Excerpt From “The Matador Murders” by Jerold Last

 “The Matador Murders” features Roger Bowman and Suzanne Foster, back in Montevideo after being summoned by a late night phone call. The book features lots of action, a good whodunit storyline, guest appearances from several old friends and an old enemy from “The Ambivalent Corpse” and “The Surreal Killer”, and occasional opportunities for sightseeing and eating regional specialty foods.


Chapter 1. Adios to a crooked cop

Early that day, Jose Gonzalez, in his usual role as a detective on the Montevideo police force, had a loud and highly acrimonious argument with his partner. Martin Gonzalez, the partner, was proud of two things. The first was that he and Jose were not related despite the common surname. The other was that he was the ranking half of the partnership and could say whatever was on his mind with no real fear of the consequences. Martin was in fact a Detective Lieutenant and the officer with the second highest ranking in the detective division after his Captain, fortuitously not named Gonzalez. Probably half of the detectives on the Intendencia de Montevideo Police Force heard the argument, even if none of them were able to hear enough of the words to know what the argument was all about. The loud voices penetrated through the closed door of the small office shared by the two Detectives named Gonzalez, and it was obvious that they disagreed strongly about something.

On the other side of the door Martin was saying to Jose, loudly and forcefully, “You are a lousy liar and a corrupt cop, a dirty crook and a disgrace to the police force!”

“You can’t prove that,” was the loud reply. “If you could, we wouldn’t be having this argument.”

“You know, and I know, that you’re crooked. That’s enough for me. Get out of here, and stay out of my sight till I’m able to get you reassigned and get myself a new partner.”

Jose opened the door and left the room. With the door open, everyone heard Martin’s last words to Jose and more than a dozen reported them, more or less verbatim, to the Captain after they learned of Jose’s death.

In one form or another, they all reported that Martin Gonzalez said, “You’ve stolen your last peso from the public you’re supposed to serve. I’m going to see that you never do it again!”

Meanwhile, Jose left the police station, walked a few blocks to a convenient bus stop, and hopped on an untraceable bus to ride to the street where his next meeting was scheduled. Jose, whose second deadly sin after greed was vanity, admired himself as he sat on the bus. The suit was well tailored for his slight frame, the shoes were made from real Argentine leather rather than the cheap imitation junk from Brazil, and his hat made a fashion statement more than it just covered his head. The bus came to his stop and he pushed the button to alert the driver and stepped off the stairs from the now open back door. He walked anther careful couple of blocks after ensuring nobody was following him by bus or car, and entered an apartment house almost exactly 15 minutes late for his appointment. If anything, he was early by Uruguayan social custom, but he knew that Carlos would already be at the apartment waiting for him with his payoff for services rendered. In this particular case the service rendered was to lose the contents of a police file, which would throw a major monkey wrench into the trial of an important local drug dealer.

Jose got off of the elevator and rang the correct doorbell.

Carlos Cavernas opened the apartment door and gestured Jose Gonalez to enter. Jose was slim, medium height, very well dressed—what would have been called dapper a few generations ago—with a fussily trimmed mustache, dark brown hair, and brown eyes. He was quite obviously Spanish in origin. Carlos was much heavier, squat and built like a fire hydrant, clean-shaven, and sloppily dressed in brown corduroy trousers and a gray seaman’s cable sweater. He followed Jose into the apartment, shut the door, and led his colleague into the adjacent living room, stooping to pick up a white envelope from a coffee table in front of a long brown sofa. He passed the envelope to Jose, who looked inside, riffled the thick stack of cash to estimate the amount, and put the envelope into the breast pocket of his expensive woolen sport jacket.

“It’s not enough any more for all of the stuff you’re asking me to do,” Jose told Carlos. “I need a big raise, say about 50%!”

Carlos pulled out a small pistol, which he pointed at Jose. “That’s the wrong answer. My orders were to give you the money and thank you if you just took it, but to officially terminate the relationship if you tried to get cute and ask for more. I’ve been looking forward to your decision. I hate cops.”

He shot twice. A third and fourth eye sprouted on Jose’s head as he fell to the floor, obviously dead. Carlos bent over the body and removed the envelope with the cash, which went into one of his trouser pockets.

“Thank you very much, Senor Gonzales. I think that is the first time you have ever given me anything. I am pleased that your only gift to me is such a generous one.”

The detective’s pistol disappeared into another pocket and Carlos was ready to go. He checked the scene to make sure nothing important had been left behind and walked to the front door. Doorknobs were wiped clean of fingerprints, as were any other surfaces he might have touched. After an elaborate ritual with locks and keys, he walked down the stairs and out of the building onto the street completely unobserved. He walked to his car, parked unobtrusively several blocks away, and drove off.

Chapter 2. An early morning telephone call

The telephone woke us up with its incessant ringing at 5 AM on a Saturday morning. Suzanne had just fallen back asleep after Robert’s regular demand for a 4 AM feeding, so I got up to answer the phone. The connection was lousy, but I could make out Eduardo Gomez’s deep voice on the other end of the line.

“Roger, is that you?”

