You won’t have noticed, but No Precious Truth, the first in my Cathy Marsden WWII series set in Leeds, vanished off Amazon for a little while. Inevitably, I panicked, but my publisher had it all in hand. Yesterday the listing was back, looking shiny and fresh.
And today, the ebook returned as part of Kindle Unlimited, at least in the UK. Quite what that means, I don’t know (these are uncharted waters for me), but I’m assured it’s a good thing.
So, as The Faces Of The Dead arrives in the world, blinking and looking around, its predecessor is free for those who subscribe to Kindle Unlimited.
What about those who don’t? He’s the really good deal. The Kindle edition of No Precious Truth is just 99p to buy, which is far cheaper than chips (last time I ordered any, I paid £1.50 for a small bag of chips added on to an order of fish). You lose more than that in the sofa each week. And for those in America, it’s 99c.
If you haven’t read The Faces Of The Dead yet, this is a fine place to start, a chance to meet Woman Police Sergeant Cathy Marsden, her family in Gipton, and the men in the Special Investigation Branch in Leeds.
Yes, as you can guess, I’m hoping you’ll all take a chance on it – after all, what do you have to lose?
And doin’t forget The Faces Of The Dead….just waiting for you.
It came as a shock to realise it will soon be 50 years since my words first appeared in black and white. 1978, I believe, in a free music paper – my memory on the title in sketchy, Cincinnati Entertainer, perhaps. I’d moved to the US a couple of years before, music mad, and wrote reviews of two LPs, Roy Harper’s Flashes From the Archives Of Oblivion and Kate Bush’s debut, The Kick Inside. They published both.
Over the next few years I published occasional small pieces for them, but never took it seriously. In my free time I was writing novels, thankfully unpublished, then playing in bands.
After moving to Seattle in 1986 I published a few short stories in small magazines, you know, the ones that look great but nobody sees. Penned a few one-act plays which had a performance or two before vanishing. Then I decided to take this writing lark more seriously and found an encouraging editor at the Seattle Rocket, an excellent free music paper, out every fortnight. It took a while, but I improved until they started publishing my reviews, and then features.
I milked it, sending clips around, finding other outlets who’d publish me. An opportunity came to write an unauthorised biography of a recent star (okay, it was Mariah Carey) and I jumped on that. Short deadline, a lot of work, but worthwhile. For the next few years, as a freelance, I grabbed every opportunity that I could reach. I had a mortgage and a young child, and I was desperate to make a living from this. I think every freelancer can relate.
And now, I have another book arriving, as of next week. The Faces Of The Dead, the second Cathy Marsden thriller. The first, No Precious Truth, has sold surprisingly well, so I hope you’ll all buy this one (right now would be fine). In the UK, Speedy Hen has the cheapest hardback prince, with free postage. Just a word to the wise, you know…here’s a small extract to tempt you.
‘The driver was Eric Carr.’ They knew his name. A nobody. Not even a deserter; he’d failed his conscription medical. A touch of flash, acted big, but could only manage small crimes. The definition of small fry, scuffling to keep alive. But his time was over now.
‘What about the passenger?’ Terry asked.
‘A woman.’
‘Who was she? Do we know her name?’
Faulkner checked the sheet in front of him. ‘The identity and ration cards in her handbag say she was called Nina Cordell. I’ve never heard of her.’
‘I have,’ Cathy said, and she felt everyone’s eyes swivel towards her. ‘She was a prostitute a few years ago. In a brothel. A good one where all the town nabobs go. I haven’t heard anything of her in a while, though.’
‘The interesting stuff is still to come.’ His tone turned darker. ‘We found fifteen guns tucked away in the car and some boxes of ammunition. Five Enfield number two revolvers, British army issue, and ten Colt pistols. All brand-new.’ A tiny pause. ‘The Americans use them.’ She sensed the stirring. No doubt now: this was definitely one for them. ‘I’ve been in touch with the Yanks,’ Faulkner continued. ‘They have a military police detachment up here. But they also have some new outfit to deal with this sort of thing. The Criminal Investigation Division. Just formed.’
‘Are they MPs?’ Jimmy asked.
‘The way it was explained to me, they sound more like the American equivalent of us. They’re sending an investigator, but he won’t be here until tomorrow.’
‘Who’s going to be in charge?’
‘We’ll be working together,’ Faulkner said. ‘Those are orders from on high. That’s why we’re in this. He’ll be following up on the American angle, we’ll take care of everything else. Maybe we can have it all in hand by the time he appears. Terry, talk to the armourers at the barracks and ask them to run an inventory to see if any handguns are missing. Smithy, I want you to take a look at the report, then have a word with the NAAFI headquarters here. See if the food and stuff was stolen locally. George, Jimmy: find out where Carr lived and tear the place apart.’
‘What about me?’ Cathy asked once they’d gone.
‘Do you think you could identify this Nina woman?’
It had been a while since Cathy had seen her, but Nina Cordell’s face was still vivid in her mind. Loud, pretty, always glittering and lively. ‘Probably.’ Her leave was definitely over. She was back to earth with a sharp bump.
…until The Faces Of The Dead is published (out April 7).
As some of you probably know, it’s the second in the Cathy Marsden series, the sequel to No Precious Truth. Set three years later, in early spring 1944, a few months before D-Day. Not that the buildup greatly affected Leeds; the difference was down South, with thousands of troops – British, American, from all over the Commonwealth – gathered for the opening of the second front.
