Thirty years ago, Sean Coleman’s father abandoned his family in the Colorado mountain town of Winston, and was never heard from again. The reason for his disappearance was always a mystery, but a lifetime of blaming himself put Sean on a rough, dark path that took him years to return from.
Now content in his life, Sean receives unexpected word that his father has finally reemerged, on the other side of the country in Pawleys Island, South Carolina. . .as a murder victim.
At the wishes of his sister, Sean flies out to retrieve his body, and hopefully find answers to why his father left, and the life he went on to lead.
What he discovers is a second family, a web of deception, and a brutal killer who’s still on the loose. . .and isn’t finished killing.
A lifelong Coloradoan, along with his wife and two children, John Daly graduated from the University of Northern Colorado with a degree in business administration and computer information systems.
With a thirst for creative expression that went beyond the logic and absolutes of computer programming, John developed an interest in writing.
He currently writes political, cultural, and media analysis columns for a national news website.
Sean's past relationship with his father is touched on earlier in the series, but this is the first scene where the memory is a fond one. I wanted to reveal that there were some rare, good times in the Hanson household, and I described the game "Cochise" to demonstrate that. The name ties back to a night in my own life, back in college, when my roommates and I had some company over. What started out as standard horseplay turned into a situation where newly-purchased toilet-paper rolls were turned into projectile weapons. People were beaming each other left and right, until a loud knocking at our door halted the action. We worried it was the landlord acting on a noise complaint. Instead, it was a friend of ours who had unexpectedly stopped by for a visit. We collected ourselves and let him in. But the moment he took notice of our disheveled appearances and mischievous grins, my roommate yelled "Cochise" (an impromptu attack signal), someone turned off the lights, and we absolutely pummeled the poor guy with a relentless onslaught of t.p. We didn't stop until he was huddled up in a ball on the floor.
He remembered a game called Cochise that he, his sister, and his father sometimes played. It wasn’t so much a game, in the traditional sense, as it was a call to arms. When Sean or his father would discover a mischievous Diana trying to sneak up on one of them, the shouted word “Cochise!” would result in the two of them tag-teaming her and holding her down for some tickle treatment. Sean couldn’t remember, or perhaps never knew, why the name of the famous Indian was used as their war cry. He just knew that it had made for a type of fun his family had rarely shared.