A horrible vanishing act…
When a young Josie Masters sees a boy wearing a red football shirt, Dylan Jones, being taken by a clown at a carnival, she tries to alert the crowds. But it’s too late. Dylan has disappeared…
Thirty years later, Josie is working as a police officer in Bath. The remains of the body of a child have been found – complete with tatters of a torn red football shirt. Is it the boy she saw vanish in the clutches of the clown? Or is it someone else altogether?
And then another child disappears…
Firstly a huge thank you to Sabah at avon for my copy and having me on the tour .
The book was delivered by a rather confused postman as it was playing music…creepy music at that. So I had a suspicion I was In for quite a read !
I absolutely loved this book and it’s a debut! Incredible and let’s hope that means there are plenty more boks to follow.
This had everything you need for a psychological thriller.
It was so dark and disturbing at some parts I was actually cowering.
Addictive as I couldn’t read fast enough to find out the truth.
So many twists and turns it’s like a fairground ride .
Unpredictable fast paced and very unsettling especially as a parent !
Can’t praise this enough and has been on my mind all day
Published 8th March and I wish him every success !
Do check out the other blogs taking part in the tour and read on for a extract .
Bath was never quiet, of course, but Friday lunchtime in the summer holidays was pretty close to Jo’s idea of hell. An engine of commerce. Tourists jostling with street performers, gaggles of teenagers up to nothing. Workers – mostly Europeans and South Americans – on breaks from jobs at hotels. People spilling out of cafes, bars and shops. And here and there, the city’s true denizens – Jo’s bread and butter. The drug addicts, leaning towards their next fix. The pickpockets, swimming with the tides. The petty criminals who existed in every city; the grit in the machine.
Jo fought through the pedestrians outside the Assembly Rooms before slipping off into a narrower alley, a row of bikes chained up against a set of railings. She found the hat place, and though at first she thought it must be closed, when she pushed the door, it opened, a bell above her clanking. A small, very elderly man with luxuriant white hair and a stoop looked up from behind a counter.
‘Good day to you,’ he said.
Jo smiled at the unexpected chivalry, but just as she was about to speak, her phone rang again. This time the vibration was different.
‘Excuse me!’ she said, and she backed out of the shop to take the call.
‘Why aren’t you answering?’ said Rob Bridges, her DCI back at the station. ‘Ben’s been trying for the last hour.’
It took Jo a moment to gain her composure. ‘With my mum,’ she said. ‘It’s in the diary.’
Bridges breathed a sigh. ‘Fine, can you talk?’
‘We’ve got a body. Bradford-on-Avon. A kid.’
Jo looked at her reflection in the window of the shop, swal¬lowed. ‘Go on.’