Tag: historical crime

Lots More Cathy Marsden

On By chrisnickson2In Cathy Marsden, leeds1 Comment

Two big Cathy Marsden pieces for you. The first is that the second book with her, The Faces Of The Dead, will be out next April. Here’s a taste of the opening:

Leeds, late March, 1944

‘This had better be very important,’ she said as she slid into the passenger seat of the Humber.

            George Andrews started the car, put it into gear and  set off down Brander Road.

            ‘Boss’s orders. He wants us all in the office as soon as possible.’

            Cathy glanced over her shoulder, seeing Tom standing alone on the pavement.

            Even perfect weeks had to end.

*

A sunny March Monday that held the promise of an early spring, and she was stuck in the office with the rest of the squad, reading over reports that needed to be filed. The door with Special Investigation Branch painted on the glass stood open, but by afternoon the air was warm, thick and sultry. All she wanted was to be outside, doing something beyond the routine of paperwork. The telephone bell jangled and Smithy handed her the receiver.

            ‘For you,’ he said. ‘Some bloke.’

            ‘This is Sergeant Marsden.’

            A rough, crackling connection, booming with background noise. Suddenly she heard a voice she’d often dreamed about during the last three years. The words flooded out; he’d just landed in England, he had two weeks’ leave and he’d be back in Leeds tomorrow. Before she could reply, the line died.

            Her head was suddenly whirling in twelve directions at once, heartbeat galloping in her chest. Less than twenty-four hours and Tom would be here. It didn’t seem possible. Not after all this time.

            She took slow, shallow breaths, trying to calm herself.

‘We don’t have anything big right now, do we?’ Cathy was a bag of nerves as she stood by Faulkner’s desk. He was the boss; he made the decisions. But he’d seemed distracted lately. If there was any problem at home, he’d never discuss it in the office; he kept work and personal life separate.

‘You already know that,’ he answered, narrowing his eyes. ‘Why?’

‘That was Tom. He’s just stepped off the boat and he has a fortnight up here.’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t give you that long.’

‘A week,’ she said. ‘Come on, you know I have more leave than that due. We all do.’ She gazed at him hopefully. ‘I’ll come back if anything happens.’

            Faulkner chuckled. ‘Go on, then. I must be getting soft. A week. Make the most of it. But,’ he added, ‘be sure you’re available in case something comes up.’

First thing Tuesday morning she was at the salon on the parade, begging Edna to squeeze her in and tidy up the pageboy cut.

            At home, her clothes were strewn across the bed as she tried on one after the other, wanting the perfect outfit to welcome him back. She was desperate to see him, but scared, too. Questions kept spinning through her brain: after so long apart, could they fit together again? Those censored letters they’d exchanged were all very well, but so much had happened to them both that they could never start to explain on a page.

            By four o’clock she was ready. She chose a burgundy cotton frock with white piping that she’d bought shortly before clothes rationing began. Five minutes with the iron to take out the wrinkles, top it with a thin cardigan, a few touches from her tiny stock of rationed make-up and that was it. She felt the anticipation surging through her body. She was excited. Hopeful. Overwhelmed. Terrified. Everything jumbled together as she tried to drink a cup of tea.

            The knock came at six just as the sound of Big Ben announced the news on the wireless. Butterflies fluttered around her stomach as she turned the doorknob.

It’s a twisted tale and you can see why: Cathy Marsden’s happiness at her boyfriend Tom’s brief leave from the army and marriage proposal is short-lived as she embarks on a new case in the Special Investigation Branch.

Eric Carr, a local gangster, is dead after crashing his car on the outskirts of Leeds. Not only that, but an alarming discovery is made in the boot: weapons, including guns, stolen from a US military base, to be sold on the black market.

Was the crash simply an accident, or something more sinister? One thing’s for sure – Eric’s death has set a chain of murder and gangland chaos in motion. As the number of people disappearing increases, and men start dying, Cathy must work out who is pulling the strings, and why.

