It is a Spotlight Day!! Today I bring you Murder in Retrograde by Greg Hickey. "A steadfast private detective. A case that would cover all his debts. When the first body drops, can he catch a killer before he’s cashed out?"
Below you will find a link to the Amazon link, excerpt, and book details!
💜,
Steph
Publication Date: August 25, 2025
At time of posting- available on Kindle Unlimited
A steadfast private detective. A case that would cover all his debts. When the first body drops, can he catch a killer before he’s cashed out?
In a litigious future America, detective Marcus Carver sticks to civil cases. When a space tech CEO wants him to investigate a business rival for illegal hydrocarbon combustion, Carver reluctantly agrees. But the case takes an explosive turn when the police find the target’s head of security murdered.
Determined to get to the bottom of things, Carver finds himself sucked into a morass of cyberpunk gangsters, cultish environmentalists and crooked cops. And when another body turns up, it’s clear this ruthless killer doesn’t intend to stop.
Can Carver crack the case before it blows up in his face?
Murder in Retrograde is a thrilling science fiction crime novel. If you like stories about dystopian systems and hard-boiled detectives battling corrupt institutions, then you’ll love Greg Hickey’s propulsive futuristic whodunit.
Schuyler returned to his chair and slumped into it. The right side of his mouth parted to reveal bright, predatory, white teeth. I noticed he never smiled fully, but only in these half-grins somewhere between a chuckle and a leer. It didn’t do much to convince me we shared the same principles.
He said, “I believe an associate of mine is guilty of combustion, in violation of California state law.”
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
“Naomi Battle.” He said it like it was a name I should know.
“Who is she?”
“Like I said, an associate. A business associate. Some might call her a competitor, but I don’t see it that way. We’re both striving for the same objective. We’ll get there faster if we each know the other is working just as hard to get there first.” His gaze strayed to the window behind me. “My father always said it’s easy to see others as obstacles, as enemies. It’s much harder to admit the only obstacles are your own abilities, the only enemy, your own blindness.”
I thought that all sounded very nice. I thought Schuyler could print those words under a photo of a cloud-covered mountain peak and put it in an ornate gilt frame that hung in his entryway so that any dour old ladies who visited would get misty-eyed at the hope that there were still men of substance, of principle, in this decaying world of ours. I said, “Why do you suspect Ms. Battle?”
“I’ve seen the smoke,” Schuyler said. “As the old saying goes, where there’s smoke …”
“You’ve seen it?”
He pointed through the wall to his right. “Her house is less than two kilometers in that direction. You could see it from here if the mountains weren’t in the way.”
I went to the window and looked out across the barren, rippling rock to the slope leading to the next denuded peak, then down below to the fire-scalded landscape that provided a buffer between Schuyler and Battle and the artificial light and greenery of the regular rich, and beyond to the Pacific thundering against the sea wall guarding the long-submerged beaches. If anything were burning up here, you’d see it for kilometers around.
I turned to face him and shook my head. “I don’t do that. No neighbors, no relatives, no co-workers or business rivals or whatever you want to call them. Nothing personal.” I’d made that policy before I took my first private case. Most people are decent enough when left alone. But when you tell some of them that all the rest are criminals and it’s up to the rule-followers to enforce the law, that civility quickly goes the way of the manatee. Personal connections only made it worse.
Schuyler leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. It wasn’t quite the easy, confident motion he probably wanted it to be. It seemed to require some effort for him to shift his bulk into the right position. His mouth went on half-smiling, but his eyes were jade daggers.
“Mr. Carver, I’m sure you know the law,” he said. “‘A person may not knowingly refine, ignite or cause the combustion of hydrocarbon-based or so-called “fossil fuels.”’ And ‘any person, other than an officer or employee of a state or local governmental entity in this state, may bring a civil action against any person who refines, ignites or causes the combustion of hydrocarbon-based fuels in violation of—’”
“I know the law,” I said. “It says you may sue Ms. Battle if you believe she’s guilty of combustion. It doesn’t say I have to help you.”
His hands slipped forward from behind his head, and he seemed about to pound his desktop before he got control of himself and laid his palms gently on the smooth gray surface. “It is the moral duty of every upstanding citizen to ensure those who violate the laws of the state are brought to justice.”
“That’s my policy,” I said. “Things get messy when personal feelings are involved.” I knew I was crazy to turn my back on a hundred billion dollars. But I was doing it. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
Schuyler said nothing, just stared at me with a raised eyebrow and his slowly spreading grin. I waited for a minute, then turned to go.
He let me get to the door. Then he said, “What do you charge for a case like this?”
Greg Hickey is a former international professional baseball player and forensic scientist, and current endurance athlete and Amazon-bestselling author. His previous works include the novels Parabellum, The Friar’s Lantern and Our Dried Voices, the latter of which was a finalist for Foreword Reviews' INDIES Science Fiction Book of the Year Award. He lives in Chicago with his wife and daughter.
