Category Archives: Blog Tour

Blog Tour: Two O’Clock Boy by Mark Hill

High res TTOCB

I reviewed Two O’Clock Boy in September 2016 prior to the eBook launch, and I’m reposting my review as part of the blog tour for the paperback release this month.

In the 1980s, Longacre Children’s Home gave the outward appearance of being a place for homeless children to grow up in relative comfort and safety.  But beneath the façade, the children lived in fear of the manager, Gordon Tallis.

Thirty years later, and the investigation into the brutal murder of Kenny Overton and his family causes newly promoted DS Felicity (Flick) Crowley to investigate a potential link to the home where Kenny was a resident as a child.

Despite DI Ray Drake’s insistence that she focus on Kenny’s somewhat unwholesome past as a petty criminal, she can’t help but dig deeper.  Is there a connection between Kenny’s recent demise and a string of supposed accidents and suicides that have plagued the former residents of Longacre?  And if so, are there more to come?

Two O’Clock Boy comes with quite a hook:

Two childhood friends

One became a detective

One became a killer…

Given the two very different outcomes – the detective versus the killer – I think that it’s easy to assume that Two O’Clock Boy is a good vs. evil tale, and that wasn’t the case at all.  Drake is an incredibly murky character who is in a horrible position.  I won’t say too much as I’d hate to spoil the novel for other readers, but whilst Drake is desperate to stop the murderer, he is also willing to sacrifice the investigation to suit his own purposes.

This is made increasingly more difficult by the tenacious “Flick” Crowley.  Newly promoted to Detective Sergeant, Flick feels the need to prove her worth, and so it’s a little surprising (and thoroughly pleasing) when she continues to follow her instincts and investigates the possible link to the children’s home, despite Drake’s increasingly disturbing behaviour.

The story is told in the present day with flashbacks to the 80s, and the experience of the children in Longacre.  Whilst some of what goes on there is stated, there is more implied.  I was quite pleased that Hill chose to draw the line that he did, however.  I’ve never shied away from gruesome / unpleasant reading material, but I think that too many authors try to shock their audience when it isn’t necessary, and I liked that Hill didn’t succumb to that.

This is a novel with plenty of twists, although I did work out who the killer was and much of what was going quite early on.  I still enjoyed the novel, however, and I kept reading this fast-paced thriller to see how all the loose ends would be tied up.  I can see this becoming a bestseller, and I would recommend it to all crime / thriller fans – it’s a fantastic, gritty debut with some of the murkiest characters you’ll come across.

Two O’Clock Boy is available now in digital and paperback.  Many thanks to Ella Bowman for inviting me to take part in the blog tour!

Rating: ★★★★☆

Make sure you check out the other stops on the blog tour:

Rearview man in coat walking along urban subway from above

Blog Tour: The Witchfinder’s Sister by Beth Underdown


Today I’m absolutely delighted to be taking part in the blog tour for Beth Underdown’s debut novel, The Witchfinder’s Sister.

When Alice returns to her home of Manningtree, Essex from London following the death of her husband, she isn’t sure of the reception she will receive.  Her parents have both passed away, and she is unsure of how her half-brother, Matthew, will react.  He never approved of her marriage, deeming her husband to be beneath her, and so Alice isn’t entirely surprised by the somewhat cool reception she receives, and is relieved that he is willing to take her in.

But Alice soon finds that Matthew’s status has changed since she was last in Manningtree, and he is now an important man who is often consulted upon various matters by men of standing in and around the area.  And then she begins to hear rumours of witchcraft, and learns of accusations that have been made against many of the women in and around Essex.  And of a book, in which Matthew writes the names of the accused, and the evidence against them.

