The Scent of Death

The Scent of Death

  • WpView
    Reads 12,324
  • WpVote
    Votes 2,111
  • WpPart
    Parts 42
WpMetadataReadMatureComplete Thu, Apr 1, 20216h 22m
WpInfo
Fiction
Mystery
When all hope is lost. When there's no-one else left to call... Dudley the Labrador is a cadaver dog specifically trained to sniff out human remains. His handler, Jennifer, suffers from an unusual phobia which has left her socially isolated. When together they uncover the corpse of a missing child, Jennifer begins to feel a deep, personal connection to the case. Dissatisfied by the direction of the official police investigation, she resolves to unravel the mystery herself. In doing so, she must first unravel herself... Readers' comments (final chapter): 'great book', 'superb' 'wonderful, incredible, fantastic!' 'wow, just wow', 'wonderfully satisfying', 'I love this book' Status: completed Genre: mystery/suspense Target readership: adults Narrative style: psychological depth, frequent twists, semi-literary Length: 75,000 words (approximately 300 standard novel pages) Author: Michael D Smith, Wattys award winner (The Painted Altar, 2020, literary fiction) Extract: It was then that the barking came, somewhere a hundred or so metres off to my right. Not his usual playful response, but instead a focused, constant noise - a quick-fire volley of woofs like rounds from a machine gun. His 'found something' bark. My heart quickened along with my step, the flashlight boring through the darkness. The moist barks of the trees deflected against my outstretched hand; pernicious branches whipped at my thighs, my chest, my face. "Stay there boy! You just stay right there." The barking was incessant, grew louder with each step. At last the thick maze of tree trunks relented and there he was, framed in the soft-edged beam of the torchlight in the centre of a small clearing. His tail swooshing manically, snout directed at the ground. Stooping myself down beside him, I slanted the flashlight to the earth, squinted in close examination. Nothing - just dirt, twigs and damp leaves. A shallow grave. The lifeless body of Meghan Shaw had been tossed into a shallow grave.
All Rights Reserved
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
Illustration

You may also like

  • The Third Shadow
  • Bloody War (NOW PUBLISHED IN PAPERBACK)
  • The Phantom Ritual (DCI Morgan Chester: Case One)
  • Finding Happiness (Book 1 comes before and ties in to You Series)
  • THE DARK DESCENT VOLUME I: WHAT VENGEANCE COMES
  • His,Hers, Ours | 1 | ✔️
  • Forget me lots (Completed)
  • The Painted Altar
  • Killing Is Thrilling

Sometimes the truth is just too terrible to ever be guessed... Readers' comments: 'Excellent story', 'gripping page-turner', 'marvellous read', 'great writing', 'simply remarkable', 'a fabulously emotional ride', 'wow', 'what a great book!', 'had me engaged right to the end' Wattys award-winning author (The Painted Altar, literary fiction 2020) When two British brothers are reported missing whilst on holiday in southern Italy, the local carabinieri turn to retired detective Jim Jacks for help. Still pained by a recent divorce, he has started a new life for himself as a small-scale wine producer. Along with commander Nuzzo, he will slowly unravel a mystery which is even darker than it had first seemed... Genre: murder mystery Length: 75,000 words (300 novel pages) Target audience: adult, fans of crime fiction, anyone who likes mysteries full of twists and which are populated by three-dimensional characters Extract: I stayed there at the holiday bungalow with Sarah and Olivia for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Would return again the following morning. An analyst would no doubt conclude that my actions weren't entirely selfless; that as a lonely old divorcee I found a nostalgic comfort in female company. And yes, this might have been part of it. But there was a very practical reason too for my more or less continued presence in the house. I just didn't want to leave them to themselves I suppose, was afraid of what might happen. Yes, the thing I remember most about that forty-eight hour period is the silence. There was something brooding to it. Something ominous, almost delicate, like if it cracked you feared it would explode. An edgy, precarious silence stretching on and on, minute after minute, hour after hour... About the author: I'm a 47-year-old English teacher who has lived in Italy for the last 15 years. I have two other novels on the site, The Painted Altar and Kill Who You Want

More details
WpActionLinkContent Guidelines