You can pre-order the book right here. But before you do, why not read No Precious Truth, the first book in there series. The Kindle version is currently just £4.99 ($9.99 in the US). Almost as cheap as a coffee…go here and click buy. I promise you won’t regret it.

Oh, before I forget, here’s the cover from The Faces Of The Dead. Now, don’t you want to read it?

A Week After Publication And A Special Offer

On By chrisnickson2In leeds, simon westowLeave a comment

A Rage Of Souls has been out in the world for just over a week. I’m grateful to everyone who’s bought it and (hopefully) enjoyed the book.

I’ve attempted some wit in marketing it in photos, puns around the theme of rage. Has it worked? Who can tell. But it amuses (me, if nobody else), and perhaps it jogged one or two people into buying.

All the Rage

That first week is crucial for a book. It’s when that critical first momentum takes place. This book has been off to a good start. The trick is to try and keep that going.

Maybe this can give sales a little boost. None of it is my doing; I’m not sure my publisher had a band in it, either. Whatever the reason, I’m not complaining.

Out- Rage

In the UK, the price for the Kindle version has dropped to £7.99 – you can buy it here. A hair over two cups of coffee. It’s $9.99 in the US (follow this link). If you’ve been thinking about a punt on it but felt it was too expensive before (it was, in my view), now is your time. I honestly think the book will convince you once to start reading. You can always download a free sample and try it out. How’s that for a deal.

It does get better. If you like that, Them Without Pain, the book that preceded it in the series, is only £8.54 in the Uk (look here) and £8.99 for the hardback. The US hardcover is $18.54. The entire series is very reasonably priced; the first two are just £2.99 for the ebooks.

A Rage Of Souls is the final Simon Westow novel. I’d be very grateful if you gave him a grand send-off.

Thank you.

Let Me Pique Your Interest

On By chrisnickson2In leeds, simon westowLeave a comment

Two minutes, that’s all…two minutes out of your busy day to travel back 200 years and peer into the darkness and mystery with A Rage Of Souls. Go on…you know you want to. It’s the final Simon Westow novel.

Leeds, April 1826

Simon Westow looked up from the Leeds Intelligencer. The house was quiet, their twin sons Richard and Amos off at their lessons at the grammar school.

‘Do you remember Frederick Fox?’ he asked.

Rosie was stirring a pot on the range. ‘Of course I do. What’s happened? Have they finally hanged him?’

‘He’s been pardoned.’

 ‘What?’ She let the spoon clatter against the pan. ‘Why?’

He folded the newspaper and placed it on the table. ‘It doesn’t give the reason. All done at the last minute, apparently. He was standing on the scaffold in York when the message arrived.’ ‘That’s probably an exaggeration. You know they always try to make it sound dramatic.’

Rosie pressed her lips together. ‘Still, I wonder what happened. Maybe he knows someone important.

A man in dark, sober livery was standing on the step, a serious look on his face. Someone’s servant, Simon thought. He made a hasty bow and handed him a folded note.

‘Mr Barton said to bring you this, sir.’

‘Thank you.’ He fumbled in his pocket, found a halfpenny and pressed it into his hand. With a smile and a thank you, the man drifted away.

At the kitchen table, Simon broke the seal.

Mr Westow,

No doubt you saw the news that Fox was granted a reprieve from death. When that happened, I imagined he and his wife would go somewhere nobody knew them and find a new life. However, since last week, I believe I’ve seen him following me three times. At first, I decided it had to be my imagination. With the second instance, I was a little less sure. The third happened yesterday morning, and I’d swear an oath it was Fox. Always at a distance, with no attempt to speak to me or threaten me. I’m not a man easily given to fright, but this worries me, more for my wife than myself. I will gladly pay you to discover what’s happening and to keep us safe.

Your servant,

James Barton

He read it through once again and began to plan.

It’s out in under a month. You can pre-order it right here, but if you can, please buy from an independent bookshop. In the UK, this place has the best hardback price, plus free postage.

