Sample:
"Driven" is the story of Ben Myall, an ex Royal Marine working with the Police as a civilian support worker. A man who, using Police intelligence, starts to kill paedophiles. The small Police force is overwhelmed by the speed and violence of the killings and realise the offender may be one of their own.
Ben is hunted by a likeable but alcoholic DCI and his Sergeant, hindered by a public who support every killing, even offering to shield the killer or offer financial assistance, despite the risk of prosecution.
The story culminates with Ben being hunted onto the continent where he travels the length of Spain by motorcycle to reach his childhood tormentor.
Ben is driven throughout the story by the "voice" and the story reaches a climax on a cliff top in Spain and culminates with a vicious twist leaving the reader with the decision laid out in the first paragraph.
DRIVEN
Part One. The Red Knight
My murderous ways are something about which I am unable to make any judgement. At some stage during these pages you will have to make the judgement for yourself. The choices are quite clear; I was either insane, possessed, doing the work of God, doing the work of the Devil or possibly the most frightening of all, normal. One thing is for sure, those murderous ways led ultimately to my death.
Insanity would explain the voice and dreams leading up to the murders. However, God or the Devil could conceivably be responsible for both. Of course even normal people have nightmares and hear their own inner voices. All I know is that I don t feel particularly bad and certainly don t have any regrets.
The dreams came before the voice. Like everyone I’d dreamt and had nightmares before, I even went through a stage of sleepwalking for a year or so. This was different. The first was about a pretty girl I’d seen in a shop that day, slim, about 25 and silky blonde hair parted in the middle. That night there she was, naked before me in my dream, smiling over her shoulder as she walked towards a bed. She climbed onto the bed and remained on all fours, with her legs apart, displaying and offering herself to me, with her legs apart, still looking over her shoulder at me, smiling. I could feel my hardness swinging from side to side as I approached her. With one hand round her small waist and on her flat belly and the other holding a large clump of her silky hair I entered her. It felt so good. I moved my hand from her belly to her beautifully rounded buttocks and pushed the soft skin to one side to watch myself sliding in and out of her. But as I did, the flesh of her buttocks just continued to move apart and she actually split open like an over ripe peach. Then the stench hit me. Dark, almost black blood-like fluid was pouring from her along with pieces of dark flesh and maggots. My penis, pubic hair and stomach were covered in a second. I instinctively pulled away and as I did so the hair in my other hand came away with a large piece of scalp revealing the bright red flesh beneath. She turned her head towards me again, but her pretty face had changed to that of a man, a man called Evans, grinning at me as the skin began to decay and drop away from the leering features..
I awoke screaming my bed soaked in sweat beneath me, the pungent stench of rotting flesh still strong in my nostrils. I didn’t make it to the bathroom and vomited on the bed and floor.
Night after night for a full month, each dream in horrific detail and always the smells, aches and pains still with me upon waking. Sleep deprivation at night was causing stress and depression by day. Add to this the voice oh God, the voice.
2
DAY 1:
Detective Chief Inspector Mike Selby looked up from the computer print out before him. He was grateful for any distraction from crime figures. Far too much politics involved in his work he felt. The whole job had become a giant arse covering exercise. Everybody just walking the walk and talking the talk. DS Cosgrove was at his door. The DCI liked Cosgrove. A talented thief taker, his only drawback being an over zealous eye for the ladies, and Cosgrove being an athletic six feet two inches tall with black hair and piercing blue eyes, there were no shortage of takers.
“Shooting sir,” he said.
“Details?”
“Different than anything we’ve had in my time sir. Almost like an execution, male shot at close range, broad daylight, several witnesses, but a small back road in Malton is hardly Chicago is it? Shooter left the scene on a motorbike.”
Selby thought for a moment.
“OK Paul, make sure the scene and all witnesses are secured. Incident room will be here in Setchley. Set it up. I want to visit see the scene. Any ID on the shooter or the bike?”
“Scene and witnesses already secured. I’ll sort the IR now. No luck I m afraid on the ID, shooter kept his crash helmet on and the bike had no plates. We do know the victim though.”
Selby waited.
“Come on then Paul, no time to fuck around.”
“Joseph Edward Scollett.”
“The paedophile?”
“The very same! He was on his way to Malton nick to sign on for his bail, and get this, the shooter brings him down with two shots into the buttocks, then stands over him and shoots him twice in the head.” Cosgrove paused, “a shot through each eye.”
This last piece of information made Selby jerk his head up to stare at Cosgrove.
“I want all his victims and their families checked for alibis. Also, bring in all officers that have dealt with him, and I want a comprehensive list of all his known associates. I don t like the feel of this, I really don’t .
3
The second and third murders came very soon after the first. The clear voice in my head had promised the dreams would stop; and they did. I had already planned the second murder using the information I had borrowed . There were a few finer details to be checked, but I was just about ready. So, just two days after the first murder I set off towards Setchley. Stopping only to leave a couple of field gates slightly ajar.
4
DAY 3:
DCI John Selby was alone in his office again. He had tried so hard, so very hard. But in the end, as he always did, he had succumbed. At 47 years old, rather overweight and losing his hair rapidly he felt vulnerable and alone. Even with the love of his wife and son nothing seemed to dissipate the feelings of loneliness and isolation. The kind of loneliness only found in the secret bubble of alcoholism. He put the plastic cup to his lips and drank the contents. He winced as the neat vodka passed through his system. He still had his eyes screwed shut from the hit, when the phone rang causing him to jump.
Shit!
He picked up the receiver.
“It’s Cosgrove, there’s been another one sir, Setchley this time, Osbourne Road.”
“Shit!”
“It’s another execution type killing, this time the victim is Billy James Price, killed just outside his bail address. Two weapons used. A 22 to bring the victim down and then four rounds from a what we think must be a 45 straight up his arse.”
“Shit!”
Selby was pouring another Vodka. He put the bottle back in the bottom drawer of his desk. He swallowed the contents of the plastic cup.
“Are you there sir?”
He waited for the burning in his chest to subside.
“I’m here. Right. I’m on my way, keep things tight till I get there Paul. We haven’t even got the forensics back on the other one yet. I’m gonna speak with the ACC on this and get some resources allocated. Do you think it could be one of ours doing this?”
Cosgrove thought for a moment,
“Could be, but then it could be anyone from the probation service, courts, civilian police staff. But yes, it could be a copper sir. One other thing sir.”
“This isn’t going to make me say shit again is it Detective Sergeant?”
“The press are here sir.”
“SHIT!”
