Sneaky Peek A.M. Peacock's DI Jack Lambert novel Grave Intent

Grave Intent Blurb:

Available here

Robert Norris. An eighteen-year old petty criminal is brutally tortured and left in a farmer’s field to die.

DCI Jack Lambert, and his team, think they have it all figured out. It’s a robbery gone wrong. Suspicion immediately falls on the man who called it in.

What Jack doesn’t realise is that this is just the beginning.

An escaped prisoner, an attempted hit, and a seemingly unending trail of violence and retribution follows.

As the mystery unfolds, Jack begins to suspect the existence of a secret, but powerful, syndicate operating on the very edges of the North East’s criminal underworld.

With the situation spiralling out of control, Jack finds himself at a crossroads—one which could lead him back into the kind of life he has spent a career running away from.

Time is running out and this case might not only cost Lambert his job, but also his life…

Author Biography

A.M. Peacock grew up in the North East of England before leaving to study for a degree in music technology at the University of Hull. A subsequent return to his hometown of South Shields saw him spend seven years as a teacher in a local college before changing careers to become a trade union official.

Having always been an avid reader, he took to writing after being encouraged to do so by his PGCE tutor. He has since gone on to produce a number of short stories, winning the Writers’ Forum Magazine competition on two occasions, as well as producing articles for both the local press and a university magazine.

A.M. Peacock’s debut novel, Open Grave, featuring DCI Jack Lambert, was published in September 2018. Grave Intent is the second in this series, with more to come!

Away from writing, A.M. Peacock enjoys watching films, playing guitar and can often be found pavement pounding in preparation for the odd half marathon.

A.M. Peacock can be found on Twitter at  @ampeacockwriter.

Sneeky Peek 

His breaths came in sharp, panicked gasps as he ran from the farmhouse. The rain was pounding down now, making it hard for him to see exactly where he was going. Stinging his face, as if scolding him for being out in such weather. His feet slipped in the muddy earth, nearly causing him to fall. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide and fearful. He had to keep running. He just had to...

          He hadn’t expected anyone to be home. The wheat field had provided good cover and he’d been told that the farmer wouldn’t be there.

          ‘Wait until well after dark, approach from the east, and stay low,’ they’d told him. ‘Three scarecrows and you’re there.’

          He hadn’t banked on a light turning on as he opened the door, nor the shrieking of rusted hinges announcing his presence. Such was his shock that, at first, he hadn’t even seen the man with the shotgun sitting in the corner of the room.

          That was when the growling had started.

          The dog had lunged at him first, before the man had stood and cocked his gun.

          He’d turned in sheer terror, feeling the warm trickle of blood moving down his leg as the Alsatian’s jaws locked in place. He’d gouged at the animal’s eyes and managed to wriggle free. He’d slammed the door behind him, and slipped on the wooden patio, smashing his chin against the damp wood.

          And, so, he’d ran.

          Cursing his luck, he moaned and carried on, dragging his injured leg away from the house in the pouring rain. He couldn’t see him, but he knew the man was not far behind.

          The barking grew in volume.

          Each time his right foot made contact with the ground his injured leg screamed at him. ‘Come on!’ he urged himself, fishing out his mobile with shaky fingers.

          Rain smeared across the phone screen as he typed in the wrong pin. He swore as the dog clamped its jaws over his leg, once again, dropping the device as he lashed out into the night. The dog whimpered and hurtled back towards the confines of the house.

          He continued past the first scarecrow as a shot rang up around him.

          The sound of screeching birds evacuating their nests rose above the noise of the retreating dog’s barks. Allowing himself a stifled sob, he carried on past the second scarecrow .

          ‘I’m coming for you, boy!’ the farmer’s gruff voice bellowed from behind him.