What are the critics saying?

“Nickson vividly evokes the atmosphere of nineteenth-century Leeds and keeps the plot tense and twisty throughout. A good pick for historical-mystery fans.” Booklist

“A first-rate, complex mystery that delves deeply into the many social injustices of the
time.” Kirkus Reviews

Ask your library system to order a copy. That way it’s there for everyone.

Go on, click those links…

The Final Book

On By chrisnickson2In Cathy Marsden, leeds, simon westow2 Comments

October will bring the publication of A Rage Of Souls, the eighth Simon Westow novel. A couple of people who’ve read it feel it’s the darkest yet in the series – which surprised me; it never struck me that way when I was writing it. Shadowed and sorrowful, yes. But the series had always had shaded undercurrents and that sense that violence might explode.

Yes (I think) there’s always been hope in there too, some light amongst everything else.

She sat outside the cottage, quietly reading her book and relishing the warmth of the afternoon sun. Even through the fine layer of haze and smoke that always hung over the town, the heat was comforting.

When the bell at the parish church pealed half past five, Jane set the book aside and brought a knife from her pocket, spending five minutes honing its sharpness. She knew this blade. It had saved her life and served her well. Readiness could mark the distance between life and death. Her attention had slipped once, and she’d paid for it with her little finger. Simon had let down his guard for a single moment and now he walked with the consequences.

As she approached Barton’s house, she paused to study Sally. When they met, the girl had been a child of anger. It was fury that had kept her alive on the streets. But living with Simon and Rosie and their boys, she’d found a family who cared for her, and much of that hardness had blunted, tempered with compassion. She was growing, taller every month it seemed, and starting to fill out. How old was she? Thirteen, Jane decided. That, or perhaps a year older.

Still a strange one, a child of two families, one with the Westows and the other with the homeless children who relied on each other. God help her if she was ever forced to choose between them, Jane thought.

‘Barton left about an hour after you,’ Sally said. ‘The servant brought a gig from the coach house. He and a woman went off in it. I decided to stay in case Fox came sniffing.’

‘Any sign of him?’ Her gaze slid around, but there was little to see. The house was quiet, nobody visible through the windows. She shook her head.

‘Nothing at all.’ ‘I’ll stay for a few hours and come back again in the morning.’

When she turned her head again, Sally had vanished.

But I should probably announce something – this will be the last book in the series. I hadn’t originally planned it that way, but the one I had in my head as the final novel refused to come together, and, reading it again, this seems to make a good conclusion. I’m not going to force things

Perhaps I’m right. You’ll have to be the judge.

To be clear – no, this doesn’t mean I’m retiring. It’s simply the last Simon Westow book.

It’s available for pre-order, as hardback and ebook. I’ll give the Amazon UK links here, although Speedy Hen is cheaper for the hardback and has free postage. Find it here.

And while you’re at it, Cathy Marsden in No Precious Truth will appear in paperback in November for £9.99 ($16.99 US). Very easy to carry around and also makes a great extra Christmas present. You can pre-order that, too. Do it right here.

The Return Of The Thief-Taker

On By chrisnickson2In leeds, simon westow4 Comments

On October 7, Jane is coming back…

The scream sliced through the sky. Loud, clear, a cry of pure terror that crashed into her thoughts. Everyone near Seaton’s old mill turned to look. Carts halted, their drivers searching for the sound. Men and women walking together clutched each other’s arms.
All of them stopped except the couple Jane was following. Heads down, they kept moving steadily along, as if they hadn’t heard a thing.
A second scream, stronger, more awful than the first. Two men ran along the road, carrying a girl on a wooden hurdle. She was a small creature, no more than nine, clothes drenched in blood. Her dress was torn, showing a leg where the flesh hung ragged, ripped through to pale bone. Her fists were clenched, thrashing against the wood to try and stop the pain.
‘Be quiet,’ one of the men ordered in a harsh voice. ‘Surgeon will take care of it.’ They all knew what that meant: the leg would go. People shuddered and stepped back as the girl wailed no, no, no, no, the fear raw in her voice….

