When a close friend of Hardy’s is murdered the detective questions whether taking the law into his own hands could ever be justified.

Detective James Hardy is enjoying a rare day out with his two young daughters when he makes the mistake of answering his phone — it’s his boss.

A young mother, out walking her baby, has been murdered in broad daylight. Followed quickly, by a second terrifying, vicious attack on a young woman who’s a family friend of Hardy and his daughters.

Shaken and heartbroken, Hardy assists the team leading the investigation into a killer dubbed, the Regent's Park Ripper.

Knowing that in all likelihood the killer will soon strike again, the investigating team must put aside their differences, and work day and night to prevent more loss of life.

In a nail-biting, fast-paced investigation, Hardy will challenge his own, very personal need for revenge, when he finds himself face-to-face with the suspect in a deadly confrontation.

What choices will the heartbroken detective make, when he finds himself alone with the man who so savagely ended the young life of a family friend?

Discover whether Hardy takes justice into his own hands.

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Walk in the Park

Chief Inspector James Hardy Series, Prequel Novella

By Jay Gill

Chapter 1

Regent’s Park, London

He stood and watched as the final moments of her life slipped away.

She was very pretty; much prettier than the last one. He stared at her smooth white legs. He considered covering her naked lower half but decided he no longer wanted to touch her.

You can be like that when they find you, he thought.

The hammer would need to be cleaned again. He’d need to burn his sweater and jeans. His trainers he could put in the washing machine. They were too expensive to simply throw away. And, anyway, he hated new trainers; they were ridiculously bright white when you first got them.

She was still now. No more gasping for breath. The spasms, jolts and twitches had stopped. He stared at her lifelessness for a few seconds. Fascinated.

He wondered where she might have been going. Had she been on her way home? Going to work? Or simply enjoying a walk in the park?

He stopped himself. Don’t think about it. The bitch is dead. It’s over. Move on.

Over his shoulder he could hear ducks, their wings violently flapping and pounding the water. They were fighting and making a godawful row. Eventually one of them gave up and flew away in noisy protest.

Time to go, he thought.

He walked across the grass to his bike, which lay next to the path where he’d dumped it. Lifting the bike, he leaned it against himself. He opened the pannier and dropped the hammer inside.

Without looking back, he set off for home. The challenge of getting to his room without being stopped by Mum lay ahead. She always had questions. “Where have you been? Do anything nice today? Do you need any laundry doing? What would you like for dinner?”

He’d stay in for the rest of the day. Sit with Mum, eat snacks and watch the quiz shows  – she loved quiz shows. He might be on the news later.

The warm breeze felt good on his face as he picked up speed. The smell of summer filled his nostrils. The park was his favourite place; it felt like freedom.

The woman flashed across his mind. He tried to remember whether she’d said anything. With each woman it had been the same: he’d heard their noise but never precisely their words. He could guess what they were saying, but it was strange how the words became nothing more than background noise. In some ways he felt that was fortunate; he didn’t need their words rattling around in his head. He wanted to remember only how each accomplishment felt.

He felt good, and he knew he’d walk with a bit of a swagger for a few days. He hoped the good feelings would last longer than last time. He wouldn’t do this again. He definitely wouldn’t do this again.

With a smile, he pressed on. He was feeling so energised that the pedalling was easy. Life felt good again.

He turned his face away and looked at the trees as he approached an old man walking his small copper-coloured dog.

“Come on, Sheeran, my friend,” said the old man. “Forget the squirrel. Do your business and let’s get home. I don’t want to be out here all day; your mother will begin to worry about us.”

The dog ignored him and continued to pull on his lead towards his furry nemesis.

The old man tugged the little dog, and they continued along the path they walked every day.