D.A. Crossman
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Born in Durban, South Africa. Raised in South East London and now living a quiet life in Canterbury, New Zealand. Father of three girls. Now I am semi - retired, my duties are cleaning, shopping, washing, cooking, chauffeuring and gardening. We live on a small farm, with a pony, a ram, two chickens and seven cats. 'The last days at White Cloud Air' is my first novel. I have just completed a second book, set in Brighton UK, in the days immediately prior to the 1984 bombing of the Grand Hotel.
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The last days at White Cloud Air
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crime/political thriller
New Zealand 1998. As the century draws to a close, the new digital age is reaching out to the masses. The government is continuing with its fire sale of strategic assets, mobile ‘phones are all the rage and Vitamin V is the new wonder drug on the market. In Auckland four dangerous prisoners escape from Paraparemo prison and in Christchurch a sinister Doctor is sexually assaulting his patients. Eight years after eluding the British Police, Mark has a new identity and a quiet life in a backwater Canterbury town. But when his wife is brutally attacked, Mark’s new life begins to seriously unravel. Mark sets out for revenge, but he gets more than he bargained for when the hunt for his wife’s assailants leads to the discovery of a criminal conspiracy that goes all the way to the top of the political establishment. Set against the political background of the times, ‘The last days at White Cloud Air’ is a tale of one man’s resolve in a deadly game of blackmail, extortion and murder. Available in Kindle, Paperback, and large print Paperback 
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The Black Peacock Club
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Crime
The job was simple. Find out who stole the priceless Holbein drawings. Steal them back. Sell them to the highest bidder. Get rich. If only. First there was the murder of the art dealer, and then the book went missing. A book of names, secret names, identities of those who would prefer to remain; nameless. Then there was the girl, the politician, and the gangster. Now it wasn’t just the drawings and the book. Now he had to get his hands on the diamonds as well. Tricky. He would have to play it deftly, cloak and dagger, cat and mouse. And what of the gangster’s captivating wife, the mercurial chanteuse at the Black Peacock Club? Did she know where to find the drawings? Of course there were other interested parties; Mossad, Odessa, two bent coppers, and an army of Tamil Tigers. And, most of all, the Irishmen. He would have to work fast. Time was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Brighton, nineteen eighty-four. The annual Conservative Party conference is about to begin, and the gentlemen in Whitehall are nervous. Assassins are abroad and they will strike at the heart of the British Government. He’s fresh out of prison, and he’s a black man in a white man’s world; Matt Waters has one last chance to redeem himself… 
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