Initially dismissive of the gossip, Alice becomes increasingly concerned as more women are incarcerated, and as Matthew begins to involve her in his activities…

The Witchfinder’s Sister is a stunning work of fiction, based upon the actions of Matthew Hopkins, the so-called Witchfinder General.  It opens with Alice locked in a room.  The reader doesn’t initially know why she has been locked away, and the novel then returns to a point nine months earlier and Alice’s arrival in Manningtree.  Underdown has done a fantastic job of slowly building up the tension throughout the novel, and what begins as a woman concerned with little more than how she will be received by her brother soon descends into fear on her part as she realises the activities he has become involved in.  I really enjoy novels that share a part of the ending with the reader at the outset – knowing the destination and not the path that lies between here and there can be fascinating, and so it proves to be the case here.

I thought that Underdown successfully evoked both time and place throughout the novel, both in terms of the culture and the way of life, but also the superstitions that were rife at the time.  Accusations of witchcraft were not new during Hopkins’ time, and would often be made for the most frivolous of reasons:

Talk of witchcraft was often resorted to when other charges were hard to prove.  Women were taken up for it… it was done to teach them a lesson

And so Alice is initially dismissive of the gossip – such accusations happened occasionally, but the women involved are usually released after a relatively brief period in prison.  She soon comes to realise that the situation is much more serious, however, and that the evidence that Matthew collects may result in a much harsher sentence than she would expect:

Suddenly I feared that I had been part of something that could have nothing but the reddest of ends.

The characterisation in The Witchfinder’s Sister is also excellent.  Alice is a strong individual, but very much aware that she has limited options available to her following the death of her husband, and she is almost entirely reliant upon Matthew’s kindness.  Her initial disbelief at the rumours and her situation put her in an extremely difficult position, and it was hard not to empathise with her tale.  Matthew is also a fascinating character, and I enjoyed Underdown’s dissection of what drove him to take the actions that he did.  I don’t know how much truth there is in this aspect of the novel, but I found the reasons provided to be both fascinating and plausible.

I found this to be captivating fictional account of the actions of an infamous individual, and fans of historical fiction will lap this up – I absolutely loved it.

Many thanks to Katy Loftus for providing a copy for review, and to Josie Murdoch for inviting me to take part in the blog tour.  The Witchfinder’s Sister was published by Viking on 2 March 2017 in eBook and hardback.

Rating: ★★★★★

About the Author


Beth Underdown lectures in Creative Writing at the University of Manchester. Her first novel, The Witchfinder’s Sister, is based on the life of the 1640s witchfinder Matthew Hopkins. Beth’s interest in seventeenth-century England was sparked by the work of her great-uncle David Underdown, one of that period’s foremost historians. She came across a brief mention of Matthew Hopkins while reading a book about midwifery, igniting an interest which turned into an all-consuming hunt for the elusive truth about this infamous killer.

Make sure you check out the other stops on the blog tour!


Blog Tour: One Little Mistake by Emma Curtis

Today I’m absolutely delighted to be taking part in the blog tour for One Little Mistake by Emma Curtis which will be published as an eBook on 23 February, and in paperback on 29 June by Black Swan.


You trusted your best friend… you shouldn’t have.

Vicky Seagrave is blessed: three beautiful children, a successful, doting husband, great friends and a job she loves.  She should be perfectly happy.

But what she is about to learn is that one mistake is all it takes; that if you’re careless with those you love, you don’t deserve to keep them.

When Vicky risks everything she holds dear on a whim, there’s only one person she trusts enough to turn to, her best friend Amber.

One little lie.  One little secret.  One little mistake could destroy her world.

One Little Mistake is one of those novels that it’s difficult to talk about without giving too much away, so I won’t focus on the plot too much in my review.

It focuses on Vicky who makes a spur of the moment decision.  Nine times out of ten, such a decision would probably have no significant impact and you’d think little more of it.  Unfortunately for Vicky, her decision proves to have disastrous consequences in this instance, and she turns to her best friend, Amber, for advice.  What follows shows how Vicky deals with the aftermath of this mistake, which proves to be much further reaching than she could ever have guessed.

Curtis successfully weaves together two narratives throughout One Little Mistake – the first following Vicky’s plight in the present day, and the second set 18 years earlier.  Whilst the flashback scenes are few and far between, I really enjoyed these little snippets and this second story very quickly built up in tension.  I don’t want to say too much about it, but I really enjoyed the second story and the way that the two narratives eventually converged.

