Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Book Tour + #Giveaway: Dead Air by Cliff Protzman @cliffprotzman @SDSXXTours




Dead Air
A Glenn Beckert Mystery
by Cliff Protzman
Genre: Mystery, Suspense, Thriller

Dead Air signals trouble at the radio station. Glenn Beckert discovers his high school best friend is shot in the head while on the air. Beck, the owner of Blue Water Security, is employed to provide security for the station.



He becomes willingly embroiled in the investigation by the not-so-innocent widow. The list of potential suspects is long, gleaned from the numerous extramarital affairs of the victim and widow. The pending sale of the radio station has created friction between his now dead friend, Richie Zito and the major stockholders. Motives for murder becomes increasingly murky after the search reveals an encrypted file on Zito’s laptop. 

Beck enlists the help of an old flame, Irene Schade, to break the code, revealing a money laundering network leading to the financial and political powers of his beloved city of Pittsburgh. Their collaboration ignites the flames of passion each had considered extinguished.

A former college teammate, police Lieutenant Paglironi delivers a message to back off. Arrogantly, he ignores his friend’s advice. The threats from less friendly sources are more ominous, forcing Beck to move in an unfamiliar world. A startling revelation from his client forces Beck to deal with his inner conviction of right and wrong, challenging the gray areas of his ethical principles. Betraying his client’s confidence could expose the killer. The alternative is to confront the suspect and take matters into his own hands. Either way his life is in jeopardy. 


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CHAPTER 2

Back in my 35th anniversary edition T-Top Camaro, the curving path of I-279 propelled me through the North Hills of Pittsburgh. The driver's window was cracked open, allowing the cool spring air of late March to cool my tense perspiration of fear. My only exposure to murder had been from television or newspaper accounts, the occasional murder mystery novel.

I was wearing a zip-front warm-up jacket with the Blue Water logo over a pale blue golf shirt concealing the Beretta 9mm worn on my belt holster. Black jeans and dark athletic shoes completed the outfit. In order to hide male pattern baldness, I had chosen to shave my head. Combined with steely blue eyes, I’m told I paint a good picture of a man who owns a security firm – no one to fuck with but someone you’d like to invite out for a beer.

Z-Rock was the crown jewel for Open Air Communications and owned by Richie Zito, my best friend in high school and best man at my wedding. The station was by far the ratings leader in the Western PA market. Richie was not only the owner, but also the Saturday night DJ for Z-Rock. Richie believed that he had to spend time on the air to keep in touch with his audience and business.

I tuned the car stereo to Z-Rock, hearing nothing but dead air. I was on my way to a murder scene. My thoughts were jumbled. I needed to behave like a professional: detached and analytical. On the other hand, the murder victim was a long-time friend. We had a history of shared experiences that were part of our life story. Now he was dead. Maybe it was a mistake, just some accident, and Waner had gotten it wrong.

I approached the Fort Pitt Bridge, passing between PNC Park and Heinz Field. Suddenly, Phil Collins burst out “In The Air Tonight” over the car stereo, Z-Rock was back on the air. My dashboard clock showed 9:12. I crossed the bridge, through the tunnels, and up Green Tree Hill. You couldn’t drive in this city without crossing a bridge or going through a tunnel.

At the top of the hill, I pulled into the parking lot at the Z-Rock studios and noticed three cars in the lot, a police cruiser entering from the opposite side. The cruiser's emergency lights were flashing; the siren was silent. I parked beside a silver Jeep Liberty.

Bernie Allen exited the police car. Bernie had worked for me while he attended the police academy. He'd been a dependable worker, always on time and conscientious. He was still young, mid-twenties, with a stocky, muscular build, reddish-brown hair, and a round face that gave him a perpetually boyish look.

I headed to the back door. This was the employee entrance, accessible only with a swipe card. The door wasn't alarmed, though there was a surveillance camera. I looked up to make sure it was in place. The red light showed it was operating.

When he spotted me, Bernie seemed a little surprised. “Beck, what are you doing here? You’ve never come out to my sites when I had a problem.”

“You never had a murder on site.”

Bernie stopped abruptly and he looked startled. “No one said anything about murder. I was there when the dispatcher took the call. The call was for a possible suicide.”

