After the Silence
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Hanging on a hook above the canals of Amsterdam's old town, the body of a man is discovered, a mobile phone forced into his mouth.
In a remote coastal village, a doll lies in the ashes of a burnt-down house. But the couple who died in the fire had no children of their own. Did a little girl escape the blaze? And, if so, who is she and where is she now? Inspector Jaap Rykel knows that he's hunting a clever and brutal murderer. Still grieving from the violent death of his last partner, Rykel must work alongside a junior out-of-town detective with her own demons to face, if he has any hope of stopping the killer from striking again. Their investigation reveals two dark truths: everybody in this city harbours secrets - and hearing those secrets comes at a terrible price ... |
Into the Night
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A body is found on a rooftop, the dead man's hands blowtorched, his head removed. Tasked with tracking down the killer is Amsterdam Inspector Jaap Rykel, but as he searches the headless body for clues Rykel finds something which makes his blood run cold - a picture of himself on the victim's phone. And then a message from the killer reveals the location of a second mutilated corpse... |
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Before the Dawn
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Jaap Rykel is helicoptered onto a remote island off the North Netherlands coast at the request of the Police Commissioner himself. Awaiting is the body of a young woman, head wrapped in clingfilm and her stomach ripped to shreds. Rykel quickly uncovers strong evidence that the killings have only just begun and relentlessly pursues the chief suspect, a local man who has disappeared, before he can strike again. Just in time Rykel catches up with him and takes the killer into custody, hoping he’s averted more death to come. But what the killer has to say turns everything upside down, forcing Rykel onto a path from which there’s no coming back. |
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Considering I'd always wanted to be a writer, the journey getting here was long. |
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As a teenager I spent as much of my time skateboarding and snowboarding as I could. But then, at age seventeen I heard a piece of music with an instrument which produced a beautiful, languishing sound. I asked someone what it was. The oboe, they replied. I was captivated, and I went about getting hold of one, which surprised a few people, as I was a long-haired youth more prone to Metal than Mozart.
I managed to borrow one, it was a horrible thing, made of vulcanised rubber, not even wood, but after trying to make a noise out of it for a few moments I was hooked. Things snowballed from there, and a couple of years later I won a scholarship to study at the Royal College of Music in London.
By the time I took up my place I'd switched to playing the baroque oboe, after all, it was the music of Bach and Handel, Vivaldi and Zelenka which I wanted to play. Luckily I was in London during a boom time for performance on original instruments and I started playing professionally during the first year of my degree. I also learned to make baroque oboes, setting up a workshop in a garden shed, and some of the instruments I made are still being played by oboists today.
I then spent two years in Amsterdam, studying for my postgrad in baroque oboe, all the while having to fit tours of Europe around my studies.
But, after a few few more years of playing I began to feel an itch to do something else, and after a final concert in Berlin's Philharmonie - a live radio broadcast following a gruelling tour of Germany - I packed away my oboe for the last time.
I travelled to New Zealand to learn about winemaking in Christchurch and Marlborough, and having gained experience went on to work as a winemaker in Italy for several vintages. The work was hard, the hours were long, and the pay was awful, and eventually I returned to the UK with no idea of what I was going to do.
As a stop gap I got a job in shop, and whilst working there formed an idea for a wine business, using the contacts I'd secured in Italy. I started it by injecting all the cash I had into the business, £30. It was hard work, but after four years it started to pay off.
During this time I was hospitalised for an emergency operation, and I woke up post-op some time in the night. A nurse was checking the patient record which hung off the end of the bed, and, noticing that I was semi-awake, said 'with a name like that you should be writing thrillers.' She then disappeared, or I passed out again, I can't remember which. But her words stuck with me, because the truth is, I'd always wanted to write, but had never actually tried.
As soon as I was discharged I set about writing my first book, which would become After the Silence, and from the sheer thrill of sitting down and putting words on the page for the first time I knew I'd found what I wanted to do.
I managed to borrow one, it was a horrible thing, made of vulcanised rubber, not even wood, but after trying to make a noise out of it for a few moments I was hooked. Things snowballed from there, and a couple of years later I won a scholarship to study at the Royal College of Music in London.
By the time I took up my place I'd switched to playing the baroque oboe, after all, it was the music of Bach and Handel, Vivaldi and Zelenka which I wanted to play. Luckily I was in London during a boom time for performance on original instruments and I started playing professionally during the first year of my degree. I also learned to make baroque oboes, setting up a workshop in a garden shed, and some of the instruments I made are still being played by oboists today.
I then spent two years in Amsterdam, studying for my postgrad in baroque oboe, all the while having to fit tours of Europe around my studies.
But, after a few few more years of playing I began to feel an itch to do something else, and after a final concert in Berlin's Philharmonie - a live radio broadcast following a gruelling tour of Germany - I packed away my oboe for the last time.
I travelled to New Zealand to learn about winemaking in Christchurch and Marlborough, and having gained experience went on to work as a winemaker in Italy for several vintages. The work was hard, the hours were long, and the pay was awful, and eventually I returned to the UK with no idea of what I was going to do.
As a stop gap I got a job in shop, and whilst working there formed an idea for a wine business, using the contacts I'd secured in Italy. I started it by injecting all the cash I had into the business, £30. It was hard work, but after four years it started to pay off.
During this time I was hospitalised for an emergency operation, and I woke up post-op some time in the night. A nurse was checking the patient record which hung off the end of the bed, and, noticing that I was semi-awake, said 'with a name like that you should be writing thrillers.' She then disappeared, or I passed out again, I can't remember which. But her words stuck with me, because the truth is, I'd always wanted to write, but had never actually tried.
As soon as I was discharged I set about writing my first book, which would become After the Silence, and from the sheer thrill of sitting down and putting words on the page for the first time I knew I'd found what I wanted to do.
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