I thought that Curtis handled the relationship between Vicky and Amber really well, and the gradual deterioration of this relationship as Amber begins to show her true colours made this an absolutely fascinating read.  Vicky is pitched as one of those people for whom good things just happen.  What is very apparent to the reader is that Vicky has worked hard to get where she is, and I think that it’s very easy to forget the elbow grease that people have often put in to get where they are.  Amber, on the other hand, hasn’t had quite the same level of success that Vicky has experienced, and whilst they are friends, it’s clear from the outset that she is envious of many aspects of Vicky’s life and it doesn’t take much for the reader to see another side to Amber, a side that Vicky isn’t aware of.

Curtis has done a brilliant job of making Vicky easy to sympathise with.  She has made mistakes, but she’s hardly alone in this, and it feels as though the punishment far outweighs the crime.  I did perhaps find her to be too forgiving and perhaps a little gullible, although in this instance it made her endearing rather than frustratingly naive, as can sometimes be the case in a novel such as this.

One Little Mistake is a gripping read and builds up to a tense conclusion which, whilst not entirely unexpected in some respects, was nevertheless a dramatic, if slightly rushed, finale.

Many thanks to Rosie Margesson for providing a copy for review.

Rating: ★★★★☆

Make sure you check out the other stops on the blog tour:


Blog Tour: Lie With Me by Sabine Durrant

I’m delighted to be taking part in the blog tour for Lie With Me by Sabine Durrant which has just been chosen for the Richard and Judy Book Club.



Paul Morris is running out of money, friends and second chances. His literary success of his early 20s is now a distant memory and his new relationship might be his last hope of happiness.

Alice is not like any of the women he’s pursued in the past: wealthy, lonely, driven and with links to the heady days of his youth. When Alice invites Paul to her holiday home in Greece with friends and family, he decides to do whatever it takes to make the romance stick.

But the summer is not the idyll he had planned: members of the party seem far from happy about Paul’s presence and soon the pool becomes a tableau of tension and unspoken grudges.

To further aggravate the situation, ten years ago, a thirteen-year-old girl went missing on the island, and now a fresh sighting and another attack unsettle the long hot days. It soon becomes apparent that Paul is not the only person with an agenda… and his dreams of a life worth living may yet turn into a nightmare he cannot escape.

You can see my review of Lie With Me here, and today I’m delighted to be able to share an extract of the novel with you, taken from the prologue and the first chapter of the novel.

August 2015

It struck me in the night that it might have started earlier. I sat up in horror and, in the darkness, used my fingernail to scratch the word ‘BOOKSHOP’ on the inside of my forearm. It has gone now: the skin is inflamed due to an infected insect bite, which I must have further scratched at in my sleep. Still, the act of writing did the trick, as it tends to. This morning I can remember well enough.

Hudson & Co: the secondhand bookshop in Charing Cross Road. I have been assuming it began there – that none of it would have happened if my eye hadn’t been caught by that silly little shop assistant’s red hair. But am I wrong? Were the forces already in motion, in the weeks and months before that? Does the trail of poison lead back, long before the bloody girl’s disappearance, to university? Or before then, even – to school, to childhood, to that moment in 1973 when I struggled, puce-faced, into this unforgiving world?

I suppose what I am saying is, how much do we collude in our own destruction? How much of this nightmare is on me? You can hate and rail. You can kick out in protest. You can do foolish and desperate things but maybe sometimes you just have to hold up a hand and take the blame.


Chapter One

It was a wet day, one of those grey, drizzly London afternoons when the sky and the pavement and the rain-streaked buildings converge. It’s a long time since I’ve seen weather like that. I’d just had lunch with my oldest friend Michael Steele at Porter’s in the Charing Cross underpass, a wine bar we had frequented since, at the age of sixteen, we had first discovered the discretion of both its location and its landlord. These days, of course, we would both have much rather met somewhere less dank and dark (that chic little bistro on St Martin’s Lane specialising in wines from the Loire, par example), but nostalgia can be a tyranny. Neither of us would have dreamt of suggesting it.

