what it was, though.

Good, ‘Stan’ said. He peered over my shoulder with recognition in his eyes. I turned to look behind me. The two guards that had been following me in the airport waved. The second officer, ‘Oliver’ waved back and added a nod.

Not so paranoid after all.

Mr. Blume, I’m going to need you to step into the vehicle, please, Stan said, his hand dropping to his hip…and resting on his firearm.

He had caught me so off guard, I hadn’t even noticed the Ford van parked along the curb directly beside me. Black, all the windows darkened out, it sat ominously looming over us.

What’s this about? I asked.

The two cops and the pair of security guards had now created a box around me. Even if I were interested in making a scene—which I wasn’t—there was no way I’d get away from them. The only thing to do was to just go along with it.

Please just come along with us, Oliver said.

I shrugged, my stomach churned and I nearly threw up the pizza. As he opened the sliding door along the side of the van, I tried going back through my mind and looking for anyone in New York that had a beef with me.

Were these guys being paid off?

This was an impossible situation, and I knew that any scenarios I came up with would likely be wrong. So I stopped trying and simply stepped into the van, waiting to see what surprises my old stomping grounds had in store. I clenched my fists as I got in, prepared to fight if I needed to.

As the Ford pulled away from the curb and we hit the overpass, the clawing skyscrapers of Manhattan appeared. I eyed the skyline and recalled the past I had worked so hard to leave behind.

Welcome home, Tom.

Chapter Three

The van didn’t seem like any city-issued model I was familiar with, which automatically sent my old police instincts into overdrive. What really screwed with me though, was that Stan and Ollie, the two cops from the airport, had climbed in behind me and were sitting opposite on a bench seat. In the front, a shaven-headed man, bearded, with muscles like a bear glanced back at me through the rearview mirror. Other than my three unlikely companions and myself, the van was empty. I could see no evidence of criminal activity as we rumbled downtown.

Okay, so who’s going to tell me what this is all about? I asked. Because if this is a tour of the city, you guys are missing all the sights.

No one answered my attempts to lighten the mood. As I looked from one man to the next, I guessed the driver would be the only real threat. Both Stan and Ollie were pushing sixty. While they were both equipped with side arms and cuffs, I was pretty sure that a couple of well-placed right hooks would drop them.

Is this just how they greet ex-cops back in the Big Apple now? I joked. Look, I’m a fan of Broadway as much as the next man, but isn’t this a bit theatrical?

Still, no response. I stared at one of the cops, waiting to see if I could figure him out. But all the cop did was glower through the windshield, not intimidated, just doing his best to ignore me.

Tough crowd, I said and gave up.

These three were not going to give me any information. Whoever had hired them had clearly given them instructions stay tight-lipped. I wasn’t going to get any answers until the van stopped.

Rather than trying to rile these men up in the hopes that they might reveal some information, I relaxed as much as I could and gazed out of the window. The New York City skyline rolled by like it had in so many movies, but as any local knows, movies just can’t capture the majesty of the city as you’re driving into its heart.

Damn, I’d missed this place. For all its flaws, it was my home. Under better circumstances, I would have enjoyed the drive. As it was I sat, awaiting my fate in uncomfortable silence.

I studied the route the driver was taking, and within ten minutes, we were on territory I knew well. Maybe too well. As familiar buildings and street names passed by the window, each landmark churned up a series of memories I had not reflected on in what seemed like forever.

We passed Sumner Street, where I used to hang out with friends at the age of ten or so, buying baseball cards from the mom-and-pop sports collectibles store. Not too far after that, we passed a building that, until about fifteen years ago had been the National Theater, where I had not only seen my first movie but years later also dared to put my hand on a girl’s leg for the first time…and had it slapped away.

The memories scuffled through my mind like drunk wanderers in a strange place—disorganized and chaotic. It was hard to imagine that those things had happened to me. They seemed like events from another life, belonging to someone I had never met.

I was struck by another pang of nostalgia five minutes later as the van drove by the apartment complex Sarah had lived in when we met. As an NYPD detective eager to prove himself, I had stumbled into a case that had almost cost me my life. Instead, I had met an English reporter with a penchant for getting herself into trouble. I had berated her for putting herself at risk, and she had criticized me for being an over-protective American.

