That’s a good question.
Let’s find out.
Since its launch five-weeks ago, Chain of Evidence has received 14
reviews on Amazon.com and
Goodreads.com. It’s averaging 4.85 out of 5 Stars over all. I think that’s
pretty good for a debut novel … but it’s not what I think that counts. It’s
what the readers think that’s important.
If I discount the reviews by friends
and acquaintances, that leaves 8 reviews written by industry reviewers, book
clubs, and folks I’ve never met. The rating stays at 4.8 of 5. But I would like
to know if a good review would prompt a reader to spend a small portion of their
hard earned wage to purchase and read a novel.
So, to that end I am including the
reviews here that were written by folks unknown to me. I do this mainly because
there are many outside the U.S. that read this blog, I am thrilled to say, but may
not have had the opportunity to read the reviews. Plus, this is a great way to
get in a shameless plug.
Please leave a comment as to whether
any of these would coax, persuade, compel or otherwise convince you to read Chain of Evidence, based on its reviews.
|
D. B. Corey's CHAIN OF EVIDENCE is an enjoyable thriller
from beginning to end September 6, 2013
If you
are looking for a book that gives you not just a fast-moving storyline as
well as characters that pop right off the page than CHAIN OF EVIDENCE is one
you definitely need to add to your reading list.
Led by Detective Moby Truax you are put right in the middle of a series of
murders that all seem to point to a serial killer that is targeting young
women. Known as the Cyanide Killer, there seems to be nothing...Read More
If you are looking for a book that
gives you not just a fast-moving storyline as well as characters that pop
right off the page than CHAIN OF EVIDENCE is one you definitely need to add
to your reading list.
Led by Detective Moby Truax you are put right in the middle of a series of
murders that all seem to point to a serial killer that is targeting young
women. Known as the Cyanide Killer, there seems to be nothing linking the
women except for the exact way they are meeting their demise---that is until
a murder that doesn't quite fit the rest raises suspicions for Moby, igniting
a rift with him and those who are trying to tie all the murders together.
It is at this point another character emerges---Frances Vecchio---a woman
that seems to have her own agenda. Will Moby be able to show he's right about
his hunch or will the evidence prove that maybe he's not cut out for this
line of work anymore. Combine these two characters with the actions of the
serial killer and you are given an insight as to what drives them and what
just might be the key to their identity. Combine Moby, Frances and our serial
antagonist and you have an exciting dance that the reader becomes a part of,
one that is sure to keep you wondering into the very end.
I love a book that can entertain you and keep you guessing, and D. B. Corey's
CHAIN OF EVIDENCE hit the mark on both fronts. If you are in search of a book
that will thrill you from beginning to end, then this is one you definitely
want to add to your reading list.
|
Tamika Newhouse
AAMBC
Book Reviews August 28, 2013
I am honestly not a big murder mystery
lover so this started of rather slow in my opinion and full of mundane details
as many murder mysteries need to have to keep you following the subject with
factual information, however as i carefully read i grew to become interested in
the not your run of the mill case but a mind bending smart grotesque individual
committing senseless selfish murders and started to get into it. I liked...Read More
I am honestly not a big murder mystery lover so this started of
rather slow in my opinion and full of mundane details as many murder mysteries
need to have to keep you following the subject with factual information,
however as i carefully read i grew to become interested in the not your run of
the mill case but a mind bending smart grotesque individual committing senseless
selfish murders and started to get into it. I liked it! The ending was
surprising and unexpected.
Majestic Burroughs
AAMBC Reviewer
Rob Walker
Keeps the
Reader Chained to the Story! July 11, 2013
D.B. Corey has fashioned a layered,
character-driven crime drama in Chain of Evidence that promises even better to
come. As a first novel, I have to admire the skill level and the finesse with
language Corey commands. Stylistically, this is an excellent novel, and the
dialogue is smart and does what dialogue should do - push the story onward and
upward while revealing character. Moby Truax has to become a series character.