Usually, on parting from Michael, I would strut off with a sense of groin-thrusting superiority. His own life restricted by the demands of a wife, twin boys and a solicitor’s practice in Bromley, he listened to my tales of misadventure – the drunken nights in Soho, the young girlfriends – with envy in his eyes. ‘How old’s this one?’ he’d say, cutting into a Scotch egg. ‘Twenty-four? Saints alive.’ He was not a reader and a combination of loyalty and ignorance meant he also still thought of me as The Great Literary Success. It wouldn’t have occurred to him that a minor bestseller written twenty years ago might not be sufficient to maintain a reputation indefinitely. To him I was the star of ‘Literary London’ (his phrase) and when he picked up the bill, which he could be depended upon to do, there was a sense less of charity than of him paying court. If an element of mutual bluff was required to sustain the status quo, it was a small price to pay. Plenty of friendships, I am sure, are based on lies.

That day, however, as I returned to street level, I felt deflated. Truth was, though I had kept it to myself, life had recently taken a downward swerve. My latest novel had just been rejected, and Polly, the twenty-four-year-old in question, had left me for some bum-fluffed political blogger or other. Worst of all, I had discovered, only that morning, that I was to be evicted from the rent-free flat in Bloomsbury I had, for the last six years, called home. In short, I was forty-two, broke and facing the indignity of having to move in with my mother in East Sheen.

As I have mentioned, it was also raining.

I trudged along William IV Street towards Trafalgar Square, dodging umbrellas. At the post office, a group of foreign students, wearing backpacks and neon trainers, blocked the pavement and I was pushed out into the gutter. One shoe sank into a puddle; a passing taxi soaked the leg of my corduroys. Swearing, I hopped across the road, wending my way between waiting cars, and turned up St Martin’s Lane, cut through Cecil Court, and into Charing Cross Road. The world juddered – traffic and building works and the clanging of scaffolding, the infernal disruption of Crossrail. Rain continued to slump from the sky but I had made it doggedly beyond the Tube station before an approaching line of tourists pulling luggage thrust me again out of my path and against a shop window.

I braced myself against the glass until they had trundled past, and then I lit a cigarette. I was outside Hudson & Co, a secondhand bookshop specialising in photography and film. There was a small fiction section in the back where, if I remembered rightly, I had once pilfered an early copy of Lucky Jim. (Not a first edition, but a 1961 orange Penguin with a Nicolas Bentley drawing on the cover: nice.)

I peered in. It was a dusty shop, with an air of having seen better days – most of the upper shelves were bleakly empty.

And then I saw the girl.

She was staring through the window, sucking a piece of long, red hair, her features weighted with a boredom so sensual I could feel it tingle along my fingertips.

I pinched the lit tip off my cigarette, put the remainder in my jacket pocket and pushed open the door.

I am not bad looking (better then, before everything happened), with the kind of face – crinkled blue eyes, strong cheekbones, full lips – I’ve been told women love. I took trouble over my appearance, though the desired result was to make it look as if I didn’t. Sometimes, when I shaved, I noticed the length of my fingers against the chiselled symmetry of my jaw, the regularity of the bristles, the slight hook in the patrician nose. An interest in the life of the mind, I believed, was no reason to ignore the body. My chest is broad; I fight hard even now to keep it firm – those exercises I picked up at Power Pulse, the Bloomsbury gym, over the course of the free ‘taster’ month continue to prove useful. I knew how to work my look, too: the sheepish, self-deprecating smile, the careful use of eye contact, the casual deep-in-thought mussing of my messy blond hair.

The girl barely looked up when I entered. She was wearing a long geometric top over leggings and chunky biker boots; three small studs in the inside cartilage of one ear, heavy make-up. A small bird-shaped tattoo on the side of her neck.

I dipped my head, giving my hair a quick shake. ‘Cor blimey,’ I said in mock-Cockney. ‘Rainin’ cats and dogs out there.’

