A Sequel from the Dark Side

If he were still with us, my younger brother would be 62 today. It’s a fitting moment to announce the publication of The Deep Secret, sequel to my dark novel, The Handshaker.

The success of the STAC Mysteries tends to divert attention from the dark side of my writing, and yet I actually began with these grim and gritty tales of brutal murder.

The Handshaker is designed to shock. Not only is the killer completely ambivalent about taking the life of another, but he actually gets off on killing. It’s not an entirely new angle, but I had serious qualms on the matter when it was first suggested to me. That suggestion came from a publishing professional, so I figured the lady knew what she was talking about.

It’s easy to draw comparisons with Bad Moon Rising, by my fellow Crooked Cat author, Frances di Plino, whose killer has similar obsessions with sex and death, albeit from a different perspective.

Once The Handshaker was finished and published, I realised that the story was not complete. It’s taken over year, but the second part of the tale is now with my publisher, and although a publication date is still under consideration, it’s looking like October.

The Deep Secret takes the story on, but not without revisiting the catalyst for The Handshaker, The Heidelberg Case. In the new novel, I include fictionalised accounts of the dark beginnings of The Handshaker in pre war Germany, in order to show how the idea of murder by hypnosis came to Great Britain.

Just before I post up a sample from the book, there’s one last thing. This is not the end. There will be a third part, but don’t hold your breath. By my best guesstimate, it’s a year away.

***

In the extract which follows, Franz Walter, using the fake identity of Franz Bergen, is travelling on a train from Karlsruhe to Heidelberg when he encounters Anna, the woman who would become his next victim.

The Deep Secret

The train trundled into the suburbs of Graben-Neudorf and Walter frowned. Outside, a temperate spring day lifted the despondency of political turmoil in Germany, casting a balm on the Black Forest countryside, lifting, cheering the spirit, expunging thoughts of the in-fighting between Herr Hitler’s National Socialists and von Hindenburg’s moribund administration.

Across the compartment sat a teenage girl. Dressed in a cloche hat, her pageboy haircut tucked under it, Walter noticed the brim of the hat sat a little too far forward to be truly fashionable and the toes of her buckle shoes were scuffed. She was, he decided, a farmer’s daughter. She had boarded the train at Friedrichstal, a small town, not much more than a village really, a few kilometres back down the line. He had watched her from behind the discreet screen of his newspaper. A pretty girl, with dark hair, china blue eyes, a heavy bosom. Occasionally she would wince in pain and clutch at her tummy.

Walter would dearly love to clutch at more than her tummy, but he knew these rural types well. If, as he suspected, her father was a farmer, she would have been brought up ‘properly’, taught not to speak to strange men unless she had been formal introduced, warned to guard her ‘honour’, save herself for the farm boy to whom she was betrothed.

Walter almost sniggered at the idea. Farm girls found sex all around them when the bull was brought to the cow, the boar to the sow, and despite the safeguards parents put in place, many of these strong young women lost their virginity in the hay loft long before they were marched down the aisle.

The train braked suddenly. She clutched once more at her tummy and her bag, a heavy, leather affair resting on her lap, fell to the floor, spilling a compact and lipstick. She made to pick it up, but Walter moved quicker, gathered up the pieces, tucked them back in her bag, and handed the lot back to her with a smile.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Fraulein. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Franz Bergen. A doctor. I couldn’t help noticing that you appear to be in some pain.”

“A minor ailment,” she concurred. “I am on my way to Heidelberg, to the university, where I must find a doctor to help with the problem.”

Walter gave her a diffident smile. “One is hesitant to blow one’s own trumpet, but disorders of the gastric system are one of my specialities. I have a weekly clinic at the hospital. In fact, I’m on my way there right now. Perhaps I could take you in my cab, when we get there, and leave you with my nurse.”

“That would be kind of you, doctor.”

Once more he fished into the waistcoat, the other pocket this time, and withdrew a business card, passing to her. She made a study of it, and tucked it into her bag.

The train slowed even further, until it was crawling along past houses and factories, until it reached the ornate and rusty awning above Graben-Neudorf station where it ground to a jerky halt.

Walter got to his feet. “The train will stand here for about forty minutes while the engine takes on coal and water. Forgive me, Fraulein, but I do not know your name.”

She smiled shyly. “Anna Haller.”

He clicked his heels smartly together and half bowed in a display of chivalry. “Franz Bergen. If you will excuse me, Fräulein Haller, I will visit the buffet and take coffee.” He made for the door and paused. He turned and put on an effective display of bumbling reserve. “Er … perhaps you would care to join me.”

***

The Handshaker is published by Crooked Cat Books and is available as a download and in paperback.

Bad Moon Rising, by Frances di Plino is published by Crooked Cat Books and is available as a download or in paperback.

The Deep Secret will be published by Crooked Cat Books later this year as a download and in paperback.