Suicide. The thought had never occurred to me. Richie wasn't a suicide candidate. Surely the guy I knew in high school wasn't capable of that. I felt a numbness creeping through my body.

Bernie began to pace in front of the door in short steps, shaking his head. As far as I knew, he'd never been involved in a homicide, but then again, I was such an expert.

I said to Bernie, “Waner called me and said that Zito had been murdered. You remember John, he was always a nervous wreck. I told him to call the police. What exactly did he say?”

Bernie blinked, still trying to shake off his shock, but managed to speak in a professional tone. “The caller reported a shooting. It looked like suicide. An ambulance is on the way.” He reached for his shoulder mic. “Dispatch, this is unit 4. I am at Z-Rock with Glenn Beckert from Blue Water Security. His people are reporting a possible murder.” Bernie waited for a reply, staring at the door like he expected a murderer to come charging out any second.

Bernie's shoulder mic crackled. “Unit 4, backup is on the way. Secure the scene.” The voice continued in a sterner tone, “Beckert may be in charge of security but you're in charge of the scene. Keep him on a leash.”

Bernie cringed but quickly regained his self-control. He put his hand on my chest and I immediately flinched, reminding myself he was an on-duty cop. “Beck, I see you have a gun, so leave it in your holster and keep your hands in your pockets.”

Waner buzzed the door open after I used the intercom to call him. Bernie pulled the door open with his left hand, right hand on his weapon. The rear door was aluminum with no window.

We walked a fifty-foot hallway that led to the main entrance. There was a hallway to the left of the lobby, leading to the production studios. To the right were the on-air studios. There were two stairways on either side of the reception area going to the offices on the second floor. The lobby contained the security desk in the middle, the front entrance facing out to Greentree Road.

 John Waner was at the desk. His strong cologne let you know from about three blocks away that here was a ladies’ man. He wore his dirty blonde hair high on top, similar to an Elvis impersonator. He had been hired for my original team assigned to Z-Rock when I got the security contract eight years ago. In spite of his experience, he was very unsure of himself. He would regularly call with questions or reports of the smallest nature. He looked like he was pacing even when he was standing still.

John said, “Beck, how ya doing? I can't believe this happened.” He even spoke in a deep baritone, reminding me of Elvis saying, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“Not exactly a quiet night, huh?” I said to him. “Tell me what you saw from the beginning.”

He acknowledged Bernie. “Good to see you, Bern.” John turned to face me and continued, “I just came back from rounds. When I reached the desk, there was dead air. I went back to the studio, and there was Richie. He was leaning to the left in his chair and there was blood everywhere.”

Bernie interrupted, “Did you touch anything?”

John shifted his weight from side to side. He said, “No, the door was locked; I didn't go in. I looked through the studio window and saw Richie.”

“There's another car in the lot. Who does it belong to?” I asked.

“Ron's. He's on the emergency call list.” Ron was Richie's younger brother and a shareholder of the radio station. He functioned as the Operations Manager for Z-Rock, I had worked with him in the past, sometimes more often than I worked with Richie.

“Is he in the building?”

John hesitated. “Well, yes. He’s setting up programming for the rest of the night in Studio Y.”

Bernie looked at me as if I knew what the next move should be. I looked at John and asked, “Where is Richie?”

John seemed to flinch and replied, “In Studio Z.”

“Okay. Stay at your post; we'll check things out.”


I turned to Bernie, indicated the right hallway, and said, “Let's go.”





Cliff was born and raised in Pittsburgh, PA. Cliff’s family relocated to Northeast Ohio when he was in high school. Immediately after graduation he returned to his hometown to attend the University of Pittsburgh. Cliff planned to major in journalism and write the great American novel. Instead, he switched to Business Administration and began a 30-year career in accounting and finance.
Cliff rekindled his passion for writing acquired as a reporter for his school newspaper. He published his first novel, DEAD AIR: a Glenn Beckert Mystery in September 2017. Cliff also writes short stories. He was a winner in the Unfinished Chapters anthology in 2015. Cliff is a member of the Mystery Writers of America and Pennwriters.



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