Digging Deeper with Eoghan Egan

Digging Deeper into Hiding in Plain Sight by Eoghan Egan

Back in 2012. I read a newspaper article about a spate of disappearances and wondered how people could vanish, literally, in broad daylight, and that gave me an idea for a crime fiction novel. I set the story in a rural community, because cities, I feel, can be soulless. People go about their lives, hardly knowing or acknowledging their neighbour. A person can remain anonymous, or vanish for long periods without being missed. In small communities, however, people look out for each other, talk on a daily basis and rely on one another. It was going to be more difficult to have someone disappear from a small town because they’d be missed much quicker, and when they did vanish, the consequences would be all the greater, affecting the whole community. After setting early drafts of Hiding in Plain Sight in the U.S. initially, and then in the U.K, I moved the characters to an area I know best: the Irish Midlands. Adding in an actual January date, heavy snowfalls and treating the location and weather like other characters, gave me a perfect panorama for a crime novel. 

Blurb

A vicious serial killer roams the Irish Midlands, with his sights set on the next victim. 

A successful businessman has found the perfect recipe for getting away with murder.

No bodies, no evidence.

No evidence, no suspect.

High art and low morals collide when graduate Sharona Waters discovers a multi-million euro art scam in play. She delves in, unwittingly putting herself on a direct trajectory with danger as the killer accelerates his murder spree.

When Sharona gets drawn into the killer’s orbit, she peels away his public persona and exposes the psychopath underneath. Suddenly, the small town has no hiding place… 

This extract is a scene at a charity ball, and it’s the first time we meet the art dealer (serial killer) in a group setting, when he’s introduced to other individuals...   
A tall, lean, broad-shouldered man stood, straightened and fastened the bottom button on a tailored charcoal-coloured dress suit jacket. He had a high forehead, piercing Dresden-blue eyes and blond hair slicked into a businessman’s cut.

‘Good evening. I understand you solved the mystery. Much ado about naught. So easy to misplace items.’

‘Do you find that happens often?’ Hugh asked.

The art dealer stared. ‘Every other week. Collectors forget they’ve locked pieces away for protection, and the initial reaction is: “stolen.” In reality, that’s rare. Nowadays, even ordinary houses have too much security for criminals.’

‘Unless it’s an inside job,’ Sharona said. ‘No quantity of high-tech security can hold out against that.’

‘Indeed.’

Hattinger’s are a well-established company.’ Hugh broke the silence.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you involved in the business long?’

‘Sixteen years.’

‘Any advice for a novice?’ Ferdia reeled forward, slapped the art dealer’s shoulder, then grasped his arm and shook hands with his wrought-iron grip.

Hugh watched the man wipe his palm on a trouser leg. ‘It depends,’ he said. ‘If you’re in the market to buy and you find a piece that fills a void in your life, grab it. Drop in to one of our galleries and talk to a consultant.’

‘Argh, to you, it’s another day, another Dali,’ Ferdia staggered back a step. ‘Me? I’m not great around the whole arty lark.’

‘Our consultants will be happy to guide you.’

‘A fool and his Monet, eh? Still, might take you up on that offer. Chances are I’ll need a birthday present sooner or later. But none of this modern shi … stuff, though. It’s gotta be … recognisable. Can I tell you a secret?’ Ferdia leaned closer and belched. ‘The few galleries I’ve been in, half the time I don’t know what the feck I’m lookin’ at.’

‘I see. Well, galleries aren’t for everyone. As I said, our consultants—’

‘Gotta business card handy?’

The gallerist paused. ‘Of course.’ He drew out an engraved Burberry leather card holder and handed Ferdia a gold-embossed card.

Ferdia searched pockets, hadn’t one of his own to exchange, but found a dog-eared envelope and he tore off a piece. ‘Anyone got a pen?’ He asked Hugh to write the mobile number.

Hugh handed over Ferdia’s number and the man doubled the square of paper and folded it again. ‘Nice to meet you.’ His smile was as brief as the nod. He moved away and Hugh watched him flick the wadded-up phone number into a corner. 

                                                            …..

In this next piece we follow Hugh Fallon as he goes to confront the killer…

Wispy clouds clothed the moon.

