Book Blurb
There's been a murder. And the only suspect has vanished. Even his own brother, DI Barney Mains, thinks he's guilty. But when the missing man's teenage daughter begs Barney to help, he has no choice. And before long he starts to question whether the criminal brother he hasn't seen for ten years could actually be innocent this time. It's just that everyone seems to be in an all-fired hurry to pin the killing on him. Despite there being a pair of highly visible alternative candidates - a tall ex-army type and a sidekick built like a tank. The trail leads Barney to the South of France and the gated world of the super-rich. For only there will he discover whether his brother is a killer on the run. Or the next victim...
Extract
Beaulieu he remembered mainly for the lovely walk from Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, past a dream villa someone told him was once owned by Hollywood legend David Niven. It was a real town with proper, everyday shops; an uplifting, intimate town so much more welcoming than the grander Cannes. It also boasted some thrilling belle epoque buildings and a palm-fringed seafront which combined to make it one of the special places along the Côte d’Azur which still attracted the world’s most wealthy, despite the lure of the Monaco tax haven just along the coast.
One such was the evening’s host, who was apparently keen to show off his new place in the sun and ingratiate himself with the resident elite. Shona had probably been the first name on the guest list because everyone wanted a piece of the internet multi-billionaire who made world headlines whenever she opened her mouth.
From the moment they entered the huge, wood-panelled reception hall of La Redoute, Shona was turning heads in her violently red silky trouser suit which seemed to float above heels which sparkled like diamonds, matched by a necklace and earrings which were the real deal. Barney should have felt like a million dollars with this stunning blond on his arm. He actually felt distinctly underdressed. But he was used to that because he usually was. He just thought: to hell with it. This is business.
He then found himself shaking hands with their host. It was a surprisingly firm handshake for a man whose flushed, flaccid exterior and garishly-whitened teeth suggested otherwise.
‘So pleased to meet you, er, Barney.’ It was as if the man had never met a Barney before and had to take care over the pronunciation. ‘Any friend of Ms Gladstone’s is ever so welcome in my little home,’ he was saying, while obviously dying to resume fawning over Shona.
The accent was pure Eton and Oxbridge; assured, even arrogant. Yet despite the foppish manner of this lumbering big man with his dishevelled, schoolboy mop of brown-dyed hair, Barney suspected that beneath the public persona lurked a sharp, calculating mind.
‘Aye, nice to be here. Great place,’ said Barney, conscious that he had added a little extra Scottish accent for some reason. But their host had already forgotten him and now dragged a portly man in a white dinner-suit plus a shimmering young partner towards the star attraction. In fact, the pair was one of several bejewelled couples whom Barney now noticed hovering around them, apparently queuing up to be presented.
He detached himself from the growing knot of guests and accepted a waiter’s offer of a glass of champagne to accompany him on a sortie of the ballroom. It never ceased to surprise him how many of the stinking rich there still were, even after waves of virus had devastated whole economies and the lives of millions. Then again, he remembered, a lot of the rich had somehow managed to get very much richer while the poor continued to get poorer. For most of those with assets and investments it had been a very good pandemic.
As he meandered, he felt like economic flotsam amidst waves of the rich. No, more of a free radical, he joked to himself. Then he became aware that there was a kind of current in the huge room, for so many eyes seemed to have been drawn on lines of attraction towards the knot of people he’d just left, iron filings to a magnet. It was this which enabled him to notice two people to whom Shona was of no interest. These two men were instead casting their eyes around the room like posh bouncers. A tall man and a stocky man.
Author Bio
Jim McGhee's a former award-winning environmental journalist. Based in East Lothian, near Edinburgh, Scotland, he spends much of each year (in normal times) in the South of France, the main setting for the DI Barney Mains series, with tolerant wife Jean and rampant Irish Terrier, Jack. After a full-on career as a campaigning newspaper reporter, he and Jean launched their own recruitment company in central Edinburgh and for twelve fun-packed years worked closely together alongside their brilliant team - without spilling a single drop of blood. The Alpes-Maritimes and Var departments, on the other hand, have provided a host of dramatic locations just perfect as inspiration for the odd spot of fictional gore. Locals, blessed with scenery ranging from unspoiled mountain villages to the classic palms-and-marinas coast, claim that they can be swimming one moment and skiing a little over an hour later. Though when not writing or travelling en famille, Jim's more likely to be off on a hike in the hills with his ever-ready buddy, Jack.
Follow him at:
Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/bigbarneymains
Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/bigbarneymains
Twitter: https://twitter.com/bigbarneymains
Website : https://www.jimmcghee.net/
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