Publisher Description

London private investigator Jack Barclay is on the trail of financier Tom Stanton who has disappeared with GBP1million of clients' money, leaving his desperate wife and children behind. Stanton's Parisian mistress, Danielle, is also involved with the boss of a drug smuggling cartel and Stanton is seduced into laundering money for them. When GBP4million of drugs cash goes missing and Tom is the suspect, he and Danielle go on the run. The stakes are raised with the kidnapping of Stanton's daughter, and Jack finds himself in a race to find Stanton before the mob do. As he hunts him down, he uncovers a nightmare world of torture, betrayal and murder, putting his own life in danger. Jack quickly realises those who enter the netherworld of the Russian mafia may not get out alive.

Back Cover

London private investigator Jack Barclay is on the trail of financier Tom Stanton who has disappeared with

Author Biography

Harry was born into a journalistic family in Aberdeen. Educated at Robert Gordon's College, he went on to work in newspapers in several UK locations within the Thomson Organisation. In 1967 he joined the BBC's Publications Division and was involved in their fast growing business of book publishing. When based in Leeds, he accompanied many celebrity authors on promotional tours throughout the North and this encouraged his love of reading during the many hours spent in hotels. His genre of choice was always crime and he carried a picture of the type of character he would one day have as a private investigator. Thus was born the endearing character Jack Barclay and to quote Raymond Chandler: 'In everything that is called art there is a quality of redemption.....but down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.' Jack Barclay qualifies as a man who can walk these mean streets. Harry has drawn on countless life experiences to help create a tense, fast paced and highly entertaining novel. He is married with two grown up children and lives with his wife in Berkshire where he is a member of a thriving local writers group. Widely travelled, he is also a frequent visitor to London's theatres and galleries and enjoys wandering around observing life in the Capital. This is balanced by visits to the sea where he loves to write. His golf handicap remains stubbornly in the high twenties.

