David W. Robinson's Blog: Always Writing, page 43
March 18, 2013
The Last STAC Excerpts… for now
There are just two more days to the launch of The Chocolate Egg Murders, the seventh STAC Mystery. Here now are extracts from STAC Mysteries #5 and 6#, beginning with…
Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend
It’s New Year and the Sanford 3rd Age Club are making for the Twin Spires Hotel in Lincoln where the entertainment consists of a Murder Mystery Weekend. Here, the director of the murder mystery, Melanie Markham is confessing her worries to the cast.
“The hotel is busy over the weekend,” Melanie announced, bringing her mind back to the problem at hand.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” said Gerry. “Nothing worse than playing to a half empty house.”
“Yes, well, I’ve just been informed that one of the parties is the Sanford 3rd Age Club. About seventy of them.”
Lee Sissons, one of the younger men, laughed. “A shed load of geriatrics. Wassup, Melanie? You worried they’ve all got Alzheimer’s?”
Melanie frowned her disapproval. “The Sanford 3rd Age Club is one of Accomplus’s biggest customers, and I’m assured that they are not a mob of geriatrics. They’re more like a bunch of third age rockers. Anyway, it’s not the club I’m worried about. It’s their Chairman; Joe Murray.”
Puzzlement greeted the announcement.
“Joe who?”
Melanie took another mouthful of coffee. “Really, Gerry, I expect better of you. Here we are, preparing and presenting our own murder mysteries, yet none of you can be bothered with any research. Remember I-Spy, the reality TV series, at Gibraltar Hall during the summer? One of the Housies was murdered.”
“Oh, yes. Ursula, er, Kennedy,” Gerry said.
“Kenney. Ursula Kenney,” Melanie corrected. “Joe Murray was the detective who solved it. He worked out who did it and how, and why if I recall correctly.”
“He’s a cop?” asked Danielle McMahon, one of the younger women.
“No. He’s a private investigator of sorts. The police were sure Ursula’s death was suicide. They didn’t believe anyone could get to her with all those cameras running day and night. It was Joe Murray who demonstrated that it couldn’t have been suicide, and he then proceeded to show the police how it was done and eventually showed them who did it.”
“A wizard?” Lee said.
Melanie nodded and finished her coffee. “He solved the murder of an MP at another of Accomplus’s hotels near York, he also solved the killing of an academic at a five star place in Leeds last Christmas. He is a master. You can’t fool him.”
Gerry swilled the remains of his tea around his cup and swallowed it in one gulp. “And he’s coming here to see us? Wonder what he’ll make of our little mystery?”
“Mincemeat.”
Murder Mystery Weekend is available for download from:
Amazon (Kindle)
Smashwords (all formats)
Crooked Cat Books (MOBI, EPUB, PDF)
And in paperback from :
***
My Deadly Valentine
The sixth STAC Mystery was released a week before Valentine’s Day and was the first of the series to enter the Amazon British Detective top 100 on the day of its release. It’s been in that chart ever since.
Here Joe, who has been questioned about a murder, is visiting a supermarket cafeteria with his niece, Detective Sergeant Gemma Craddock of Sanford CID. For Joe, the café bears no resemblance to his own establishment, as he learns when he finds he has to fill his own teapot at the service counter.
“You know the word service, as in self-service? Did they skip that bit when they thought of this place?”
“I’m only doing my job, sir,” the lad replied. “As I was taught on my training course.”
Joe moved along to the checkout. “You had training?”
“Two days.” The assistant took Joe’s money and rang it up. “You’ve obviously never been here before.”
“Why would I? I run a café on Doncaster Road. When I do eat elsewhere, it’s usually in pubs or proper restaurants, not alleged fast food places. You want to get on in catering, lad, this is not the place to learn.”
“I don’t want to get on in catering. I took this job because it was the only one I could get with my degree.”
Joe’s eyebrows rose. “You have a degree?
“Astrophysics.”