Three weeks later, we were having dinner twice a week. A month after that we moved in together. Eventually, our son, Tommy, arrived. And after that, it all happened far too quickly…all the way down to their deaths.

Sarah…

I blinked the memories away and pulled myself back into the moment. Knowing it would do no good, I asked again: Where are we going?

No one bothered to answer, although I did manage to get a faint smile from the driver. Success, of sorts.

I continued to watch through the window and started to get a very bad feeling. We were in Midtown, a strip called Clinton, a.k.a Hell’s Kitchen. It wasn’t too far away from where I had been raised. A series of thoughts raced through my mind, but before I could sort through any of them, the driver signaled right, pulled into a narrow alleyway, and then came to a stop.

The towering brick walls on either side and at the abandoned alley behind set my mind racing. I could feel the sweat beading on my skin. If this was a hit, it was the perfect place for it.

Shit.

I tensed, ready for my moment. Maybe I would get a chance.

The cops looked to the brawny driver, and all three of them nodded to one another. Oliver pulled the lever in the sliding door and rolled it open. A dingy street and a brick wall greeted us on the other side.

Get out, Stan said, his hand resting on the grip of his Glock.

I raised my hands in surrender and stepped out of the cool van into the oppressive humidity once more. I tensed my muscles, ready to fight or run if I had to. Adrenaline filled my body, panic too. I had to act, but how?

I was outnumbered, and if I ran, there was only a dumpster and a few trash bags in sight, not enough cover if my captors decided to open fire. Maybe if I managed to grab one of the men as a hostage—

My breath caught in my throat. Another man stood in the alleyway, in the deep shadow of a doorway, waiting for me. He stood with one hand resting on a pistol, face hidden beneath a hooded sweater. A few inches shorter than me at 5’8" but stocky with a build that showed through his plain clothes. A police badge hung around his neck from a chain.

When he spoke he sounded pissed…but somehow familiar.

I’ll tell you something, Blume, the man said, stepping forward. You sure do have a lot of balls showing up around here again.

What can I say, I quipped, stalling for time. I missed the New York hospitality.

He didn’t seem impressed by my comment, and I wracked my brain for the past wrongs I may have done here. Finally, the man slowed his advance, gripping his gun. I stood my ground, well aware that the other cops all around had frozen in place, no doubt waiting to see what happened next.

Look I don’t know what this is all about but—

Enough! The hooded figure snapped.

The man stopped dead ahead and removed his hood. He wore a cap with dark, curly hair tucked beneath it, reflecting his Latino features. Features I knew well.

Rey Sanchez cracked a smile and broke into uncontrollable laughter. One that was echoed by all the cops around me.

I’d been had.

You son of a bitch, I shook my head and allowed myself a wry smile.

You should have seen your face, man! Rey howled with laughter before scooping two large breaths and pushing his giggles down.

Yeah, yeah. I rolled my eyes. They had gotten me good.

I stepped forward, as did he, and we gave each other the sort of hug old friends share after a long time apart.

He was my friend, after all. And damn, it was good to see him. I hadn’t seen my old partner since I had left for London a year ago.

How you doing, Rey? I asked as we broke the hug. I threw a teasing jab at his jaw and he blocked it with his beefy forearm.

Me, I’m doing fine, he said. But I’m always good, as you can tell.

I turned to the two cops and the driver, gathered together at the hood of the van, and they all gave me a guilty-as-charged look.

Still an asshole, I see, I said, smiling.

Oh, always, Rey agreed. But hey, man, I’m glad to see you back in town. It hasn’t been the same here without you. That’s why I arranged the little welcome committee—we couldn’t have you getting a cab now could we?

No, that would be far too simple, I quipped, and Rey struggled to fight off another laughing fit.

Anyway, welcome to the new HQ, he managed to say between breaths, stretching an arm out to encompass the building next to us.

Outside the van, I took a better look at my surroundings. The vehicle had pulled into an alley on the other side of the street from the police precinct I had once worked at. This new building next to us was all red brick and glass. I’d been so wrapped up in my trip down nostalgia boulevard I hadn’t even noticed.

