A Specter of Justice: A Sam Blackman Mystery (Sam Blackman, Book 5)

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That was uncalled for. Sometimes I try too hard to make a connection. Ain't Mr. Leonard's fault I got no tact. You're not getting off so easy. Do I have to handcuff you?

Hidden scars: a Sam Blackman mystery

I gave her a closer look. Tikima had dark smooth skin and a shapely figure that her khaki pants suit couldn't hide. She wore her curly black hair cropped close to her head. Her ringless left hand rested in her lap as a cradle for the hook. I have difficulty estimating a woman's age, but I guessed she was in her mid- thirties, a couple of years older than me. She cleared her throat as if to start our conversation anew. They tried to give me one of those new fake arms they claim looks real. Black plastic supposed to match my skin. My skin's no more black than yours is white.

I looked like I'd stolen the arm off Darth Vader. I said forget this, give me something that works. The hook was actually a curved vise with one side longer than the other. If Tikima Robertson had been sent by some army shrink to have me open up, then we could check that off the to-do list. I thought Marine women were kept out of combat. I was riding with an AP reporter and we had the honor of driving by as one of the first car bombs detonated. The reporter was lucky. Only lost his laptop. You'd think he'd taken a round to the chest.

I had to pull him screaming out of the vehicle. Rocket grenade at a checkpoint. Concussion knocked me out. Sunni insurgents in stolen Iraqi uniforms. Two of my buddies were killed. She didn't ask any questions about how I was coping with the loss of my comrades or how I felt about becoming the proverbial one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. I thought maybe she wasn't on shrink patrol after all.

The only information the staff shared was that you're from Winston-Salem, your enlistment is up, and you're scheduled for release from rehab in a few weeks.

Publication Order of Buryin’ Barry Mysteries Books

And then I testified from a wheelchair on Capitol Hill. Especially after I told them I wasn't interested in going through rehab to stay in an army that treats its wounded like curbside trash. I'd hoped they'd send me to Salisbury about thirty minutes from where I grew up. The V. My family's not there anymore. My parents were killed in a car wreck earlier this year and I have a brother in Birmingham who wants me to come there.

I'll help you find a place. Walk around the side of a mountain with the locals? My family's been here for over a hundred years. Old Mr. Carlisle was a World War Two vet in his eighties. His mind spun through the years like a revolving door and during our brief conversations he'd be storming the beach at Saipan one minute and walking with his late wife on Myrtle Beach the next.

Tikima got up and helped hold the wheelchair steady as the nurse assisted Mr. Carlisle back into bed. The nurse transferred his oxygen supply from his portable unit to the feed coming from the wall connector. Then the nurse rolled the wheelchair to me.

When Sam met Sam

He can be on the golf course in a few months. I might be able to find you gainful employment. Unless you left that in Iraq along with your leg. I'll be through this in two days. Next time I'm here I want to see him tap dancing.

A Specter of Justice: A Sam Blackman Mystery #5

With a flourish of clicks, she twirled out the door. I walked as many hours on my artificial leg as the rehab team allowed. The more adept I became the more I wanted to improve. I spent most of my days exploring the hospital halls or reading in the library where many of the donated books seemed to have been untouched. I wondered how Tikima had known I was a mystery buff and an Elmore Leonard fan in particular.

A Specter of Justice (Sam Blackman Mystery, book 5) by Mark de Castrique

Tikima had come on a Saturday morning, and on the third Monday after her visit, the doctor in charge of my case told me I'd made all the recovery that was possible under their care. In other words, because of my hard work and commitment, I'd progressed enough that Uncle Sam would be cutting me loose at the end of the week.

Adios and have a nice life. The army had been my home since high school. My only immediate prospect was to go to Birmingham and transition for a few weeks with my older brother, his wife, and their three-month-old twin girls. The possibility of being a night watchman seemed infinitely preferable. I decided to contact Tikima, even though I'd hoped she would have made good on her promise to return. While Mr. Carlisle was in rehab, I phoned the number on Tikima's card. A computerized voice announced Armitage Security Services and prompted me to direct-dial an extension or wait for a personnel menu.

I quickly studied the card and found the three digit number under Tikima's name.

Sam Blackman: A Specter of Justice : A Sam Blackman Mystery by Mark de Castrique (2015, Paperback)

I heard only silence and thought we'd been disconnected. My name is Sam Blackman. Tikima told me to call. How can I help you? Mark de Castrique. You're getting a free audiobook. Click to Try Audible Free. Cancel anytime. Best Sellers. Add to Cart failed. Please try again later. Add to Wish List failed. Remove from wishlist failed. English Available from another library. More Info Place Hold.

Add a Review. Add To List. When Asheville, NC, private eyes Sam Blackman and Nakayla Robertson are asked by an eighty-year-old client to investigate the suspicious death of her brother, they warn her there is little chance of success. Paul Weaver died nearly seventy years earlier. The only documentation she has is the sole surviving copy of a coroner's report stating his death was caused by an accidental fall while hiking.

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More Like This. Table of Contents. Loading Table Of Contents Loading Excerpt Author Notes. Loading Author Notes Asheville N.