Guest Author
July, 2003
Kathleen Antrim
author of Capital Offense
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Author Bio:
An award-winning writer and San Francisco Bay Area columnist, Kathleen Antrim has published her debut novel, Capital Offense. It has sold over 6,700 copies in the San Francisco Bay Area alone, and leaped to the top of the bestseller lists of various bookstores. Recently Capital Offense was named the Number 1 Bestseller of her publishing house for the entire quarter.
A columnist for the Tri-Valley Herald, part of the ANG Newspaper Group, Ms. Antrim has won writing awards from both the Santa Barbara Writer’s Conference and the Maui Writer’s Conference. Her short story, Torn, was recently included in Pronto! Writings From Rome, an anthology of work by authors such as Dorothy Allison, John Saul, Elizabeth Engstrom and Terry Brooks.
A political thriller about an ambitious first lady caught in a web of murder and deceit, Capital Offense has already generated enough buzz to put this novel on the bestseller list. The book has glowing endorsements from The Tri-Valley Herald, The Pleasanton Weekly, The Contra Costa Times, The Oakland Tribune, and Crime, Justice and America Magazine. A copy of the book was personally delivered to First Lady Laura Bush, and twelve additional copies were requested for Air Force One and The White House.
Ms. Antrim, who began her career in sales and marketing with the Gillette Company, used her marketing savvy to enlist the help of a handful of regional independent bookstores to stock the book and set up author signings. The book sold 1000 copies in its first three weeks of release. Costco immediately ordered 3000 hardcover copies of the book and asked Ms. Antrim to appear at 16 of their Northern California stores. The book was also picked up and stocked such distributors as Ingram, Bookpeople and Baker & Taylor, all national book distributors.
Active in state and local politics, Ms.Antrim has run a local school board campaign and was involved in candidate Guy Houston’s successful run for California State Assembly.
A seasoned speaker, she organized several political events and panels for Capital Offense. The first event, a “Powerful Women Panel,” at Bay Book Store in Concord, featured Carolyn Wente, President of Wente Vineyards; Elaine Taylor, well-known philanthropist and president of the Taylor Family Foundation; and two columnists from The Contra Costa Times, Karen Hershenson, and Lynn Carey. A panel discussion by state and local politicians was held at Towne Center Books in Pleasanton. She has also appeared at stores all over Northern California such as Costco, Waldenbooks, Borders, and Barnes & Noble. In addition, Ms. Antrim has been featured on such television shows as “In A Word,” and on radio shows across the United States.
Ms. Antrim is well known for her local charity work. She is one of the founders of the Ruby Hill Giving Thanks Charity Ball, which has donated over a million dollars to organizations that provide services to children in need. She sits on the Foundation Board of ValleyCare Hospital, and is President of the Livermore Valley Wine Growers Foundation Board, which sponsors the California Wine Auction. This Auction raises money for The Taylor Family’s Foundation Camp Arroyo for children with life-threatening illnesses, the Hope Hospice Bereavement Program for Children and Teens, ValleyCare Hospital Pediatric Ward, and the Oakland East Bay Symphony Muse Program, which provides music programming for underserved children.
Ms Antrim grew up in Avon Lake, Ohio and attended Bowling Green State University where she majored in interpersonal and public communications. She met her husband while working for the Gillette Company in Littleton, Colorado. They later moved to Northern California where they started the Antrim Engineering and Construction Company. Ms. Antrim resides in Pleasanton with her husband, two daughters, three dogs, two guinea pigs and an Amazon parrot. She is at work on her next novel.
Kathleen Antrim is an active member in the following professional organizations:
The Authors Guild, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters In Crime, Murder Must Advertise, and Left Coast Crime Writers.
The moon had long since disappeared in the fog. From where Jack stood, the Golden Gate Bridge should have been a glorious sight, but dense tendrils of mist obscured the looming structure, leaving only a milky whiteness in its place.
Jack leaned against his rental car. Three-thirty in the morning and thirty minutes since the phone call that had compelled him to the bridge. His father, murdered? My God, it made sense, it fit with his investigation, but just the thought caused him physical pain.
He peered up at the sky, noting that the stars were lost to the marine layer that shrouded everything above a couple hundred feet. He listened to the waves pounding the shore, and to the periodic moans of a distant foghorn.Jack dug into the pocket of his worn leather jacket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes. Strange city. Desolate place. Probably not one of his brighter moves.
