Jamaica is a place
where the surreal is simply everyday reality. When a ruthless American aluminum
company plans to strip mine the Jamaican rainforest, they send former Navy SEAL
Will Taylor to Montego Bay to deal with
local resistance on their behalf. But he’s unaware that the British had signed
a treaty deeding the rainforest to the Jamaican Maroons, descendants of escaped
slaves, over 300 years ago. The Maroons fought and died for their land then,
and are more than willing to do so now, whether it’s the British or the
Americans who threaten them this time around.
Upon Will’s
arrival, a series of inexplicable murders begin, some carried out with deadly
snake daggers that were owned and used by Annie Palmer, a voodoo priestess
better known as the White Witch. She was killed 200 years prior, but is said to
still haunt the island at night, and the local Jamaicans are certain she’s
responsible for the gruesome murders, her form of retaliation against the new
turmoil taking place in the rainforest.
And Will has
been forced directly into the middle of it. After a few close calls, he’s
finally convinced to leave his company and join forces with the Maroons, headed
by Vertise Broderick, a Maroon who resigned from her position at the New
York Times to return to Jamaica to stop the
mining. Together they hire a Jamaican attorney to prove that the Maroon/British
treaty is still valid to stop the mining, and they take it upon themselves to
solve the White Witch murders, because the legend of the White Witch can’t
possibly be true…
The First Page
ROSE HALL PLANTATION, JAMAICA (1812)
The sun seemed to burn its way through the Jamaican
sky, stopping only when it hit the several
hundred slaves working this part of the
plantation. The male slaves were dressed in
filthy, gray pants with no shirts. The
women wore tattered gingham dresses with
patch pockets, equally dirty. So far
on this day, five slaves had passed out from
heat exhaustion. The other slaves
knew they must leave them where they
collapsed. No time was allowed for
dragging them to the stream for water or
finding the shade of a tree at the edge
of the field. Only if they were still alive
at the next break were the others
permitted to assist the fallen. The younger
female slaves fashioned slings to carry
their babies. None had shoes. Rudyard, the
overseer—a large black man who was
fortunate to have a wide brimmed hat—rode a
brown mare that appeared to
receive much better care than the slaves. He
allowed a ten-minute break in the
morning and the afternoon and twenty minutes
for lunch. Otherwise the slaves,
male and female, worked at cutting the sugar
cane from early morning until the
sun began to set over the Caribbean Sea. Since it was approaching midday,
Rudyard periodically glanced at the sun and
finally shouted, “Break, twentyminute
break. Leave your tools and machetes where
they are. If you have any
biscuits or bread crusts you can eat them.
You know Miss Annie don’t feed you
any lunch. I know you want water. You can go
up to the stream. Be back to
work in twenty minutes. Hear?”
Some of the younger slaves hurried to the
creek, which wound its way
through the forest and the plantation before
flowing into the ocean. They chose
to walk to the edge of the forest where the
trees shaded the stream and lowered
the temperature of the water several
degrees. They dropped to their bellies with
their hands directing the water into their
mouths. Once their thirst was
quenched, they lay in the shade beside the
stream. Some had a crust of bread in
their pocket, which they ate, savoring each
bite. The older ones—a few around
thirty years of age, maybe one or two close
to forty with sunburned, creased
faces—shuffled toward the stream and waited
for a place to open. Several stayed
behind to check on the ones who had
collapsed in the heat.
JaDon, one of the young males, waited for
his mate, Ruth, who carried their
baby in a sling, to drink as much as she
could hold. He helped her to her feet
and motioned his head toward the forest.
Ruth nodded as they stepped across
the stream. Others saw what they were doing
and knew that if they did not call
out, they would be put to death. As JaDon,
Ruth, and the baby slipped behind
the undergrowth, one of the men shouted,
“Rudyard, JaDon and Ruth are trying
to escape. They’re probably headed for the
Maroon Trail.”
Rudyard wheeled his horse around and
galloped to the plantation house. He
jerked the horse to a stop behind the
mansion and shouted, “Miss Annie, Miss
Annie, escape, escape!”
Annie Palmer, a petite young white woman
dressed in a long sleeved white
shirt, an ankle length brown skirt, and
riding boots, stepped onto a small
balcony on the second level. She yelled to a
slave in the house, “Manford, get
Rudyard a musket. If they’re on the Maroon
Trail they will come to that opening
in the forest any time now.”
Behind the mansion the house slaves had
heard the noise and were milling
around in the yard below, some pointing off
in the direction of the rain forest and
occasionally casting sideways glances at the
balcony. A gallows sat prominently in the
center of the yard, the message clear: Disobedience
will be met with swift punishment.
A gray-haired slave dressed in a white shirt
buttoned to the neck, black pants,
and black shoes, ran from the house and
handed the musket to Rudyard, who
turned and galloped up the hill toward the
clearing. Before he could get there, the
runaways burst from the forest. Knowing he
could not get to the trail before they
disappeared into the forest on the other
side, he stopped the horse, took a deep
breath, and aimed for the male slave. He
said a prayer that he would be accurate,
knowing that failing in this task could
bring the ire of the White Witch down on
him, and pulled the trigger. The man
crumpled just at the edge of the forest.
JaDon forced himself to his feet. “Ruth, you
and the baby need to keep
going. Follow the trail. I hear it’s a steep
climb but well-marked. If you can get
to Accompong, you’ll be safe.”
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About the Author
After
graduating from the University of Texas School of Law, Larry spent the first
half of his professional life as a trial lawyer. He tried well over 300 cases and
won more than 95% of them. Although he had not taken a writing class since
freshman English (back when they wrote on stone tablets), he figured that he
had read enough novels and knew enough about trials, lawyers, judges, and
courtrooms that he could do it. Besides, his late, older brother, Thomas
Thompson, was one of the best true crime writers to ever set a pen to paper;
so, just maybe, there was something in the Thompson gene pool that would be guide him into this new
career. He started writing his first
novel about a dozen years ago and published it a couple of years thereafter. He
has now written five highly acclaimed legal thrillers. White Witch is number six with many more to come.
Larry
is married to his wife, Vicki. He has three children scattered from Colorado to Austin to Boca Raton, and four grandchildren. He has been
trying to retire from the law practice to devote full time to writing.
Hopefully, that will occur by the end of 2018. He still lives in Houston, but spends his summers in Vail CO, high on a mountain where he is
inspired by the beauty of the Rocky Mountains.
His
latest book is the captivating thriller, WHITE
WITCH.
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