He...Read More
D.B. Corey has fashioned a layered, character-driven crime drama in
Chain of Evidence that promises even better to come. As a first novel, I have
to admire the skill level and the finesse with language Corey commands.
Stylistically, this is an excellent novel, and the dialogue is smart and does
what dialogue should do - push the story onward and upward while revealing
character. Moby Truax has to become a series character. He is rich in
interesting traits, and those traits are admirable for the most part, and more
important, they are challenged by the circumstances he finds himself in. I like
it that he's no spring chicken and that he is all too human with a dark and
cynical side as well brought on by what he has done with his life and the work
he does. Other characters are also drawn with a deft hand. Corey is not so much
a mechanic of storytelling as he is an artist. I found the antagonist just as
compelling and given enough layers and time on the page to become a great foil
for Truax, the deadly Cyanide Killer or CK.
I give this debut novel a five star because I see next to no first novels as
well constructed as Chain of Evidence. Intrigue has done us a great service in
discovering D.B. Corey.
Reviewed by Karen Pirnot for Readers' Favorite
Chain of Evidence, by D.B. Corey, is a debut
mystery novel that will intrigue the reader from the first chapter. A medical
examiner (with obvious psychological problems) first rapes the women he has
murdered via cyanide and then autopsies them. The female victims appear random
but the ages of the victims are confusing to investigator Moby Truax. Truax has
a few problems of his own. He is ageing and he fears retirement or, worse, a
desk job. His skills seem to be faltering and he is resentful when an FBI
investigator named Frances Vecchio is assigned to work with him on the cases.
Older women in California have been killed and now, younger women are being
killed in Truax's territory of Baltimore. To make matters worse, the female
investigator assigned to help the lead investigator seems to be a step ahead of
Truax, keeping him continually on guard.
The reader learns about a killer in the first chapter. This is both unnerving
and interesting as it allows the reader the opportunity to try to understand
the killer's disturbed psychological ruminations. As if the medical examiner's
antics were not sick enough, the reader is yet to experience another surprise
toward the end of the book. The 'surprise was somewhat predictable for this
reader. Nevertheless, I found the book to be a well written and interesting
psychological study of both criminals and the persons attempting to hold them
accountable. The 'Chain of Evidence' does indeed lead the reader, as well as
the detectives, to logical conclusions.
"Every sentence hits like a
high-caliber bullet. One of the best thrillers I've read in years, just grabs
you and doesn't let go."
-Bestselling author Shane Gericke, Torn Apart
"Author D. B. Corey's debut
novel, "Chain Of Evidence", reveals a remarkable talent for
the suspense/thriller genre of mystery fiction. Readers will appreciate the
deftly crafted characters vividly embedded the high-action storyline laced with
surprise twists and turns. Appreciative readers will look eagerly toward
Corey's next literary effort! Appropriate for community library collections,
"Chain Of Evidence" is a highly recommended and thoroughly
entertaining read."
- Midwest Book Review - Mason's shelf 2013
OK, I think this will suffice. I know
this has been a lot of reading, and I thank you for staying with it to this
point.
Now, if I can just entice you to
read a bit more, I think you’ll find this excerpt exciting and satisfying.
It is my favorite scene—
Electronic strobes painted the small room with light as
cameras recorded the scene and several techs
tagged and bagged anything of
import. There was no evidence of break-in or assault, nothing was
disturbed,
and all was as it should be—except for the dead woman lying on the floor.
Without way of
announcement, Truax caught the field ME’s attention by tapping on the doorjamb.
A slender man of six-feet, looking
like he should be teaching chemistry instead of heading a field forensics team,
halted his jotting of notes, turned, and smiled. A lock of fine black hair fell
across his glasses and he tossed his head to send it back where it came from.
The word FORENSICS was blazoned across the back of his smock, and his sleeves
were rolled to the elbow. He didn’t offer his hand.