She rocked gently backwards on the heels of her boots, resting her bottom on a metal stool, and cast a glance in my direction. She dropped the spindle of ruby hair she’d been chewing.

I said, more loudly: ‘Of course Ruskin said there was no such thing as bad weather. Only different kinds of good weather.’

The sulky mouth moved very slightly, as if vaguely in the direction of a smile.

I lifted the damp collar of my coat. ‘But tell that to my tailor!’

The smile faded, came to nothing. Tailor? How was she to know the coat, bought for a snip at Oxfam in Camden Town, was ironic?

I took a step closer. On the table in front of her sat a Starbucks cup, the name ‘Josie’ scrawled in black felt tip.

‘Josie, is it?’ I said.

She said, flatly: ‘No. That was what I told the barista. I tell them a different name every time. Can I help you? Are you looking for anything in particular?’ She looked me up and down, taking in the absorbent tweed, the cords, the leaking brogues, the pathetic middle-aged man that wore them. A mobile phone on the counter trembled and, though she didn’t pick it up, she flicked her eyes towards it, nudging it with her spare hand to read the screen above the cup – a gesture of dismissal.

Stung, I slunk away, and headed to the back of the shop where I crouched, pretending to browse a low shelf (two for £5). Perhaps she was a little too fresh out of school, not quite my audience. Even so. How dare she? Fuck.

At this angle, I smelt damp paper and sweat; other people’s stains, other people’s fingers. A sharp coldness in here too. Scanning the line of yellowing paperbacks, phrases from my publisher’s last email insinuated themselves into my head: ‘Too experimental . . . Not in tune with the current market . . . How about writing a novel in which something actually happens?’ I stood. Bugger it. I’d leave with as much dignity as I could muster and head off to the London Library, or – quick look at my watch – the Groucho. It was almost 3 p.m. Someone might be there to stand me a drink.

I have tried hard to remember if the door jangled; whether it was the kind of door that did. The shop had seemed empty when I entered, but the layout allowed anyone to hide, or lurk – as indeed I was now. Was he already in the shop? Or not? Do I remember the scent of West Indian Limes? It seems important. But perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps it is just my mind trying to find an explanation for something that may, of course, have been random.

‘Paul! Paul Morris!’

He was standing on the other side of the bookcase, only his head visible. I took a brief physical inventory: close-set eyes, receding hairline that gave his face an incongruously twee heart shape, puny chin. It was the large gap between the two front teeth that sparked the memory. Anthony Hopkins, a contemporary from Cambridge – historian, if I remembered correctly. I’d bumped into him several years ago on holiday in Greece. I had a rather unpleasant feeling that I had not come out of the encounter well.

‘Anthony?’ I said. ‘Anthony Hopkins!’

Irritation crossed his brows. ‘Andrew.’

‘Andrew, of course. Andrew Hopkins. Sorry.’ I tapped my head. ‘How nice to see you.’ I was racking my memory for details. I’d been out on a trip round the island with Saffron, a party girl I’d been seeing, and a few of her friends. I’d lost them when we docked. Alcohol had been consumed. Had Andrew lent me money? He was now standing before me, in a pin-stripe suit, hand out. We shook. ‘It’s been a . . . while,’ I said.

He laughed. ‘Not since Pyros.’ A raincoat, pearled with drops, was slung over his arm. The shop assistant was looking over, listening to our conversation. ‘How are you? Still scribbling away? Seen your byline in the Evening Standard – book reviews, is it? We did love that novel you wrote – my sister was so excited when you sold it.’

‘Ah, thank you.’ I bowed. His sister – of course. I’d hung out with her a bit at Cambridge. ‘Annotations on a Life, you mean.’ I spoke as loudly as I could so the little scrubber would realise the opportunity she had passed up. ‘Yes, a lot of people were kind enough to say they liked it. It touched a nerve, I think. In fact, the review in the New York Times said—’

He interrupted me. ‘Any exciting follow up?’

