Vengeance For A Fallen Angel is a powerful and gritty crime novel set in North Devon. It is an absorbing, enthralling, and entertaining read that will captivate a wide audience.
A young girl is raped, debased and murdered by a local Voodoo Cauldron, and a string of murders follow. Are all of the crimes linked? Is a serial killer on the loose?
The deep dive into immorality so rampant in society, told through the fresh eyes of D.I. Rick McCarthy, puts an unusual and interesting spin on the classic murder investigation plot, with intriguing supernatural elements, and an insight into the world of Voodoo and the Occult.
It expertly highlights the stigmas attached to those who have experienced severe trauma, particularly at the hand of family members, and how they then have to carry on and process the long-lasting devastating effects.
The plot keeps pace whilst the carefully chosen settings, most of which actually exist, help to weave intricate yet unassuming details into the narrative, captivating the reader’s attention and leaving them hungry for the next page.
It is the first of a trilogy featuring D I Rick McCarthy and will leave you always questioning what is going to happen next.
Vengeance For A Fallen Angel is a powerful and gritty crime novel set in North Devon. It is an absorbing, enthralling, and entertaining read that will captivate a wide audience.
A young girl is raped, debased and murdered by a local Voodoo Cauldron, and a string of murders follow. Are all of the crimes linked? Is a serial killer on the loose?
The deep dive into immorality so rampant in society, told through the fresh eyes of D.I. Rick McCarthy, puts an unusual and interesting spin on the classic murder investigation plot, with intriguing supernatural elements, and an insight into the world of Voodoo and the Occult.
It expertly highlights the stigmas attached to those who have experienced severe trauma, particularly at the hand of family members, and how they then have to carry on and process the long-lasting devastating effects.
The plot keeps pace whilst the carefully chosen settings, most of which actually exist, help to weave intricate yet unassuming details into the narrative, captivating the reader’s attention and leaving them hungry for the next page.
It is the first of a trilogy featuring D I Rick McCarthy and will leave you always questioning what is going to happen next.
Sunday 24th September 1967 The sunset’s fiery orb was sinking slowly beyond the horizon, the sea glassy and calm reflecting its orange, red and yellow. As the colours started to fade, the foreboding moon started to rise, revealing the dark eyes of the night. That aura of peace, that feel good factor at the end of a summer season, was about to be shattered by one of the most heinous and horrific acts ever committed in such a tranquil North Devon community. 6 There was a full moon that night, the tide was high, and the waves were crashing against the cliff face of Hillsborough Head, at the top of which was the site of an iron age fort and burial ground. After dark it was a spooky place, damp and salty. As the waves pounded against the rocky shoreline below, the sea spray formed liquid crystals caught by the moonlight and a veil of darkness fell like an enormous blanket over the landscape. A young girl, who not long before had been dancing in abandon in front of a roaring log fire with LSD coursing through her veins, was now tumbling down that cliff face, her frail body smashing on the rocks below. Atop, a mysterious figure dressed in a hooded black cloak shook his feathered rattle calling unto the sea below, ‘Oh, mighty Bondye, accept this sacrifice, the soul of this harlot is now yours.’ Earlier that day on a bright sunny afternoon, Woolacombe Bay with its long sweeping beach had just held its annual International Surfing Competition, attracting surfers from all over Europe and some as far away as the USA and Australia. The winner of the main even, the Woolacombe Wave Cup and a prize of £250 7 was none other than the Australian, Nat Young, the 1966 World Surfing Champion, who was in the midst of a world tour attending sponsored international surfing events such as that at Woolacombe. The surf might be miniscule compared to that of the Big Sur in California or Shipstone Bluff in Australia that Nat was used to, but he entertained and wowed the spectators with his flips and cutbacks. He even managed an Ally Oop on his second run. The shore breeze had got up and Nat found an open facing wave enabling him to accelerate toward it, bottom turn at forty-five degrees and kick his tail out as he flipped the lid of the top of the wave. The shore’s inward breeze kept his board stuck to his feet. The crowd roared; they could hardly believe it was possible on the Woolacombe surf that rose no higher than eight feet. Among the crowd on the beach was a local policeman, Detective Inspector Richard (Rick) McCarthy, accompanied by his partner Kay Stone and a group of surfing friends. Rick was competing in the final event of the weekend, The Novices Cup, open to anyone who had not 8 competed in an international competition. It was regarded as a bit of fun by the locals to see who could embarrass themselves the most. The time flew, and before they knew it the announcer was calling for competitors in The Novices Cup to come down to the shoreline to be briefed by the referee and judge. Rick looked round at Kay and his friends, giving the thumbs up as if to say, It’s now or never guys. He proceeded to strip down to his wet suit and picked up his surfboard. Kay watched him get ready then kissed him good luck. God I love you, Rick McCarthy, you are one in a million, My Adonis, she thought to herself as he walked away. In her eyes, Rick was very different from all the others, handsome, not perhaps in the conventional sense, but his appearance made him stand out in the crowd. He had dark hair and naturally lightly tanned skin, with unfathomable dark brown eyes that complemented his toned face. His eyes were deep and expressive, inviting you to get lost in them if you looked into them long enough, but he sometimes had that faraway look, making 9 him appear disinterested. This was due to his enquiring mind which, almost like a chess player, was five moves ahead of his opponent. At other times you could see a hint of sadness in his eyes, which would disappear as suddenly as it emerged. Above all was his frame and his stature. He was not exactly muscular, but he kept himself in good shape and carried himself with a confidence that was incredibly attractive. He may not have all the girls swooning over him, thought Kay, watching him striding down the beach, his surfboard under his arm, he’s an enigma to many, but he’s mine. Rick was unusually tense; it was a big crowd. He was riding his Blaker surfboard, his favorite, and had spent hours polishing the underside to glide over the waves and rough sanded the top for better grip on the soles of his feet. On his first run he tried a back flip and ploughed into the wave. This was greeted with hoots of laughter from Kay and those friends not competing. His second run was much better, and he managed a double cut back before running out of wave and gliding upright to the shoreline. 