“Good morning,
Detective,” Johnson, said.
“That’s what they
tell me, Doc,” Truax replied.
“So who’s your
friend? New partner?”
“Let’s not get
ahead of ourselves, Doc. This is Special Agent Vecchio. FBI. She’s here to—
well, let’s just say she’s here.”
“Oh? Well, it’s
very nice to meet you, Agent Vecchio.”
Vecchio raised an
eyebrow, smiled, and nodded.
“So, Truax asked,
taking a quick look around the kitchen. “Is this how you found her?”
“Pretty much,
except her left hand was jammed in the top shelf of the refrigerator door up to
the wrist. Must have tried to catch herself when she began losing
consciousness. Welford and I freed it. Laid her down. Other than that, the body
hasn’t been touched.”
“Okay.... What’s
your call?”
“Unofficially? She
died of cyanide poisoning. Dead no more than three or four hours. The neighbor
called it in.”
“Yeah, Welford told
me.” Truax lifted the forensics sheet. “She’s got a pinkish coloring. Is that
why you think cyanide?”
“That, the vomit,
and this.”
Johnson pulled a
plastic bottle of commercially sold water from an evidence bag. “Dasani, he
announced. “Found it in the sink. How’s your sense of smell, Moby?”
“Not bad for an old
fart.”
“Okay,” Johnson
said. “Take a careful whiff of this and tell me what you think.”
Truax took the
empty bottle and inhaled cautiously with three short whiffs.
“Almond.” He passed
the bottle to Vecchio who examined every inch of it.
“Yep. Very faint. I
doubt she detected it. And even if she did, it may not have concerned her.
Anyway, we’ll know more after her autopsy. Tox will be able to nail it down,
but I don’t think they’ll come up with anything different.”
“Probably not.
Damn! If this is CK, I’m fucked.”
Johnson cut to
Vecchio who rolled her eyes.
“Why do you say
that, Moby?”
“Atkins.”
“Ah!” Johnson
replied. “Say no more.”
“You heard?”
“Everyone has. It’s
no secret he’s on the hot-seat, and shit rolls downhill. Right into your lap.”
Truax produced a
belligerent smirk. “Don’t I know it. I wonder why he’s changing his MO. CK, I
mean. This kill; it’s the same as Baumgartner and the Culver girl, but
different as night and day from the other three.”
“The ‘Why’ is your
part of the puzzle,” Johnson said with a grin. “I’m more of a ‘What’ kinda guy
myself.”
Moby returned the
smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. It seemed the bad guys never took a day off.
He was worn down, and as far as he was concerned, doing something for thirty
years was long enough for anyone to be doing anything.
He glanced
Vecchio’s way, and thought that maybe Atkins was right. Maybe a partner would
make it all easier to take. He thought about mentoring Vecchio, training her,
stealing her from the Feds. She was obviously smart enough, and she came
equipped with a photographic memory, one like he used to have. He smiled
inwardly. Maybe it’s not such a bad
thing. And God knows … I could do much, much, worse.
“Make sure I get
the report, Johnson.”
“You got it, Moby,
and I’m ready to release the body. The EMTs are going to transport her to OCME
since they’re already here. You done with her?”
“Yeah, go ahead.
I’m gonna look around a little.”
Johnson called in
the EMS team and Truax waited until they removed Kara’s body before examining
the kitchen. He noted the highchair with the baby’s formula bottle lying on its
side. He noticed the baby’s water bottle on the counter, and the pot on the
stove that she used to heat the baby’s formula. He found that curious. Nowadays
most women use the microwave. He guessed she probably didn’t trust it for the
baby. Sometimes the old ways, are the best ways.
He opened the
refrigerator with a pen from his shirt pocket. Inside, he didn’t see a single
bottle of commercially sold water. Just eggs, milk, Enfamil, a two-liter bottle
of diet soda, some yogurt, and the other things one might find in a single
woman’s fridge.
