Hello Hello everyone, here we are again on this dreary Thursday afternoon with an excerpt from Jon Richter's new book 'Deadly Burial'. please note that there are some swear words within the excerpt. Read on and enjoy.
BLURB
When DI Chris Sigurdsson is assigned a grisly murder case on remote Salvation Island, he knows that it might be his strangest yet.
A forgotten wrestling star of the 1980s has been poisoned whilst in the ring, and amidst the slippery lies of his dangerous opponents, unravelling the victim’s murky past is almost impossible.
And as a storm threatens to cut Salvation Island off from the mainland, the race is on for Sigurdsson to find the ruthless killer before he strikes again…
The book is on sale at the following link:
Amazon UK
EXCERPT
Like everything he had seen so far on Salvation, the place was threadbare, faded. A sagging boxing ring occupied one corner, surrounded by punching bags and free weights, and the rest of the freezing space was haphazardly crammed with old running machines and other equipment. Resigned to being uncomfortably cold and damp throughout his visit, Sigurdsson paid the man the visitor’s fee and began to warm up on one of the bikes as he surveyed the other attendees. A few other people were using the facilities, all men, and all paid little heed to him as they grunted and strained in front of the grubby mirrors in the weightlifting area.
One of them was Tall Paul.
Despite not wearing his suit and sunglasses, he was clearly identifiable, not just from the long mane of blond hair now tied back into a ponytail, but from his immense and intimidating muscularity. Now wearing baggy shorts and a huge sleeveless vest that looked like it had been adapted from a four-man tent, his massive arms bulged as he heaved huge weights with apparent ease. Sigurdsson noticed that the other men seemed to keep a respectful distance away from him as he lumbered around the equipment.
Swallowing down his apprehension, he approached Dixon as the giant lay down at the bench press.
‘Need someone to spot you?’ Sigurdsson asked with a friendly smile.
‘What are you, gay?’ Dixon asked aggressively, his voice a testosterone-choked rasp with a strong cockney twang.
Unfazed, Sigurdsson replied, ‘I’m not the one that rolls around with half-naked men in the evenings.’
Dixon’s face clouded with rage, and as he sat up, Sigurdsson felt hot fear knife through his guts. But the monstrous man just slowly wiped his face with a sweat towel, and addressed Sigurdsson’s reflection in the mirror in front of them.
‘I know who you are. You’re the copper from last night,’ Dixon spat.
‘That’s right,’ Sigurdsson replied evenly. ‘We’ve been trying to get hold of you today, because we’re keen to bring you in to the station. We want to ask you a few questions.’
‘Well... here I am.’ Dixon held his arms wide, eyes still smouldering as he glared at Sigurdsson, as though contemplating squashing the detective’s skull between his colossal hands. ‘Ask away.’
Sigurdsson knew that the police had no power to force the muscleman to appear at the station unless he was under arrest, so this was probably his best opportunity to quiz him.
‘We spoke to David Zheng today,’ he said, meeting the other man’s stare. ‘He told us that steroids are in widespread use at the promotion.’
Dixon remained intense, unblinking.
‘Doesn’t surprise me. Some of the lads there want to look the part but can’t be bothered to put the shift in at the gym. Me on the other hand... I’m one hundred per cent organic.’
With that he stood up and walked across to another stack of weights, forcing Sigurdsson to follow him. He selected an enormous pair of dumbbells and began to perform alternate bicep curls.
‘We’re very keen to find out who supplies the drugs,’ Sigurdsson continued. ‘We think they might have something to do with Valiant’s death.’
Dixon switched to lateral raises, lifting the weights outward from his body with straight arms. He answered as he exhaled.
‘Well, good luck with that... I don’t know nothing about it... maybe you should talk to Penman.’
He let the weights drop from his sides to the floor with a loud clang. Sigurdsson jumped, and he saw a nasty grin flicker across Dixon’s face.
‘What exactly is your relationship with Penman?’ Sigurdsson asked, trying to compose himself. The big man shrugged. ‘He’s the boss,’ he replied simply.
‘How did you end up working for him?’
‘I like the wrestling. It’s more interesting than being a bouncer.’
‘Is that another job you do?’
‘Used to.’
‘What else do you do?’
His malicious grin widened. ‘I’m a jockey.’
He bent to retrieve the weights and began another set of lifts, muscles bunching like knotted wood.
‘You don’t like the police, do you Paul?’ Sigurdsson asked.
‘Oh I dunno, I thought that ginger one was all right,’ he leered. ‘She your boss is she?’
Sigurdsson ignored the remark. ‘How well did you know Valiant?’
‘Not very.’
‘What did he do on Friday night?’ Dixon dropped the weights again, the mirth suddenly disappearing from his face. He tilted his head as he regarded Sigurdsson, eyes suddenly wide and intimidating, looming above the policeman like an ogre.
‘He fucking died mate,’ he intoned. ‘And if you’re going to waste your time pestering me, you aren’t going to figure out how it happened.’
‘What if you did it?’ Sigurdsson retorted, meeting the giant’s stare from over a foot lower down. ‘What if you’re the one selling steroids to the others, and Valiant did something to get your back up... so you killed him?’
Dixon took another step closer, the vast slab of his chest almost touching the smaller man’s nose. He reeked of sweat as he stared down at Sigurdsson.
‘If I wanted to kill someone, detective, I wouldn’t use fucking poison.’
Silence fell. Sigurdsson was aware that the other men in the gym were watching from their machines on the other side of the room. He thought about how easily Dixon could demonstrate this point – how even a big man like Schultz would have had no chance against the monster if they’d come to blows. Abruptly, a smile split Dixon’s face, and he whacked Sigurdsson playfully on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over.
‘Just messin’ with you, detective. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
He continued to chuckle as he turned to stride across towards the locker room, calling over his shoulder.
‘Best be off, anyway. If I think of anything I’ll be in touch. Have a good workout.’
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jon Richter lives in London and spends most of his time hiding in the guise of his sinister alter ego, an accountant called Dave.
When he isn’t counting beans, he is a self-confessed nerd who loves books, films and video games – basically any way to tell a good story.
Jon writes whenever he can and hopes to bring you more disturbing stories in the very near future.
If you want to chat to him about this, or about anything at all, you can find him on Twitter, or at his Facebook page.
GIVEAWAY
You can win yourself a eBook copy of the book by entering below - this giveaway is International.
Doesn't this book sound so intriguing. Be sure to check out Jon on social media
HAYLEY
No comments
Thank you so much for checking out my blog. All comments are welcomed and appreciated.