Pre- Reader's Testimonial:

Have finished reading it, thought it was good, plenty of suspects to keep you guessing. Liked the stepfather plot twist, had to keep going back thinking I had missed something but at no point does anyone say he is not the father until it is causally introduced. 

The lead is a good character with plenty of further novels I am sure. 


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Pre- Reader's Testimonial:

"Last week I took a short break to Cornwall, and I packed your book as I have been struggling to find time to read it.  Funny how quickly I have become acclimatised to my Kindle!
I had plenty of reading time, but frankly I did not need it, as once I had an uninterrupted session I whipped through it quickly. - What a good read."

Brendan Roodt 

Lyme Regis Murders

by Andrew Segal

        Copyright © Andrew Segal 2018

Three little piggies going to market each,
Changed their minds, went
down to the beach.
A great big rock then cracked each head,
And, left the three of them,
all stone dead.   R.A.


A lowering sky, a restless sea and shattered bodies on

the rocks...



The shoreline was deserted apart from the four individuals cavorting close to the water’s edge.  A single gull wheeled overhead screaming out what might have been a warning, had anyone understood, or been prepared to listen. Offshore the swell rose and fell ominously, a restless movement like the bulk of a heaving whale, as it too whispered a plea for mercy.

Set back from the beach, high above it and unsighted, the town went about its usual Saturday morning routine. Barely audible, the muted hum of lazy traffic, a car horn, the trill of a bicycle bell. 

Lyme Regis, an English coastal town, where nothing untoward ever happened to disturb the peaceful existence of its residents.   

Close to the salt waves came the sound of laughter, a sense of abandonment in the air. A game of tag? A race? They appeared totally absorbed in themselves and their random pastime. How could they know what was about to follow? Which one of them would fall victim?

The wind now whipped up the spume fanning the shore with spray before the plane of seawater receded in a hissing rush. 

Mid-morning humidity, high white clouds like shredded lace, gradually dissipating, and the promise of a hot day ahead. But the weather was ever unpredictable. As was life. As was death. 

The boulder was large, but not so large it couldn’t be palmed, and when it swiftly descended the sound it made on impact was like the cracking of a nut. Except that this was no nut being smashed, but the cranium of one of the four. 


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