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Seven Secrets Ray Clark

Seven Secrets

Ray Clark

Published December 23rd 2014
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Seven Secretsby Ray ClarkeBook ISBN: 9781629291932Print ISBN: 9781629291949eBook Price: $ 6.95Genre: HorrorSub Genre: CrimeNovel of 124620 wordsSex rating: 1Violence rating: 4Edited by Avril DannenbaumCover Artwork by Ash ArceneauxAbout the book:Hell had seven secrets. They’re all missing. Prey you don’t meet one!Whitby—1835: a schooner runs aground in a violent storm. The crew and the human cargo are presumed dead, save one, and he makes no sense. Pickering Station—1855: authorities find an abandoned train. It carried inmates for a nearby asylum and there is no trace of what had happened to them.Beck Hole—1864: a serious incident forces a railway station to close- it is sealed up to keep something in.Present Day: NYMR passengers are abducted and butchered. Police find bodies without hearts at main railway stations. Inspector Arthur White takes the case—his last before retirement. A piece of evidence leads him to a doctor who experimented on patients in the past.White discovers many local people vanished during the doctors reign. When he finds out the connection between the doctors activities and missing people today, he must overcome his most personal fear and put his life on the line.Quotes:• “What were you going to do with them?”• “The body on the track wasn’t the first.”• “Why didn’t you report it to the police?”Excerpt:The Crime Scene Manager, a young man by the name of Steve Ashworth stepped out of the tent. White reckoned he was no more than thirty. Blond shoulder-length hair, bright blue eyes, white teeth and thick lips, Ashworth was well built. White had heard something about him playing rugby on a weekend.“I think we’re about done here, sir.”“Find anything?” White asked.“Nothing of value.” Ashworth glanced around. “How do you get a body out here?”White lifted his arms in the air and dropped them again. “You tell me.”“There’s nothing here. The track doesn’t follow the road, so anybody coming here would have a hell of a job dragging a body over that distance.”“Maybe PolSA (Police Search Advisor)can help with that,” offered White. “But I doubt it.”“So, tell me…how?”White couldn’t offer an answer yet. Stuart Robinson hopping across the stepping plates toward him diverted his attention. The young man’s skin was ashen, he had bags under his eyes and his frame was somewhat stooped since he was first on the scene twelve hours ago.He was holding White’s cell phone. “It’s Dave Ross, sir, the duty sergeant.”“What does he want?”“You,” said Robinson.“Take a message.”“He won’t leave one, sir.” Robinson’s expression had grown weary. All he’d done all night was take messages for White.White took the phone from Robinson and with some trepidation placed it to his ear, as if it had a contractible disease.“Are you still at the scene, Mister White?”“Yes, Dave.”“Have you nearly finished?”“Almost. I was about to ring for a car to take me home for a bit of breakfast.”“I’m sorry, sir. We’ll have to cancel that.”“Breakfast or the car—and why?”“We have another body.”“Where?”“Pickering Station,” said Ross.“On the track?” White asked.“No, sir…the roof.”