Last Words: A Supernatural Murder Mystery
Hanson and Brewer Murder Mysteries Book One
Tagline: Some cases cut deeper when the dead refuse to stay buried
Author: Marty Roppelt
Genre: Mystery / Supernatural / Horror
Publisher: Dragon Breath Press
Date of Publication: February 7, 2025
ISBN: 979-8985349580
ASIN: B0D184PVWZ
Number of pages: 151
Word Count: 36,241
Cover Artist: Christopher Chambers
About the Book
Last Words: A Supernatural Murder Mystery follows Chicago police Detective Myles Hanson as he navigates a world of crime and
unsettling revelations. After a nighttime raid on a drug lab ends in a deadly shootout,
Myles is convinced to transfer to another unit. His first case in Violent Crimes is unlike
any he’s faced before. Maria Peski, a midwife with a quiet life, is savagely murdered.
But that’s not the only mystery haunting him. Myles begins experiencing chilling visions
and inexplicable phenomena. He begins to hear the final words of the dead, fragments of
unfinished thoughts from those who have passed. As the voices reveal clues no one else
can uncover, Myles teams up with his streetwise and relentless partner, Tank Brewer, to
piece together the secrets that the dead have left behind.
When a second murder rocks the city with startling similarities, Myles is increasingly
pressured to accept that some clues lie beyond the realm of the living. As the line
between the supernatural and the real begins to blur, Myles and Tank must untangle a
web of deceit, violence, and spectral warnings before the killer strikes again.
Where to Find It
Amazon BN Apple Kobo
Smashwords Everand Fable
Myles paused at the glass doors to the Area North police station. He checked his watch.
Then he turned away from the entrance, paced roughly fifteen feet, added several more steps and
lit a Marlboro Light. He pulled his jacket collar up to block an unusually crisp September breeze.
A long strip of grass punctuated by an occasional shrub next to the building attempted to
soften the structures strictly functional design. In the courtyard, a few trees stood guard along
with a twisting metal sculpture. But the shades in all the windows were drawn, keeping the
occupants minds focused on their tasks. The parking lot spread far in every direction. Several
squad cars waited there for their officers to climb in and begin their patrols.
Taking in his surroundings, Myles shook his head. The Nineteenth District Patrol station
held more appeal to tourists to Chicago than did this location. A block west of the Nineteenth on
West Addison Street sat a busy elevated, or train station, over a century old and still
flaunting its original grid of iron spans and frames in the open. Another block further west,
Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs, buzzed with activity during home stands. Across from
the Nineteenth on Addison, a row of shotgun style houses butted up against each other like a
knot of sentinels standing shoulder to shoulder. Some bore brownstone facades, some red brick.
A thin sheen of grime, car exhaust mostly, the grit of a busy city, covered them. All the dwellings
needed power washing or sand blasting.
He knew that locale well, and it charmed even him.
But no tourists visited this spot, the Area North station's locale. A massive tan and brown
brick building, Area North dwarfed the Nineteenth. Built in a commercial and industrial zone,
the station resembled a Big Box store in spite of the unnaturally planted greenery. If not for the
fleet of squad cars in the sprawling lot, visitors might enter the north side’s police nexus
expecting to buy a hot air fryer or bed linens.
Myles nodded to himself. Area North was all business.
From the corner of his eye, in the window nearest him, Myles spotted the reflection of
two women, one short and slight, the other tall and slender. They approached from the parking
lot arm-in-arm. The window distorted their shapes, giving them a hot August day shimmer. Their
pale complexions suggested a summer spent together indoors. They both dressed for summer,
each wearing tie-dyed blouses but no jackets, immune to the cool day. The shorter one put Marla
Hines in mind. He recalled how she used to chide him whenever he sneaked out of the Organized
Crimes building for a quick smoke. As the pair neared him, they opened their mouths, Myles
assumed, to berate him.
Sorry, ladies, the smoker said. ll just put this out. He turned in the women’s direction.
They were gone.
Frowning, he swung his head around, scanning the area. Nothing. The parking lot lay
empty of everything but vehicles. Two uniformed cops exited the building. But no one passed
them heading in.
“Come on, Hanson,” he muttered.
He stubbed the cigarette out on the heel of his shoe, deposited it into a nearby trash can
and entered the station.
About the Author:
Marty Roppelt lives in Wauconda, Illinois, with his wife Becky. Born and raised in
Cleveland, Ohio, his family roots stem from Transylvania. Yes, THAT
Transylvania, from where his parents emigrated in the mid 1950s. So of course,
Marty enjoys writing in the supernatural / horror genre. In addition to his first
novel, Mortal Foe, he has written a series of short paranormal Christmas stories to
raise money for St. Herman’s House, a homeless shelter in Cleveland. He also has
featured stories in anthologies, Tales from the Dragons Lair and Holiday Hearth.
Marty and Becky enjoy quiet time together with their cats Nala and Malik.
Leave a Reply