“Messin’ with me’s like wearin’ cheese underwear down rat alley.”
Homicide detective Ollie Chandler has seen it all. Done more than he cares to admit. But when he’s called to investigate the murder of a Portland State University professor, he finds himself going places he’s never gone before.
Places he never wanted to go.
Because all the evidence is pointing to one horrific conclusion: The murderer is someone in his own department. That’s not the worst of it, though. Ollie has nagging doubts…about himself. Where was he during the time of the murder?
Joined by journalist Clarence Abernathy and their friend Jake Woods, Ollie pushes the investigation forward. Soon all three are drawn deep into corruption and political tensions that threaten to destroy them–and anyone who tries to help. But they’re in too deep to quit. They’ve got no choice. They have to follow the evidence to the truth…
No matter how ugly–or dangerous–it gets.
A gripping story of murder and spiritual struggle, Deception proves, as never before, the truth of Ollie’s first law: “Things are often not what they appear.”
From the Hardcover edition.
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|Title of Suspense & Thrillers eBook: Deception|
|Release Date: 01-21-2009|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: The Doubleday Religious Publishing Group|
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My chest pounding like a dryer load of army boots, I knocked the noisemaker off its cradle, then groped for it in the darkness. Three enormous red digits–2:59–assaulted my eyes.
“Hello?” The voice on the phone was deep and croaky. “Detective Ollie
I nodded my head, admitting it.
“You didn’t answer your cell.” His voice was a hacksaw cutting a rain gutter.
“No. But…you may as well finish the job.”
“Mowin’ the lawn. Who died?”
I’ve been waiting all my life for good news from a 3:00 a.m. phone call. It’s been a wait of Chicago Cubs proportions.
Many imagine that middle-of-the-night phone calls mean someone’s been killed. I don’t imagine it. It’s true.
Jake Woods tells me there’s a God in charge of the universe. I’m not convinced. But if there is, I’d appreciate it if He’d schedule murders during day shift.
“Victim’s Jimmy Ross,” Sergeant Jim Seymour said. I pictured him sitting home in his underwear. Not a pretty picture.
I didn’t shed a tear. They say cops are cynical. To me drug dealers are a waste of protoplasm. They should be shot, injected, then put on the electric chair at a low setting.
“Officer Sayson’s the patrol,” Sergeant Seymour said. “1760 Southeast Clinton, apartment 34.” I scratched it down in the dark, postponing those first daggers of light.<...