The girl was switching on a blow-heater. As she bent forward, her silk top gaped. I stepped to one side to get a better view, caught the soft curve of her breasts, a pink bra.

‘This and that,’ I said. I wasn’t going to mention the damp squib of a sequel, the disappointing sales of the two books have had that followed.

‘Ah well, you creative types. Always up to something interesting. Not like us dull old dogs in the law.’

The girl had returned to her stool. The current from the blow-heater was causing her silky top to wrinkle and ruche. He was still prattling away. He was at Linklaters, he said, in litigation, but had made partner. ‘Even longer hours. On call twenty-four seven.’ He made a flopping gesture with his shoulders – glee masquerading as resignation. But what can you do? Kids at private school, blah blah, two cars, a mortgage that was ‘killing’ him. A couple of times, I said, ‘Gosh, right, OK.’ He just kept on. He was showing me how successful he was, bragging about his wife, while pretending to do the opposite. Tina had left the City, ‘burnt out, poor girl’, and opened a little business in Dulwich Village. A specialist yarn shop of all things. Surprisingly successful. ‘Who knew there was so much money to be made in wool?’ He gave a selfconscious hiccupy laugh.

I felt bored, but also irritated. ‘Not me,’ I said gamely.

Absent-mindedly, he picked up a book from the shelf – Hitchcock by François Truffaut. ‘You married these days?’ he said, tapping it against his palm.

I shook my head. These days? His sister came into my mind again – a gap between her teeth, too. Short pixie hair, younger than him. I’d have asked after her if I’d remembered her name. Lottie, was it? Lettie? Clingy, definitely. Had we actually gone to bed?

I felt hot suddenly, and claustrophobic, filled with an intense desire to get out.

Hopkins said something I didn’t completely hear, though I caught the phrase ‘kitchen supper’. He slapped the Hitchcock playfully against my upper arm, as if something in the last twenty years, or perhaps only in the last two minutes, had earned him the right to this blokeish intimacy. He had taken his phone out. I realised, with a sinking horror, he was waiting for my number.

I looked to the door where the rain was still falling. The redhaired temptress was reading a book now. I twisted my head to read the author. Nabokov. Pretentious twaddle. I had a strong desire to pull it from her grasp, grab a handful of hair, press my thumb into the tattoo on her neck. Teach her a lesson.

Turning back to Hopkins, I smiled and gave him what he wanted. He assured me he would call and I made a mental note not to answer when he did.

About the author:

Sabine Durrant is the author of two psychological thrillers, Under Your Skin and Remember Me This Way. Her previous novels are Having It and Eating It and The Great Indoors, and two books for teenage girls, Cross Your Heart, Connie Pickles and Ooh La La! Connie Pickles. She is a former features editor of the Guardian and a former literary editor at the Sunday Times, and her writing has appeared in many national newspapers and magazines. She lives in south London with her partner and their three children.

Make sure you check out the other stops on the blog tour:


Blog Tour: City of Drowned Souls by Chris Lloyd – Author Spotlight

Today I’m absolutely delighted to be taking part in the blog tour for Chris Lloyd’s latest novel, City of Drowned Souls, the eBook of which is published today.

City of Drowned Souls is the third novel in Lloyd’s Elisenda Domènech Investigations series, and follows on from City of Good Death and City of Buried Ghosts.


When a child disappears, the clock starts ticking

Detective Elisenda Domènech has had a tough few years.  The loss of her daughter and a team member; the constant battles against colleagues and judges; the harrowing murder investigations… But it’s about to get much worse.

When the son of a controversial local politician goes missing at election time, Elisenda is put on the case.  They simply must solve it.  Only the team also have to deal with a spate of horrifically violent break-ins.  People are being brutalised in their own homes and the public demands answers.

Could there be a connection?  Why is nobody giving a straight answer?  And where is Elisenda’s key informant, apparently vanished off the face of the earth?  With the body count threatening to increase and her place in the force on the line, the waters are rising…

Be careful not to drown.

