We were on opposite sides of the bars.  I was a prison guard.

I knew Charlie well.  I read his mail, listened to his stories, and I didn’t know it at the time, but he got into my head.  Charlie, as you know, had a knack for getting in people’s heads.

Over the years he gave me gifts.  I could sell them on murderabilia websites for big bucks, but… well, I can’t sell them.  So I keep my one-of-a-kind, handcrafted Manson originals in a safe deposit box, along with the photographs and letters he gave me.

I left the prison system and became a lawyer, primarily representing peace officers.

By day, I wrote a lot of legalese.  At night I cleared my head by writing short stories—crime fiction—not all of them published, but every one of them helped me hone my craft.

And then one night, something—or somebody—came to me and told me to write a novel.  I couldn’t say no.

Jonas Walker is a retired NYPD cop who brought down five serial killers in his career.  But he paid a huge price.  One killed his wife.  Another put a bullet in his head, threw him off a balcony, and broke his back.  Disabled, Jonas moved to Maine.

But when beautiful young women are murdered on five consecutive Tuesdays, the NYPD turns to Jonas.  Reluctantly, the renowned serial killer savant returns to New York.

And that’s where my past life collides with my fiction.  Remember I said that Charlie Manson got into my head?  Now he’s all over my book.  I won’t tell you how, because… well, it’s a mystery.  Why spoil the fun?

The novel is written, edited, rewritten, and polished.  Now it’s looking for representation.

Hey… would it kill you to read it?

Frank Rankin

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