When North Norfolk artist Eddie Fowler accepts an invitation from his business partner, Martin Hogg, to visit Venice, he finds that this beautiful, intimate city reawakens long-hidden memories.
He is reminded once again of Martin’s wife, Theresa, a fragile and intuitive artist, who mysteriously disappeared nearly twenty years before.
As he searches for answers to this mystery among the vast landscapes of the North Norfolk coasts and the narrow streets and canal-side cafes of Venice, Theresa’s daughter, Maria, asks him to help her with her own search to discover the secrets of her family’s history; a search that leads to discoveries neither of them expected.
A story about love and sacrifice, about secrets destined to remain hidden.
In Scorpion’s Tale, former Inspector Liv Harris, after a series of humiliating demotions, has now moved to a small Midlands town to seek not only a new start in life as a Private Investigator, but also a love life.
Unsure of what she wants, Liv meets a potential partner through a dating website, but while this is wholly unfulfilling from the beginning, quite unexpectedly she finds herself emotionally drawn to Karen, her friendly and very athletic neighbour.
Very soon the two women become virtually inseparable, causing Liv to question her own needs and her own sexuality, especially as she then falls into a physical relationship with a male police colleague from the local force, an old friend of the man she never landed, Jack Sallt.
Confused, she throws herself into the work given to her by her new lover, the perplexing cases of several missing persons who all worked for a local council. Alarmingly her investigations propel her into the warped, violent world of an ex-warrior with several bitter scores to settle.
Two men are found in a beached boat, one dead, one seriously injured, stretching the resources of an already under-funded police force.
Suspended Detective Inspector Jack Sallt is reluctantly rushed back on duty to face his most perplexing and dangerous case yet, where old foes move in the shadows, threatening violence and controlling him with sensual taunts.
In the tense climax, Jack has to face his relentless enemies head on, risking not only his own life but also those of his colleagues and loved ones.
First in the Detective Inspector Jack Sallt series.
When Jon McElvoy, a Liberal Democrat MP, is found dead in his North Norfolk home, DI Jack Sallt and his colleagues quickly decide that this is a murder made to look like a suicide.
However, when the Intelligence Services arrive, all of their findings are thrown into the air.
As Jack tries to uncover and expose the truth, he finds that his personal demons not only come back to torment and tempt him, but they also threaten to end his career.
Elena Trimble was a young astrologer. It was an unusual career but she loved it. While studying psychology at university, she had done a brief course on the ancient art of astrology – and was hooked. She did individual birth charts, a kind of modern psychological astrology, you might say. She didn’t believe in the mumbo jumbo prediction aspect of it, that the future can be clearly seen.
“So what’s this about today’s date, then?” Michael was speaking around a rather large piece of toast he was chewing.
“I’m pretty sure it’s to do with the dream. Dreams can speak to us in symbols and allegory.”
Elena had written down everything she could remember. The dark place she had found herself with this man could have been a church, or perhaps a chapel. Dreams were ruled by the Moon and perhaps the planet Neptune, she figured, hence the allegories, signs and symbols. She was trying to get a clearer view, not only of whom this person was, but what he was trying to say. And why did he kiss her?
She sipped her morning cup of tea, looking out onto perfectly still day, the sunlit grass, the frost slowly dissipating. “Let’s say we were in the chancel end of a church. There was a window ahead of us, though it wasn’t letting in much light, like it was nearly dark outside. There was a book open.”
“A bible, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “It was more like some kind of…parish record?”
“A register.”
“Yes, very likely a register. I felt sure he was directing me toward this book, as if to an entry in it. I remember the number twenty three quite distinctly, you see. I didn’t see it in the book, it just popped into my head out of nowhere.”
“Hm. Maybe he whispered it into your ear after kissing you.”
“Funny, ha ha.”
Elena began to surmise that twenty three could have been either a christening, a birthdate, or a burial. The fact that today was February 23 might be meaningful. There didn’t seem to be much else to go on. There was his general appearance, she supposed, slightly taller than her five feet four inches. It was the eyes she remembered, large, chocolate brown and loving. She didn’t recall being at all scared by him.
“Elena, you need more to go on than just a number.” Michael was placing the breakfast dishes in the sink.
She joined him with her own dishes. “I know, that’s why I’m making sure I take my notebook and pen to bed again tonight.”
Michael looked at her, seriously. “You’re expecting him again, are you?”
“I don’t know, but I’d better be prepared, hadn’t I? I get the feeling he’s got more to say, that’s all. I’ve never had a dream of this clarity.”
Michael had that pretentious little boy lost look in his eyes. “So should I be worried?”
“Hm.” Elena took his hand and kissed it. “Worried? About a figure in my dreams, maybe only figment of my imagination?”
“Nevertheless,” he said, examining her hand, “he evidently makes a good impression.”
Ciscography 