The Blurb:
Once, her heart was empty. Now it's filled with ice…
Ellen's therapist told her to forget the past, but the life she’s left with is boring. All she wants is to be happy and normal, but the approaching long bleak nights of winter loom heavy before her, especially as she'll be alone.
But when the secrets her mother put in place to protect her are exposed, Ellen learns the frightening truth. Her history is darker than she imagined. She's not who she thinks she is, and the real her is a very different person to the one that others have mistreated and exploited.
If there's hope of a future, Ellen must find answers about the past, and the new Ellen is less forgiving. This winter, there will be more than just discontent, and DI Barton will struggle in his hardest case to date.
How can he find the truth when all the victims and witnesses are dead?
The Ice Killer was published by Boldwood Books on 5th November 2020 and you can buy it here.
I am not ugly, but neither am I beautiful. If someone described me, the word they would probably use is tall, even though I’m only five feet nine. It’s because I have slim, toned arms and legs but no bottom or breasts to speak of. Quantrill once said I had the arse of an old man, which I’ve tried hard to forget. Strong teeth and thick hair can’t make up for my normal aloof expression, which Scarlett calls my resting witch face.
I park outside Scarlett’s house in the lovely, peaceful village of Stilton and wait for the electronic gates to open. It must be nice to live here. Imagine being able to come and go as you please without speaking to anyone if you don’t want to. Although Scarlett says the isolation drives her mad.
It’s hard to say if we’re friends. If you looked the word up in a dictionary, it wouldn’t be a close match to what we have. That said, we attended the same senior school as well, and she was never outwardly unfriendly like some of her group. I never really fitted into any specific clique, and certainly not hers. I preferred the company of a rag-tag bunch who stayed together because we didn’t suit anyone else. I’m notin touch with any of them now. It’s as if, when school finished, we fled from each other in the hope of something better.
Scarlett and I flitted in and out of each other’s lives over the years. We bumped into each other in a nightclub a few years after sixth form finished and occasionally went out together or met for coffee. The acquaintance would gradually peter out, then we’d pick up months down the line. I suspect we don’t particularly like each other, but I have few other options.
I used to keep a diary for events such as tonight. I began doing this after my first Valentine’s date twenty years ago. I recall filling it in and thinking how we’d be able to look back at it and smile when we were married and retired. It was date four when I realised how crazy that was. This evening will be my twelfth Valentine’s date. I hope he doesn’t bring twelve red roses, although that might be a sign.
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