The Woman Who Knew Faces by Jane Badrock - Book Tour

Book Blurb

One tenacious cop. One amazing artist.

There's a big operation underway and DS Karen Thorpe is feeling left out.

Then she meets Emma, with the talent of memorising faces, and Karen's reenergised with her potential crime-solving contribution.

But she's not the only one.

A body turns up. Karen's finally called up to work with the Met on the operation.

But Emma's gone missing.

Is it connected? Where is she? Who can she trust?

It's a race against time as the new team try to catch a major crime ring before they can carry out their horrific activities.

Amazon UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B09T7BRSYQ

Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09T7BRSYQ

Excerpt
When they arrived at the station Emma hesitated for a moment before Phyllis pulled the door open. Then she felt compelled to go in. The first person she saw was Bill at the desk waiting for them. He gave her a broad smile.

'You must be Miss Emma Cadrose,' he said. 'And is this your big sister?' He winked at Phyllis standing behind her daughter.

            'No, this is my mother.'

            Bill held out his hand to shake Emma's but she ignored it. Phyllis reached over to take it and avoid his embarrassment.  

            'Are you Old Bill?' Emma asked.

            Bill laughed. 'No. It's an old joke and it's much older than me.'

            'But you do look quite old,' Emma said.

            Bill coughed. 'This is the waiting area,' he waved his arm expressively then pointed. 'And round that corner are the facilities. And that includes a vending machine with hot chocolate.'

            Emma understood his statement was aimed at her but she didn't feel ready to accept. 'Thank you but I'm not thirsty,' she said.

            Bill leaned towards her with a big smile on his face. 'What about our cells? Would you like to see one?'

Emma's expression didn't change, but her tone of voice was more enthusiastic.          'Oh yes, please. But not yet. Excuse me.'

            She walked past her mother to the toilet ahead, aware that Bill and her mother were watching. She opened the door with relief. It was one of those large disabled toilets. She liked those best. She hated queuing inside big rooms with lots of cubicles in them. This one was easy and she could avoid eye-contact. She didn't need to go, but she did need to compose herself before reappearing. She flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and took in a big breath before emerging back into the corridor.

            'Emma?' She heard a voice she recognised and turned to see Bradley smiling at her. 'Would you ladies come this way please?'

Emma's smile spoke volumes. Someone she already knew and trusted. She briefly wondered where Bill had gone.

            'What nice manners,' Phyllis whispered.

'He is nice,' Emma whispered back.

            Bradley led them further down the corridor and opened a door on the right. 'It might not be this room but it will look just like this.'

            'Emma?' Phyllis asked as her daughter stalled at the door.

            'I was just looking.' Emma pointed at another disabled toilet a little further down. 'So I know where they are if I need them.'

'The station does seem to be very well equipped,' Phyllis noted.

Emma looked into the room. It was almost bare and windowless. She shivered a little. 'I don't mind coming in here. Now I've seen it. Can we see the cells now?'

            Bradley laughed. 'Of course. I'll take you back to Bill. He loves showing people the cells.'

            Emma's face fell. 'There's no one in them is there?'

            'No,' Bradley shook his head. 'Not today. So it's a good day to have a look.'

            Bill was back at his position on the desk but after calling for a stand-in, he was happy to escort both women downstairs to the cells. He talked slowly and deliberately and always with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.

'We've had some right villains in here,' he said. 'Even someone who murdered his next-door neighbour once.'

            'Gracious,' said Phyllis. 'What did he do?'

            'Fifteen years,' Bill replied with a wink.

 

 

Jane writes novels, short stories and poems, usually with a good dose of humour in them. She probably owes it all to her late grandmother who, she's just found out, also wrote short stories and poems. She tends to get an idea and then run with it whether it be a 100 word short story or an 80 thousand word novel. It all depends on the voices in her head at the time…

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