Today I am thrilled that James Hayman is stopping by, his 2nd visit here, to talk about his latest novel. The last time he was here, was for his book, The Cutting, (review 03/30/10) which I thoroughly enjoyed. Today he will be telling us about his newest novel The Chill of Night. Lets give a group welcome to Mr. James Hayman.
We both married beautiful brunettes. McCabe’s wife, Sandy dumped him to marry a rich investment banker who had “no interest in raising other people’s children.” My wife, Jeanne, though often given good reason to leave me in the lurch, has stuck it out through thick and thin and is still my wife. She is also my best friend, my most attentive reader and a perceptive critic.
Both McCabe and I eventually left New York for Portland, Maine. I arrived in August 2001, shortly before the 9/11 attacks, in search of the right place to begin a new career as a fiction writer. He came to town a year later, to escape a dark secret in his past and to find a safe place to raise his teenage daughter, Casey.
There are other similarities between us. We both love good Scotch whiskey, old movie trivia and the New York Giants. And we both live with and love women who are talented artists.
There are also quite a few differences. McCabe’s a lot braver than me. He’s a better shot. He likes boxing. He doesn’t throw up at autopsies. And he’s far more likely to take risks. McCabe’s favorite Portland bar, Tallulah’s, is, sadly, a figment of my imagination. My favorite Portland bars are all very real.
Visit James on the web at http://www.jameshaymanthrillers.com/.
A mentally ill woman named Abby Quinn witnesses the brutal crime. But when she tells what she has seen, nobody will believe her. Not until she too mysteriously disappears.
In The Chill of Night, Portland homicide detective Michael McCabe finds himself finds himself fighting memories from his own past as he races to find the killer before another life is lost.
James Hayman once again tells a gripping tale of evil and deceit and creates characters so real and so human, we want to meet them again and again.
Abby looked up and saw a low dark thing moving toward her. A black form, now visible through the whipping snow, now obliterated by it. With each step it grew clearer and bigger. At twenty feet it began to take shape. Animal. Not human. A large dog, gray fur glistening under crystals of snow, cruel icy eyes shining through the night, more wolf than dog. She stopped but the animal kept coming. She could hear its rumbling growl. Low. Menacing. Commanding. Her heart beat against the walls of her chest so hard she was certain it would break through. She knew what the creature wanted. She knelt on her hands and knees. It bared a fang long enough and sharp enough to penetrate the soft flesh at back of her neck. She lowered her head and waited for release. But release didn’t come. Finally, after a minute or two, she looked up and it was gone. She could see nothing in front of her but the snow-covered street and the wind-swept flakes still hurtling down through the night sky. She stayed where she was, kneeling in the snow. She could hear a child crying. She listened. After a bit she realized the sound was coming from her. She got up and started walking again.