Hugh shuffled along the lane, struggling to walk in the tyre track groove. Above him, a canopy of sagging tree branches arched and joined. The timber creaked and groaned under the weight of snow and ice. Slivers of moonbeams filtered between the gaps, giving faint shape to objects. Underfoot, frozen snow and rough ice crunched like crisp cornflakes. Hugh craned his neck, forcing his eyes to adjust. Except for the distant growl of a Harley with its modified pipes and kamikaze rider puttering along the main road, the night was still. The cold penetrated his bones. He shuddered. What had seemed bright from the comfort and warmth of the car, now became dingy and menacing.

Something rustled in a hedge.

A fox howled. An owl hooted a rejoinder. Icicles dripped from naked branches, their plops, eerie whispers. The hair on Hugh’s head bristled with tension, as mangled nerves and stress ramped up his heartbeats. Eyes wide open, searching the tree-line, a snow pellet dripped on his face, making him jump. He didn’t see the pothole. Ice splintered, a gunshot in the stillness. His left ankle twisted and bolts of pain rippled up his leg. The runner acted as a sponge, soaking in weeks of slush.

Hugh shuffled on, each step producing a paroxysm of agony. He’d lost all feeling in his toes. To his right, through the trees, he made out the shape of a large structure. On the left, a machine sat hunched in a gateway. The invasive, cloying stench of silage hung in the air. It clung to clothes and stuck in his throat. The tree-line ended. A two-story house materialised out of the gloom, a grim and cheerless dark silhouette. The muted glow of an artificial light shone from the rear of the building and bounced off the glistening snow.

Every fibre in Hugh’s body hummed with fear. His heart rattled against ribs, thumping trip-hammer fast, and nerves jangled, screaming at him to turn and run. The thin light beam hindered rather than helped lessen the intimidating atmosphere. He crouched and crab-walked to the house, inched around the gable end, and sensed movement behind him. He straightened, spun, and raised his arms for protection. A faint buzz. The side of Hugh’s neck burned and he got hurled backwards by an invisible force. His skull drummed against the concrete wall. A ball of white pain flashed. Then, like a blown fuse, everything faded to black.

Who would you choose to play each of them in a film or TV series?

Quick story… A few years back I was at a Bruce Springsteen concert, and 6 or 7 rows ahead of me, a girl turned abound, and I said to myself, “that’s exactly how Sharona Waters looks.” I wanted to take a photo of her, but that would be creepy. She looked a little like singer Carrie Rodriguez ... but different. Isn’t it amazing where we get inspiration from? Anyway, to answer your question. As it’s set in Ireland, I’ll have to go with Irish actors: Hazel Doupe or Lara McDonnell would play Sharona. Lee Cronin would be a fantastic Hugh, and I’d cast Aisling Franciosi as Ruth. I believe Michael Fassbender (grew up in Ireland) would make a great antagonist. There is another character in the book called Ferdia Hardiman (who you met briefly in one of the extracts, and he plays a major role in one of the storylines that’ll get teased out more in the next novel) and Brendan Gleeson is a dead ringer for Ferdia. The role, the man, the dialogue is made for him. Whenever I’m writing Ferdia into a plot, Brendan Gleeson is the person I have in mind. In fact, Brendan’s son, Domhnall Gleeson would also be perfect for Hugh…    

What is the creepiest action taken by your antagonist?

He’s a psychopath, so we’re dealing here with a two-faced individual. One day he humiliates and destroys an employee’s reputation in front of a roomful of people, just because he can. Next day he can be nice as pie, before staking out a house and invading the owner’s personal space. He uses a cattle prod (Taser/stun gun) to kill people.  

Many thanks for the great questions, Lorraine, and for allowing me an opportunity to introduce your readers to Hiding in Plain Sight.  Available now at:

UK https://amzn.to/2F6nCS3

US https://amzn.to/2FdSIH4

Next time y’all are on social media, pop by and say hello.

https://www.facebook.com/eoghaneganwriter/

https://twitter.com/eoghanegan          

https://www.instagram.com/eoghanegan/

Take care and stay safe,

Eoghan

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Digging Deeper with Paula Harmon

Digging Deeper into The Wrong Sort to Die by Paula Harmon

June 1910.

Fighting her corner in a man’s world, Dr Margaret Demeray works as a pathologist in a London hospital for the poor. Suppressing her worry that she’s breaching confidentiality, Margaret gives a stranger called Fox information about a dead down-and-out, in the hope he’ll use it to raise awareness of bad working conditions.

