Odder Still begins when someone manipulates the actions of one of Oddball’s team and Crocker, Oddball’s quirky boss, tasks him with finding out what the hell is going on. But things straight away become complicated when the disfigured body of a senior government minister is found face-down in the River Thames near Windsor Castle. No sooner do they start looking into it when the mutilated body of a high-flying lawyer turns up in the same spot. With no clues to work with, the team are up against it.
Things turn even stranger when Harry Lewis arrives. Harry – real name Harriet – is a computer genius and she takes issue when she is manipulated into lighting candles in her sleep. No-one manipulates Harry Lewis and gets away with it.
The bodies pile even higher when the charred remains of a Lord of the Realm are found in the entrance of his stately home. But the strings finally come together when an unscrupulous journalist, Quentin Richards, finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun while his nemesis decides to amputate his manhood with a sharpened knife.
Can Quentin escape the inevitable? It seems unlikely.
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He was bound tight to something that felt like steel – hard and cold. Pulling against whatever it was they had tied him with, cut into his wrists and caused him even more pain. As if he wasn’t already suffering enough. He tried to shout out, but his mouth was stuffed with some foul-tasting rag. So he hung his head, resting his chin on his chest for a few seconds – needing to breathe and work this out. He was a logical man, he could figure out how to put things right, but his head was spinning and his hand hurt like hell. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he’d drunk too much brandy after dinner last night and was now hallucinating?
Trevor Cavendish inhaled, long and deep, and tried again to puzzle out the reason for the sharp pain in his hand that was fastened behind him. When he attempted to make a clenched fist, he couldn’t feel his fingers touching his palm. He stopped trying when a mocking voice whispered from the darkness. “Incredible as it may seem, Mister Cavendish, no one has missed you yet. Sad, eh? Not even that blonde bimbo you were screwing last night when you told your wife you were at an important Law Society meeting on the south coast. She was one of ours, you know – the bimbo. She slipped you some of that date rape stuff. I’m told she’s very reliable if the price is right.”
Cavendish tried to turn his head to see who it was who dared to talk to him like this. Who did this bloody man think he was? This wasn’t how folk behaved around him, and red-hot anger now mixed with his fear. He wanted to roar a reply, to scream at him, but the disgusting cloth wedged in his mouth made it impossible. No-one had ever spoken to him like that. They wouldn’t dare.
“You’d think someone out there would wonder what’s happened to you, wouldn’t you?” the voice from behind him taunted. “But don’t worry, the world will soon learn your name, Mister Cavendish. You’ll soon be headline news.”