With a shake of the head, Joe took his teapots away. “A degree in astrophysics and you end up serving in a dump like this? What a waste of taxpayers’ money.”
“I agree,” the youngster said, “but there aren’t that many vacancies for astrophysicists in Sanford.”
Joe moved to the cutlery rack, collected tiny portions of milk and sachets of sugar, and then frowned again.
“Hey, Einstein, there are no teaspoons here.”
The young man, his features as flushed as his smart, mauve uniform, came over, and pulled out a wooden stirrer. “We don’t use teaspoons, sir. These are cheaper, they cut down on washing up, and people don’t steal them.”
Joe’s face crumpled to a familiar scowl. “You know, son, I had the misfortune to be married once. The missus dragged me all over Europe. It was sheer hell, but I’ll say this for it: everywhere I went, when I ordered tea or coffee, it was served by a waiter or waitress, and I got a spoon with it.” He reached into one of the other drawers and took out a knife. “I refuse to stir my tea with a wooden stick.”
The youngster scowled back. “I don’t suppose there’s any point reminding you to please clear the table, either.”
“Am I the customer or an employee?”
“We ask that customers clear away after them.”
“And then what? You want me to mop the floors?”
My Deadly Valentine is available for download from:
Amazon (Kindle)
Smashwords (all formats)
Crooked Cat Books (MOBI, EPUB, PDF)
And in paperback from :
***
The Chocolate Egg Murders, the seventh STAC Mystery is released on Wednesday March 20th. Everyone is welcome at the Facebook launch party.
March 17, 2013
More Excerpts from STAC Mysteries
In the run up to the launch of The Chocolate Egg Murders, the seventh STAC Mystery, we’re continuing with excerpts from previously published titles in the series, and today it’s the turn of Mysteries #3 and #4, beginning with:
A Halloween Homicide
Spending Halloween weekend at the allegedly haunted Palmer Hotel near York, Joe is at the main entrance, having a smoke and talking to Deidre Prudhoe, who is speaking frankly about her husband, Edgar.
“He’s been an MP for eight years, and he’s determined that one day, he will be in the driving seat at Number Ten. The trouble is, he’s also as thick as the proverbial short plank. It hasn’t dawned on him why he’s been on the back benches for eight years. He was overlooked in the shadow cabinet and when the party came to power, he didn’t even get a junior post. He thinks it’s because the Prime Minister is waiting to call another election, at which Edgar is certain they will win with a clear majority, and then he’ll land a decent job in government.”
“You don’t believe that?”
“I do not,” she assured him. “Most of his parliamentary colleagues can’t stand him. He’s too noisy, too brash, and if you’ve been listening in on his conversations, you’ll realise he’s too self-centred.” Deidre puffed her cigarette again. “You’re a businessman. How do you stay in business?”
Joe shrugged. “I give my customers what they want at a reasonable price.”
“Exactly,” Deidre agreed. “Edgar gives his constituents what they want, a dedicated member who will look after their interests. But that’s all. Away from the constituency, he bullies people who stand in his way. The voters in the constituency don’t care about that because they don’t see it, but the parliamentarians are a different breed. They see a man who is prepared to push himself, not the needs of the country.”
“I thought all politicians were like that,” Joe commented.
“Not so,” Deidre argued. “Most go into politics from a genuine desire to see the country improved.”
“You should try telling that to the redundant miners of Sanford,” Joe grumbled.
A Halloween Homicide is available for download from:
Amazon (Kindle)
Smashwords (all formats)
Crooked Cat Books (MOBI, EPUB PDF)
And in paperback from
***
And next we move on to Yuletide with…
A Murder for Christmas
It’s Christmas and the Sanford 3rd Age Club are enjoying the weekend at the Regency Hotel in Leeds. It’s the first evening, and Joe is at the bar, talking to Tom Patterson, Chair of the Leodensian Historical Society. Patterson has challenged Joe to demonstrate his detective skills, while Joe is reluctant.
