Peter Doyle Novels & Stories

His closest friend was Peter Cooley, an attorney, whom Steven had known for several years. Peter was very handsome and like Steven, very self assured. At 6'4", very muscular, he had a very commanding presence. I have never really cared for facial hair, but with his closely trimmed beard and always impeccable dress, Peter pulled it off. He was a very friendly and charming man, who seemed to like me as well. I was very glad about this, because that seemed important to Steven.

I had work to do. The work was Doyle. I had pulled Edward J. Doyle’s record the day his name first appeared on the Calloway file as the family’s contracted investigator. Sixty-three years old. NYPD 1989 to 2017. Last decade in Brooklyn South Homicide. Sixty-four cases closed under his name as lead, fifty-eight of which had resulted in convictions. The conviction rate was the second piece of data that interested me. The first was the case-closure rate. Doyle was, by the metrics, one of the higher-clearing detectives in the borough across his career, and the metric was, in his case, not a function of caseload selection he had drawn his share of difficult cases, and he had closed his share of t

You just knew they were fresh out of college when you saw them. I signaled for him to go on with what he had to say. "Is it true that you're involved with Anthony Smith's ex-wife?" I felt Marissa go still before even seeing her. Her pen had stopped moving and her eyes were wide as saucers. I leaned into the mic. "What's your name?" "Peter. Uh, Peter Daniels. Wall Street Journal." "Peter." I smiled the way I did right before firing someone. "You see those documents? The ones with actual dollar amounts and criminal fraud? You can either ask about those or shut the hell up."

The silence after that felt like a door opening in a room none of us had known existed. My skin prickled. “Then who?” I asked. Peter’s eyes moved to me, and for once there was no disdain in them. No calculation. Only exhausted honesty. “Someone bigger.” The words landed quietly. Too quietly. I thought of Don D’Caputo—the dead casino owner, the ruthless man whose name had followed us through threats, land records, shell corporations, and smoke. Don had become the dark shape in the center of every answer. But now Peter was saying Don had been afraid too.

A gunshot cracked through the tension, but it wasn't from Doyle's weapon. Doyle's eyes widened in shock as he looked down at his chest. Disbelief washed over his features as he staggered backward, then disappeared over the cliff edge. Peter rushed to the precipice, firing several more shots downward before turning back to me. "Should have put a few more in him," he said, regret and unease mingling in his voice. Doyle's men stared in stunned silence. "What the hell?" one stammered. "Our boss was still talking—you can't just —“

Peter greeted taking a seat on the only empty seat available. " Gentlemen, this is my friend I told you about, Peter Maxwell, " Joe said about his friend. The older gentleman who looked to be in his seventies with piercing laser brown eyes looked intently at Peter. " Your friend here tells me that you require our services. " Peter gulped and turned to his friend with a question as to who the man is in his eyes. " This is Percy Smith, owner of Dabomb corps, " Joe answered. Peter frowned. " Never heard of you guys. "

Visit Amaze and give my book a review if you enjoy it! About the Author Tamikio L. Dooley is the award-winning author. She is the editor, blogger, project leader, and Spokesperson for Ukiyoto Publishing Editorial Board. She writes fiction of crime, thriller, mystery, fantasy, and paranormal. In her spare time, she writes short stories, poetry, motivational, health books.

"Great! I’ll be right back with your order." "Thanks!" Peter felt a slight pang in his chest. He knew how much Calum had loved his wife. If he had to think of an ideal marriage, he would want his to be like theirs. But it was clear he hadn’t achieved that. Fifteen years had passed. Dolly had been gone for fifteen years. He regretted not being there for Calum back then. "Is something wrong?" Celeste asked, intrigued by Peter’s surprised expression. "Huh? Oh… No, nothing. A good friend of mine owns this place. Years ago, his wife was battling cancer. From what I knew, she was getting better… but she passed away fifteen years ago. My friend went to Hesperia for the anniversary of her passing."

he said simply. Although he had politely declined the invitation, Amanda on the other hand, was quite persistent and engaged him in voluble chatter, explaining the reasons why he needed to be there. Thus, he agreed reluctantly. "Fine" he dragged, putting his hand on his wine glass and taking a huge gulp. "Ah, lest I forget" Amanda turned to him "You remember Sophie Quinn right? The commissioner's only Daughter?" David nodded, dipping his spoon into his soup. "Well, she has just concluded her Ph.D. in criminal law. Isn't that amazing?"

It had all been Peter's idea, Peter's whole drama put together. "Luke Martinez," Leroy recited repeatedly as he scrolled down with his mouse. The search engine gave over a million individuals going by that moniker, only adding to Leroy's headache. He was an intelligent man though and had studied Law and Criminology as his minor. He tried to recollect everything Rossi had told him about this mysterious lawyer: "Peter met with me a year ago in Omar during vacation...we had a lawyer write up the documents contained in that binder...." Omar....