Mostrando resultados por Editor "John Holt" en Todas las categorías

“Mr. Kendall, in the past few months there have been a number of doctors who have mysteriously disappeared, or whose deaths were either alleged to be accidents, or were suicides, or they were actually murdered.” Kendall made a mental note to find out about these "other doctors". “A number of doctors you said. How many are we talking about?” Mrs. Eaton thought for a few moments. “To my knowledge there have been at least eight cases in the past six months. There may be a whole lot more that I know nothing about.”

The name's Daniels, Jack Daniels - just like the whiskey you know. I'm a private detective. And I can't help butting my nose into other people's business. It's what I do. You get used to it. It becomes a way of life almost. After a while it comes natural to you, automatic, like breathing, or eating, although not quite as enjoyable. It's a habit that I just can't break. I just can't help it. But sometimes it can lead you into trouble....

Fritz Marschall knew that neither he, nor his friend, should really have been there. They, like many others before them, had been attracted to the lake by the many rumors that had been circulating. He thought of the endless stories there had been, of treasures sunken in or buried around the lake. He recalled the stories of the lake being used to develop torpedoes and rockets during the war. Looking out across the dark water, he wondered what secrets were hidden beneath the surface.

That old door had been standing there for many years. Just a solid timber door and a frame. Just a door...an ordinary door....

Tom Kendall, a down-to-earth private detective, is asked to investigate the death of a young newspaper reporter. The evidence shows quite clearly that it was an accident: a simple, dreadful accident. That is the finding of the coroner and the local police. Furthermore, there were two witnesses. They saw the whole thing. But was it an accident, or was it something more sinister? Against a backdrop of a viral epidemic slowly spreading from Central America, a simple case soon places Kendall up against one of the largest drug companies in the country.

“It was meant to be play acting,” said Whittaker. “But when someone is shot dead, on the stage in front of an audience, then it becomes an act of murder.”

Across the bottom of the screen the ticker tape announced in large black letters 'Governor Reynolds Murdered'. Apparently his body had been discovered earlier that morning, lying in his garage. He had been shot twice. One shot to the upper chest, the other hitting his shoulder. 'Police believe that the weapon used was a 38 revolver,' the reporter said. Kendall froze. Anthony Shaw had also been killed by a 38 calibre bullet. Kendall was not quite sure of what it all meant. What connection was there between Anthony Shaw, and the State Governor, and the business mogul, Ian Duncan. And what about Senator Mackenzie? Where did he fit in? And who or what was Latimer?

Business is slow, and Kendall is persuaded to take a short holiday. Mollie takes on a missing person case, without his knowledge. He won’t be too happy about it, but what can go wrong? The missing person winds up dead, and Mollie is missing, and no one knows where she is. Is there a connection with a bank robbery and a murder a few weeks earlier … Does it add up to Murder Times Two?

No soy un hombre de juego. Quiero decir que la gran apuesta de la vida no es así. Las probabilidades están apiladas contra ti, simplemente no puedes ganar. Pero usted sabe que hay algunas personas que harán cualquier cosa para asegurarse de que ganan, incluso si eso significa eliminar a cualquier persona o cualquier cosa que se interponga en su camino. Sólo apuestan por una cosa segura... Una Muerte Cierta.

"Whittaker distribuyó los tragos y bebió el suyo.–En fin, al parecer tiene dificultades− continuó. –Y una muy grave. −¿Dificultades? −repitió Kendall Whittaker lanzó un suspiro. – Sí, ya sabe−respondió. –Problemas. Kendall asintió. −¡Oh, problemas! Ya entiendo.−exclamó. −¿Y de qué clase de problemas estamos hablando? Whittaker tomó otro sorbo. –Bueno me temo que es un caso de homicidio. −¿Homicidio? −repitió Mollie. Whittaker no hizo más que asentir con la cabeza. Otro homicidio, pensó Kendall. Justo lo que necesito. –Sólo deténgase allí por un momento y vuelva a empezar, ¿Puede? −le sugirió."

It was that door, that solitary door. The door was somehow connected to an event that had occurred one hundred years ago. Somehow it was a portal to another time and place. And that made it worrying, frightening even. Was it even possible for someone, anyone, to exist in two time periods at the same time?

Guerra Civil, el peor tipo de guerra a la que una Nación se pueda enfrentar. Al luchar contra ella misma no puede haaber ganadores, no en una guerra así. Una guerra que divide comunidades, rompe familias y convierte en enemigos a amigos de toda la vida. Cuando los primeros disparos de la guerra se dieron a conocer en el país, dos amigos se alistaron en bandos contrarios del conflicto.

Kendall podía ver la pantalla de televisión. Había una fotografía del gobernador Frank Reynolds. En la parte inferior de la pantalla, el teletipo anunciaba en grandes letras negras «Gobernador Reynolds asesinado».

When two valuable oil paintings are missing, Kendall is asked to investigate on behalf of the insurance company. Reluctantly, he accepts the job. Then, a body is discovered, and then another. “So what do you think?” asked Mollie. “What do I think?” Kendall repeated. “Well with two people dead, I think someone has been practicing the art of murder.”

Tom Kendall had been with the 32nd Precinct, New York Police Department, for just under 10 years. But now he wanted a change. Now he wanted to start his own private detective agency. He had grand ideas. He wasn’t interested in just any old case. Oh no, he would handle only the big-time cases, the expensive ones. He would be able to take his pick, the ones that he wanted, where the stakes were high and so were the rewards. He knew exactly the kind of case that he wanted. Anything else would not do, and it would just be turned down flat.

Whittaker passed the drinks over. “Anyway, it seems that he’s got himself into a bit of bother,” he continued. “A very serious bit of bother.” “Bother?” repeated Kendall. Whittaker heaved a sigh. “Yes you know,” he replied. “Trouble.” Kendall nodded. “Oh trouble, I get you,” he said. “So what sort of bother are we talking about?” Whittaker took another drink. “Well it’s a case of murder I’m afraid.”

On the night of April 14th 1865, President Abraham Lincoln attended a performance at the Ford Theatre in Washington. A single shot fired by John Wilkes Booth hit the President in the back of the head. He slumped to the floor, and died a few hours later without recovering consciousness. Was Booth a lone assassin? Or was he part of a wider conspiracy?

I'm not a gambling man. I mean, life's one big gamble, ain't it? The odds are stacked against you; you just can't win. You know there are some people who will do anything to make sure that they win, even if it means eliminating anyone or anything that stands in their way. They only bet on a sure thing...a Dead Certainty.

Have you ever noticed that things aren't always what they seem? Life will always throw you a curved ball when you least expect it. We see only what we expect to see, and sometimes we could be in for a big surprise. And I sure got a surprise I can tell you, in spades. A surprise that lead to blackmail and murder. That's when I really got...Trouble in Mind.

‘To make a killing in the City’ is a phrase often used within the financial world, to indicate making a large profit on investments, or through dealings on the stock market--the bigger the profit, the bigger the killing. However, Tom Kendall, a private detective, on vacation in London, has a different kind of killing in mind when he hears about the death of one of his fellow passengers who traveled with him on the plane from Miami. It was suicide apparently, a simple overdose of prescribed tablets. Kendall immediately offers his help to Scotland Yard. He is shocked when he is told his services will not be required. They can manage perfectly well without him, thank you.