I have just finished wwriting the sixth novel in the series, about a psychopathic young woman. The working title is "Wicked Crimes".

Updated August 2017


September 2015

‘Now. Let’s jump now. Let’s do it.’

He looked at her as she spoke and saw the gleaming eyes, wild with a passion that was beyond anything he’d experienced with anyone before. She’d had to shout to make herself heard above the roaring wind and crashing waves, breaking on the rocky shelf upon which they stood.

‘Now’s the moment. Let’s do it. We agreed.’ She turned to face him as she shouted the words, as if she could sense his doubt.

At last he responded. ‘Okay. Take my hand. We’ll do it together. That will make it more special.’ It was hard holding himself here, on the edge of this rocky shelf, battered by the wind and getting his face lanced by the sea-spray as if a hundred tiny needles were being flung at him every minute. As each moment passed he felt his commitment weakening, his uncertainty growing. He looked at her again, and then he noticed it. Or had he imagined it? A sly look of triumph that was there and then gone? What was happening? A germ of  doubt was growing inside him. He could feel it gnawing at his soul.

‘I said take my hand. We’ll jump together,’ he repeated, trying to hold her gaze. But her eyes were unsettled, flickering everywhere. ‘That’s what I always thought we’d do. We’ll end it all still touching each other. Surely it’s what you want, isn’t it?’

She nodded energetically. He could hardly hear her words above the roar. ‘Yes, yes. It’s what I want. It’s for us. This life is no good any more, not for us. It’s going rotten on us and we have to end it. We have to jump.’

‘So take my hand. What’s holding you back?’

‘You jump first and I’ll follow you. You’re my true love, the one I’ve always followed. You go first.’

‘No,’ he shouted. ‘It has to be together. It has to be both of us at the same time. What’s wrong?’ Something was changing in her. For the first time he could feel it. He could sense something different. And yet it had been her idea to end their turbulent, passionate affair in this way. She’d planned it down to the last detail. The place, here on Dancing Ledge, and the wait until the right weather conditions, on a grim, stormy day. All this despite his own doubts. And now, when it came down to it, something in her was changing.

‘Take my hand,’ he shouted.  He needed  to be sure.

She came close, her long, red hair blowing wildly in the wind. And then he realised. She’d bought a four hour parking ticket. Why had she done that? Why had she bothered if they were both going to be dead within a couple of hours? Why four hours? It had taken them an hour and a half to walk here along the coast path. He looked at her again. She could get back to her car before the ticket became overdue. What was going on? Too late. He felt her hand push into the small of his back and he plunged forward into the wild water.

* * *

The young woman, her hair still blowing wildly in the wind, moved closer to the edge of the shelf, peering  into the maelstrom below. His body crashed twice onto the rocky outcrop with sickening force then vanished. She pulled her collar up around the back of her head, tucking her long locks inside the soft corduroy material. She curled her lip.

‘Did you really think I was going to kill myself for you? Fucking loser.’ She spat a gobbet of saliva into the foam, laughed and turned on her heels. It was a long walk back to the car park in Swanage. Better get a move on.