Jane realised she’d been digging her nails hard into her palms. Pain arrived so suddenly; it could touch anyone. She knew; seeing the girl had brought back the torment of losing her own little
finger. Hers had been a deliberate act of violence, but in some small way she understood. She was still for a moment, trying to push everything she’d just seen out of her mind. She knew it
would return later. As soon as she closed her eyes that night.

You can pre-order it here (UK) or here (US). It might look like the links don’t work, but if you click on the ‘here,’ they do. And yes, the building on the cover is Temple Newsam.

The Book Launch Last Week…

On By chrisnickson2In Cathy Marsden, leedsLeave a comment

I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, out at Kirkstall Forge for the launch of No Precious Truth. I never counted how many came, but the estimates are between 50 and 60 – a hell of a turnout for a sunny Thursday evening, and I’m flattered so many attended.

A number of faces I knew, and far many more that I didn’t. There had been an article about the event in the regional newspapers that must have made people curious. But also people familiar with my books, curious to see Leeds in a World War 2 setting, and to meet Woman Police Sergeant Cathy Marsden. And to be terrified by that rare vision of me in a suit.

The Forge features in the book, making it an ideal location for the launch. It had been important in the war (and was bombed in 1942, with five men losing their lives). I’m grateful to Lucinda Yeadon, who ended up in hospital two nights before the event (all wishes for a speedy recovery), to Marius and Shelly for being so receptive to the idea and organising everything, as well as providing refreshments for everyone.

Plenty of artifacts and ledgers from the Forge in wartime were on display, along with replica war documents, like ration books and identity cards, and newspapers.

Truman Books, a wonderful independent from Farsley, was the bookseller. 22 copies of No Precious Truth were sold, as well as two from the Tom Harper series. Thank you, everyone who bought a copy.

The centrepiece, though, was the cake, made and decorated by Lizzie, the daughter of Shelly, who runs Butler’s café, the venue for the event. Isn’t it glorious? Here it is, before and after.

I’m grateful to everyone who came and all those involved in putting on the event. Thank you. I hope the photos make you feel you were there. Remember, you can buy the book and see what all those people have discovered. Cheapest UK hardback price, with free postage, is here.

A Non-Pirate Looks At Seventy

On By chrisnickson2In leeds, simon westow2 Comments

A curious title, isn’t it? It’s actually an oblique reference to a Jimmy Buffett song. I’ve never heard it, I’m not a fan of his music, but I always liked of it – the title “A Pirate Looks At Forty.”

But at seventy? Well, that’s coming up fast. Next week. None of the earlier milestones ever bothered me, but this seems to loom very large. A real intimation of mortality.

I’m keeping a tighter focus for my work, concentrating on my novels only, and an occasional album review to remind myself I was once a music journalist, and loved it. Music still moves me, but even in my little corner of it – roots and world music – so much is passing me by. It’s time for younger voices with a different language to brin g it all alive.

But the books…I have plenty to keep me going. The seventh Simon Westow novel, Them Without Pain, is coming out in two months, and I’m moving along with the eighth (eight? I’m not sure how that’s happened). In May next year, you’ll meet Woman Police Sergeant Cathy Marsden and a little down the line I’ll be joining up with her again in Leeds, this time in 1942. Like I say, ample to keep me going.

I do have a definite sense of time passing these days. It doesn’t worry me; I’ve always been a fatalist. Just don’t let me keel over until I’ve finished whatever I’m writing, because I’m the only one with a clue who it ends, and even them, I’m frequently not certain until I’m almost there. Probably a good reason to keep writing. It’s my talisman, my lucky charm.

I was a late bloomer. I’d always written, and published bits and pieces. But I was almost forty before the music journalism became regular and my first non-fiction quickie bio appeared. Quite a number of those followed, but I was 55 when the first novel – The Broken Token – landed in the world. Since then, 36 others have followed, 31 one of them set in Leeds.

