About the Author:
David Myles Robinson grew up in Pasadena, CA, where, while attending Cal State LA, he worked as a staff reporter for a minority newspaper, The Pasadena Eagle. He is a graduate of San Francisco State University and the University of San Francisco School of Law. It was in law school that Robinson met his wife, Marcia Waldorf. The two moved to Honolulu, where Robinson practiced law and Waldorf became a circuit court judge. They now live in Taos, NM, where he pursues his passions of skiing, golf, traveling, and writing, not necessarily in that order. Robinson is the author of six novels.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Dear Detective Reyes:
Please forgive me for imposing on you again after all these years. I’m hoping you are still with the sheriff’s office. I am about to take my own life, and I want this one final opportunity to convey information about my husband’s death. As you know, or at least as I told you, Pinochet tried to have Ricardo assassinated. This was while Ricardo was still living in Chile and was waging a war of words against the Pinochet regime. When Ricardo was murdered, I assumed it was Pinochet’s people following up on their prior death threats.
What I didn’t know at the time was that Pinochet and his people had obtained a draft copy of Ricardo’s unpublished novel, The Daughters of Pinochet. According to old acquaintances from Chile who were in a position to know what was going on, Pinochet was furious about the novel, which, as you might assume, portrayed him as a ruthless megalomaniac. What was worse, however, was that in the novel, the daughter of Pinochet was the daughter of one of his mistresses.
You can imagine how abhorrent this kind of portrayal would be to the Latin mind-set. Being called a thug and a murderer is one thing, but incestuous pedophilia would have been too much.
After Ricardo was murdered, I received two anonymous letters threatening to kill me and my son, Will. The first letter ordered me to destroy the novel. The second didn’t mention the novel, but they were horrible, scary letters, and I would be lying if I said I was not terrified for our lives.
What happened next sounds ridiculous to me now as I write this, but at the time, when I feared for our safety, it made some weird kind of sense. A man by the name of Charles Evans came into my life. I told him about the letters, and he convinced me to marry him. For a while, I did feel safe. But Chuck became abusive, and his psychotic rants more and more common. During one of them, he said things no one could have known about. He said he knew these things because he had worked for the CIA.
I called his friend Milton Fischer to ask for advice. He promised to take care of Chuck and said I wouldn’t be bothered again. Milton was true to his word. I never heard from Chuck again, but I’ve been a mess ever since. Chuck had known too much about Ricardo.
If you think there may be some things worth looking into, I’d appreciate it. I will be gone, but my son should be given the opportunity to learn the truth about his father’s death. Help him if you can.
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