Maybe it was her last bottled water, he
thought.
He checked the trashcan for packaging and
empty bottles, and reflected on the Tylenol killings of the early 80s as he poked
around. He found no water. The kitchen cabinets told the same story. Then he
took a quick check around the apartment, ending with the smaller bedroom.
Vecchio followed him in.
Four enormous
plaster letters, hand-painted in green pastels, hung juxtaposed in organized
chaos against a yellow wall, angled precariously beside a poster of
Sponge Bob Square Pants; a
proclamation of love and motherhood, heralding the name of the room’s
owner—Jade—to all who entered. Above the crib, a colorful Disney mobile spun in
easy circles.
“The baby’s room,”
Vecchio murmured.
They headed across
the hall to talk to the neighbor. Entering the apartment, he found Welford
taking a statement from a woman holding a small child on her lap. He would ask
her the same questions that Welford did. It was standard procedure to question
witnesses and suspects repeatedly to see if their stories stayed consistent.
Then, he’d compare the answers, verifying everything with Vecchio and her big
brain.
He quickly
conferred with Welford, and Vecchio listened in. Then, after Welford left, he
turned his attention to Kara’s neighbor.
“I know you’ve been
through this a couple of times already, Miss,” Truax said, “but would you
please tell me again what happened?”
Audrey shifted Jade
to her other knee, wiped fresh tears from her eyes, and began.
“Kara went to a
bachelorette party last night. Her best friend is getting married next week and
she is—was—the Maid of Honor. My daughter Annie and I watched the baby in her
apartment. We were asleep when she got home around 1am. I left Annie sleeping
on her sofa and walked back here. This morning, around 6:30, I heard Annie
knocking. She said Kara was playing on the refrigerator. I walked over and
found her like … like….” A silent tear rolled down her cheek. Truax gave her a
moment.
“Husband?”
“No, she didn’t
marry Jade’s father. He’s an asshole.”
"I see. Did she
bring anyone home with her?”
“No! Never! She
wasn’t like that. And I resent you asking—”
“I’m not passing
judgment, Miss. These are routine questions. Nothing more.”
Vecchio raised an
eyebrow and shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
“Did she bring
anything home? Food maybe? Or maybe had something delivered?”
“I don’t think so.
She seldom ate anything at night.”
“Did she use
bottled water?”
Audrey stopped and
thought for a moment. She came up empty.
“Bottled water? No.
She had one ‘o those filters on the faucet. You know ... those attachments that
purify the tap water?”
“I’m familiar with
them. So how did she get along with the baby’s father?” The asshole, he thought.
Audrey rolled her
eyes. “He’s a jerk. Never takes the baby when he’s supposed to. But if you’re
asking me if they fought? … Sure. But no more than any other estranged couple.”
Truax added a line
to Welford’s notes. So far, everything jived. “Can you tell me where the party
was last night?”
“Bamboo Billy’s.
It’s a club not far from here.”
“Would you happen
to know who was at the party?"
Audrey rattled off
the people she knew were there, and Truax jotted down their names.
“You said Annie
stayed at Kara’s overnight?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I
speak with Annie?”
“Speak with Annie?
Why? She’s only three years—”
“It won’t take
long. You’ll be here.”
“Yeah.… Sure.... I
guess.”
When Audrey called
Annie, Truax watched a little girl in Scooby-Do pajamas shuffle out from the
relative safety of her bedroom, the music of the Wiggles coming from somewhere within. When she sat down on the
couch next to her mother, Truax got down on his knees facing her, and sat back
on his heels. He placed his hands in his lap, and softened his features.
“Hi Annie. My name
is Moby. That’s a funny name, isn’t it?”
Annie’s dark hair
hung in twin ponytails and her eyes sparkled blue. She answered with a shy
smile that formed a dimple in each cheek, but scooted closer to her mother and
her thumb went into her mouth. Audrey promptly pulled it back out.