“Oh, come on, old boy,” Patterson insisted. “You’re a detective and I’m really fascinated by your claimed powers of observation and deduction.”
Mentally Joe added another item to his list. “All right. You smoke too much, you probably drink too much, too, and you’re widowed.”
Patterson’s mouth fell open. “I, er, well, good lord.” He glanced at the brown stains on his fingers. “Nicotine. That’s how you knew I smoked too much.”
Joe nodded. “One cigarette is too many, and you’re hearing that from a man who rolls his own and has done for forty years.”
“And drink?” Patterson asked.
“You’re holding a glass of spirit, but look at your complexion. It’s glowing like a traffic light on stop. Could be high blood pressure, but it’s more likely to be a boozer’s blush.”
Patterson shook his head in bewilderment. “Fair enough. Those I understand, but how did you guess I’m a widower?”
Joe indicated the waistband of Patterson’s trousers, where the button hung by a long, stretched thread. “You called me, old boy. That tells me you were privately educated and it means you come from well-to-do stock. You probably chose your wife carefully, and such women are particular. For them, appearance matters. No wife like that would allow her husband to be seen in public with his button hanging off. She could be long-term ill, bedridden, hospitalised, but even so, she would insist on you turning out as you should be turned out. It means, Tom, that your good lady is no longer a factor in your life. She’s deceased.”
Patterson smiled and applauded. “Very good and very accurate. But how do you know I’m not simply single or divorced.”
“You’re wearing a wedding ring.” Joe indicated the gold band on Patterson’s left hand. “Most bachelors won’t wear one because it puts other women off. Men who are divorced tend to throw the wedding ring in a box and leave it in the attic because they don’t want to be reminded of a relationship gone sour. That’s where mine is. Only a man who had a stable marriage and who had lost his wife would continue to wear the wedding ring.”
A Murder for Christmas is available for download from:
Amazon (Kindle)
Smashwords (all formats)
Crooked Cat Books (MOBI, EPUB PDF)
And in paperback from
***
The Chocolate Egg Murders is released on Wednesday , March 20th, and everyone is welcome to join the Facebook launch party.
March 15, 2013
The STAC Mysteries – Excerpts
The seventh STAC Mystery, The Chocolate Egg Murders, is released next Wednesday. In the run up, I thought it would be good to remind you of previous titles, so over the next few days, I’ll be putting up excerpts from each of the six published titles, two per day, and we begin with…
The Filey Connection
Nicola Leach has been killed in a hit and run accident, and the police have just informed Joe, Sheila and Brenda that Eddie Dobson has fallen into the sea and is believed drowned. Joe thinks it was suicide. Searching Eddie’s personal effects, they can find no trace of food or drink. Not even sandwiches.
“Maybe he already ate them,” Brenda suggested. “Or maybe someone took them after he fell in.”
“Oh naturally,” Joe sneered. “You see someone fall in the sea and the first you think is, ‘right, I’m having his sandwiches.’ Talk bloody sense, woman.”
“Perhaps,” Sheila ventured, “he intended coming back from the Brigg to get something to eat.”
Joe waved a frantic arm at the searing day and clear sky. The sun glistened on his leathery skin, and added weight to his irritation. “So what you’re saying is, he goes out for eight hours’ fishing, it’s a scorching hot day, and yet he doesn’t even have a bottle of water with him? It doesn’t make sense. And have you ever walked out onto the Brigg?”
Sheila nodded. “Years ago, when the children were young and Peter and I brought them here on holiday.”
“Then you should know how bad it is underfoot,” said Joe. “It’s a good half-mile from the shore, and like that cop said, the rocks are jagged, slippery, and difficult to get across. It’s not the kind of journey you wanna make twice or three times in a day. You think he’s gonna walk out, walk back to get a brew and a butty, walk back again, walk to the shore for a pee and another brew a couple of hours later? Naw. He knew he wasn’t coming back, and that says he was out to commit hari kari.”
