Australian private investigator Andrew Schlakier is hired by a mysterious government agency that wants a conviction on a ten-year-old murder case – and is willing to pay handsomely if he delivers. Broke, burnt out and binge drinking since splitting with his girlfriend, Schlakier takes on the cold case against his better judgement. He begins tracking the whereabouts of Christopher Hohl – the eldest son of one of Australia’s richest families. Questions hang over him concerning the disappearance of his wife a decade earlier, for which he is widely believed to be responsible. But far from unearthing a man of murderous intent, Hohl’s back story reveals a family tragedy in which he was an innocent victim. Is Hohl the cold-blooded predator the media paints him as or just fodder for a vociferous press baying for blood? Schlakier seems to be the only person who believes his target is not guilty, even while evidence to the contrary continues to mount. But as Schlakier traverses the streets of Melbourne, the state and the entire continent in search of clues, each lead propels him further into jeopardy – and a step closer to the man who could put his very own life in peril.
Targeted Age Group:: 18-100
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
This work is inspired by the life of Robert Durst and the documentary, The Jinx, which chronicles it. I just couldn't get the true-life story of Robert Durst out of my head. From the way he saw his mother commit suicide by jumping of the top of his home as a child to the incredible way he confessed to multiple murder at the end of the documentary. I didn't think I'd feel sorry for him but I did. How much did the trauma as a child contribute to his violent tendencies as an adult? I hoped writing this novel would help me understand.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The villain, Christopher Hohl was easy. Based straight up on Robert Durst. The protagonist, Andrew Schlakier, comes from a hard-boiled cop background, but too much awareness of his own failings to make a good cop. The lover who broke Schlakier's heart, Zoe, was based on someone that ditched me in no uncertain terms when I was looking for love.
Book Sample
PROLOGUE
Eight-year-old Christopher Hohl was shaken awake by his father. It must have been late because it was dark and very cold.
‘Come with me,’ said the father. ‘Come and see mummy.’
The boy closed his eyes and tried to sleep but his father shook him again.
‘Get up. Mummy wants to see you.’
Christopher Hohl opened his eyes. His father sounded excited. Maybe he wanted to play a game. It was unlike his father, he rarely took such an interest.
Christopher’s younger brother slept on obliviously in the single bed adjacent to his, snoring softly.
Curious, the boy pushed his bedclothes aside and got up. He followed his father out of the bedroom and down the hall. Clad only in his pyjamas, Christopher’s bare feet were icy as he padded along the tiled floor on this freezing August night. He heard a gust of wind outside and could see a tree being blown against the upstairs window by its force, the branches scraping the glass.
He followed his father up the short wooden staircase into the attic. The window was open and the breeze blew white, lacey curtains back into the room, where they ballooned up like billowing ghosts. His father walked to the window and beckoned with a finger for his son to come closer.
It was a very nice house, in a leafy Camberwell street – one of Melbourne’s most affluent suburbs. Old money. But all that wealth couldn’t adequately explain what young Christopher Hohl’s mother was doing standing on the roof of their house on the cold and wet night, wearing only a white nightgown. Christopher could see it shining through the gloom. A fine drizzle was falling and the roof tiles were slicked with water.
‘Wave to mummy,’ said the father.
The boy did so, thinking it was some sort of game. But she didn’t turn. She seemed not to see him at all. She took a step closer to the edge of the roof. And then was still again. Just a white silhouette against the black night.
‘Call out to mummy,’ said the father.
‘Mummy,’ the boy called out. But not too loudly. It was late. He didn’t want to wake everyone up, after all.
But then suddenly he could no longer see her on the rooftop. She was gone. Just like that. The wind continued to blow hard but mummy was gone.
Author Bio:
Robert Blain was born in Glasgow, Scotland and immigrated to Australia with his family, aged three. He grew up and was educated in Melbourne and has divided his adult life between Hong Kong and Melbourne, where he has worked for various international and trade magazines as an editor. He has written, and continues to write, works of fiction and plans to become a full-time novelist in the near future.
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