I love this place and its history, even if I came to that later, too.

So yes, 70. No banners, no bunting, definitely no party.

Let it come and I’ll make of it what I can.

By the way, before you go, let me tell you a little about this upcoming novel, Them Without Pain.

This one adds an extra layer as it has a real root in local history: in 1696, goldsmith Arthur Mangey created the elaborate ceremonial Leeds Mace. Two years later, he was accused of treason for coin clipping (debasing the coinage), found guilty and hanged. It was a dubious conviction, at best. In testimony, someone claimed he had a secret workshop where he committed his crimes, but nobody searched for it.

In 1825, they knocked down the block where the workshop was supposed to be, and…they found it. Inside were two pairs of metal shears and an Elizabethan coin.

Those are the facts. In the fiction, the room also contains the body of a man Westow has been hunting who stole a set of silver cups made by Mangey. How does the past connect to the death – and who killed him?

It’s Regency noir, as dark as it can get, set in a town polluted by the growing number of factories belching out their smoke. A place where people arrive, hunting for work and pavements covered to gold, to find only scraps. But where the rich have money, and the criminals can be deadly.

If you’re on NetGalley and approved for Severn House, you can read it now (please leave a review!). If not, you can still pre-order it. Independent bookshops would love your business, but all your favourite places will carry it. Speedy Hen has the cheapest British price, plus free UK delivery. Just saying.

Thinking About Richard Nottingham

On By chrisnickson2In annabelle harper, leeds, richard nottingham, simon westow, the broken token, tom harper3 Comments

While I love Tom and Annabelle Harper dearly, along with Simon Westow, his wife Rosie, Jane and Sally, and can’t imagine them not in my life, there’s someone I all too often forget, and it’s to my shame that I do, especially as he’s the only one who truly existed.

Richard Nottingham, the Constable of Leeds.

I wrote seven books with him in the role he had in real life (and to settle any possible questions, no there won’t be more). He gave me my start as a published fiction writer with The Broken Token

(which was also an Independent on Sunday best audiobook of the year) and got me a rating as one of the 10 best crime novels of the year for Cold Cruel Winter. All seven of the novels in that series won starred review in Publishers Weekly.

Richard was kind to me, a true inspiration. I’m proud of all those books, of him, and the community around him in Leeds during the 1730s.

From records, I know he was given a reward in the 1690s for informing on a highwayman – and this well before he became the law himself. Maybe it gave him the taste. Or possibly the fact that Walter Nottingham, perhaps his father or brother, was constable before him.

I made what was a title, a sinecure, a man who take part in official processions, into a proto coppers, with the night watch underneath him. He solved crimes. He found himself in danger. I was stretching history, but Richard seemed to enjoy himself doing it.

My Richard had a wife and two daughters. The real one had other children, of course, one of whom was a young woman who went in to marry into the minor nobility. Richard owned property in town. On Kirkgate at first, then Briggate; Leeds was a very small place at that time. People kept arriving, but there were fewer than 10,000 inhabitants.

I have written about the real Richard Nottingham here, with plenty of detail snippets from documents. Sadly, I’ve never found a portrait of him.

Why mention him at all? Most of the books are out of print in hardback, after all (and only the first is available in paper, I believe). But a number of you who came to my work through Tom or Simon might not know about Richard. You might like him.

The ebooks are all pretty cheap, and you’ll discover a family, as well as a place and time that are close to my heart. I always had Leeds, of course, but Richard showed me what to do with it, and that’s a gift I can never fully repay.

I will remind you that if you haven’t read The Scream of Sins yet, it’s been out for a month now – and God, the reviews have been so good it’s amazed me, since it’s so dark. Why not read it and judge for yourself?

