Especially for Halloween –
the horror/romantic thriller Chill of the Shadow.
One reviewer stated ‘(Chill of the Shadow ) has a strong structure and is full of rich
writing and action. The plot has page turning twists and the main characters
are likeable, especially the female lead. I hadn't read a vampire book in a
while and was reminded of how intensely gruesome they can be. While this one
has its squeamish moments it's not atypical for the genre, and I can't help
liking a well written book! The Malta setting was perfect, making this a great
escape read.’
Here’s
an excerpt from Chapter 4: ‘The Cave of Ghar Dalam’, where the journalist
Maria joins Detective Sergeant Attard and they observe the island’s dangerous
politics at first-hand…
A flock of black
kites flew over Valletta Harbour. The big black birds soared over the liners
and steam-ships, the walled city, down to the Queen’s Square, just off Republic
Street. Here a crowd of people had gathered, listening to a loud brass band. A
garish float followed the band; then stopped outside the Caffé Cordina whose
tables were arranged on the street and across the road in the square.
In a corner of the square, as if
tucked out of sight and out of mind, an imposing black statue of Queen Victoria
loomed.
On the float was the New Nation
Party politician, Manoel Azzopardi, a megaphone in his hands. “We must stamp on
the ugly face of crime!” he enthused. He was overweight and sweating in his
dark suit and tie. “It is ruining our children’s futures!” Above him fluttered
a banner showing his name and the party.
“As much as we would like to think
so, Malta is not the center of the universe. Nobody owes us a living. We must
pay our way.”
The big black birds – not perturbed
by the music and noise – perched on a nearby rooftop. Sinister. Watching.
***
Maria noticed
the birds and turned away, unaccountably uncomfortable at their appearance. She
sat opposite DS Francis Attard at a table in the square. He was a rather portly
man in a crumpled tan suit, with open-necked shirt. He pulled his coat tail
over his belt holster to conceal his 9mm Beretta pistol.
Their seafood meal was
half-finished. They both leaned back and sipped white Marsovin wine.
“It’s good of you to see me,
Francis, at such short notice.”
“You’re good to look at, Maria.
Besides, I spend most of my breaks here, watching the world go by.” He patted
his generous stomach. “And not watching my weight!”
Many of the tables were occupied,
the diners idly curious about the antics of Azzopardi. Others couldn’t care
less and were wrapped up in their own private conversations. The city square
was vibrant, filled with the sound of cutlery, crockery, loud talking and the
hubbub of passersby.
Police in tan uniforms and Ray-ban
sunglasses stood at regular intervals along the procession’s route up Republic
Street.
Waiters and waitresses weaved
expertly between tables; they were the only people who seemed in any particular
hurry.
“We must get things done today,”
Azzopardi insisted, “not next month, not next year!”
A young waiter rushed through the
crowd and leaned over Attard’s right shoulder: “Excuse me, Sergeant. There’s a
telephone call for you inside.”
“Vote Azzopardi and your future will
be crime-free. Vote for the party that always puts you first! Vote New Nation
Party!”
Attard sighed. “The office, I
imagine. Excuse me, Maria. I won’t be long.”
“There’s only one party – that’s the
Azzopardi!” That febrile play on words got a few faint-hearted laughs.
Attard stood up and followed the
waiter through the crowd into Caffé Cordina. He passed two men without giving
them a second glance as he headed into the cool contrasting dark interior of
the café and picked up the phone at the bar.
***
Count Zondadari
sat by the window, with Bonello. Zondadari’s image was reflected in the ornate
gilt mirror on the opposite wall and revealed a handsome man with a badly
scarred left cheek, glinting eyes and a smile that played on his lips. Count
Zondadari was in his forties while Bonello was a few years younger.
Bonello looked tired and drawn, his
eyes sunken yet filled with a strange light.
“Now is the time, Bonello, to exert
your leadership of the Malta Power Party. Just concentrate very hard and your
opponent won’t know what hit him.”
“I will try.” Bonello closed his
eyes and his faced hardened. He seemed suddenly oblivious to his surroundings.
He concentrated on his opponent, Azzopardi, and sweat beaded his brow.
***
As Maria
watched, Azzopardi stopped a moment to bite a sandwich a pretty girl helper had
passed up to him. Then, swallowing, he lifted the megaphone again: “A vote for me
is a vote for the future of these magnificent islands! Vote Azzopardi!” This
must have been the signal for the band to start up again.
And, as if disturbed by the sound of
the brass instruments, the black kites flapped their wings and took off,
dropping toward the float. They circled Azzopardi. Seeing them approach, he
cowered, covering his face with the megaphone.
A couple of onlookers screamed.
Azzopardi tried batting the birds
away with the megaphone. One bird snatched his sandwich and flew off. “Get them
off me!” he shouted as the birds surrounded him, pecking at his face and scalp.
He overbalanced and fell off the float and in that same instant a policeman
withdrew his pistol and shot it into the air. With a loud thrashing of black
wings, the birds flew off over the rooftops.
Azzopardi fell directly under the
wheels of the following limousine. Brakes screeched and people shrieked. The
crowd backed off, away from the dead politician.
Whistles blew and police rushed
through the panicking crowd. The band players abruptly stopped, though not in
unison, the sound of their instruments a squawking cacophony followed by a
continuous low shocked murmur.
Maria sat stunned. This was a day
for her to see plenty of death, it seemed. She put a trembling hand over her
eyes
***
Bonello opened
his eyes, looking quite pleased with himself. He was flushed...
“Enjoy that, did you?”
“Yes.” Bonello nodded, his voice a little
breathless. “Very much.”
“Remember, that was possible through
the sacrifice of a new life.”
“Yes,” the politician replied, eyes
worried now. “So you keep reminding me!”
“Success usually comes with pain,
Bonello.”
“I know...”
Zondadari grinned. “Preferably
someone else’s pain, no?”
Bonello forced a smile.
Slapping the politician’s back,
Zondadari chuckled. “Just think what more is possible in this election. The
Malta Power Party can’t lose!”
***
Attard passed
Zondadari’s table, heading outside to finish his meal with Maria. He noticed
the commotion and stopped to talk with a policeman. He shook his head, patted
the cop on the shoulder and walked up to Maria’s table.
“I’ve got to give evidence at the
Law Courts in an hour.”
“Can I have the story?”
“Sure. Family feud. The usual.”
Sitting down, he thumbed back at the crowd. “Looks like his policies have taken
a nosedive.”
Maria pulled a face at the bad-taste
joke and pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. “It was an awful accident. At
least, I think it was an accident.”
“Hey, don’t go paranoid on me.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t see
those birds. They seemed to know what they were doing.”
“Maybe they didn’t like his
politics.”
Chill of the
Shadow
Amazon
paperback and e-book here
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