Born London 1954 and spent most of my life in Harlow, Essex. I've had no formal training in writing, was not interested in English at school or any subject come to think of it! Left in 1971 with no qualifications to my name. I've had a number of varying jobs over the years including cabinet maker; poll tax recovery officer; handyman and gardener. I also taught martial arts, trained as a bodyguard and am a fully qualified sports masseur.
My first endeavour at putting pen to paper (36" or Bust! A Pennine Way Challenge) came after my completion of the Pennine Way back in 91'. Up till then there had only been one amusing book about the walk so I decided to write my own anecdotal account. I sent it to a publisher and got declined, so it became resigned to sit in my draw until 2012. While experiencing the holiday from hell in La Palma 2011 my wife read an article about self-publishing and the idea to write about the beautiful little bay of Kalami in Corfu was born. We had visited it every year for the past nine years and I had a plethora of incidents and anecdotes tucked away in my head. By 2012 Kalami; Where the Sea Shrugs its Shoulders was published on Amazon followed very shortly by the revived 36" or Bust!.
Spurred on by their success I looked for inspiration to write a fictional novel. That came in the summer of 2013 when I had an Eureka! moment while listening to England beat Australia in the Ashes. Listening to the Aussies losing badly I suddenly had this idea to write about a psychopath that murders people who lose at sports, killing them in a way related to their particular sport. I came up with a plausible reason for his actions and state of mind, formed the investigation around him, gave the story a thrilling ending between him and the detective and Sports Day was born.
Kevin Norris is a psychopath, but he’s particular about his victims. They’ve got to be losers; sports losers. And it doesn’t matter if they’re a player or supporter; if they lose they die, simple as that. And theirs is no ordinary death; they must die in a way related to their chosen sport. Neither age nor gender plays any part in his decision to terminate their existence, but he has his own twisted moral code. If they win he walks away and they’ll never know any different. He thinks that’s fair.
Assigned to his case is DCI William ‘Billy’ Thompson, a copper honed on the tough streets of Sheffield and London but now enjoying the quieter provincial life in backwater Essex, or so he thought. As the body count rises and with no arrests immanent time is running out for Billy to come up with results. With the killings becoming more sadistic Billy knows he must find the killer soon or risk being replaced. But with evidence being non-existent and forensics drawing a blank, the only clue to go on is a calling card left at each murder scene inscribed with a strange epithet. Is this a clue to the killers identity or just a red-herring?
With all lines of enquiry exhausted and no end to the killings in sight Billy is about ready to throw in the towel. But the killer has other ideas.