So, let my buddies here take your bags to the station, Rey said. You and I have some catching up to do.

Sure, I said. Thanks, guys.

One of the officers took my bags from the van and started for the street entrance. I followed his direction and saw the old familiar station on the other side of the street. It looked exactly the same, except that it was clearly closed down in favor of the new building. I was expecting a bigger pang of sentimentality but didn’t get one.

Good flight? Rey asked.

As far as flights go, I said, I might have had a few drinks.

Blume, it’s not even noon yet.

Yeah, but I’m still on London time. It’s after three o’ clock there.

Right, right. It’s always happy hour somewhere, huh?

I shrugged. So…other than scaring the hell out of old friends, what else have you been up to?

Same shit, different days, different location. You know how it is. Wrapped up a multiple homicide case last week and just started the legwork on what looks to be a serial rapist case.

Ah, the glamorous life of the New York cop.

Police work is a little like sweeping the streets. No matter how much filth you clean up, there’s always more shit to shovel.

How about you? he asked.

Up and down, I answered, waving a dismissive hand. In London, I was lucky to knock my first big job out of the park and made it into some of the papers. It’s a small country and a little recognition helps cut advertising costs. I’m booked solid for the next couple of months at least, but it’s not always easy.

Ah, the big shot P.I., Rey teased. Better than stale donuts and paperwork, huh?

I do plenty of paperwork. Invoices, bookwork. Never ending. The Brits love shuffling papers from one desk to another.

Sounds real tough.

Yeah, it’s a breeze, I said, rolling up my sleeve to show him the long scar on my forearm. A souvenir from the life of a big shot P.I.

Ouch. He frowned. Should I ask?

Probably not, I replied.

So how are you finding the time to come to New York? What is this…like a vacation?

Far from it, I said.

Rey was apparently waiting for a punch line. We used to joke about everything, but things were different now. I was different. When my face remained stone, he frowned. Sounds serious. Come on, man. Let’s head inside, and you can tell me about it. Sound good?

Sure, I said as we headed down the alley and toward the streets I’d cut my cop teeth on. But I really just need to speak to the Captain.

Rey glanced sideways at me as we pushed into the entrance. Ah, there might be a problem with that.

Chapter Four

Most of the faces I passed were familiar but at the same time strangers. Like a sense of déjà vu from a life that wasn’t mine, everything was the same but different. I recognized a few cops and exchanged small talk with a couple whose names I could remember. I also saw many new faces that reminded me just how nervous and out of place I’d been when starting as a beat cop almost twenty years ago.

After making the trek through the new station and passing pleasantries with everyone, Rey finally led me to his office. It, like most of the station I had just walked through, looked new and unlived in. Boxes cluttered the floor and crates of files had been stacked in the corner.

Have a seat, Rey said as he tossed his cap on a file cabinet. I followed suit with my jacket, glad to be free of it.

You know, I said, as I slumped into a chair. I have to ask. How did you know I was coming into town?

Rey smiled Man, a good detective never tells his secrets.

It was Amir wasn’t it?

Damn. Rey looked disappointed his ruse had been busted. My friend, landlord, and occasional informant, Amir had been involved in nearly all my cases back in London. A good guy who had made some bad decisions, he was now desperately trying to make up for them, apparently by greasing the wheels before my arrival back in New York.

You know, you and Amir are kinda similar, I said, keeping a straight face. You’re both family men, both dedicated to your work… and both complete assholes at times. You’d get along well.

It’s great to see you too. So, do you want to tell me about this non-vacation you’re on, or shall we stand here and bust each other’s balls all day?

I liked trading jabs with my old partner again. We worked it like a familiar routine between two well-practiced performers.

I got as comfortable as I could in the chair sitting in front of his desk as he took the larger one behind it. It’s a long story.

I wanted to tell Rey everything. That I’d come back to America to make a man suffer, to force him to answer for his crimes and experience the same pain he had inflicted on me, before most likely putting a bullet in his head.

Instead, I simply shrugged.

Hmm, Rey looked at me with sympathy. It’s Teach, isn’t it? By the way, thanks for that tip, bro. I was a rock star around here for a day or so after that bust. Not every day we cross paths with a professional killer.

