Red Clay Murders

My face turned blood red when she spoke about the rape; using words that would shame hell making it freeze over with her saliva. Her frostiness gave me the urge to cover up with a wool blanket, and stand at the edge of hell's fiery furnace, just to stay warm. One minute she would cry and the next be so full of venom, I was at a loss for words. She scared the living hell out of me, but I felt trapped … trapped like a prey ready to be devoured. Before I knew what was happening, I wanted to hold her … hold her so close all her fears would dissipate. She drew me in like helium sucked inside a balloon, and she was the air pushing me upward.

When Clint Theilo, an apprentice newspaper reporter and his half-brother, State Police Lieutenant James Brock, teams together to find a killer, many secrets unfold. Engrossed in the murder trial of The State vs. Jackson Newton, Clint discovers accusatory remarks blurted out on the stand will take him directly to Lacy Black. He unearths the secret to Lacy’s adoption, drugs, murder for hire and blackmail. The mysterious death of Lacy's parents makes an inward Lacy flee from raging innuendoes. Desperate for solace, Lacy secretes herself in the quaint town of Red Clay but a killer watches her every move. Circumstances dictate her return to Lake Melbourne but she knows someone will accuse her of murdering Newton when law enforcement finds his frozen body hanging from a utility wire. As Lacy warms to Clint, she becomes confident, tells him everything and their relationship turns passionate. After Lacy's near death with the killer, a twenty-year-old mystery is exposed.


"Get your filthy hands off me, you stupid bastard. If I am convicted for a murder I didn’t commit, some of you are going with me because I am going to spill my guts."
"Shut up, Newton, before I belt you in the mouth. Get your ass in the courtroom."
"Fuck all of you!"
Those words, screamed by the defendant, echoed as I approached the rear of the courthouse. It would be the second day of hell.
Lake Melbourne’s Court House, erected in the mid 1800s and situated in the town square, is an old, dirty, brick structure. Most activities, inside the courthouse, consist of paying taxes, buying car licenses and paying minor traffic violations. For most citizens the building doesn’t mean squat … it’s an inconvenient place for the town to collect money. Now, it was different. The building stood proud as a major trial would convene within its structure. The trial of this small town’s society captured everyone’s attention. From all aspects, today would be as bad as yesterday’s line-up. The anxiety within the courtroom roiled in anticipation to learn all
the gory details of a vicious murder. Not everyone believed Jackson Newton was guilty and, to tell the truth, I had my doubts. Watching the people file and push their way into the
overfilled courtroom made me realize this case wasn’t going away until they heard the final verdict. Hell, I wasn’t any different…but I was there for a purpose.