But when a second man appears to die the same way, Margaret starts to wonder why the enigmatic Fox keeps turning up to ask ever more complex questions.

She decides to work alone, uncertain of his motives and wary of her attraction to him. Once she starts investigating however, her home is burgled, she’s attacked in broad daylight and a close friend becomes distant. Fox offers the chance to forge an alliance, saying he knows why the men have died but needs her to find out what is killing them and who is behind it.

Yet how come the closer she gets to him the more danger she faces? And how can a memory she’d buried possibly be linked to the deaths?

Margaret must discover the truth before someone - known or unknown - silences her for good.

The antagonist’s view of the protagonist

Margaret Demeray is determined, I’ll give her that. She’s good at her job, which is surprising, given that being a pathologist is most unfeminine. As if wanting the vote isn’t bad enough, she has a job which any decent woman would be repulsed by, and for such an attractive woman to do such a thing seems a waste. If she has to dabble in science, why not find something more - I don’t know - sterile? She surrounds herself with quite the wrong sort, including the sort of men who let themselves be hen-pecked by a sharp-tongued harpy and are afraid to do anything but flatter her. Perhaps harpy is unkind but she’s certainly good at speaking back. I quite like her spirit, even if it’s wearing. There’s no challenge in breaking the will of a bashful girl is there?

The protagonist’s view of the antagonist

He seems to be on my side, says he believes in me and sometimes I can’t quite decipher the way he looks at me or whether he’s teasing. Brilliant of course, or at least - that’s the way it seems. At the end of the day, we’re after the same thing aren’t we? So surely it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t quite grasp what I really want or what I’m really like. And he’s so annoying, always right about everything and then gets annoyed when I snap at him. I just wonder if behind all the conventional, predictable words, there’s something that I’ve missed. Perhaps I shouldn’t lose my temper so much. Perhaps I should tell him what I’ve found out. But then.. I just feel as if there’s something I don’t quite know about him, so how can I trust him?

Who would you choose to play each of them in a film or TV series?

The protagonist Margaret has auburn hair which she likes to think is chestnut. Karen Gillan looks pretty close to how I imagine her and gives the same impression of feistiness which Margaret has.

As for the antagonist, Benedict Cumberbatch would be good for the antagonist, partly because he can express such a range of expressions from completely detached to passionate.

What is the weirdest disposal of a body in any of your books?

One of them (in ‘Murder Durnovaria’) was buried in a sacred grove surrounded by neolithic standing stones in the hope no-one would ever find it.

Bio

Paula Harmon writes chiefly but not only historical mysteries. She was born in North London but her father relocated the family every two years until they settled in South Wales when Paula was eight. She later graduated from Chichester University before making her home in Gloucestershire and then Dorset where she has lived since 2005. Paula is a civil servant, married with two adult children. She has several writing projects underway and wonders where the housework fairies are, because the house is a mess and she can’t think why.

https://www.paulaharmon.com

viewauthor.at/PHAuthorpage

https://www.facebook.com/pg/paulaharmonwrites

https://twitter.com/Paula_S_Harmon

MURDER BRITANNICA SERIES (2nd Century Roman Britain)

Murder Britannica

Murder Durnovaria

Lucretia just wants to get richer, quicker. It’s such a shame that people keep dropping dead and old adversary wise-woman Tryssa keeps asking awkward questions.

MARGARET DEMERAY SERIES (1910s)

The Wrong Sort To Die

When Dr Margaret Demeray is approached by a stranger called Fox to discover what’s

killing paupers, she expects justice. What's she gets is danger.

The Caster and Fleet Mysteries (1890s London, six book series co-authored by Liz Hedgecock)

The Case of the Black Tulips (book one)

When Katherine Demeray opens a letter addressed to her missing father, little does she imagine finding herself in partnership with socialite Connie Swift, racing against time to solve mysteries.

The Cluttering Discombobulator

One man’s battle against common sense and the family caught up in the chaos around him.

Kindling

Secrets and mysteries, strangers and friends. Stories as varied and changing as British skies.

The Advent Calendar

Christmas without the hype says it is - stories for midwinter.

Weird and Peculiar Tales (with Val Portelli)

Short stories from this world and beyond.

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Digging Deeper with Michelle Kidd

Digging Deeper into The Fifteen by Michelle Kidd

The Fifteen is the third book in my Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh crime series. The first (The Phoenix Project) was published in 2018, with the second (Seven Days) following on in January 2020. The Fifteen was written mostly during Lockdown and was published in August 2020.