Up North, Cathy, along with the other members of the Special Investigation Branch (SIB) squad here, has her own problems: a Jaguar owned by a criminal has run off the road near Harewood, killing himself and the female passenger. A tragedy, but hardly something for SIB – until the car is examined. It’s filled with stolen good…including British and American guns.
Now it’s their business.
But the accident unleashes a power battle between the gang leaders in Leeds, one with control of crime in the city at stake. And it quickly turns deadly as one man tries for dominance. Cathy and the squad need to bring him down, and work alongside a couple of officers from the American miliary CID, with the tensions between nations on display.
Meanwhile, her boyfriend is home on leave after serving in North Africa and Italy. He springs a big surprises, but both he and Cathy know what lies ahead for him, looming on the horizon.
It’s a relentless, supercharged ride – but in a Leeds style.
I’d be very grateful if you’d pre-order The Faces Of The Dead from your favourite place (especially an independent). After that, hang on to your hat. It’s going to be a wild ride.
I know I have a new book coming out in April. It’s calledThe Faces Of The Dead, and it’s the second Cathy Marsden thriller (and bloody good and tense, if I do say so myself). I truly hope you’ll buy it; those pre-orders are important.
For today, though, I’m looking further ahead – that taste of words to come. It’ll be a while before they’re here, though. January 2027, in fact. There isn’t even a cover yet. You’re among the first to read these words. The book is called The Ascent Of Lies, with Mrs Virginia Cooper and Mr Asa Daniels, set in Leeds and York. I gave a small taste a while ago (find it here), and I thought you might like another tease. Come with me to Leeds Assembly Rooms in June 1862.
The man danced wonderfully well. William Fontaine held her politely at arms’ length and led them through a waltz as the small orchestra played. Quick and light on his feet, he had the skill to make even someone like her feel graceful. All around them, the brilliant shimmer from hundreds of candles gave a warm glow to the old assembly rooms.
As the tune ended, Virginia stepped back, eyes shining, breathless and giddy with pleasure, and curtsied to her partner. He bowed deeply, took her hand and kissed it with a smile that veered close to a flirt. Studied and smooth, but done with poise and style, the actions of a man who’d experienced the world.
In a warm accent, he said, ‘It was an honour, ma’am,’ before leading her back to the table where his wife was waiting, richly dressed in burgundy satin and sitting next to an awkward, stiff Chief Constable Broadbent, Virginia’s companion for the evening.
It had been his idea to treat the Fontaines as favoured guests in Leeds, representatives of the government of the Confederate States of America. A gracious gesture, but very carefully judged; welcoming, but not official. They claimed they were in England to travel around, conduct business, give talks and drum up support for their secessionist cause. Broadbent was suspicious; he believed there might be more to their visit. What, though, he didn’t know yet.
He’d arranged the invitation to the assembly, then asked Virginia to accompany him and befriend Fontaine’s wife. She’d accepted without a second’s hesitation; it was utterly different to anything else she’d done for the police, a chance to be swept up and carried away to a different, sparkling world.
Their table had been busy. Men kept arriving for a few quiet words with Fontaine; one or two accompanied Mrs Fontaine around the dancefloor. All the while Virginia felt as if she’d walked into Cinderella. She was glamorous, flattered by the light, plenty of partners for a country dance or a polka, wearing a luxurious gown of royal blue silk lent by Broadbent’s sister and transformed into a beautiful fit over the crinoline hoop by Ellie’s skill with a needle. Who could ever have believed the idea of Virginia Cooper dancing with an agent of the Confederacy, a Johnny Reb? And all in the line of duty, keeping Mr Fontaine occupied while her husband searched his hotel room.
Are you intrigued? I hope so. I’m despearely proud of this book. It seems to bring together everything I’ve been trying to do throughout my writing – but on a slightly broader canvas.
And I hope you’ll get in your order for The Faces Of The Dead.
A couple of weeks ago, all my waiting, staying on tenterhooks was rewarded. My publisher offered me a new two-book contract. I’m waiting for the paperwork, but it’s all settled, with plenty of relief for me. Anxiety levels down, sleeping better.
The contract is for The Ascent Of Lies, the first book featuring Virginia Cooper and American abolitionist Asa Daniels. Earlier this year I posted the book’s prologue – take a read of it here to get a sense of Virginia- and in all honestly, I feel it’s the best book I’ve written, set in both Leeds and York. It’s 1862, and the Confederates are in Yorkshire. Doesn’t what whet your appetite.
One scene is set in Royal Park, a fairly short-lived pleasure garden near Woodhouse Moor, a successor of sorts to the ill-fated Botanical Gardens. That pub, the Royal Park, and those streets with that name, all came from the gardens. The entrance looked like this:
The book will be published in January 2027 (I know, feels like science fiction, doesn’t it? Or I’m old, something like that). The start of a slightly different series, I hope, and one with a very strong female lead.
I mentioned two books, though…the other one will be a third Cathy Marsden thriller; the second, The Faces Of The Dead, will be published next April. Called Blood Red Music, it’s set in 1947, after the war. Her time in the Special Investigation Branch is a distant memory, and she’s left the police force to start a private enquiry agency with…her brother, Dan. I’m not going to say more about the plot, as I’m in the middle of writing it. Due out in July 2027, I believe.
Speaking of Cathy, the Kindle edition of No Precious Truth is currently £4.99 in the UK ($6.99 US), and available here. Even bigger news – the paperback comes out November 20th, just £9.99 UK, and in time to give to people for Christmas. You can never go wrong with giving a book, especially bought from an indie bookshop. Makes it all more complete.
Something I hadn’t noticed at first, the two series I’m now writing are both female-led, and one of them in middle-aged.
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?
Chris Nickson 