Strike

About the Book

Even now the married couple is missing. Even now they are presumed dead. Jack Dorcha braces up his grandson who has been led by the nose. With Chase having been mortified and Wren terror-stricken, Jack Dorcha cabals to super-impose upon the writing on Chase’s wall a fatal image, and to send Wren down the river of his amphibious justice, by flying in the faces of their temerarious self-induced meltdowns. Once again the tables are being turned. Either Chase weasels what he alleges to harbour or Wren finally unriddles the murders, or they will both be snuffed out. It is no longer a question of Wren empathising with and emulating the trials and tribulations of Glasson and Chase, and no longer a question of Glasson or Chase stumping for it. It is now more of a question as to whether they can ransom their floundering lives and their benighted families. Chase suborns Wren with a salmagundi of afferent experiences, while Wren buffaloes Chase with his unswerving crownings. Can they live with their howlers? Who will win this time? The conscience-stricken retired special adjudicator, the self-violent former employer of torture judges, the atomised crime-writing uncle, the moribund grandfather of gangster hood, the tamed mafioso of Glasgow, the stochastic new murderer, or one of the pertinacious suspects?

About the Author

Dnias Dirk’s heirs and assigns have grown stronger still. Those members who were radically virtually supposable are now realistically unimaginable. Those who were throwing down the gauntlet to sparring description stomach only its dog-eat-dog counter-punch: beyond description. The progeny is now in sky rise. The memory and the pedagogy are so hygienic now that even the most scrupulous nurse need only be sanitary. Mum, Dad, Peter, Joanna; Cameron, Blair, Innes, Brodie; Struan and Rebecca: you are his rejuvenated world. What had been becoming more gay is akin to a poor hebe-phrenic boy bargaining with God to deflect the ear-bleeding echoes of the big bang and magnetise the ineffable boy he loves. The token duxes for German and history have not only now jumped the gun to theorise the rigorous practices of 800 metres, whereby only thought and feeling could remain, they can trans-migrate to an entirely new dimension. It is the numinous, the in-between, and the undead. When cerebral and pragmatic elements dis-harmonise, and after the mind has survived, the soul soups up. All corners of the universe can become black holes spaghettifying matter. Having determined to obliterate that which he en-kindled over ten years ago, and having proved beyond any reasonable shadow of a doubt, he could re-ignite the flames, he will stoke the calefactor...