The books are set in the UK with the main character, Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh, part of the London Metropolitan Police. There are several other ‘main characters’ that stay with the story lines throughout each book, and I am really thrilled that many of the reviews I have had to date comment on how strong and believable the characters are. For me, writing is all about characterisation.

The Fifteen follows the investigation into a serial killer with a unique twist to the plot.

The Blurb:

When the past finally catches up with you, is it murder? Or justice?

When a bedbound, defenceless man is found dead in his London nursing home, nobody saw his killer. But the killer left their mark. Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh soon discovers that this was no random killing; this one was personal.

And it was just the beginning.

As the case unfolds, Jack is forced to think the unthinkable as the evidence begins to point disturbingly close to home.

Revenge – how long would you wait?

 

Conversation between a protagonist and antagonist in The Fifteen (There are several protagonists and antagonists in this book, and I have changed all names in the following extract to protect both the innocent and the guilty!)

 

“Stand there and don’t move!” John Smith’s menacing tone cut through the otherwise stillness of the cold night air.

Terry Anderson’s legs trembled. He felt sick, but had already vomited up the entire contents of his stomach and there was nothing left except acid. He choked back the acrid taste and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“I don’t even want to hear you breathe.” John Smith glared at Terry before turning his attention to the other two figures standing behind him. David Smith’s pasty face had a thin sheen of perspiration, giving him a wax-like appearance in the moonlight. His father had told him to carry Danny Hopkins’ limp body over his shoulder and trek the one and a half miles to the fringes of the woodland that skirted the grounds of St Bartholomew’s.

And David always did what his father told him.

“Start digging.” John Smith thrust a rusty spade towards his son. “We don’t have all night.” He knew that the woods were a haven for dog walkers – early morning dog walkers – some even setting out before the sun was up.

Terry Anderson watched as David Smith began to shovel earth from beneath a wide-bodied tree. The ground was frozen and hard. It had been an exceptionally dry winter with not a drop of rain, freezing or otherwise, gracing the landscape for weeks. The sheen of perspiration on David’s brow now turned into droplets of sweat.

All the while, Danny Hopkins lay lifeless on the cold ground at John Smith’s feet. The man barely gave the boy a second look.

Terry felt himself sway as the nausea rose up once again inside him and he turned away, unable to look at poor Danny’s broken body. Instead he started to whimper.

“I thought I told you to keep quiet!” John Smith’s thunderous voice spat towards Terry, making him flinch. Within seconds, John Smith was at his side, grabbing hold of both of his arms in his vice-like grip. “Shut up! Stop snivelling!”

Terry then felt himself propelled forwards so that his face was mere inches from Danny’s still form.

“Unless you want to end up like your friend here, keep quiet! I don’t want to hear another sound.”

With a final thrust of Terry’s head towards the ground, John Smith turned away to oversee the digging of the makeshift grave. The other figure, hanging back in the shadow of the trees, Terry recognised as the portly gentleman who had dragged Danny to his death in the hospital wing. He, too, looked somewhat shell-shocked, his face white and blotchy. Saying nothing, he merely twisted what looked like a jumper or sweatshirt in his hands, wringing it like it was a damp tea towel.

Terry staggered backwards and leant up against a nearby tree trunk, his legs quivering like unset jelly. He wiped his eyes on the Swap Shop scarf that hung loosely round his neck.

“It’s no good, the ground’s too hard.” David Smith flung the spade onto the ground with a thud.

Cuffing his son around the ear, John Smith grabbed the spade and began stabbing at the frozen earth. “You’re useless. Bloody useless!” With a final smack around the head, he sent David flying onto his knees.

Grunting with effort, John Smith put all his weight behind the spade, forcing it, time after time, into the ground. After a minute of frenzied digging, he threw the spade angrily onto the hardened ground, blood dripping from his hands.

“Just drag him over!” he yelled, kicking at the ground with his boot. “Cover him up! Now!”

David scrambled to his feet, cowering beneath his father’s imposing shadow.

“Put his clothes back on first.” John Smith threw Danny’s clothes at his son. “You. Help him.” He glared at Terry, his eyes bulging with anger. “NOW!”

Terry staggered away from the sanctity of the tree, tears cascading down his cheeks. He watched in horror as David Smith proceeded to pull Danny’s underwear and jeans back over his limp legs. His tiny body flopped like a rag doll, rigor mortis not yet setting in. David wiped his brow as more droplets of sweat dripped down onto Danny’s jeans.

