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THE
MISSING
No
publication date as yet - it has gone Missing!
THE IDEA :
'But the almighty
Lord hath struck him, and hath
delivered him into the hands of a woman, and hath slain him.
For their mighty one did not fall by young men,
neither did the sons of Titan strike him, nor tall giants oppose
themselves to him, but Judith weakened him with the beauty of
her face.’ Book of Judith, Ch 16:7-8
THE DUST JACKET :
A corporate lawyer
disappears from his family home in Notting
Hill Gate. A month later a
City banker is missing from his Chiswick home. Their distraught families implore friends, colleagues and police to end
the nightmare of their loss.
Rachel Tyler works at the
National Missing Persons Helpline. She knows the pain of an absent loved
one and makes the connection of the married
middle-aged men. Risk expert Matt Harley cleans up after others. He arrives at the City's leading
investment bank to see what damage the star banker has left in his wake.
They join forces to follow
the intricate web of clues; anonymous emails and edgy web sites; wild parties and
secret rendezvous in Germany; inherited London residences and
luxury Marbella villas. They race against time to reunite those
who are left behind with those who's will to live ebbs away in
a foreign land.
THE CHARACTERS :
Rachel Tyler commutes
from her Balham flat to her job at the National Missing Persons
Helpline in Mortlake. She’s low-paid but recognises her work
brings hope to those with missing partners, siblings and relations. Eleven
years ago her father walked out of their Croydon home and he hasn't been home
since. Most
of the missing are runaway children and lonely youths but she sees a new
surprising pattern of late. There are married men with great jobs and
successful lives who have no reason to suddenly disappear. Her
dread-locked
boyfriend Webster updates the charities web site but is unconvinced of
her suspicions. Then she gets a telephone call to attend the home of
another missing husband and father.
Matt Harley
leaves his Kensington Church Street bachelor pad in his BMW
Z4 open-top, with wraparound sunglasses and R&B music on max, heading out
on the Hammersmith flyover on a bank holiday weekend to meet Katarina who’s flying in from a modeling assignment in Milan.
Matt works for Geitz Associates & Co. Inc., the leading global corporate security and
risk firm. He
finds the Missing. Plus the millions they take with them. His reputation as the sharpest hired
hand who bills by the hour remains intact. Roll on the next missing money
man.
Richard Fenwick arrives
to work in the wealth management division of Mitchell Leonberg & Co. Inc in the City but is
stunned to learn of another huge overnight corporate collapse in the
States. A multi-billion dollar NYSE IT stock is suddenly a
worthless shell, having been pillaged for years by a board of
directors. Richard's discretionary clients had millions invested in the formerly
top-rated stock. He makes the apologetic telephone calls to
irate clients. Some seek him in person to seek retribution of
sorts. One of his high net worth clients will go much further.
Constanze Scheffler
logs onto the world wide web from the safety of an anonymous
Easyinternetcafe PC. She reads the active message board where
those with
names like subzero and city_guy anonymously post their
inner thoughts. Sometimes she replies to them privately, enjoying the frustration
she causes, wondering whom she can tempt next, maybe dreaming of her next conquest. The unfortunate poolside death of her husband is a distant
memory. She has killed twice since then. Both died in the sunken brick
cellar of her Marbella villa and are buried beneath her rustic citrus orchard.
Both were a challenge of sorts until the very last drops of fatal Rioja
passed their parched lips.
PROLOGUE EXTRACT :
(Copyright 2005)
'Communidad
El Rosario, high in the hills in the south of Spain, where
the air is thinner and others never visit without prior
agreement. It’s two years ago, towards the end of June, almost
the longest day of the year. A married couple sit at a candlelit
table on the patio at the rear of their million-euro holiday
villa.
She watches
closely as he knocks back another glass of finest local Rioja.
He slumps and exhales. ‘I’m dead on my feet.’ She wishes.
‘Great meal.’ She doesn’t cook. The maid left them alone
three hours ago. He empties another glass. ‘Bloody good wine.‘
The soft light from the cool interior reflects off the inky
water of the swimming pool. ‘I’m exhausted. I’m ready for
bed.’
It’s a quiet
night of a white hot day and the air is still. Their post dinner
conversation eases into an ominous silence. Along the distant
hilltop road unseen cars struggle up the steep gradient.
The
fireflies by the pool rest on plants and trees during the day
but they fly between dusk and dawn.
She can survive
on only four or five hours of restless sleep each night. ‘How
about a swim first?’
He shakes his
head. ‘Too much damn sun today. Too much alcohol tonight. I’m
finished.’
The two musty
bottles of Rioja came from their basement cellar. They imbibed
the first with the starters, then opened the second with the
blood raw filet. She knows precisely how much he drank tonight
because she drank nothing. When he took a leak inside she tossed
her red over the grateful parched cacti by the patios edge. She’s
on the agua mineral.
‘Why did we
buy this hell hole?’ he asks.
‘Because I
asked you. I found it. I chose it.’
‘How come you
always get what you want?’
The fireflies
hover, their strategy for attracting mate and prey alike is to
activate luminous glands on the underside of their rear
abdominal segments, sending out intermittent signals in the
nocturnal sky.
She loosens her
cotton wrap and allows it to hang loose. She’s hard-bodied,
fit from the exercise bike, oozing confidence and
self-assurance. Her breasts are visible, perfectly tanned
without any ugly white triangles of pale hidden flesh. She’s
been here for two weeks, sunbathing solo and naked on the patio,
allowing the unforgiving heat of the Med to invade her
moisturised pores.
She spent the
time waiting for tonight, planning tonight. ‘Let’s play,’
she offers, running her hands through her long jet-black
gathered hair.
He stands up
but it’s not a pretty sight. His belly protrudes over the edge
of his virginal Bermudas. His shirt is open to the waist because
the buttons and holes will no longer connect about his chunky
girth. He’s short, fifty-five years old and eighteen years her
senior. His hair is grey and is disappearing fast.
He came for a
weekend break yet already he’s lobster-red, freckled and
blotchy. He’s ugly and it‘s not the sunburn. He’s a
founding partner in a leading City of London venture capital
firm. He’s worth six million. She wonders what she ever saw in
her husband apart from his bulging wallet and his plastic card.
‘I’ll
manage a dip in the shallow end,’ he acquiesces.
Females climb a
blade of grass, flashing when males flash within feet of the
females. Exchanges of signals are repeated several times until
mating occurs. Sometimes the female will devour the male.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY :
Nothing as yet!
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