Blood Stains in Paradise

a Novel by Paul Foreman

To Be Released Dec 1st 2016 !

"Blood Stains on the BADGE

coming in the WINTER of 2017!


here's a sample excerpt from my next Novel!


Officer Joey’s transmission was interrupted, by a strange rasping voice, “shot, I am shot.” Then a choking sound could be heard. Again, in a whisper this time, “Debbie.” The voice was weaker as it repeated, “Debbie.”          Janet Kingsworth was an experienced dispatcher. She was already hitting the call button for Sarasota Fire Rescue. The Station was about a hundred yards down First Street from the Police station. She had always prided herself in keeping her voice calm on the radio. “Fire, rescue.” A frantic sounding voice answered the line. Suddenly Janet’s voice broke, as she tried to talk. “I have an officer shot.” It came out like a whisper. She cleared her voice and tried again but it did not need to be repeated. The Fire Station always monitored the Police radio. “We are already on the way, the fire dispatcher said.” The ambulance crew was just starting to turn into the station from a previous run. The driver whipped the huge vehicle in a tight U-Turn and headed towards Mango, their red lights reflecting off the glass front of the station as the diesel engine left a cloud of black smoke, the siren echoing off the buildings. The fire rescue crew had also been listening to the radio traffic on the police channel. “Who is it?” The fire rescue dispatcher asked. Janet tried to regain her composure as she answered, “Its John Warren.” Joey could be heard on the radio in the background, he was screaming into his radio, “Get me some help up here, Johns been shot!”       

       John Warren was lying in the sandy parking lot, next to his patrol car. Joey skidded to a stop in front of John’s car, frantic, as he jumped out of the car after slamming it into park.  Terrible gasping sounds were coming from John. His head was covered in blood, his uniform shirt and badge soaked crimson red. Joey slid in next to John like a ball player sliding into home plate. “Helps coming brother, hold on, helps coming,” he kept repeating. Leaning in close, he realized John was trying to say something, “Blue Buick, old, two black males,” Joey finally understood what he was saying. The patrol car door was open, the radio microphone dangling from its cord across the seat. It was covered in blood as Joey grabbed it and began broadcasting,

 “Blue Buick, two black males, that was a Buick, I saw leaving at the end of the street. Taillights run all the way across the back. It was leaving a trail of smoke. Last seen west bound on 12th.”         

     “Fire Rescue is in route, code 3.” Janet had regained her voice but she was still shaking.” The watch commander knocked over two chairs, behind Janet, as he bounded out the front door to his car. The telephone operator, Shelia Jackson, was already on the phone, calling William Parkman, the Chief.