Happens to me all the time, I mumbled.

What? Rey asked.

Nothing. Look, Rey, I have to see Teach. You have to help me out. Whatever it takes.

Rey leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed and regarded me for a second. You think Teach is the one that did it, don’t you?

Five minutes, Rey, is all I need.

And when you’ve beaten the guy to a bloody pulp or worse, what then? Ride off into the sunset back to London? Leave me to answer to the captain about why I let a psychotic ex-cop put a bullet into a man we had in custody?

Rey knew me well, it seemed, even after all this time.

He did it, Rey, I’m sure of it. And if he didn’t kill them himself, he knows who did. I can’t let this go. You know—

I know, Tom, Rey spoke softly. I know what this means to you, and I know what you lost. Sarah and your little Tommy. I miss them too.

So you understand why I can’t drop this. Imagine if it were Connie.

Rey rubbed his temples and looked at the ceiling. It was a dick move bringing his wife into the argument, and I instantly felt bad, but it worked.

Okay, okay man, I’ll do what I can, but even I can’t authorize a civilian to get time with a perp charged with multiple homicides. It’s above my pay grade.

So let’s see the Captain.

Well, I have some good news and some not so good news on that front, Rey said.

Good news first.

Teach is here, in the building. He’s going through his second round of interrogations.

My heart rate jumped, and the familiar embers of anger stirred. Holy shit, I snapped. When can I talk to him?

Well, that’s where the bad news comes in. It might not be that easy.

Don’t bullshit me, Rey. Why not?

Rey rubbed his head again as if a headache was building. Do you remember Captain Parks?

Yeah, of course. Is he going to have a problem with me talking to Teach?

No, Rey said with a nervous laugh. I don’t think he’d care at all. But what he thinks won’t matter. Captain Parks had a heart attack a few months back. He survived, but it was bad. Parks retired a couple of years earlier than he’d planned and moved to Florida. Spends his days chasing Marlin and sipping Mojitos or whatever retired police captains do these days.

So?

So we’ve got a new captain now.

Is he going to cause a problem?

Rey let out a sigh and climbed to his feet. "That’s not for me to say. But I think you should have a talk before you worry yourself about it. Come on…I’ll walk you to her office."

A female captain?

Things really had changed around here.

Chapter Five

I followed Rey out of his office and we headed further down the hallway. I could tell by his posture that he was expecting a tense situation. Somewhere overhead a drill sounded; construction on one of the floors above. Apparently, the building wasn’t even finished yet. I tried not to let the noise bother me, but it did. With the turmoil of knowing that Roland Teach was somewhere in the building, my stomach was in knots. The rumble of the drill and the lingering effects of the booze only made it worse.

As we made our way through the station, we stopped by one of the administrative offices where Rey hooked me up with a visitor’s pass that had the word Consultant along the bottom. I slung it around my neck, feeling foolish. But hey, if it got me closer to Teach, I’d have worn a goddamned bunny suit and called myself Mary.

Finally, we came to the office that had once belonged to Captain Parks. His placard had been replaced with another one that read CAPTAIN KINSEY.

Call me an old reactionary, but I was ashamed of myself when I stepped into the office and found myself still shocked that Captain Kinsey was a woman. She looked to be in her mid-fifties and just from the paper-thin scowl on her face as we knocked on her already-open door, I could tell that she was the type of woman who would not take anyone’s shit. She looked like a lioness with claws only half retracted and had a fierce appearance that might have fit equally as well prowling a cage at the Brooklyn Zoo.

Hey, uh Captain, Rey said. Sorry to interrupt you, but this is Thomas Blume.

The thin scowl retreated from her face, but she didn’t look much more cheerful. Still, she set down the case file she had been scanning and politely got to her feet before offering her hand.

Mr. Blume. Sanchez told me you were coming into town. I’ve heard several stories about you.

Good ones, I hope.

Something like that, Kinsey said, giving away nothing. She looked down at the clutter on her desk and started rifling through it. I wish you’d visited at a less hectic time, though. It’s been very busy here the last two days, as you can see by the mound of files I’m collecting.

We were already busy enough, Rey explained to me, but then we got news of a terror threat from the FBI.

