No Human Involved

About the Book

When Shanna Edward’s weird new neighbor moves in next door, things begin to go haywire, including her discovering her friend’s grisly, bloody head decorating a fireplace mantel. Meeting Dr. Stevens, San Diego’s acting medical examiner and chief forensic pathologist at the crime scene, the two begin piecing together the puzzle of fifty-three murders marked NHI (no human involved) on crime reports. The serial killer stalks prostitutes and runaways, believing he’s purifying the human race of an infestation, a sickly disease of street trash. Before he’s through, at least fifty-three women will be dead. Unlike previous serial killers, he finds creative new ways to murder, mutilate, and dump the bodies, aided and abetted by the indifference of the chauvinistic SDPD. Shanna, an ex-cop, and the ME open a Pandora’s box of intrigue as their investigations lead them to believe that San Diego’s killer is in reality Washington’s Green River Killer or his protégé. So many twists and turns in the investigation will keep a reader holding her breath for the next surprise revelation.

About the Author

My apologies for taking twenty years to publish this, my first novel. In the interim, my youngest daughter flew the nest. I quit my job as a legal assistant after working on the defense of a 125-million-dollar lawsuit to dedicate myself to writing and moved to Rosarito, Mexico, to work on this book and met, fell deeply in love, and married my soul mate, only to watch him die in my arms nine months later. I tried to write through my agonizing grief, sobbing sometimes, laughing at private jokes, and remembering intimacies at others—sometimes succeeding, sometimes not. (It’s hard to type while sobbing, so I walked the beach alone with my dogs a lot.) Then, as I was really getting into the swing of writing/editing/rewriting again, I was backsided by a handsome, charming Mexican singer (he appears briefly in my novel). Poco-a-poco, he captured my heart. I was advised once that to be a successful writer, it was better to remain single and that a relationship or marriage is a distraction. Well, it certainly is that. So twenty years later after building two homes and moving from Rosarito to Baja California Sur on the Sea of Cortez, here it is. (Maybe the above would make a good novel?) This is the reality. Prolific, successful authors will say this apology is a pathetic excuse—that a real writer carries on no matter what. Only you as a reader can decide if it was worth the wait. And I’m working on my second novel, Angels in Flight, a historical novel about the WASPs (Women Airforce Service Pilots) of World War II, with my third one baking in the oven of my mind. A fourth, on the life of Jacqueline Cochran, Aviatrix extraordinaire (overshadowed by Amelia Earhart), is betting to be written.