Excerpt from Book

Chapter 1Approaching the perimeter, he switched off the lights, slowed to a halt, and reversed to within six feet of the weather-beaten brick wall. The only sounds were the ticking of his cooling engine and the distant hum of the night traffic from the M4.He turned around in the cab of the 4 x 4 and retrieved a pair of overshoes and his industrial gloves. Pulling the low beam torch from the door pocket, he slid his feet into the rubber shoes before stepping out. He soft-clicked the door after him and moved to the rear of the vehicle. Raising the tailgate, he slid out two lightweight stepladders and placed one against the cemetery wall. He stood on the first rung and lifted the second ladder over the top, leaning it against the other side. Stepping off, he turned and reached inside the rear of the vehicle. He slid out the bagged body, grunting with the effort as he hoisted it on to his right shoulder. Within a minute he had clambered up and over the wall moving swiftly across the turf to the fresh grave, dumping the bag next to the raised mound of earth and its small temporary wooden cross.He retraced his steps and returned in the same trotting motion with a long handled spade under his right arm and a tarpaulin under the other.Spreading the sheet out on the left hand side of the grave, he removed three bouquets of flowers and the small cross and placed them carefully behind him. The sweat collected under his arms as he began rhythmically moving the topsoil onto the ground sheet. He worked quickly, removing three feet of loose earth. As if on cue he stopped digging, lay down the spade and using his feet, rolled the body bag into the shallow grave barely above the coffin which had been laid to rest only hours earlier. He quickly re-filled the hole and placed the flowers and cross exactly where they had been, standing back to catch his breath and examine the scene in the torchlight. Satisfied the earth mound looked exactly as it would have done to the cemetery''s resident gravediggers when they left it twelve hours ago, he pulled the four corners of the tarpaulin together and dragged the surplus soil to the stepladder and over to his vehicle. Fit as he was, he stopped, bending forwards with his hands resting on his knees, breathing deeply to restore his oxygen levels.He went back for the spade and made a last slow sweep with penetrating eyes to ensure he had left the grave as he found it. Satisfied, he moved swiftly and silently back to the wall, and pulled the ladder up behind him. Climbing over the wall he placed his gear into the back of the vehicle next to the tarpaulin and removed his gloves and overshoes, stuffing them into a canvas holdall.The Land Cruiser moved slowly away from the cemetery and rejoined the narrow lane which eventually fed into the motorway towards London.The rhythms of the night had barely been disturbed in the 43 minutes the disposal had taken - his fastest time yet. Chapter 2Jack Barclay ran his hand through his grey-flecked black hair and looked out of the office window onto Kensington High Street.It was going to be another hot day in the City. He wished he was anywhere but here where the phone remained silent with no one needing the services of a private investigator. He idly stretched his right arm to snag a cobweb caught in a shaft of morning sunlight and sighed as he turned away to pick up his personalised ''I''m all right Jack'' coffee mug.In the beginning, business had ticked over, maybe because of the goodwill of friends. He had been busy, often working long hours to complete projects quickly and surprising his clients. But he knew in this game, word of mouth could only keep you in work for so long. Few of his friends knew of others who needed the services of an enquiry agent. Maybe he shouldn''t have picked his friends so carefully. Anyway he''d maxed out his MasterCard with a 6 x 6 Yellow Pages ad and it was just a matter of time. The phone rang, startling him from his thoughts.''Mr Barclay?'' said a woman''s cultured voice.''Yes, this is Jack Barclay speaking.''''I need to see you.''''Now?''''Of course. When would suit you?'' She spoke rapidly and there was nervousness in her voice. ''It''s quite urgent.'' ''How about one o''clock today?''''That would be fine. My name is Jill Stanton and I know where your office is.'' ''I look forward to meeting you.''Jack sipped his coffee and thought about the call he had just taken. She was Jill and he was Jack. He hoped it wasn''t someone''s idea of a joke. The lady had given nothing away, but the urgency seemed real enough and he needed the work. He decided an early lunch would be a sensible move given his new appointment and tugging his keys from his jacket pocket, he moved towards the door. He closed it behind him and walked down the narrow, airless corridor noting the cracking blue paint and scuffed walls. He often wished his workplace was a little more imposing but hey, three months ago he was newly divorced and found out what it was like to be broke, so one thing at a time.He walked out into the warmth of the Midsummer Day, his tall lean frame and rugged good looks turning the head of a young smartly dressed lady as he headed for Maggie''s Deli.Maggie was busy behind the counter filling a large ceramic bowl with her signature dish of prawns, pasta and flakes of pastrami. She would fill it three more times before the day was out. Her jet black hair, tied at the back, danced from side to side as she started to shake the bowl. She broke into a smile as Jack walked in.''Hi, Maggie. What''s new in the world of food?''She laughed as she stretched across for the pasta bowl. ''Usual?''''Well, you know me. A creature of habit.''She filled his container, spooning in some extra prawns and clicked the top on. Jack paid for his takeaway and smiled.''See you tomorrow, Jack?''''Wouldn''t miss it for anything''Back at the office there were no flashing lights on the phone. No urgent little bleeps. He settled into his chair and prised the top off the lunch box. Putting his feet up on the desk, he dug a fork into the mound of pasta and watched the old wall clock tick round to 12.30.At one o''clock there was a soft knock on the door and almost immediately it opened. Well, there was no secretary on duty. He looked up to see a tall woman with ash blonde hair expensively cut. He''d been warned about moments like this. She looked to be late thirties, with a beige blouse above a light blue pencil skirt hanging just above the knee to show a pair of tanned legs. Tennis, he thought.She gently closed the door, moved across to the front of the desk and stretched out her right hand as she said, ''Jill Stanton. We spoke earlier.''''We did. Please have a seat.'' ''You have been highly recommended Mr Barclay,'' she said, placing an oversize tan handbag onto the floor and carefully crossing one leg over the other.''Well that''s always good to hear.'' He leant back in his chair and looked her in the eye. ''How can I help you?''''I need to find someone''Don''t we all.''From what I hear, you get results.''''Well nothing is ever guaranteed but I''m persistent.''''That''s what I heard.''She re-crossed her legs and looked down as she straightened her skirt. ''I''m a married woman Mr Barclay or at least I think I am. Seven days ago my husband Tom left on one of his regular business trips to Paris but never arrived. He didn''t even get to Heathrow and was down as a no show with the airline. He should have phoned me on the first evening but I wasn''t worried when he didn''t call. He often entertains clients in the evening and I assumed he was busy and would get in touch in the morning. He didn''t, so I called his mobile phone but it went into voicemail. I still wasn''t worried.''She paused and Jack leaned forward and asked, ''What does your husband do?''''He''s in finance. Investment and things. I never really take much interest.''''Go on.''''I rang his office first but they just assumed he was in Paris although they hadn''t heard from him. I phoned around all our mutual friends and business colleagues, and no one knows anything.''''The police?'' interjected Jack.''I phoned the local police station and reported him missing. They took details and have recorded him in the system.''''Did you mention Paris?''''Yes, and details will be circulated abroad too I''m told. They said they get missing person calls every day and invariably the person always turns up. Just gone off the radar for a while. He''ll surface is what they said.''Jack nodded as if in agreement.''They asked me to keep in touch and if he doesn''t turn up pretty soon, they will step up their enquiries. They didn''t seem worried.''''But you think he''s in trouble, don''t you?'' ''Yes. He''s a banker, a creature of habit. He doesn''t go off the radar and he always keeps in touch when he''s away. It''s early days yet but I want to speed things up.''Jack looked at her and said, ''Yes, I think maybe you should. I''ll need an advance to get set up.''''The money will not be a problem Mr Barclay. Just let me know how much you require to get started. Will a cheque do?''''Of course.'' He opened the drawer of his desk, pulled out an A4 pad and rummaged in the mug for a pen ''Do you have a recent photograph of your husband?'' She bent down and reached into her bag bringing out a red leather wallet and unzipped it. She passed him a photo. ''This was taken quite recently.''''Description?''''He''s thirty-eight, six foot and about twelve stone. He has thick dark hair. Keeps it short. He has olive looking skin with brown eyes. He broke his nose playing rugby when he was at school so it''s slightly crooked. Cute though.''''Do you know if his passport is still at home?''''I''ll have to check.''''You need to look out any recent credit card statements and I''ll need details of his business partners.''''God, you make him sound like a criminal.''''I need information to make a start, that''s all. I''m making no judgements.''She nodded.''

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