Potential terror threat, Detective Sanchez, Kinsey chimed in. At this point, unconfirmed. Although I do have the FBI breathing down my neck.

"Right, potential terror threat, Rey continued. Plus the fact that Captain Kinsey came into this illustrious station with about three weeks of reports to file…"

Ah, I said. The cornerstone of police work; bureaucracy.

Kinsey glanced up from her task and threw me a scalding look but said nothing.

Captain, Rey said, Blume would very much like to get a chance to speak with Roland Teach. Can we make that happen?

The scowl seemed to intensify as she sat back down and regarded both of us with an icy glare. We could…but it’s unlikely. You aren’t officially connected to this Teach case, she told me flatly.

Technically, no, I’m not.

"There’s nothing technical about it, she countered. I am well aware of what you believe to be a personal connection to him, but the case he is currently being questioned about is of an entirely different matter."

I again saw how easily she might fit behind the bars of a dangerous animal enclosure. I understand that, I said. But, Captain…I gave you the tip and came all the way from London for this.

She nodded and leaned forward. "Mr. Blume, I am very good at my job. I do my research. Oddly enough, I am one of those rare specimens who appreciate precise and organized information management. Bureaucracy you might call it. So when Sanchez told me he had a friend on the way into town who used to work here, I pulled your file. You have a stellar record. You also have all the reasons in the world to want to talk to Teach, particularly considering the crimes that were recently committed overseas that are linked to him. I understand all of this. But to let you speak with him, I’d be breaking rules. And as Captain, I have to follow the regulations. If I don’t my department goes to hell."

The blowhard attitude from Kinsey was starting to grate. Maybe I should have expected nothing less from a police captain.

I need to see Teach. Just five minutes.

What you need doesn’t concern me, Mr. Blume. I have a job to do.

He killed my goddam family! I snapped.

That remains to be seen, Kinsey replied, throwing her pen to the desk, punctuating the statement.

The anger rose again. I forced it down.

Sensing my frustration, Rey intervened. Captain, there must be something you can do?

I’m afraid police procedure is quite clear.

I turned for the door, ready to storm out of the goddamned office and find a way to get to Teach myself. I had grabbed the handle when the Captain continued.

However, Kinsey said, finally opening a file in front of her. I simply can’t ignore your record. And, as such, in this one case, I may be able to offer you a bargain.

I turned, hesitantly. I’m listening.

Well, my officers are stretched thin, the station still isn’t at full capacity, and this ‘terror threat’ is taking up more man hours than I can give out. I’d like to use your skills as a consultant to help us wrap up a case. A body we found.

I’m pretty sure I did a poor job of hiding my reaction, an incredulous rolling of my eyes.

With all due respect, I did not come all the way from London just to work for you.

And with that same degree of respect, Kinsey said, unflinching, things don’t operate here now the way they did when Captain Parks was in charge. So that’s your choice, Mr. Blume; a you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours deal is the best I can do.

I knew her way was the easiest way to get what I wanted, one-on-one time with Teach. But I didn’t have to like it, and I wasn’t about to be bullied into what was essentially free labor.

Think it over, she said icily. But keep in mind that we have to allow Teach bail in 72 hours.

Stepping towards the door, I said: I think I’ll be scratching my own back, thanks.

Very well, she said, looking to her desk and starting in on the paperwork that had accumulated there. But let me remind you that you are no longer an officer and that you have no jurisdiction in this city. Working on your own could be dangerous. I’d sure hate to have you arrested for acting as a vigilante.

The anger surged through me like electric current and it took every ounce of will in my body to stop myself lashing out at her. Because after all…she had a point. Still, I wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

So in other words, the only way I can do anything about the animal who murdered my family is to do you a favor?

We all have difficult choices to make in life.

Why me? You have plenty of detectives. You can dole out some overtime.

Well, I think you might be the best fit for this case.

Why? I asked. Frustration battled with the anger that had been boiling from the moment I’d entered Kinsey’s office. Anger won, but frustration came home a close second. Defeat cantered in third, but hugged the rails and looked damned sorry for itself. What possible reason could you need me for?

Kinsey dropped the file on the desk in front of me.

