Point of Contact by Richard Ayre
After a man is found burned to ashes in his house, fire expert Ian Fenwick is called in by Northumbria police to help them in their investigation. What Fenwick uncovers however, is beyond anything he could ever imagine. As more and more people succumb to this terrifying power, Fenwick finds himself pursued by merciless killers. Fighting for his own survival, Fenwick is thrown into a nightmare world. A world that will burn forever unless he can stop the mysterious man known only as William. A man hell bent on changing the entire planet into an environment fit only for his allies; the mysterious and horrifying Visitors.
Targeted Age Group:: Adult
Heat/Violence Level: Heat Level 4 – R Rated
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
The story came about because of my interest in spontaneous human combustion. As I researched this phenomena I realised that really, it does not exist. Thoughts then turned to what would happen if people were dying by being burned to ashes. What could possibly cause this? So the story was born.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The main character Ian Fenwick needed to be a man with a past he would like to forget. He also needed to be an expert on fire investigation, so an ex-firefighter seemed to fit the bill. He needed someone else too. Someone who could match him for heroic endeavour. Detective Sergeant Laura Goddard was that person. A strong female who could hold her own. Both characters are really central to the story. They are both the main character really.
Book Sample
Goddard sipped yet another cup of coffee and surveyed the map she had laid out on the table in front of her.
‘Ridiculous,’ she said to herself, then looked up guiltily to see if anyone had heard her. She was alright though. The only other occupants in the small restaurant were two young PC’s, sitting staring at each other with the unmistakable light of true love in their eyes. The woman was wearing a wedding ring but the man wasn’t.
Dirty sod’s thought Goddard with a slight smile. The restaurant was situated across from the police station and a lot of its clientele were coppers who popped in for a decent bite to eat rather than sit in the canteen of the station itself which sold edible but banal meals. The trouble was though, a lot of the coppers also used the restaurant for meetings with people they really shouldn’t be meeting with. Goddard knew at least half a dozen of her colleagues who had been, or were still engaged in, extra marital affairs. By the look of the couple at the other table they would have to be careful if they didn’t want to be added to that list.
She dismissed the two coppers from her mind and went back to her map. This was the reason she had gone to the restaurant. She didn’t want prying eyes and questions from colleagues. It was a street map of Newcastle and the surrounding area, and it had lines drawn on it in various different colours, criss-crossing its length and breadth. Those lines had been drawn by Goddard herself the night before after she had dropped off Fenwick.
After the events of the previous night and even though she told herself she didn’t believe a word of the girl’s story, she had been sufficiently intrigued to get out the map and mark where the victims had been killed, drawing lines to and from them, triangulated by the CCTV footage of the two deaths they had caught on camera. She had worked out the directions that those weird streaks of light had seemingly come from. Finally she had got a marker on them.
But she still thought it was nothing more than co-incidence that the lines crossed through a single point to the south of Newcastle and that Anna Pont’s house and the home of Ted Embleton could theoretically be on similar compass points. That morning she had looked on Google Maps and actually found a residence where the lines seemed to cross. It was a house in County Durham. Quite a large house. Thrushton Hall.
She glanced out of the window, trying to get her tired brain to work, when a frown appeared on her face. Somebody seemed to be playing silly buggers with the lights across at the station, switching them on and off on both floors. But the blue flashes were more like lightning strikes. They were bright and irregular and sometimes two or three flashes would go off together.
Goddard got up and went out into the car park of the restaurant, into the hazy, muggy, heat filled morning. And it was then that the doors of the station burst open and all hell broke loose.
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