The stunning new instalment of the gripping Elisenda Domènech crime thrillers for readers of Ian Rankin, Henning Mankell and Andrea Camilleri.

About the Book:

About the Series

City of Good Death


An intense and brilliantly realised crime thriller set in the myth-soaked streets of Girona

A killer is targeting hate figures in the Catalan city of Girona – a loan shark, a corrupt priest, four thugs who have blighted the streets of the old quarter – leaving clues about his next victim through mysterious effigies left hung on a statue.  Each corpse is posed in a way whose meaning no one can fathom.  Which is precisely the point the murderer is trying to make.

Elisenda Domènech, the solitary and haunted head of the city’s newly-formed Serious Crime Unit, is determined to do all she can to stop the attacks.  She believes the attacker is drawing on the city’s legends to choose his targets, but her colleagues aren’t convinced and her investigation is blocked at every turn.

Battling against the increasing sympathy towards the killer displayed by the press, the public and even some of the police, she finds herself forced to question her own values.  But when the attacks start to include less deserving victims, the pressure is suddenly on Elisenda to stop him.  The question is: how?

About the Book:

City of Buried Ghosts


Be careful what you dig up…

Still recovering from the tragedy that hit her team, Elisenda takes on a new case.  Except it’s not new.  On an archaeological dig by the coast a body is uncovered, seemingly executed with a spike thrust through the base of the skull – an ancient tribal ritual.  It soon becomes clear that this body is neither ancient nor modern, but a mysterious corpse from the 1980s.

Assigned to the case along with her team, Elisenda soon uncovers a complex world of star archaeologists, jealousy and missing persons.  They find a dark trade in illicit antiquities, riddled with vicious professional rivalries.  And even though she’s staying close to the crime scene, Elisenda is also never far from enemies of her own within the police force.

Just as the case seems to become clear it is blown wide-open by another horrific murder.  Elisenda must fight her personal demons and office politics, whilst continuing to uncover plots and hatreds that were long buried.  How far will she go to solve the crime?  Is her place in the force secure? And can she rebuild her life?

The atmospheric second crime thriller featuring Catalan detective Elisenda Domènech, for readers of Val McDermid and Ann Cleeves

About the Book:

About the Author


Chris was born in an ambulance racing through a town he’s only returned to once and that’s probably what did it.  Soon after that, when he was about two months old, he moved with his family to West Africa, which pretty much sealed his expectation that life was one big exotic setting.  He later studied Spanish and French at university, and straight after graduating, he hopped on a bus from Cardiff to Catalonia where he stayed for the next twenty-four years, falling in love with the people, the country, the language and Barcelona Football Club, probably in that order.  Besides Catalonia, he’s also lived in Grenoble, the Basque Country and Madrid, teaching English, travel writing for Rough Guides and translating.  He now lives in South Wales, where he works as a writer and a Catalan and Spanish translator, returning to Catalonia as often as he can.

He writes the Elisenda Domènech series, featuring a police officer with the newly-devolved Catalan police force in the beautiful city of Girona.  The third book in the series, City of Drowned Souls, is published on 6 February 2017.



Make sure you check out the other stops on the blog tour:


Blog tour: Burned and Broken by Mark Hardie

I’m delighted to be taking part in the blog tour for Burned and Broken by Mark Hardie, which is currently available to buy as an eBook, and which will be released in paperback in May.


Rating: ★★★★☆

The charred body of an enigmatic policeman – currently the subject of an internal investigation – is found in the burnt-out shell of his car on the Southend sea front.

Meanwhile, a vulnerable young woman, fresh out of the care system, is trying to discover the truth behind the sudden death of her best friend.

As DS Frank Pearson and DC Catherine Russell from the Essex Police Major Investigation Team are brought in to solve the mystery of their colleague’s death, dark, dangerous secrets begin to surface. Can they solve both cases, before it’s too late?

Mark Hardie’s stylish and gripping debut introduces a brilliant new detective duo to the world of crime fiction, weaving together two suspenseful stories that end in a breath-taking finale.