“I said help him!” John Smith picked up Danny’s t-shirt and thrust it towards Terry’s quivering form.

Terry took the t-shirt in his trembling hands and tried to place it over his friend’s head. The tears in his eyes made everything around him blurry. As he leant in closer, the Swap Shop scarf fell forward onto Danny’s body.

“For God’s sake, hurry up! The pair of you are useless!” John Smith bent down, pushing Terry out of the way, and began pulling Danny’s yellow t-shirt over his head, forcing his arms through the sleeves. Blood from his blistered hands smeared across the bottom hem. He wiped the rest on Danny’s jeans and looked up. “You see this here?” He nodded down at Danny’s body. “You breathe a word of this to anyone – ever – and you’ll end up just like him. Understand?!”

Terry nodded, ashen-faced.

“I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” John Smith’s voice echoed around the woodland. His eyes bulged and spit flew from his mouth as he shouted across the top of Danny’s body.

“Y…yes.” Terry’s voice shuddered. “I…I understand.”

“You tell NO ONE. You hear?” John Smith pushed himself to his feet and glared across at Terry. “You tell NO ONE. You trust NO ONE.” Wrenching the Swap Shop scarf from on top of Danny’s chest, he flung it towards Terry with a venomous look.

Terry nodded, and watched as John and David Smith slung Danny’s body into the shallow grave and began dragging leaves, twigs and branches across to cover his pale body. Before Danny was completely covered the portly gentleman, who had been hovering in the shadows, stepped forwards and handed John the sweatshirt he had been holding so tightly. The name on the label was clearly visible – ‘William Brown’ – and John tossed it in beside Danny’s partially covered body.

After a few minutes, with Danny’s body covered by enough twigs, leaves, branches and chilled earth, John Smith grabbed hold of Terry’s arm and dragged him out of the trees, back in the direction of St Bartholomew’s. He leant in close to Terry’s ear.

“You tell no one.”

 

Who would you choose to play each of them in film or TV series?

The above scene is a flashback scene, from 1982. In the present day, I would maybe have someone like Damian Lewis to play the ‘Terry’ in the above extract. For the modern day ‘John Smith’, I would have someone like David Bradley or Gary Oldman

Although DI Jack MacIntosh is not in the above extract, I would have him played by someone like James Nesbitt or Ewan McGregor. And I have another antagonist (who shall remain nameless!) who would be perfect for Liam Neeson!

 

What is the creepiest action taken by your antagonist?

In my second book Seven Days, the killer uses the same kill method (strangulation) for his victims and lays them out in full view in London parks, but he leaves a shoe at each scene which belongs to the next of his victims.

In my current publication The Fifteen, the killer brands his victims with a homemade tattoo, sometimes while they are still alive.

 

Author Bio

Michelle Kidd is a self-published author known for the Detective Inspector Jack MacIntosh series of novels.

Michelle qualified as a lawyer in the early 1990s and spent the best part of ten years practising civil and criminal litigation.

But the dream to write books was never far from her mind and in 2008 she began writing the manuscript that would become the first DI Jack MacIntosh novel – The Phoenix Project. The book took eighteen months to write, but spent the next eight years gathering dust underneath the bed.

In 2018 Michelle self-published The Phoenix Project and has not looked back since. There are currently three DI Jack MacIntosh novels, with a fourth in progress.

Michelle works full time for the NHS and lives in Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk. She enjoys reading, wine and cats – not necessarily in that order J

 

Website:

www.michellekiddauthor.com

 

Social Media links:

www.facebook.com/michellekiddauthor (Facebook)

@AuthorKidd (Twitter)

@michellekiddauthor (Instagram)

 

Bibliography:

The Phoenix Project (DI Jack MacIntosh book 1) https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07HVXMDM5 https://www.books2read.com/u/bW1Np1

Seven Days (DI Jack MacIntosh book 2) https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08413GDYQ  https://www.books2read.com/u/bMp5zX

The Fifteen (DI Jack MacIntosh book 3) – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08FH5WH9L  https://books2read.com/u/bMP00A

 

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Digging Deeper with Louise Mangos

Her Husband’s Secrets by Louise Mangos

Art college dropout Lucie arrives in a Swiss ski resort looking for work – but instead finds Mathieu.

