Dear Reader,

Is Thomas Atkins a cold-blooded serial killer or a vigilante?

I will let you decide.

To whet your appetite, I have included the first chapter at the end of this brief synopsis:

SYNOPSIS

To Kill an Angel is a must-read murder mystery that will enthral people of all ages, from the casual reader to serious crime novel aficionados, because it entertains and asks intriguing questions in equal measure.

Here's How

The fallout from a succession of mysterious deaths embroils the aristocracy, church, police, and gangland Soho.
My characters are 'real' and relatable. Some you will take to; others will make your flesh creep.
The book begins in the 1960's, when the law-abiding Harris family are caught up in the first of a series of gruesome 'accidents' - in reality, well-orchestrated executions.
The tale is alluringly dark (stylishly told), with original plot twists which will leave you guessing and wanting to discover more.
There is never a dull page, and the book has plenty of lighter moments and humour too.
Please enjoy, but do not forget to look under the bed!

To Kill an Angel by S T GUY

CHAPTER 1

He had blood on his hands.

This was a perfect spot. Not too far off the old dirt track and accessed by an animal path, over flattish ground that did not yield to the weight of his heavily laden wheelbarrow. Nevertheless, it was sweaty work and being wary plays a part, as do owls hooting. Night-time detects any out of place sound, not least the clink of a spade against stones and, heaven forbid, rocks.

When digging a grave damp sandy soil, such as we had here, is preferable. The sides of the hole were vertical and smooth. He paused for a swig of rum before deciding to go down another rung of his ladder, foxes have been known to drag a corpse out of hiding at five feet or more!

Satisfied, he mopped his mucky brow, climbed the short ladder and spoke.

"There, that will do. What do you reckon?"

Jeremy Poole, not his real name, did not answer. Instead, the dead man's mouth lolled open on one side and his eyes stared out like chapel hat pegs.

Poole did not deserve to die but neither did he deserve to live. Which was his undoing and why he was about to be buried without any friends or relatives congregating to mark his passing and sing a favourite hymn.

Tipping the wheelbarrow carefully on one side landed the corpse next to the hole. The killer of Angels straightened the naked man out to his full six feet; this had not been a straightforward murder. He knelt down and rolled Jeremy over once and then twice, gravity took care of the rest.

Jeremy's clothes, wallet and other personal items were doused with petrol and stuffed inside a brown paper carrier bag, which the gravedigger put a match to and threw on top of the body. The resultant blaze was eerie, the dead man's body lit up and his eyes stared at his killer, until the flames died too.

Returning from another trip to his van, along the forest path, he carefully slit open a bag of lime. After spreading the contents evenly, he took a step back and removed his dust mask and breathed a sigh of relief. As an afterthought, the man with the shovel threw in the deceased's 'escape' rucksack, bulging with dried and tinned foodstuff - a reminder of how desperate the murder victim became.

Time for another tot of rum. He could not resist shining a flashlight down onto his handiwork.

"Excellent."

Filling in the grave was quickly done. Spare soil was barrowed away and dumped in a thicket. After a thorough inspection and light raking, he backed a reasonable distance away and raised his pewter hip flask, in his victim's direction. Why, he did not know.

His final task was to drag tree trunks and fallen branches over the burial site.

The sun was beginning to ri...