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The perfect man.
The perfect life.
The dead body on the beach.
Investigative reporter Ellie has just given up her life in London to be with the man of her dreams in Sweden when she stumbles across a half decomposed skeleton on Midsummer’s eve.
She’s flung into a murder investigation in a country where she doesn’t speak the language and doesn’t know a soul.
Except Johan.
The love of her life.
Who she is beginning to suspect knows a lot more about the body than he is admitting.
Is he the perfect man, or has Ellie uncovered the perfect crime?
A psychological suspense thriller with a twist of Scandi noir - perfect for fans of The Girl on the Train, Gone Girl and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
Genre: FICTION / Thrillers / CrimeIt is released tomorrow so none yet!
My previous books have sold over 3500 copies and I was selected as a Spotlight Author at Bloody Scotland in 2018.
What were the chances I’d meet the man of my dreams, fall absurdly, appallingly, head over heels — all that whirlwind, meant to be, love at first sight cheesy crap I’d spent a lifetime making puking faces at behind my friends’ backs — pack up my life and move to Sweden, only to have him be eaten by a bear whilst having a slash in the woods?
I mean knowing my luck, not out of the question, but he'd only been gone a few minutes. And I was fairly sure they didn't have many bears in Sweden, not just outside Stockholm at any rate. He'd be back any second.
The minute the ferry dropped us off on the tiny island on the farthest reaches of Stockholm’s archipelago, Johan had announced he was off for a pee, and the thick forrest that began just beyond the little rocky beach behind me appeared to have eaten him whole. I glanced at my phone, but as I hadn’t checked the time when he disappeared, it did nothing to confirm whether he had been gone for two minutes, or ten or twenty.
It had been at least ten minutes, I was sure. Maybe closer to twenty. No, probably five, at most.
I'm really shit at judging time.
A huge sky awned over the worn, sun-bleached jetty where I sat, bright and clear and unbroken by so much as a single cloud; the air smelt fresh and pure, with a slight tinge of sweetness from the pine forests that seemed to cover every island I could see. The water was so crystal clear that I could see pinky-grey pebbles twinkling in the sun several feet below the surface. It was all flawless and pristine and empty. We ain’t in Wandsworth any more, Toto.
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French
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Florian Porceillon
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