He sucked on his cigarette. The tip glowed orange-red in the murky darkness. The air grew still, eerie and oppressive. He shivered in the dampness and turned to get back inside his car. Headlights suddenly blinded him and a car came to a stop directly in front of him.
The car door opened, but the interior light did not go on. A tall figure exited the vehicle on the driver’s side, then paused near the open door. He remained a vague silhouette behind the headlights. “State your name,” he ordered.
Jack couldn’t make out the man’s features or what he was wearing. “Jack Rudly.”
“Good of you to come. You’ll understand if I ask you to remain where you are.”
Jack recognized the voice from the telephone call. “It’s damn cold out here. How about we go get a drink somewhere and talk?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then at least tell me who you are.” Was this guy for real? God, he hoped so. He had to know the truth about his father.
“Someday that will be evident, but for now you’ll just have to trust me.”
“It’s almost four in the morning, and you obviously want to talk to me, but I can’t trust a source if I don’t know his identity.” Jack wiped at his forehead as a drizzle began. It was hard to know whether it was really rain or just the moisture weeping from the dense fog.
The man chuckled. "There aren’t any easy answers to this one, so you can take it or leave it. But I promise you, if you walk away now, you’ll regret it. And so will a lot of other unsuspecting people.”
Jack tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground. “Tell me about my father. Or did you just mention his name to get my attention?”
“Use your head. Think, Mr. Rudly . . . murder and the presidency."
"I told you, I don't like riddles."
"Sure you do. You're a journalist.”
“I’m out of here.” Jack reached for his car door handle.
“Okay, okay, I'll give you a break,” the man said quickly. “I know you went digging in Missouri during the campaign."
“How do you know that?” This guy knew a lot. He was obviously connected to the power crowd, but how?
“You’re not the only one with contacts. Something was bothering you, Mr. Rudly, or you wouldn’t have gone snooping around. You asked me why I picked you? Your background had something to do with it, but mainly I picked you because you weren’t wrong. Listen to your gut. That something you were searching for is still there. And it started before the death of your father.”
Jack’s heart pounded. Was this the break he’d been looking for? “What does my father have to do with anything? And what’s all this shit about murder? All I got in Missouri was a lot of conjecture and a handful of air. Nothing I could verify.”
“You haven’t looked in the right places. Neither did your father.”
“You keep bringing up my father. Tell me how this involved him?”
“If I had all the answers, I wouldn’t need you.” An anguished note crept into the man’s voice. “God, maybe this was a mistake. I’ve probably misjudged you. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m in too deep . . . it’s too late. Fuck it. Never mind.” The man got back into the driver’s seat of the car.
“Please, wait.” Jack stepped forward.
“Stop.” A hand rose above the door.
Jack saw the outline of a gun. He extended his arms, palms turned outward. “Relax, man. You obviously thought I could help, but you’re not giving me much to go on. What did you mean when you said the press was allowing this to happen?”
“Move back,” the man ordered.
Jack quickly obliged.
The gun dangled loosely from the man’s fingertips. “If the press doesn’t report the truth, the people don’t get the truth. Remember, we’re only as far from becoming a dictatorship as the people we elect to represent us. Everything can be changed, and things are changing. The Council will see to that.”
Council! Holy shit, he’s connected to the Council. “Tell me about the Council.”
The man laughed.
Jack inched forward. “Who’s involved?”
“We both know who I’m talking about. I’ve been instrumental in allowing this to happen. Good men are dead, I should have stopped it. But I was afraid, so I pretended I didn’t know. God have mercy on me.” He paused. “You'll know me, Jack Rudly. One day my identity will be made perfectly clear. Just watch the front pages. The article will be like the one about your father."
Jack stiffened. Your father was murdered. You’ve suspected this for some time now. You just couldn’t admit it. It hurt too much. “Why was he killed?”
“Your father liked to talk; he said a lot of things that weren’t appreciated.” He exhaled unsteadily.
“How about Fields and Miles? Were they murdered too?”
“You’re on the right track. But I've stayed too long.” The man held up an envelope, then placed it on the ground. “I’m leaving this. After I leave you can get it. But think about it before you accept this, because this note will pull you in. And once you’re in, you’ll either bring them down or you’ll die trying.”
Jack watched him drive off, then picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a cassette tape and one sheet of paper. Written on it was: Cleopatra1600.com; password: Caesar.