A Dark Steel Death – The Video

On By chrisnickson2In leeds, tom harper1 Comment

Leeds, December 5, 1916

The car slid quickly through the streets. Deputy Chief Constable Tom Harper stared out of the window. Leeds was black, a wartime winter-darkness, barely a single thin sliver of light showing through the blackout. A quarter of an hour before, he’d been comfortably asleep in bed, until he was torn out of a dream by the telephone bell. As he hurried to answer, he wondered if it was finally happening: the Zeppelins had come to attack Leeds.

            No. This was worse. Far worse.

            He could see the fire from half a mile away. Flames licked high into the sky. A moment later he smelled the hard, overwhelming stink of cordite.

            ‘Duty sergeant, sir.’ He’d had to press the receiver against his good ear to make out the words. The man’s voice was flat, empty of expression. ‘Our officers at Filling Station Number One rang in. There’s been an explosion. A car is on its way for you.’           

  Filling Station Number One. Everyone around here knew it by a different name – Barnbow.

The book is out everywhere, hardback and e-book, in September. You can pre-order it now.

Another Extract from The Blood Coventant

On By chrisnickson2In leeds, simon westowLeave a comment

Another short extract from The Blood Covenant that I hope will tempt you into buying a copy (or asking your library to buy one – maybe even both!) Most bookshops seem to have copies now, although it’s not out until the 30th officially. If you ask them nicely, they might well be able to get it to you for Christmas…for online ordering, this place has the cheapest price, with free UK postage, and they can get it straight out.

Jane’s turn this time.

Jane turned off Boar Lane on to Albion Street and knew someone was there. She had the sense of him before she could see anything. Tightening her grip on the hilt of the blade, she peered into the darkness.

            Suddenly he was in front of her, no more than three yards away. As if he’d appeared from nowhere. Looming like a giant. Tall, broad as a house. If she allowed him to come close enough, he’d be able to crush the life from her.

            The bayonet that usually hung from his belt was in his right hand.

            Perkins. Arden’s bodyguard, grinning at the sight of her.

            ‘You and your boss, you’ve been poking in places where you don’t belong. Causing trouble for Mr Arden’s friend.’

            Jane didn’t reply. She was watching him, her mind racing over the advice Dodson the crippled soldier had given her. A dirty fighter, brutal, with years of experience. If he won, he’d leave her for dead without a qualm.

            A weak right knee. That was what Dodson had said. Not much, but it was something.

            Perkins moved towards her. Only a single pace, but it was enough. He was going to use his size and weight against her. He had to be in his fifties now, grey hair cropped close against his skull; old for work like this. But he still had power. What he’d lost in speed he made up for in trickery.

            Jane could see it in his eyes; he believed she was an easy target. A girl who’d have no fight in her. He took another pace forward. She tried to feint to her right, but he was already moving to stop it. Old, but not so slow. And not slipping on the packed, frozen snow.

            He wanted to keep her moving backwards until she was pinned against the wall. Once that happened, he could take his time. Finish her as quickly or slowly as he wanted.

            She was watching. His eyes, his hands. His feet. They’d give the clues. Even knowing she might die here, she felt calm. She touched the gold ring. A single step back, to see what he’d do. His eyes glinted, as if he already sensed victory.

            Good, she thought, let him. Maybe he’d let down his guard a little.

            Perkins swung his arm, the bayonet slicing through the air. But that wasn’t the danger; it was a diversion, he’d put no power into it. He was shifting his balance, preparing to kick her. As soon as he raised his foot, she darted forward with a kick of her own.

            She put all her weight behind it. She felt the hobnails on the sole of her boot crash into his right knee. The feel of something giving in his leg. He staggered, arms out to try and keep his balance. Mouth shut tight to stifle the cry. Eyes filled with fury and surprise.

            She could run. He wouldn’t be able to follow. But if she did that, Jane knew he’d recover and come for her another time. When that happened, she wouldn’t have the smallest chance of staying alive.

            The thoughts flew through her head in a moment. No hesitation. She kicked his knee again. This time it gave. He fell on to the pavement, scrambling backwards so he could try to defend himself.