“I think you’ll find it’s called hara-kiri,” Sheila corrected him, “and in Japanese it’s a vulgar term for the practice of seppuku.”
Joe snorted. “I’ve got a puzzle on my hands and she gives me a lecture on Japanese etiquette.
The Filey Connection is available for download from:
Amazon (Kindle)
Smashwords (All formats)
Crooked Cat Books (MOBI, EPUB, PDF)
And in paperback from:
***
The second STAC Mystery was The I-Spy Murders.
Set in a Chester, it centres on a reality TV series, not dissimilar to Big Brother, and Brenda is one of the contestants. Here is Joe with Sheila and Brenda, discussing the forthcoming series.
“It’s reality TV, Joe,” she explained for the umpteenth time. “You put eight people in a house, all of different ages and generations, and see how they get on twenty-four hours a day, for seven days. There are cameras all over the house… except for the lavatory and one other room.”
“It’s invasion of privacy TV, if you want my opinion,” he responded. “And didn’t that other one go on for weeks, and weeks, and weeks?”
“Yes. And at the end of every week, one of their housemates was evicted. I-Spy isn’t as grand as that, but it’s different because of the age gap of the Housies. At fifty-five, I’m the eldest, and I think the youngest is a girl of about twenty-three. We’re from all walks of life, too. There’s an actress amongst us.” Brenda sipped her tea. “And an estate agent, and a nurse.”
“And a woman who makes meat pies for truckers. You.” Joe put down his pen. “No offence, Brenda, but I know what you’re like with men. Do you suddenly want to become the star of the modern equivalent to a what-the-butler-saw machine?”
The I-Spy Murders is available for download from
Amazon (Kindle)
Smashwords (All formats)
Crooked Cat Books (MOBI, EPUB, PDF)
And in paperback from:
March 11, 2013
You know a New Release Is Due When…
Your advance paperback copy arrives.
Well my copy of The Chocolate Egg Murders arrived today, and here it is.
I believe ebooks are the way forward, but even so, there’s something special about the feel of a paperback in your hands. Especially when it has your name on the cover as the author.
And just to take the hedonism a step further, here is The Chocolate Egg Murders posing with its bedmates, the entire STAC Mysteries series.
In case you can’t read the titles, from left to right, they are: The Filey Connection, The I-Spy Murders, A Halloween Homicide, A Murder for Christmas, Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend, My Deadly Valentine and finally, The Chocolate Egg Murders.
And here they all are, full frontal
***
The Chocolate Egg Murders, STAC Mystery #7, from Crooked Cat Books, is released as an ebook and paperback on Wednesday 20th March, 2013. Come along to the Facebook launch party
March 10, 2013
Flatcap’s Guide to UK Holidays
Have you ever wondered why holidays never turn out quite as you expected? Do you ever get the feeling that someone, somewhere has a plot to turn your vacation into a total disaster?
Flatcap is a man who would rather spend his holidays at home. Mrs Flatcap (hereinafter known as Her Indoors) would rather travel. Flatcap has been married for forty years and therefore knows a lot about marriage, wives, and by default, holidays.
Flatcap’s Guide to UK Holidays reveals all. From the Declaration of Holiday, through booking, packing, travelling and passing seven days in the alien environment that is your holiday home, he will point out ways and means of ensuring it becomes a complete fiasco.
A must for the discerning husband, a must for the discerning wife (if only to find out what he’s up to) and best of all…
IT’S FREE for the next two days.
Here’s a sample. Flatcap, a man who hates holiday camps with a passion, teaching you how to deal with the camper.
Throughout the season, every week on every holiday camp in the country there is one pain in the arse who has been to this same place every year since it opened in 1959. Back then it was with the brats in tow, now it’s the grand-brats.