“Yes, it is,” I replied.

“I’ve got some bad news to share. Somebody murdered Martin Gonzalez’s partner, Detective Jose Gonzalez, last night. The local cops have no idea who did it. I think that Martin is their primary suspect. There don’t seem to be any forensic clues, there were no witnesses, and we seem to have a classic locked door mystery to solve. I was wondering if you wanted to come down here to Montevideo and give me a hand trying to solve this case and keep Martin of jail. I think I’m really going to need your help on this one, since I’m under orders to keep a low profile around here.”


Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Matador-Murders-American-Mystery-ebook/dp/B008QD4BJE/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1343522003&sr=1-3&keywords=matador+murders.

Author Bio: This is the fourth book in the author’s popular South American mystery series. There’s lots more about Jerry Last at his blog site: http://rogerandsuzannemysteries.blogspot.com.

Excerpt From the “The Surreal Killer” by Jerold Last

A serial killer is leaving a trail of dead women across Chile, Peru, and Bolivia. The gruesome corpses all seem to have died in exactly the same macabre way. There may be a link to a small group of scientists who meet annually in different locations in the region. Roger Bowman and Suzanne Foster are asked by the local police to attend this year’s meeting of the group in Lima, Peru to try to find out who was present at the previous meetings when the murders occurred. And the reader is off on a fast paced pursuit of the killer through Lima, Cuzco, and Machu Picchu in Peru and Chile’s Atacama Desert. This is a true whodunit mystery novel set in an unusual and exotic locale.

Excerpt from “The Surreal Killer”
Chapter 1. Santiago, Chile, A Year Ago

He always thought of this part as cutting the calf out of the herd. The problem: Pick up the woman somewhere, somehow without any witnesses to the event. The solution this time: he found her hitchhiking late at night on the deserted street in a poorly lit part of town. He stopped the rented car and offered her a ride. She looked at him, decided he was safe, jumped in the car, congratulated herself on her good luck, and asked if he was heading towards the next town.

“Yes, I am. Where can I drop you off?”

“Anywhere near the middle of town would be great.”

“You’ve got it.”

The car started off in the right direction.

“Can I offer you a little brandy? It’s cold out there,” he said.

“I’d love a sip or two.”

He removed a flask from his pocket and passed it over.

“Thanks a lot,” she replied, and took a long slow swallow. She returned the flask to the driver.

Five minutes later the long-acting drug in the brandy had worked its magic and she was completely helpless. Wide awake, but totally unable to move or speak. She stared at the driver with terrified eyes. The driver steered the car onto a dirt road and drove about half a mile into the woods. After stopping the car, he came around to the passenger side, and pulled her out onto the ground. She noted that there was grass and dirt in the clearing. He pawed her body for a few moments, but didn’t seem interested in undressing or sexually assaulting her beyond the unwanted touching. Out came his syringe, and with a few well-coordinated movements he injected a few mL of fluid directly into her jugular vein. The powerful drug did its work and she was now completely paralyzed.

He opened the trunk of the car. Out came a disposable paper coverall and disposable latex rubber gloves, which he donned. Out came a large machete and a protective plastic face shield, which he also put on. He returned to his terrified victim, dragged her about 150 feet from the car, and proceeded to systematically whack away at arms and legs with the machete for several minutes after she had completely bled out. The mutilation of the corpse continued for what seemed to be a long time after she was clearly dead. Finally he dropped the machete, picked up a small stick from the ground nearby, and dipped the end of the stick in one of the many pools of blood around the body. Very carefully, using the blood as ink, he wrote the words “no mas” on the ground near the body. At that point he made a low, throaty growl that might have meant that he was finally satisfied with the result, and the machete overkill came to an end.

The bloodstained and splattered paper coveralls, latex gloves, and face shield came off and were thrown on top of the dismembered body. So was the machete. Careful examination revealed that there was no apparent blood visible anywhere on him or his clothing after the disposables were taken off. Back to the trunk of the car from which he removed a large plastic container of gasoline that he poured over the body and the disposables. One flick of a match and everything went up in flames, which burned long and hot. When nothing remained but charred flesh, teeth, bones, and ashes he returned to the car and went on to his destination, satisfied that any forensic evidence had been destroyed in the fire. Nothing remained that could link him to the dead young woman, who was a perfect stranger. He smiled a genuine smile of satisfaction.


Jerold Last is a scientist on the faculty of the University of California and a big fan of California mystery novels. He taught a popular Freshman Seminar on California Mystery novels for several years at UC Davis.

The settings and locales for all three books, The Empanada Affair, The Ambivalent Corpse, and The Surreal Killer are authentic; the author lived previously in Salta, Argentina and Montevideo, Uruguay for several months each, and selected several of the most interesting locations he found for Roger and Suzanne to visit. The Empanada Affair’s title comes from a local food served ubiquitously as an appetizer in the region. Another book in this series is in preparation; look for it later in 2012.

Link to book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-Surreal-Killer-ebook/dp/B007H21EFO/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1330988453&sr=1-2

Click here for an interview with: Jerold Last