What is it?
A standalone crime novel which is the third in The Gold Detective Series
Who will enjoy it?
Those who like crime with an edge. I call it Anglesey Noir. Or ‘Hamer is Anglesey’s answer to Ian Rankin’ – Amazon reviewer.
When is it set?
Two murders, four decades apart, all centred around a sacred lake with a long history of Druid activity on the beautiful island of Anglesey.
Where should I read it?
Set in mid-winter, so curled up in bed, with a mug of hot chocolate and a pack of digestives.
Why do you write crime fiction?
Because I have read crime fiction all my life and I love the genre. From Enid Blyton to Agatha Christie strong, female writers have influenced my writing.
How many books will there be in the series?
I have six stories in my head, so I’m planning six books. But let’s see where the characters take us …
JANUARY 1st 1977
I jump the gate and run for my life. Lungs on fire, legs pounding, I zig-zag through a misty tunnel of high hedgerows and out onto a road. I stumble along the centre white line, unbalanced and disorientated, one way, then the other, praying to see a car. The road is an empty black strip disappearing into the distance. Which way? I stop, hands on knees, panting, head turning, back and forth. Come on, which way!
A muffled cough spurs me onwards. The road leaves me too exposed. I leap a ditch, heading for the cover of trees, and the distant lights of houses beyond. Willing my legs to move, not to fail me now. Breath swirls around me as I stumble like a blind man, crashing into unseen obstacles but not daring to slow my pace. Slipping, sliding, arms wind-milling.
My toe snags a tree root and I hit the frozen ground. Air escapes with a whoosh, and I bite back a cry, the tang of rusted iron filling my mouth. My eyes flood with tears that bring a little warmth to my cheeks, and I strain to see and hear in the dark silence.
I need a second to catch my breath and refocus. I cannot believe this has happened. My life has turned on its head, and I’ve looked death in the face, all since the chimes of midnight brought in the new year a few short hours ago. But we both knew. All our plans for a bright, new future were ripped into shreds, scattered to the four corners, the second we heard his voice and knew he’d found our secret place.
Footsteps thud to a halt and I’m alert again. Close. He is close. Heavy breathing and the acrid scent of him on the wind. A dog barks, excited and keen. A man’s angry retort as he struggles to control the beast. On hands and knees I crawl, belly flat to the ground. Slimy leaves heed my progress, smooth and glistening like a slug’s trail as I slip silently across the forest floor. Pine needles pluck at my clothes, animals scurry from my path.
And then I am in a clearing. I gasp. A sparkling expanse, like a ballroom of crystal, a dance floor of diamonds, spreads before me. On the furthest side, a high bank of stones edges the silver oasis, and beyond that the spray and crash of the ocean.
I step forwards, arms outstretched to keep my balance. Ice. A huge sheet of ice. I take a tentative step, then another, sliding my feet across the surface in tiny, baby steps, a novice ice-skater among a more confident crowd.
A twig snaps behind me and I come to my senses. I can hear, almost feel, his breath on the back of my neck. I try to run but lose traction with each stride, a picture of Bambi, on ice, my sister’s favourite cartoon, spirals into my brain. Torch beams glitter and dance between my feet. He is closer. A man’s voice penetrates the darkness, words snatched away with the breeze.
Then a cracking noise. Hard and sharp, like a pencil snapped in two.
To be continued ......
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