Excerpt with Giveaway ~ Kill Me Twice by Simon Booker

Series: A Morgan Vine Thriller (Book 2) 
Publisher: Zaffre Publishing (August 24, 2017)
Genre: Thriller
ISBN-10: 1785760785
ISBN-13: 978-1785760785
ASIN: B01N7NZUVU
Buy: Amazon, Kindle, The Book Depository

kill-me-twice

Karl Savage is dead.

He must be. His ex, Anjelica, is in prison for murdering him in an arson attack. Multiple forensic experts testified to finding his charred remains.

So when Anjelica begs investigative journalist Morgan Vine to prove her innocence, it seems an impossible task. It doesn't matter that Karl was abusive. That Anjelica has a baby to care for. That she's petrified of fire. The whole world knows Karl is dead.

Then he turns up outside Morgan's window . . .

Thanks to the publisher I have one (1) copy of Kill Me Twice to give away.

Giveaway open to residents of the US only.
Giveaway ends on September 1st


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Winner will have 48 hours from the time of notification to confirm their win or another winner will be chosen.

Hello, and thank you for checking out my website. I’m an author and screenwriter with many credits in primetime drama on BBC1 and ITV. I’ve written original thrillers like The Stepfather for ITV1, penned BBC1 adaptations such as Just William, and worked on long-running series including The Inspector Lynley Mysteries, Holby City and The Mrs Bradley Mysteries starring the wonderful Diana Rigg. I’ve also written romantic comedies for American TV, including Perfect Strangers starring Anna Friel and Rob Lowe (and yes, his eyes really are that blue). I started my writing career with a collection of plays for BBC Radio 4 and have worked extensively as a TV and radio producer, and as a journalist.

I live in London and Deal, Kent. I’m a volunteer facilitator in restorative justice, working with offenders at HMP Brixton. My partner is fellow crime writer Melanie (M.J.) McGrath. We often discuss murder methods over breakfast.

I’ll be blogging and sending out updates and I look forward to finding out about you, too, so please subscribe to my newsletter or get in touch via the Contact Me page.

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Excerpt ~

The weather breaks as Morgan and Lissa arrive at the tower block on the outskirts of Canterbury. Inside, rain lashes the windows of the sixteenth-floor flat, home to Nancy Sixsmith, mother of Karl’s twins – both currently at school. Perched on a red leather sofa, sitting next to Lissa, Morgan watches Nancy light one cigarette from the stub of another. With the windows closed, the flat smells like an ashtray, the air is hard to breathe.

            ‘If you had to sum Karl up?’ says Morgan.

‘Sociopath,’ says the woman without hesitation. ‘Narcissist. Con-man.’ She drags on her cigarette and scratches a patch of eczema on her arm. Her flesh is raw and red, reminding Morgan of the port wine stain on Kiki’s face. ‘Which paper did you say you’re from?’

‘I’m not,’ says Morgan. ‘I’m just looking into the case against Anjelica Fry.’

‘Open and shut, if you ask me.’

‘So people say,’ says Morgan. ‘I’m not so sure.’

 ‘I’ve read up on psychos since,’ says Nancy. Another nod towards the magazines. ‘Wish I’d known before I met him.’ She flicks ash in the direction of the ashtray, missing by several inches. ‘I used to have a life. Job, house, money in the bank. Now I’m stuck with two ADHD kids and I can’t work ‘cause of my nerves. I can’t do the school run, so my neighbour does it – when she’s not off her face on White Lightning – and I have to get my shopping delivered by Asda. I’m a prisoner in my own home.’ She breaks off to give a hacking cough then continues. ‘But the worst part? I let him do this to me. I let it happen.’

The self-pity is unedifying until Morgan remembers the Mail’s reference to a nervous breakdown. Torn between sympathy and irritation she watches Nancy suck on her cigarette.

‘Did he tell you he loved you?’ says Lissa in a quiet voice. Morgan has no trouble filling in the rest of the sentence. Like he told me.

The woman nods.

‘That’s how he gets you.’ The cigarette is burning low. Time to prise the next one from the packet. ‘He reels you in then cuts you dead, leaving you not knowing if you’re madly in love or just mad.’ She fiddles with a hangnail. ‘If you want to know about Karl Savage, watch Batman. The one with the Joker? Heath Ledger in all that make-up?’

‘That’s so how he is,’ says Lissa, leaning forward in her chair. ‘Just like the Joker.’

 ‘Same OTT behaviour,’ says Nancy, too self-absorbed to ask how Lissa knows what Karl is like. ‘Same charisma, same manic energy, same grandiose, sensation-seeking behaviour.’ One last drag on the cigarette. ‘You know when the Joker sets fire to that massive pile of cash?’ Lissa nods. ‘That was Karl,’ says Nancy. ‘It was never about money, always about the game.’ She picks up her mobile, scrolling through the contents. ‘He once phoned at two in the morning, told me to look out the window. Said he had a surprise. So I looked and he was in the driveway, standing next to a car.’

She holds up the mobile. Morgan sees a night-time photo of Karl leaning against a red Porsche.

‘I said, ‘where the hell did you get that?’ He said, ‘I bought it for you.’ But he’d done no such thing; he’d stolen it.’ A sigh. ‘I was in love so I told him to get rid of it and never do anything so stupid again.’

She breaks off to light the fresh cigarette.

‘He went ballistic. How dare I disrespect him, after all he’d done for me? He refused to get rid of the car, so I said, ‘Right, it’s over. I can’t be with a bloody thief.’ She’s scrolling through her mobile. ‘That’s when he sent this.’

She presses ‘play’ and holds up the phone. Karl appears in a video filmed at night. He’s standing on a piece of wasteland, the red Porsche behind him.

‘You don’t want this, Nancy? This car? This man? Fine.’

He steps aside. Flames are visible inside the Porsche. A burning rag is stuffed into the petrol tank. Now the camera jerks wildly, keeping pace with Savage as he breaks into a run. Morgan can hear him panting. After a hundred yards, he stops, the blazing Porsche still visible in the background. Morgan can hear the excitement in his voice.

‘Burn baby, burn!’

The fireball is not like a Hollywood explosion; it’s quieter, a cracking noise rather than a bang. The flames are vivid orange, flickering against the night sky. Then comes the sound of whooping, Karl’s voice bursting with excitement.

‘See this, Nancy? All for you.’

 

 

 

 

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