10 Kay rushed towards him and threw herself at him to give him a salty kiss as they both tumbled into the water. That run moved him up on the leader board and he finished third for a bronze medal, the highest he had achieved in the competition in five years of trying. The competition winner and the winner of The Novices Cup and gold medal was none other than one of Rick’s colleagues, Ethan James, head of the SOC team at Barnstable Police HQ. Many of the spectators stayed behind after the surfing event had finished. The fast food vendors were still doing a roaring trade serving hot and cold drinks, burgers, hot dogs, and fish and chips. Families with young children were having picnics enjoying the last of the late afternoon’s sunshine. Some children were building sandcastles with moats, trying to stem the incoming tide from breaching the outer wall, while others flew paper kites of multi colours, swooping up and down as if mimicking the gulls searching for any morsels to be found dropped on the beach. An impromptu game of beach cricket struck up with Nat Young captaining the overseas team v 11 England made up of a sporadic bunch of local and visiting surfers. Rick and Kay spent the evening with friends around a beach fire, watching the sun go down, with copious amounts of beer from a cooler box. Camping out, up on the hillside overlooking the beach, were a remnant of hippies with their beaten-up VW Surfmobiles. The surfing event had attracted a following of the hippie movement, dressed in their unconventional clothes of vibrant colours, some with psychedelic images, barefoot, and wearing flowers in their hair. Many of them were antiestablishment, suspicious of the government, rejected capitalism and consumerist values, were generally opposed to the Vietnam War and supported the Ban The Bomb movement. There was a sweet smell of marijuana, a fusion of citrus and rosemary, permeating the air and the magical sound of Procul Harum’s A Whiter Shade of Pale. The haunting sound of Bach’s Orchestral Suite No 3 in D Major Air on a G String, featuring as a countermelody to the song, resonated across the campsite and beach. It was a time for peace and love. 12 ‘Can you hear it, Kay? That’s a Hammond Organ, playing Bach on a psychedelic pop record. I love it, it’s so innovative, pure jazz.’ ‘It’s beautiful, Rick. I find it kind of perverse, even incredulous that Engelbert Humperdinck is top of the Hit Parade, with his song The Last Waltz at the moment. It’s as if the middle classes of England are rebelling against this new phenomenon. They seem to be challenging and dismissing all the great songs such as If You’re Going to San Francisco and Flowers in the Rain. OK, the songs, including Itchycoo Park, have drug connections, but they are great music. They’ll be classics one day.’ As they sat and watched the sun go down, Rick cuddled Kay and murmured rather poetically, ‘The world is changing fast, and the young are the future of our country. Let them have their fun, let them protest peacefully against tyranny and war.’ Little did Rick know that his own values, his belief in humanity, were about to be challenged in the most disturbing way that would make many a person’s blood run cold. It would take all of his detective skills and the skill of his dedicated 13 team to solve the most abominable crime driven by man, so evil as to be beyond redemption
This is an easy-to-read but rather complex detective novel set in Devon at the height of the swinging sixties when flower power, hippies and psychedelic drugs like LSD were capturing the minds of a generation.
After some beautifully descriptive initial paragraphs comes the opening dramatic premise of the book - a promiscuous young girl is found dead on the rocks after tumbling down the cliff face, a sacrifice to a supreme voodoo deity.
Detective Inspector Rick McCarthy from Barnstable CID, a jazz-loving surfing enthusiast who often bends the rules to achieve results, clearly has his work cut out.
He and his hard-working team spend some time quizzing the owners of a microbrewery in the picturesque seaside resort of Ilfracombe. They also interview friends and family of the dead girl, and staff at a riding stables and a boxing gym. And as quickly as the detectives build up their list of suspects many of them are just as quickly ruled out.
The inspector is ably supported by Dave Elliot, his “hard-nosed and tenacious sergeant,” and, when the case becomes challenging, he is consoled by his petite, blonde wife, Kay, who happens to be the area’s senior forensic pathologist.
I was intrigued by the voodoo element, which is a great theme for a crime novel. I also liked some of the descriptive passages and was coaxed along by the twists and turns of this police procedural.
I would describe the novel as very busy. The reader needs to pay close attention because there are many strands to the story; so many characters; huge amounts of evidence; and a fair few murders to boot.
At the very end, I was taken by surprise when the girl’s killer was finally unmasked. This brought the tale to a satisfactory conclusion.
However, I found the book a little unpolished in parts and it would have benefitted from some clearer breaks between some of the scenes.
For instance, a police briefing in CID switches without warning to a boxing club scene and then reverts back to CID – all in the same chapter. I suspect this might confuse some readers.
Nonetheless, although this read very much like the author’s very first crime novel – which it is, the writing also shows a lot of promise. I will certainly be looking out for more exploits involving Rick McCarthy and his sergeant.