This twonk is the life and soul of the party. He is the instigator of all those idiot impromptu moments such as a whip round for lemoncoat Sally because she’s celebrating having just lost her virginity. When the karaoke comes on, this dipstick is first in the queue to give you his version of Delilah and he expects you laugh maniacally at the appropriate place in the lyric. He’s the numpty sporting all the badges, one for every year he’s been to the camp. His jacket is now so full of metal and plastic, he’s been declared a hazard to maritime radar and he only switched to plastic badges because the hospital next door said he was interfering with their MRI scanner.
Inevitably you will meet him during your stay, and he’ll be complaining about some minor matter like only getting 17 chips on his plate.
“I was here in 1963 when they served a record 32 chips,” he will grumble.
Alongside you, Her Indoors will sympathise.
“Why don’t you shut up whinging, you daft old bugger,” will be your response, and this will send him into paroxysm of rage.
“I’ve been coming here for over fifty years,” he will scream.
Simply shrug at him and say, “In that case, it’s time you got a life.”
This will leave him speechless and apoplectic. With luck he will see the logic of your words, have a heart attack and never trouble you again.
***
Flatcap’s Guide to UK Holidays is available exclusively to the Amazon Kindle. Normally priced at 77p, it is FREE today and tomorrow.
March 3, 2013
Teaser – The Chocolate Egg Murders
Here we are. The very first excerpt from the 7th STAC Mystery, The Chocolate Egg Murders.
It’s due to hit the virtual bookstands on March 20th. That’s two weeks on Wednesday, and now is the time to give you a little taste of what you’re in for.
The Sanford 3rd Age Club have arrived in Weston-super-Mare and booked into their hotel. Keith, the bus driver, has already had an argument with a red-haired woman, who crossed the road without looking around. Now, Joe, Sheila and Brenda are wandering through a street market in the town, where the woman are looking for hats and accessories for the Easter Bonnet Parade.
Ambling along the street, the two women bought identical hats of fake straw, and then began to gather the paper flowers, fluffy toys and plastic models they would need to decorate them.
“We need to be different,” Brenda said.
“I’m going for flowers,” Sheila agreed.
“And I’m going for livestock,” Brenda said.
“And I’m going for a pint,” Joe chipped in. “I’ll be in the pub over there.” He pointed to the dark-painted front of the Sword & Shield Inn along the street.
A black-haired woman, her stall displaying a vast range of Easter eggs in attractive, multi-coloured packaging, was shouting abuse at another woman, whom Joe took to be a customer. Above the stall a homemade banner read, Ginny’s Sweets.
On closer inspection, he recognised the second woman right away. Swathed in a white anorak, middle-aged, her hair a shock of red, carrying a large handbag over one arm, and a large, boxed Easter egg clutched under the other, she was the same person who had crossed so carelessly in front of their bus. She appeared to show the same degree of disinterest in the stallholder’s shouts as she had in Keith’s annoyance.
The same could not be said of the passing shoppers, who watched with interest at the stallholder’s increasing vehemence.
“D’you hear me? Bugger off. And don’t you come near me again.”
The redhead paused, turned, and stared back at the stallholder. “That’s the trouble with people like you. You don’t know when someone’s trying to do you a favour.” She turned again and continued walking away.
Usually as inquisitive as any other passer-by, the incessant rain prompted Joe to ignore the argument, and he crossed the street putting himself between the furious stallholder and the redhead for just a few seconds. As he did so, something hit him on the shoulder, with a splat! Chocolate and cream spread across his cagoule and his left cheek.
***
The Chocolate Egg Murders, the 7th STAC Mystery, is released in all e-formats and in paperback on Wednesday March 20th. Join the Facebook launch party
Bad Days
Up I have never been so fed.
Three days ago I needed a new keyboard, so I opted to go for the wireless variety. Set me back twenty five notes. Brought it home, installed it, and bingo… it didn’t work.
After lot of jockeying around, I tried again and bingo… it corrupted the BIOS.
After a great deal of faffing and farting around, reisntalling software, kicking the dog and screaming at the missus, I got everything working again, including the wireless keyboard. But not for long as the BIOS corrupted yet again.
