They thought that they had all the power, until she took it from them.
A killer hunts abusive spouses, blogging about their sins post-kill. Soon the murders and the brazen journaling draws the attention of Police Scotland’s CID.
This killer works with surgical preparation, precision and skill, using a unique weapon of her own and never leaves a trace of evidence behind.
Edinburgh’s DI Kathy McGuire, nearing the end of her career, begins the hunt for the murderer as a media frenzy erupts. But McGuire might have met her match…
What has led this killer to take the law into her own hands?
Is the woman accountable really a cold-hearted killer or a desperate vigilante?
This is a thriller that stands out from others in the genre. Written in a way that allows the reader to learn about the inner working of Alice’s mind, it gives you plenty to think about as you read. The author doesn’t mess around, and takes you straight into the story to meet Alice and find out what she does.She doesn’t use her real name, but goes by the brilliant pseudonym of Tequila Mockingbird as she kills men who have abused their wives/partners. She then tells people about each kill on her blog.
I really enjoyed this fantastic book, and thought Alice was a brilliant character. I also thought it made a nice change to have someone like Kathy in charge of the murder investigations. Her maturity and personality made a nice change to the male pairings often in charge of such high profile cases. Some parts of the book are graphic and violent, but are included to show Alice’s feelings towards the men she kills.
You’re always told that two wrongs don’t make a right, but with these killings it seems to – I found myself thinking that these men deserved everything they got. And it seems that revenge is a dish best served ice cold by Alice! I can’t speak highly enough of this excellent book, and urge anyone who hasn’t yet read it to go to Amazon and treat themselves.
Find Ice Cold Alice here on Amazon.
And now, over to Mark to introduce an extract he’s kindly offered to share with us:
The following excerpt, titled The Tanzanite Ring, comes from a novel I’m working on with a writer I’ve worked with on several projects named Ryan Bracha. Ryan and I work well together, and he’s one of the finest writers I know.
Ryan suggested the concept which is to use the Excuisite Corpse mechanism to tell the story.
I’m writing the main plot narrative (set in the past) and giving Ryan an item with which he will base the present part of the story on.
I’m also doing a couple of present sections. The Tanzanite Ring is one of my contributions,
Hope you enjoy.
The Tanzanite Ring
The high and muddy Seine slid beneath the bridge, hurriedly winding through the city; no care for its residents, its beautiful buildings nor an appreciation of a stunningly crisp winter evening. Sebastian checked the deep pocket in his overcoat for perhaps the seventh time in the last fifteen minutes.
The shape of the box within settled his nerves and caused his eager heart to skip a beat. Eleanor would be here any moment. Memories of their last visit to this spot together simmered to the surface warming Sebastian more thoroughly than the steam venting through the nearby grates.
He and Eleanor, in Paris. Walking the streets, loving the city. Right here on this very bridge they’d locked their love alongside hundreds of other metal declarations, giggling at the cheesiness of the act but brought closer somehow by it. As though a little padlock bought for two Euros from an opportunistic vendor, could deepen their love. But, somehow, it had.
Have three years really passed since last we had been in the city together?
So many other cities and countries explored together since.
Sebastian clutched at the box in his pocket once more as he scanned the padlocks and their messages to pass the time. A rough vibration from his phone shook Sebastian from his reverie. Checking the face, he confirmed the alarm he’d set.
Time to meet Eleanor by Notre Dame.
I see her long before she notes my presence. Content to watch her for a few moments, I step back, cloaking myself in the deep shadows of a nearby statue. She’s right on time. Continue reading