“It’s not you,” Audrey
said to Truax. “Besides her father, the only other man she ever saw this close
up was Santa, and he made her cry.”
Truax saw the
fright in the child’s eyes and decided not to push her.
“Frankie?” He
motioned her down next to him. “A little help if you please?” Vecchio was there
in an instant. Annie relaxed, and Truax stood, giving Vecchio the go-ahead.
“Annie,” Vecchio
said, “can you tell me what you saw at Miss Kara’s house?”
Annie looked up at
her mother.
“Go ahead, Annie.
Tell Miss Frankie what you saw.”
Annie turned a pair
of wary eyes on Truax, displaying all the trust one would give a used car
salesman, then looked back to Vecchio.
“Miss Kara swang
from the fidgadater door,” she said, “and went to sleep.”
“Why did you go
into the kitchen, Annie?” Vecchio asked. “Were you hungry?”
“Yessss. And Miss Kara
telled me somtin.”
“She told you
something?” Vecchio repeated. “What did she tell you?”
“She telled me
‘bottle’.”
“Bottle?”
“Yessss.”
Jade began to fidget and cry, Annie looked
up, and Audrey began bouncing Jade on her knee. It did little to appease the
child.
“I think she’s
getting hungry. Can we go next door? I want to make her some lunch.”
“Sure. We’ll go
with you.” Truax got down on one knee. “Thank you, Annie. Only a big girl could
be so much help.”
Without another
word, Annie slid off the sofa and ran back into her room as fast as her little
feet would carry her. After Audrey made sure that her apartment door would not
lock, she started across the hall to Kara’s apartment with Jade on her hip. Truax
and Vecchio trailed her by a couple of steps. As they went, Truax’s mind was
working.
Bottle…. Bottle…. She must have meant the
poisoned water bottle Johnson found in the sink.
When they stepped
into the kitchen, Audrey placed Jade in her highchair. Fetching a clean bottle
from the dishwasher, she filled it with formula and sat it in the pot, still
sitting on the stove. She turned the burner on low.
“Why not use the
microwave?” Truax asked the question, but was pretty sure of the answer he’d
get.
“Oh ... Kara never
trusted it for the baby. Always heated her bottle on the stove.” Jade continued
to cry and held her arms out toward the counter.
“What sweetie?” Audrey
asked.
She turned and saw
that Jade was reaching for her water bottle. “Oh, you want some wa-wa?” She
placed the bottle on the tray.
Jade picked it up
and, once she found her mouth, began to drink. Audrey continued.
“I’m sorry Annie
couldn’t be of help, Detective, but she’s just little, and….”
Audrey saw that
Truax had stopped listening.
“Detective?”
Vecchio‘s head
snapped around when Truax didn’t answer.
“Moby?”
Truax ignored both
women. His eyes were fixed on the sink and the flashing red LED on the water
filter. He glanced over to Jade happily drinking from her bottle and saw the
water level decrease with each swallow. His eyes shot back to the faucet and
the flashing red warning light, then again, back to Jade’s bottle.
Something ate at
him, gnawing away at his insides like a parasite. If Kara didn’t trust a microwave
to heat her baby’s milk, would she give her water from a dirty filter?
Especially when she had a bottle of commercially filtered water?
Truax exploded
across the room startling both women. In a blur he lunged at the highchair, and
Jade. “NO!”
Audrey stood in
stunned disbelief as Truax slapped the half-sized bottle from Jade’s hands and sent
it flying across the kitchen. Vecchio froze not knowing what to do. Truax
snatched up the startled child, knocking over the highchair, and sprinted to
the front door, leaving the two women, mouths agape in the kitchen.
Running outside, he
saw the ambulance with Kara’s body turning the corner two blocks away. Then he
spotted Johnson getting into his car.
“Johnson! …
JOHNSON!”