So this morning, I took it back to the shop. Turns out there was something wrong with the keyboard. The assistant offered me an exchange, but I declined and took a refund, out of which I bought an old-fashioned USB model.
Now everything is tickety-boo.
But my typing still hasn’t improved.
***
Looking for a Mother’s Day gift? How about a traditional British whodunit?
My Deadly Valentine: Joe Murray searching for love, and finding himself a murder suspect, then searching to clear his name and trap the Sanford Valentine Strangler. An enjoyable read… even for mothers.
Available as a download from
Amazon UK (Kindle)
Amazon Worldwide (Kindle)
Smashwords (all formats)
Crooked Cat Books (MOBI, EPUB, PDF)
And as a paperback from:
February 26, 2013
Spooky Chart Surprise
I watch the chart movements of my STAC Mysteries quite closely. All six have been in the Amazon UK Kindle crime/mystery/British Detectives top 100 since early January (early February in the case of My Deadly Valentine) and for that, of course, I’m grateful to my readers.
A Halloween Homicide has consistently remained in the lower half of the chart, peaking about two weeks ago at number 35, and yesterday, just before I called it a night, it sat at number 86. It had even dropped out of the chart for a brief time yesterday.
Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I checked this morning and it had leapt 58 places to number 28.
The chart can be quite volatile. When new releases from more popular authors smash their way into the top 10, it has its effect on those titles below it, but for one of my backlist to jump so many places overnight is unprecedented.
A Halloween Homicide has never been a big hitter. Even after passing from my self-published list to Crooked Cat Books, it never performed particularly well, and in January, of the five STAC titles available, it ranked fourth.
So what’s happened overnight? Hanged if I know, but my purpose is to thank the readers, not question them.
So thank you.
Here’s a little extract from A Halloween Homicide.
It’s raining and the STAC bus has just arrived at the Palmer Hotel, and as usual, Joe is first to enter, to prepare the staff for the STAC gang.
“Rotten, bloody weather,” he cursed aloud as the double glass doors swung open automatically for him.
Such announcements usually attracted the attention of staff or other guests, but this time, his entrance was upstaged by an argument going on at the counter where a tall, well-dressed business type was arguing with a blonde.
“Do you know who I am?” the man demanded.
“I’m perfectly aware of who you are, Mr Prudhoe,” the blonde returned, “but hotel policy makes no exception for Members of Parliament. Our check-in time –”
“I check in when I bloody well get here,” Prudhoe retorted, “and I don’t expect to be charged for it.”
With no particular interest in politics, Joe could not place the MP, but he could see that the blonde was itching to give him a piece of her mind, even though her position made that impossible. Joe felt himself under no such restriction, but he held back on the grounds that the debate had nothing to do with him.
“Our policy is standard at all our hotels, sir,” the blonde said with barely controlled restraint. “You checked in early and there is a twenty pound charge for that.”
“I’ll not pay,” Prudhoe threatened.
“If you refuse to pay I’ll have no alternative but to ask you to leave,” said the blonde as Joe sidled up to the counter, “and if you then refuse to leave, I shall call the police.”
Joe checked the blonde’s nametag while Prudhoe launched into another tirade.
“You should think about this. By the time I’m through with your bosses, you’ll be out on your ear.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Joe said, unable to hold himself back any longer. “She has a witness – me – to your verbal abuse.”
Prudhoe rounded on him. “Mind your own bloody business.”
“You should learn some manners,” Joe suggested. “And like all politicians, you should learn to shut up now and again and listen to others.”
Prudhoe turned apoplectic but Joe went on undeterred.
“See, if…”Joe made a point of checking her nametag again. “If Yvonne Naylor, here, worked for me, and she didn’t charge you for early check-in, she’d be in hot water. And if she insulted you or threw you out, I’d probably pay her a bonus.”
