Read an extract of Marvik Mystery Thriller DANGEROUS CARGO

DANGEROUS CARGO is set in February and Marvik is tasked by Detective Chief Superintendent Crowder of the National Intelligence Marine Squad to find the truth behind a fifty year old mystery. As always this puts Marvik and others lives in danger. As Marvik unravels a dark and dangerous secret someone is determined to stop him from ever revealing it.

The mystery thriller opens in the coastal town of Swanage in Dorset.

It was dark and drizzling by the time Marvik left the restaurant and made his way through the almost deserted streets. As he turned into the road that led parallel to the bay and eventually to the lifeboat station, he considered the image of Bradley Pulford that Matthew Killbeck had drawn for him earlier that day and the emotions he’d exhibited when speaking of Pulford: resentment, anger, hatred even. Maybe Shaun was right and the Killbecks had killed him, if not in 1990 then more recently, in January.
Through his thoughts he caught the sound of a motorbike and one whose engine he instantly recognized. He dashed a glance over his shoulder and his heart quickened. Yes, there it was cruising slowly some distance behind him, and he was certain it was the same one that had stalked him yesterday. Astride it was a darkly clad figure, the face hidden by the visor, but Marvik could swear it was the same rider. He picked up his pace. The road was deserted both ahead and behind. He swiftly calculated that he had another three hundred yards before the entrance to the lifeboat station and the shore. Glancing back, the motorbike was keeping pace with him but still holding back. Marvik knew why. The rider was judging it perfectly – there would be a moment when no one would witness what he was about to do and that moment would soon be here. It would come when he turned down towards the lifeboat and he’d be alone in the dark close to the shore.
Adrenaline surged through his veins but instead of instinctively breaking into a run he forced himself to maintain the same walking pace. Although he was fast and fit, he wasn’t as fast as that motorbike and he calculated that it was better to preserve as much energy as he could in case he needed it on the shore. One hundred, two hundred – he mentally counted down until . . . He sprinted. The roar of the motorbike burst through the night. It was deafening. In a few seconds it would be on top of him. If he glanced back he’d be a dead man. He still might be, he thought, running hard, his feet striking the tarmac, his heart pounding, his blood pumping. To acknowledge the wound in his leg would be death. To think of anything other than reaching the shore, darkness and safety would be fatal. He had a second – maybe two if he was lucky. Two seconds between life and death. It wasn’t much but it was all he had.