I thought that the structure of Burned and Broken worked really well.  The novel opens with a short prologue which focuses on the death of DI Sean Carragher – currently the subject of an internal investigation.  From there, the novel jumps back in time by four days, and then leads up to and beyond this opening scene.  For me, this structure worked brilliantly – I liked knowing part of the outcome, yet still being able to enjoy the journey as I found out what happened to Sean and how he ends up as he does.

Intertwined with this plot line is a second mystery in which a young woman, Donna, is desperately seeking information as to what happened to her friend.  Alicia’s death was ruled an accident, but Donna is convinced that it was murder, and becomes frustrated when the police won’t take her seriously.  Having run out of alternative options, she takes matters into her own hands.  Whilst I found Donna’s story a little more difficult to get into, I did feel extremely sympathetic towards her character.  She is quite a troubled young woman and extremely vulnerable, although there is strength and courage in her.

Burned and Broken is told from multiple points of view, and I did initially find it a little difficult to keep track of who’s perspective the story was being told from and what their role was, particularly when the perspective changed mid-chapter (although this doesn’t happen often).  It soon became much clearer, however, as I got into the story, and I found this to be a riveting read.

Dark and gritty, Burned and Broken is a great addition to the genre, and I’m looking forward to reading the next instalment in the Pearson and Russell series, Truly Evil, which is due for publication later in 2017.

Many thanks to Clara Diaz and the publisher, Sphere, for providing a copy for review.

About the author:


Mark Hardie was born in 1960 in Bow, East London. He began writing full time after completely losing his eyesight in 2002.  He has completed a creative writing course and an advanced creative writing course at the Open University, both with distinction.

Mark lives with his wife Debbie in Southend-on-Sea.

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Blog Tour: The Dry by Jane Harper

I’m absolutely delighted to be taking part in the blog tour for The Dry by Jane Harper which will be published tomorrow – 12 January – by Little, Brown.


Rating: ★★★★★

Aaron Falk left his home town of Kiewarra 20 years ago.  Against his wishes and his better judgement, he has now returned to the small farming community for the funeral of his one-time best friend, Luke Hadler, after Luke shot his wife and son before turning his gun on himself.

Aaron wants to get the visit over and done with as quickly as possible – Kiewarra brings back a lot of bad memories – but when Luke’s parents ask him to investigate the death of Luke and his family, he can’t refuse.  Aaron works as a Federal Police Investigator in Melbourne, but he’s out of his jurisdiction, and he teams up with the local police officer, Greg Raco, who also has a few questions over the apparent murder-suicide.

The Dry successfully weaves together the investigation into the Hadler family’s deaths with another, older mystery that was never successfully solved, although plenty of people have their opinions about what happened on both counts.  I don’t want to say too much about the second element, as I think that it’s something best discovered by the reader, but the two mysteries come together really well, and both add a great deal of intrigue to the novel.  And I really liked the way that parts of the novel are told through flashbacks giving the reader hints towards both mysteries.  This is a device that can sometimes result in a disjointed novel, but I thought that Harper used it really well in The Dry, and those sections fit seamlessly into the novel, helping to enhance the story.

I absolutely loved the small-town setting of Kiewarra.  It’s one of the those towns where you’ll always be a newbie if you weren’t born there, and where everyone knows each other’s secrets, family history and comings and goings.   This is a town with plenty of family feuds, and Aaron’s return does cause a few sparks for those who thought they’d seen the back of him.  The tense, almost claustrophobic atmosphere is also enhanced by the drought that Kiewarra has been experiencing for the last two years.  Detrimental to the farming community and local economy, it’s easy to understand why tempers are short, and why Aaron’s questions often rub people up the wrong way.

The Dry is, quite simply, astounding.  You’d never know that this is Harper’s debut from the quality of – it has absolutely everything.  It’s well written, has great, well-rounded characters, the mystery has plenty of twists, turns and red herrings, and everything is neatly tied up by the end of the novel.  I absolutely loved it.

The Dry will be published on 12 January.  Many thanks to Grace Vincent for providing a copy for review.

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