Handsome, charismatic and from a good family, Matt seems like the perfect man. But as Lucie soon discovers, he has a dark side – one that will drive their relationship to a dramatic conclusion, and tear the life she has built for herself and their son apart.

Left fighting for her freedom in a foreign prison, and starting to lose her grip on reality, Lucie must summon all her strength to uncover the truth, and be reunited with her son before it’s too late.

The clock is ticking… but who can she trust?

Previously published as The Art of Deception.

The following is an abridged conversation the protagonist and the antagonist have part way through the novel. It highlights the subtle coercive nature of a pathological liar and how a victim can never be sure whether they themselves are being too suspicious, too wary, too un-trusting. The tool the perpetrator uses is guilt to turn the table on the innocent victim. This sadly happens every day in relationships, sometimes at a level that goes undetected until the damage is beyond repair.

Her Husband’s Secrets

Extract

‘There’s something I have to ask you.’

‘What is it? What’s up?’

‘Are you . . . are you seeing someone else?’ My voice caught. ‘It’s just that I’m not sure what’s been going on over the last couple of months. I never see you. You seem to be avoiding me and I get this feeling I’m missing something.’

I waited with dread, expected to see him break down, admit his wrong, ask for forgiveness, or beg me to understand.

But none of these happened. He turned slowly towards me, his face at first neutral, then reddening, eyes sparking.

‘How can you ask me such a thing? Our relationship has always been based on a deep trust of each other. How can you doubt that? What are you thinking?’

‘I need to know, that’s all.’ I paused. He hadn’t directly answered my question. ‘So, are you? Seeing someone else?’

‘Of course not, you silly woman! Didn’t I just talk about a breach of trust? I would never do that to you! I am shocked you feel you have to ask that question. It makes me think something is going on with you here, how can you abuse my – no – our confidence?’

‘I’m so sorry, my love,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry I doubted you. I guess it’s because of all the evenings you’ve been away, all those times I didn’t really understand why you had to stay at school. The individual student tutorials. I’m so sorry.’

I lay in bed later, begging for the relief of sleep, to stop the turmoil going on in my mind. The mattress sank as he sat on the bed, and he gently peeled back the duvet. How could he even think about sex when we had set each other at such unease a short time ago?

‘It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart,’ he said as he stroked my back.

But do you still love me?

I couldn’t ask the question – I had already caused so much angst.

‘Everything will be okay,’ he continued. ‘You’re my baby, you know that. We’re here for each other. I forgive you.’

My heart froze.

I forgive you?

***

I could see my protagonist, a young and naïve Lucy, being played by Emma Watson – not that Emma is naïve at all, but I think she would play the part well.

The antagonist, a handsome, rugged ski instructor with the hint of a French accent could be played by Gaspard Ulliel (best known for his role as the young Hannibal Lecter in Hannibal Rising)

The creepiest action anyone takes in my books is the stalker in my latest novel (currently on submission to publishers via my agent), who steals an item of underwear from his victim. He sneaks into the room where my protagonist is staying and purloins a pair of her knickers. He keeps the item as a trophy, reassuring himself constantly that he still has it in his possession, like a child’s comfort blanket. He later does something far creepier and menacing than this, but that would be a complete spoiler, so you shall just have to wait until the novel is published!

Author bio:

Louise writes novels, short stories and flash fiction, which have won prizes, placed on shortlists, and have been read out on BBC radio. Her suspense novels Strangers on a Bridge and Her Husband’s Secrets (previously entitled The Art of Deception) are published with HQDigital (Harper Collins). Her short fiction appears in more than twenty print anthologies. You can connect with Louise on Facebook www.facebook.com/LouiseMangosBooks/, Twitter @LouiseMangos, and Instagram as louisemangos, or visit her website www.louisemangos.com where there are links to some of her short fiction. Louise lives in Switzerland with her Kiwi husband and two sons.

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Friday Fiction Feature: Hunter's Secret

Hunter’s Secret is the fifth novel in The Edinburgh Crime Mysteries series. The readers have come to trust Detective Inspector Hunter Wilson, but in this book, it is clear that he is holding something back and hiding it from his partner Dr. Meera Sharma. It seems out of character but perhaps his feelings towards her have changed.

When Hunter is called to the scene of a murder, all is not as it seems.  Two members of his team, DCs Tim Myerscough and Bear Zewedu found a corpse when they were training in an Edinburgh Park, but when Hunter arrives the body has disappeared.

