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The following Extract has been taken from: Chapter 2

Cosmic Room contains 21 chapters, 350 pages and a quality cover in smooth gloss lamination.

This is the end of the extract. Cosmic Room develops into an exciting story, and not at all what might be expected. A book that will surprise and astound.

 ‘Now then, we’ve had a bit of excitement this morning, there’s been a shooting in Bridgetown. I’ve no time to discuss it now. Doyle’s waiting outside in his car –he’ll fill you in on the way. Marty, the police will probably be there but see what you can dig up.’
  ‘Okay, chief,’ replied Fenshaw.
  ‘Simon, take this press camera. Snap anything worthwhile for our front page. This is headline stuff so make it good.’
  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Brody, picking up the camera.
  ‘Now get going you two, and make it quick.’
  Without further ado, Fenshaw and Brody ran from the office and down to the front entrance of the building. Doyle was waiting in his car with the motor running. They jumped in with Fenshaw taking the front passenger seat and Brody the rear. Doyle drove off and caused a squeal from the tyres as he stepped on the accelerator.
  ‘What happened to you?’ said Doyle, as he swerved the car around a corner.
  ‘Brody had an accident, so we were delayed, that’s all,’ replied Fenshaw.
  ‘Nothing serious I hope?’ enquired Doyle, looking momentarily in the rear-view mirror.
  ‘Just a slight bump on the head,’ said Brody, playing down his misfortune.
  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Fenshaw.
  ‘The Cleremont Hotel, here in Bridgetown. It’s not far but we need to get there pronto before the police cordon off the site of the shooting. Did Hadleigh tell you about it?’
  ‘Briefly.’
  ‘Anyway, we should know more soon,’ said Doyle, and speeding the car over a set of traffic lights just before they began to change from amber.
  When they arrived at the hotel, which was a posh multi-storey building, two police cars and an ambulance were already parked outside. Doyle showed his press badge to a constable, by holding it aloft, and they were allowed to pass through a small crowd of people. Entering by a revolving door the three of them then walked through the foyer to the reception where a distressed secretary gave Doyle directions to the incident.
  ‘It’s on the fourth floor. Room 158,’ said Doyle, rejoining his colleagues. ‘Let’s take the lift.’
  After a few minutes they were walking from the elevator with Doyle leading the way along the right-wing of the hotel. They did not have to look for the room number, as the section of corridor outside its location was busy with activity. After repeated requests, they were finally allowed into the room.
  It was at once apparent that murder had been committed as there were three bodies lying on the floor, two males and a younger female. All had been shot. Their clothes were stained red at the points of impact and pools of blood had congealed about them. Doyle went to

talk with Mike Hennessey, a detective leading the investigation, whom he had known for many years; whilst Fenshaw began chatting to someone to his left. Brody raised his camera but, moving to a better position for an unobstructed view, was temporarily halted by a young policewoman.
  ‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait ’til our forensic people have finished,’ she said, raising her hand with authority.
  Brody obliged, lowering his camera, as the crouching figures went about their final inspection. Presently, with their tasks completed, Brody was allowed to continue. Meanwhile, Doyle had walked with Hennessey to the side of the room.
  ‘What gives here, Mike?’ asked Doyle quietly, as they looked at the stricken.
  ‘It’s a queer one, and no mistake,’ said Hennessey, rubbing his chin.
  ‘Some kind of bizarre shoot out,’ observed Doyle, as each of the dead held a gun in one hand.
  ‘That’s for sure, as we’ve yet to find a reason for it.’
  ‘By the look of things, I’d say those two closer together were in league while the woman over there was their opposition.’
  ‘My thoughts, too. But how come all three are dead?’
  ‘It’s possible the woman could have shot them both whilst being plugged herself.’
  ‘I doubt it,’ said Hennessey, dubiously.
  ‘Then, maybe she shot them and took her own life?’
  ‘I’ve never known anyone to shoot themselves in the stomach in order to commit suicide. It’s usually a bullet fired at the temple. Anyway, we’ll know when Ballistics examine the wounds.’
  ‘Do we know who they are?’
  ‘Not yet. A quick examination of their clothing revealed no identification whatsoever.’
  ‘Anything else found in their pockets?’
  ‘Nothing of any consequence. And there was nothing in the woman’s handbag either,’ said Hennessey, pointing to the item that lay near to her body.
  ‘Which suggests a third party is involved.’
  ‘Not necessarily, we found no labels in any of their linings, which signifies some other sinister aspect of the crime.’
  ‘You mean a covert cover-up operation of some kind?’
  ‘Possibly, though I would ask you to keep a lid on that ’til we know more.’
  ‘Okay, Mike –but let me know as soon as you are able. This is red-hot stuff for the paper.’
  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ said Hennessey, walking away to talk with one of the uniformed policemen.

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