Because the body we found is your ex-girlfriend.

Chapter Six

"My ex-girlfriend?" I asked, stunned. I almost thought it was a joke. Another prank from Rey, the resident Latino comedian. But the look on the Captain’s face told me she was deadly serious.

I’m afraid so, Kinsey said.

I ran my fingers through my hair. The room was heavy with anticipation when I asked the question they were waiting for. So who is it?

Darcey Holland, Kinsey replied matter-of-factly.

Darcey, I echoed. My mind filled with half memories and sensations from years ago as I tried to recall our time together. I hadn’t thought about Darcey Holland in nearly a decade. Now I couldn’t think of anything but her. The shy smile, the way her shoulder-length blonde hair would dance when she spoke about something she cared about. The way her blue eyes shone after we’d made love…

It had been good, better than good, almost something big, but it hadn’t worked out. Now she was dead. Christ, what a mess.

You remember her I take it? Kinsey continued.

Yeah, I remember her. Thanks for being so considerate. Using a dead ex as a bargaining chip. Jesus.

I’m not here to make you feel better, Mr. Blume. I have a job to do.

And you want me to look into this in exchange for access to Teach?

Kinsey narrowed her eyes and returned my stare. It was clear she wasn’t quite sure how to take me just yet. You just expected to waltz back in here and have the same permissions and privileges you did when you were a detective? she asked. Given that, I didn’t think some creative power plays on my part would offend you. Let me remind you, I’ve seen your record. I’ve also called across the pond to learn about your cases. You’re good…but unique. You have a certain way of doing things. You rub a lot of people the wrong way, but you get results.

Something like that, I said. Damn, I just couldn’t get the image of Darcey out of my head and the last time we spoke—our break-up. It started civilly enough but degenerated into a slanging match of accusation and counter-accusation and ended with her slapping my face and storming off.

And I just let her go…

I hadn’t spoken to Darcey in almost seven years. No, eight. It made me sad to know that she was dead. And her body had been discovered just days before I had returned home. Coincidence or just bad luck?

Considering my options, it seemed that Kinsey held all the cards. If I wanted in, I would have to play along whether I liked it or not.

Fine, I finally said. I’ll help. But before I so much as lift a finger for you, I want assurance that you have Teach and that he’s not going anywhere.

Kinsey considered this for a moment and nodded. I can do better than that, she said, again scanning the paperwork on her desk. But as you can see, I’m quite busy. She then looked to Rey and said, Detective Sanchez, can you please escort Mr. Blume and let him see the feed from the interrogation room?

Can do, Rey said. Come on, Blume.

Chapter Seven

We exited Kinsey’s office and headed back down the hall, hanging a left that led to a series of other offices and three interrogation rooms with an atmosphere I knew all too well. The layout was familiar even if the building was new. I couldn’t even start to guess how many hours I’d spent in similar places, trying to break suspects down.

These were the rooms that saw blood, sweat, and tears—literally. As we passed them, I was hit by a stab of macabre nostalgia.

Rey led me into the review room where two flat screen TVs were bolted to the wall. They were modern replacements for the much older ones that had been there the last time I’d been in an observation suite. Rey grabbed a remote from the desk in the room and punched a series of buttons. A grainy, color image popped up, revealing what was going on in Interrogation Room #2.

As the image appeared, I took a calming breath. A man sat behind a small table—the same small table that featured in countless police dramas on TV and movies. The man was lean with a shaved head and strong features, but he gave away nothing of what he was thinking. Alone in the drab room, he sat hunched over the table in boredom, defeat, or both. He didn’t cry or shuffle, he simply sat.

Just seeing him there, my body trembled with anger. I was so close to ending the crushing agony that plagued me since my wife and son had been ripped away from me. I wanted to tear through the wall with my bare hands and force the bastard to tell me everything! But I couldn’t.

Not yet.

Roland Teach, Rey said. "Alive and well, and very much in our possession. We’re letting him sweat it out right now. One of our guys will go try his hand one more time in half an hour or so. If he still offers up nothing, he’ll be moved back

Reviews for The Thomas Blume Series

[Erika Grobb · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This man has perfected ‘the twist’. Engrossing, way better than doing the dishes.’