“Yeah, Moby.…
What?”
“Do you have a
poison kit?”
“A poison kit? No,
I don’t usually carry—”
“Get the paramedics
back here, NOW!” He turned and nearly knocked Audrey down after she overcame
her hesitation and followed him out. He grabbed her arm hard enough to leave
bruises. “Did she use vitamins?” Truax shrieked. “B-12! DID SHE HAVE ANY B-12?”
“B-12? I have some,
but why—”
“GET it! Right
NOW!”
Suddenly panicked
by the intensity of his outburst, Audrey rushed back into her apartment with
Truax on her heels. Vecchio, hearing the exchange was already in the bathroom,
ripping open the medicine cabinet and rifling through the medication. She found
the bottle of vitamin B-12 capsules.
“Dump them in the
sink,” he commanded Vecchio, shoving the baby into Audrey’s arms. “Hold her!
Open her mouth!”
Grabbing several
capsules from the sink, Truax broke them open. Seeing Audrey struggling to get
Jade’s mouth open, he forced the baby’s jaws apart with the thumb and
forefinger of one hand, and poured the powder into her mouth with the other.
Jade cried and squirmed and tried to spit it out.
“HOLD her! God-DAMN
IT!” He dumped water into her mouth and
clamped her jaw shut, closing off her nose at the same time and forcing her to
swallow.
Audrey stood
horrified holding a writhing Jade in her arms. She turned the child away in an
attempt to protect her from a madman. “What in the HELL are you DOING to this
BABY?” she screamed.
Truax’s light gray
eyes bored into her like a drill. His face hardened, but his voice did the
opposite, commanding her attention. “This child will be dead in minutes,” he
said softly, “if you don’t hold her still.”
Audrey’s mouth
dropped open as if the muscles holding it closed had suddenly vanished. She did
as ordered and Truax gave Jade another dose. The paramedics arrived moments
later.
“Treat her for
cyanide poisoning,” he ordered, “and HURRY!”
The medics hustled
Jade to the living room and held an inhaler of amyl nitrite under her nose. They followed up with
dosed, intravenous injections of sodium nitrate and sodium thiosulfate.
Afterwards, they
hurried her to the ambulance and rushed her to the hospital. As they pulled
away, Truax watched from the doorway and ran his fingers across his bald head,
a nervous habit that replaced his old one of reaching for his cigarettes
without thought. Until lately.
When they walked
back to the kitchen, Truax picked up the water bottle, unscrewed the top and
gave it a sniff. There was the faint aroma of almond. He screwed the lid back
on and tossed it in a zip-lock baggie he found in a drawer, then began patting
himself down for the pack of cigarettes he knew he didn’t have.
“Jesus, Moby,”
Vecchio said, shaken to the core. “How the hell did you know?”
Truax turned and
leveled a pair of tired eyes at hers.
“I’m a cop,
Frankie. I’m supposed to know.”
I stole the name for this piece
from the WW-I song by the same title, written in 1918 by Young & Lewis with
music by Walter Donaldson. I woke up
with it running through my primate brain around 4:30am and couldn’t shut it
off, so I made a pot of coffee and sat down to scratch out the blog that was several
days overdue. 
I had forgotten that I purchased an
E-ticket for her and she could attend everything for the entire weekend, so she
decided to sit in on the first of the two panels I was invited to. After that,
the shopping and the pool were no longer in her future. She palled around with
me and enjoyed the panels as much as I. She did, however, go to the gym. It’s
like church to her. And brother, it pays off. I am fortunate enough to have a
beautiful wife, and when she walked into dinner Saturday night, dressed to the
nines, I remembered just how lucky I was. But she was so much more than just a
pretty face. She blended—with me, with the other wives, the other fans, the
big-league authors; everyone. She made me look good … or as could as she could
considering what she had to work with. Maggie did for me what Joy
Gilstrap did for John. Behind every successful man…. 