 

Hunter recalls the disappearance of a body thirty years earlier. The Major Incident Team is called in but their officer in charge sees no connection. He thinks the earlier murder was too long ago for a connection to be made. However, Hunter is determined to investigate the past and the present with the benefit of modern DNA testing.

 

Tim has other problems in his life. His father, Sir Peter Myerscough, has been released from jail. He, too, remembers the earlier murder. There is no love lost between Hunter and Sir Peter but Hunter may have to accept help from his nemesis to catch a killer.

 

Hunter’s own secret is exciting and crucial to his future. He knows it could change his life. He also knows he must stop a murderer to keep Edinburgh safe once more.

Bio

Val Penny is an American author living in SW Scotland. She has two adult daughters of whom she is justly proud and lives with her husband and two cats. She has a Law degree from Edinburgh University and her MSc from Napier University. She has had many jobs including hairdresser, waitress, lawyer, banker, azalea farmer and lecturer. However, she has not yet achieved either of her childhood dreams of being a ballerina or owning a candy store. Until those dreams come true, she has turned her hand to writing poetry, short stories and novels.

 

Her crime novels, 'Hunter's Chase' Hunter's Revenge, Hunter's Force and Hunter’s Blood form the bestselling series The Edinburgh Crime Mysteries. They are set in Edinburgh, Scotland, published by Crooked Cat Books. The fifth novel in the series, Hunter's Secret, is published by darkstroke. Her first non-fiction book, Let’s Get Published is available now.

 

Author contact details

www.authorvalpenny.com

www.bookreviewstoday.info

www.facebook.com/valerie.penny.739

 www.facebook.com/groups/296295777444303

https://twitter.com/valeriepenny

 

Author buy links

myBook.to/HuntersChase

myBook.to/HuntersRevenge

mybook.to/huntersforce

https://mybook.to/huntersblood

https://mybook.to/hunterssecret 

https://bit.ly/LetsGetPublished

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Digging Deeper with Abbie Frost

The Guesthouse has been described as the classic remote house mystery. Seven disparate guests arrive on a lonely stretch of hillside in Ireland for an introductory budget break. But when the internet and mobile phone signals fail, and a storm blows in from the sea, they are trapped in a nightmare – with a killer lurking nearby.

The book came about after I’d given a series of lectures on the golden age of crime and was tempted to try a contemporary take on the traditional country house murder. Agatha Christie is the name that springs most readily to mind when you think of golden age authors and, although like everyone I have a soft spot for her detectives, it’s Christie’s darker and more sinister novels such as And Then There Were None, The Crooked House and Endless Night that really appeal to me.

The Guesthouse is definitely not cosy. In fact, it’s influenced, not just by Christie, but by some of the masters of gothic fiction such as Wilkie Collins, Daphne Du Maurier and Shirley Jackson. So there are hints in the book of something even more creepy than a straightforward murder mystery. And I’m thrilled that many reviewers have said not only that the book compelled them to read on to find out all the secrets, but also that they were scared to sleep afterwards! So it’s DARK, but hopefully entertaining.

Conversation between the protagonist and antagonist. (Some names and details have been changed to protect the guilty!)

He looked down at her. ‘Wakey, wakey,’ he said.

After a moment he knelt and pulled down her gag. She gasped for air, spitting out foul-tasting saliva, and he smiled.

‘What do you want?’ Hannah said. ‘Why are you doing this?’

His bright eyes stared down at her, full of intelligence. ‘It’s a long story.’ His hand reached to touch a lock of her hair.

She flinched away. ‘Get off me! Get the fuck off me!’ But when he stood up again and went to the door, she called out. ‘Wait! Where’s Maddie?’

            ‘Maddie?’ He looked back at her. ‘What a disappointment she was. So weak, so pathetic, just like her mother. She was hardly worth killing.’

            Hannah could smell smoke, but it was only faint. How long had she been unconscious? She needed to keep him talking. ‘You’re so wrong about her. Maddie made a career for herself, out of nothing. Or didn’t you know?’

‘Of course I did.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve been watching her for years. And I missed her, that’s the truth, I missed Maddie.’    

            The soft way that he spoke – so warm and comforting – made her shiver. ‘That’s why I brought her back,’ he said. ‘But aren’t you dying to know why the rest of you are here too?’ She swallowed but didn’t respond. ‘Of course you are.’ He grinned. ‘You see, you all have something very special in common.’

