YOU WERE GONE IS OUT IN PAPERBACK ON 21st FEBRUARY
You can pre-order your copy right here so that it arrives on the day it goes on sale. And once you've blitzed the book and hopefully had lots of fun with it (and maybe chewed a few nails in the process, and maybe sobbed a bit –– because it's sad, not because it's terrible (I hope) –– you'll be able to read a full, no-holds-barred sample chapter from David Raker 10 at the back. Speaking of which…
IN DAVID RAKER 10, A WHOLE VILLAGE DISAPPEARS…
Literally. A whole village. It's out a mere three months after the You Were Gone paperback hits the shops –– that's Thursday 16th May –– so you don't have to wait long for the next Raker instalment. And do you know what's even better? You can pre-order your copy now.
Here's the blurb…
On Halloween night, the residents of Black Gale gather for a dinner party. As the only nine people living there, they’ve become close friends as well as neighbours. They eat, drink and laugh. They take photographs and play games. Except the photographs will be the last record of any of them.
By the next morning, the whole village has vanished.
With no bodies, no evidence and no clues, the mystery of what happened at Black Gale remains unsolved two years on. But then the families of the missing turn to investigator, David Raker –– and their obsession becomes his.
What secrets were the neighbours keeping from their families –– and from each other? Were they really everything they seemed to be?
And is Raker looking for nine missing people –– or nine dead bodies?
And here, for newsletters subscribers only, is a little taster of what's to come –– and confirmation that a certain Irishman is back…
We met at a drab motorway hotel. I'd arrived late because the drive up from London had been so bad, the journey pockmarked by constant roadworks and slowed by congestion, and as I crossed the empty car park, rain hammering against the tarmac, I glimpsed him at one of the windows, partially formed behind a white gauze curtain. He looked like a ghost, a shape drifting in and out of existence, and in some ways, that was what he’d become.
But this ghost was who’d first got me interested in Black Gale.
His obsession had now become my obsession.
The foyer was small and unremarkable, and there was a woman behind the counter, disinterested in who I was and why I might be there. She never looked up at all, didn’t even move, her face washed white by the glow from her monitor. Bland music was being piped out of a speaker close to me, but mostly all I could hear was rain and traffic, and then the intermittent sound of her keyboard.
Off to my left was a narrow room with chairs on one side and a row of vending machines on the other. He was sitting halfway down, nursing a small, plastic cup of coffee, steam spiralling out of it, and had his legs crossed. His body leaned forward slightly as he did, the roundness of his paunch pressing against his thighs, as if he might be nursing a painful stomach, and the angle made him appear smaller than the last time I’d seen him. I tried to remember when that was and realised, despite talking to him on the phone four times a week, every week for three and a half years, I hadn’t actually seen him in the flesh for thirteen months. Before today, we hadn’t had much choice: he was living in a fisherman’s cottage in south Devon that had once belonged to my parents and now belonged to me, and he was doing it in secret, and under the name Bryan Kennedy. That wasn’t his real name. His real name was carved into a headstone in a cemetery in Barnet, and buried under the earth beneath was a body that was supposed to be his. It was all a lie. He’d faked his own death, I’d helped him do it, and if anyone ever found out the truth, we were both going to prison.
So, in the time since, he’d steered clear of the internet and mobile phones – basically, anything that put him on the map – all of his bills were paid by me because he’d never opened a bank account, and we’d agreed never to meet up unless it was absolutely necessary.
I’d spent the three days before coming up from London – and the entire drive here – wondering if what we were doing at Black Gale qualified as necessary.
But, in the end, I'd come.
I'd come because he'd asked me. I'd come because I wanted to. I'd come because a whole village had fallen silent –– and now I simply had to find out why.
Pre-order David Raker 10 here.