Today, I’m delighted to be able to show you the cover for my latest novel, The Abattoir of Dreams. This harrowing thriller will be published by Bloodhound Books on 28th February.
The past is never far away.
Michael Tate has not had an easy life. With his
father in prison, and his mother dead, Michael
was sent to Woodside Children’s Home.
Now an adult, Michael wakes up from a coma in
hospital suffering from amnesia and paralysis.
Confused and terrified, he is charged with the
fatal stabbing of his girlfriend, Becky. He also
learns he attempted to end his own life.
Detective Inspector John Carver is determined
that Michael is sent to prison.
With no way of defending himself, Michael is
left in his hospital bed awaiting transfer to remand.
But then strange things begin to happen and his
childhood comes back to haunt him.
Can Michael ever escape the past?
Will he ever discover the truth about Becky’s
And why is DI Carver so eager to make him suffer?
The Abattoir of Dreams is a bitter sweet story of murder, innocence and abuse.
I’d also like to share the first chapter of the book with you. I hope you enjoy it.
Nurse Emily Dixon fussed with my bedsheet and fixed me with a smile that seemed more professional than friendly. ‘There’s someone here to see you, Michael.’
‘Detective Inspector Carver. Thames Valley police.’
‘Has he found my memory?’
‘I think it’s more serious than that.’ She left, replaced by a tall, slim man in a charcoal suit.
‘Hello, Mr. Tate.’
There was something about his lopsided grin I didn’t like. Half-sincere, perhaps? ‘Hello.’
‘I see they’ve given you your own room.’
Wasn’t I the lucky one.
He sat on a chair next to the bed. ‘Do you know why I’m here?’
‘No.’ I wiped sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. There was a fan on top of a five-drawer unit by the window; its blades didn’t so much as spin but lurch, like a buckled wheel. Next to the unit, a wheelchair, my only mode of transport in this brave, new, paralysed world. If anyone ever bothered to hoist me out of the bed, that was.
‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Michael. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?’ Continue reading