            ‘What? What do we have in common?’

‘You pissed me off.’ He laughed again. ‘That fucking policeman, hanging around all the time, trying to make people suspicious of me.’

‘He was just doing his job.’

He cocked his head at her. ‘Took to the old bastard, did you? Well I sorted him out. Got him off my back and out of the job without much trouble, but there always seemed to be some other do-gooder popping up.’

Hannah flinched as he touched her face, running his finger down her cheek and cupping her chin. ‘You all tried to ruin things for me. Although you, Hannah my darling, you have the unique distinction of being the only one who managed to do so.’

Hannah began to shake with a chill that reached all the way into her bones. She tried to move, to work her hands free, but the rope had been tied too tight by too practised a hand. He talked continually, his words spilling out of him as if the days alone had built up a torrent of language. He touched the picture that showed The Guesthouse in the background. ‘I’ve always hated this house. I thought about setting fire to it for years. Then I had a better idea, the perfect way to do it: a group of Cloud BNB guests ignoring all the warnings and throwing petrol on the fire when the generator failed.’

            Hannah watched him walk back and forth. She needed to keep him talking, give herself enough time to plan her escape.  ‘But why go to all that trouble? Why not just light a fire on the first night and get rid of us all?’

He stopped pacing and smiled down at her. ‘Now where would be the fun in that? No, I didn’t just want to kill you, I wanted to own you; I wanted you to know I was doing it.’

Hannah tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. ‘What about the others? The ones who didn’t even know you?’

‘The families? Call that guilt by association. Or a bonus for me. And they didn’t have to come. Hardly my fault if they couldn’t resist a cheap holiday.’

‘You’re insane. You’re fucking insane.’ She struggled against the rope for a moment, and then fell still.

He just chuckled and turned back to the photos. ‘I’m not insane, I just like to live freely.’ He carried on, the sound of his voice echoing in the silence. ‘I decided not to plan anything too rigidly, so even I didn’t know how it would all pan out. That’s the best thing about experiments, you never know what might happen. What you can use. When that annoying little cat started hanging around the place a few weeks back I thought of bashing its head in there and then. But I left it in case it came in handy later. And it did.

As he stood there by the wall, something about his shape and size sent a memory flickering into Hannah’s mind. A tall shadow standing in the storm by the outhouse, wrestling with the door.

‘I saw you!’ Hannah said. ‘When I went out in the storm.’

He laughed. ‘You almost caught me, but you always were clever.’

‘But what were you—’

A sound cut Hannah off. The sound of something collapsing in the house above them. He went to the door and looked out. ‘Not long now, princess, not long now.’ He rubbed his hands together. Relishing the moment.

Hannah closed her eyes and remembered those words from another time. Not long now, princess, not long now.

‘Time to go,’ he said.

Who would you choose to play each of them in a film or TV series?

Emilia Clarke might fit the bill for Hannah.

As for my villain, I’d go for Hugh Grant or maybe Jason Isaacs.

What is the creepiest action taken by your antagonist?

Creepy moments abound in The Guesthouse, but whether the antagonist is responsible for them all is for the reader to decide! For me the most sinister is when the protagonist is dozing in the warm bubbles of her bath and wakes to the realisation that someone has been in there with her, close enough to touch her, but has disappeared leaving the door still locked. All that’s left behind is the lingering smell of a distinctive cologne.

Blurb

You use an app, called Cloud BNB, to book a room online. And on a cold and windy afternoon you arrive at The Guesthouse, a dramatic old building on a remote stretch of hillside in Ireland. 

You are expecting a relaxing break, but you find something very different. Something unimaginable. Because a killer has lured you and six other guests here and now you can’t escape. 

One thing’s for certain: not all of you will come back from this holiday alive…

Abbie Frost is the author of five crime novels published by Harper Collins. Her first four books, written under the name Chris Curran, are psychological thrillers or domestic noir and critics have called them ‘compelling.’ ‘truly gripping,’ (Sunday Express) ‘cinematic and well-constructed’. In 2020, with The Guesthouse, she also began writing as Abbie Frost.

Follow Abbie/Chris on Twitter:  @FrostyAbbie

Website:  https://chriscurranauthor.com

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Chris-Curran/421251721385764?ref=aymt_homepage_panel

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