Welcome to my stop on David Blake’s Broadland blog tour!

Many thanks to Sarah @ Book On The Bright Side Publicity for the opportunity to take part. I have the excellent prologue to share with you all today, but watch this space for my review!

PROLOGUE

Saturday, 13^th April

A COLD DENSE shadow fell over Jane Richardson as she hurried along the concrete towpath. To her left, moonlight danced over the River Bure’s untroubled surface as it slipped silently past, heading back the way she’d come. A low-hanging branch scratched at her face as she ducked underneath. From somewhere far behind her came the shriek of laughter, slicing through the air, only to fall silent a moment later to leave nothing but the sound of her high heels, click-clacking out a stark but steady beat.

It was late. She knew it was. The sun had disappeared behind the Broads a long time before.

She always started work early and more often than not finished late, and had promised herself on numerous occasions that if it was dark, she’d take the long way home, never the shortcut down by the river. It might be a journey she enjoyed, one she even looked forward to on occasion, but only when it was light. What in the summer months was a relaxing carefree stroll felt more like picking her way through a graveyard at any other time of year. It may be April, and the days were stretching out, but the sun had disappeared over three hours before, leaving nothing but a cold full moon to light her way home.

From deep within the undergrowth to her right she heard something move. That was normal enough. If it had been light she’d probably have been able to see the animal that made the noise, as she often did during the summer. Sometimes she’d even see a rat scurrying about, and stop to watch as it fled across the path in front of her, diving between the riverbank and the thick line of trees.

Then she heard the hard, sharp sound of a twig snapping, just behind the treeline.

Rats don’t snap twigs, she thought, with a prickling of alarm.

It only took a moment for more sensible reasoning to take over, brushing away any concern; after all, it was probably nothing more ominous than a wood pigeon. They were certainly common enough, stumbling their way over leaves and branches as they searched the ground for food, lifting their feet high as they did, before carefully placing them back down.

But pigeons didn’t forage for food at night, at least she didn’t think they did.

Another twig snapped. It sounded thicker than the last. Too thick to have been broken by a pigeon. A fox, perhaps?

Forcing herself along, she turned her head ever so slightly, watching the trees from out of the corner of her eye. But all she could see was layer upon layer of ever-deepening shadows. If there was a fox hiding in there somewhere, she’d never see it.

Facing forward again, she picked up her pace, moving closer to the river side of the path as she did.

There was another sound, like the crack of a branch.

That was no fox!

‘Why’d I come this way again?’ she mumbled to herself, as her heart began to pound deep inside her chest. ‘Oh yes, that’s right. Because it’s a shortcut. Good choice, Jane. Nice one!’

Ahead of her she could just about see the arch of the railway bridge, under which she had to walk. If anyone was going to try and mug her, that was probably the most likely place. Maybe there were two of them; one following her through the trees, the other waiting under the arch.

She peered at it, trying to make out if she could see the outline of someone hiding underneath. But at that time of night, with no street lights this far from town, the shadow under the archway was pitch black.

Checking that her handbag was where it should be, with the strap over her shoulder and the bag itself – her favourite cream leather Gucci – wedged firmly under her arm, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets, fixed a defiant stare ahead, and ploughed forward, mentally preparing herself for the worst. If there was someone lurking under the railway arch, she knew to take her father’s advice, and to avoid eye contact. Instead she should simply ignore them and keep walking. Once she passed under the bridge, her house wasn’t too far away, and if the worst came to the worst she’d probably be able to make a run for it.

As she stepped into the shadow cast by the arch, the click-clack of her heels echoing out all around, from the treeline came the sudden sound of branches being forced apart as someone, or something, forged its way out onto the towpath behind her.

A cold hand of fear crept up her spine.

Her heart was pounding so loudly that she thought whoever, or even whatever, it was standing behind her must be able to hear it.

She should run. She knew she should run; every fibre of her being was telling her so. Instead she found herself turning around to confront whatever it was that had been following her.

If the idea that someone was behind her was terrifying, actually seeing someone there was far worse.

‘Who’s that?’ she called out, bringing her hands out of her pockets, clenching them into fists. There was no way she was going to let anyone take her bag. Not without a fight, they weren’t!

A sliver of moonlight caught the face of the figure, leering at her through the darkness.

Trembling, she blurted out, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

As the figure took a slow but deliberate step forward, a thin dark gash appeared as it opened its mouth, and in a voice barely loud enough to be heard, it said, ‘You’ve got something that belongs to me.’

Doing her best to control her rising fear, with courageous resolve she said, ‘I can assure you that I have nothing that belongs to you. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m calling the police!’

It was a bluff. Her iPhone was buried deep at the bottom of her handbag, which remained jammed up under her arm. It would take time for her to find it, and she wasn’t sure she had any.

The figure took another step forward.

A cold gust of wind drifted over them, moving the branches above, bathing the figure in moonlight.

Jane stopped and stared at the now exposed face.

Almost forgetting where she was, she said, ‘I know you!’

‘You don’t know me!’ spat back the figure. ‘How could you possibly know me?’

‘I – I meant, I’ve seen you before!’

Taking another step forward to join her in the near total darkness under the arch, the figure mumbled, ‘I’ve not come to talk.’

‘Then what do you want?’ demanded Jane, stepping backwards, preparing to run.

As a solid black shadow rose above Jane’s head, in a low harsh whisper the figure replied, ‘Simple! I’m here to take back what’s mine.’

Book Description:

A girl’s body found mutilated by a boat’s propeller, another dumped at the bottom of a slipway, and a disused Norfolk mill, hiding the secret to both.

When a girl’s body is found strangled, raped, and horrifically mutilated by a boat’s propeller, deep in the heart of the Norfolk Broads, newly arrived Detective Inspector John Tanner is asked to assist with the investigation.

At first, all the evidence points to a man who had a multi-million pound reason to kill her. But when an alibi is produced from an unexpected source, and another body appears at the base of a slipway, Tanner finds himself turning to local girl, Detective Constable Jenny Evans for help.

As a more intimate relationship begins between them, they find themselves facing a race against time to identify a lethal adversary, one with a lust for blood and a mind set on revenge.

Set within the mysterious beauty of the Norfolk Broads, this fast-paced British detective series is a murder mystery that will have you guessing until the very end, when the last shocking twist is finally revealed.

Broadland is a totally addictive gripping crime thriller, the first in a chilling series of serial killer books, ones which will rapidly convert followers of Faith Martin, Joy Ellis, Damien Boyd and Helen H. Durrant into David Blake devotees.

A girl’s body found mutilated by a boat’s propeller, another dumped at the bottom of a slipway, and a disused Norfolk mill, hiding the secret to both.

As a more intimate relationship begins between them, they find themselves facing a race against time to identify a lethal adversary, one with a lust for blood and a mind set on revenge.

BIOGRAPHY

David Blake is a full-time author living in North London. To date he has written fourteen books along with a collection of short stories. He’s currently working on his fifteenth, St. Benet’s, which is the follow-up to his debut crime fiction thriller, Broadland.

When not writing, David likes to spend his time mucking about in boats, often in the Norfolk Broads, where his crime fiction books are based.