***
A Halloween Homicide is available for download from:
And in paperback from:
February 25, 2013
Voices 2 on the Drawing Board
I’ve never been a big fan of movie sequels. With one or two exceptions, they always pale into insignificance at the side of the original.
The same can be said of books. I’m not talking series like the STAC Mysteries, where each book is independent of the original and which can be read in any order. I’m talking sequels where the next book is a continuation of events hanging over from the original.
And one such book is my novel, Voices.
I spent a good deal of 2009 and 2010 writing the original and I consider it one of my best works. Based on sales, most people don’t agree, but then, most people don’t even know it exists.
The solution to this invisibility, it has been pointed out to me many times, is a sequel. The problem with a sequel, as I have pointed out many times, is I don’t have a story strong enough to warrant it.
Well, now I have.
Having the story and writing it, ensuring it comes up to the same high standards as the original are different matters. This thing is not likely to hit the virtual bookstands this month. It’s unlikely to hit those bookstands this year. It may never get to those bookstands, because I will not pass it to my editor, Maureen Vincent-Northam, or my publisher, Crooked Cat Books, until I’m satisfied with it, and it won’t see the light of day until they’re satisfied with it, too.
But, I have the hook and the story. All I have to do now is get on with it. Watch this space.
You can download the original from:
And you can get the paperback from:
February 22, 2013
Voices – An Excerpt
After surviving a bomb attack, college lecturer Chris Deacon is struck mute and suffering hallucinations in the shape of a tiny dwarf and soldier. Reading the local newspaper, he learns that a fellow survivor, Jenny Morton suffers the same problems and hallucinations, the perpetrator, Brian Richmond claims to have heard voices from god telling him to commit the crime, and finally, another survivor, Steven Jessop, has committed suicide.
***
If Steven’s suicide alarmed and then depressed me, the reactionary editorial, from what was traditionally a centre left, small town, tolerant newspaper, pandered to public outrage and made me want to retch.
Yet another life has been lost to the carnage of the Refectory. Brian Richmond has confessed and there is no doubt about his confession. His plea, that the state of his mind was disturbed at the time, cuts no ice. His mind was not so disturbed that he could not wire up and set the timer for his evil weapon. And let us be sure about it. This bomb was not meant to strike a blow against the establishment in the shape of the college. It was planted in such a place at such a time to kill and injure as many innocent people as possible.
The Chronicle says enough is enough. It is time the British people were treated to real justice. The death penalty should be brought back for crimes like the Refectory. Let Brian Richmond hang for his actions.
After Jan read the report and editorial, her features grim on the front page, disapproving on page 6, she put the paper to one side, and asked, “Have you had any hallucinations like this little man with a large head?”
I shook my head. “I told you once before. Only dreams of Jenny,” I lied on the Nokia.
“Chris,” she pressed, “we have been married long enough for me to know when you’re not telling me everything, and we never have secrets. I saw you four at the college reception. I assumed you were comparing notes on the attack,” she went on as I tried to wave her into silence, “but there was more to it than that. What is it?”
“You’re reading too much into that conversation,” I wrote, “and you’re making things worse. Don’t you think I feel bad enough having read the paper?”
She took my hand and I snatched it free, mouthing, “Don’t do that.” Taking up the Nokia again, I typed, “I don’t need you holding my hand all the time.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m trying to be supportive.”
“It’s not supportive; it’s mothering,” I grumbled on screen. “I am not a child and I don’t want to be treated like one.”
We had also been married long enough to let her know it was time to back off.
I ducked under my headphones, listening to Kraftwerk’s Autobahn, but I could not lose myself in the music.
Brian’s orders from God, my muteness, Jenny’s inability to speak, Colonel Gun, Egghead, and now Steven’s suicide. It was all linked. But no matter how much I thought about it, no matter how hard I tried to make sense of it, I could find only one common thread: insanity. And it was staring me in the face.
Voices, by David Robinson, published by Crooked Cat Books, is available for download from:
And in paperback from:
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