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Alan Hardy’s books

Follow the INSPECTOR CULLOT MYSTERY SERIES, a murder mystery series highlighting the cases of Inspector Cullot’s world-famous Murder Squad. Gasp in horror and fascination, sit spellbound at Cullot’s intuitive brilliance, gawp at Detective Constable Stephanie Gorge’s alluring, stunning gorgeousness, side-split with laughter at the antics of the love-struck Sergeant Watkins and the bumbling, half-witted Police Constable Blunt…

 

Check out THROUGH THE GATES, as Mark travels back to 1944, at the height of WW2, in search of love, sex, gold, the mysteries of life…and a beautiful, black-haired woman…

 

In VAMPIRE HUNT, Dr Joseph Aymon travels back to the land of his birth in search of Bella, the woman he loved and lost years ago…and in search of vampires…to kill…

 

In JULIA, a young man relentlessly pursues his first love from city to city, country to country, unable to forget her, wanting to put right everything he did wrong the first time… Is he just a young man madly in love…or is it something more…something too obsessive…something dangerous..?

 

Check out BRITT, set in 1918 towards the end of WW1, when Germany seem about to win the war… Can Britt and Wriggles save the world…and find true love at the same time?

 

Check out GOOD QUEEN BETH, a savage, provocative, no-holds-barred dissection of modern society…with a comic, adult satire on royalty and the powers-that-be…and with maybe one of the world’s greatest love-stories thrown into the mix…

 

GABRIELLA tells the tale of eighteen-year-old Gabriella, a beautiful, sexy, sexually experienced aristocrat, and sixteen-year-old Jim, an awkward, rebellious, inexperienced member of the lower classes. They meet on a sports field during a cricket match, and sparks start to fly, passions begin to be aroused, and the game of love is played out during a game of cricket… Passionate, saucy, witty, and hilarious…well, that’s my opinion…

 

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First blog post

This is the post excerpt.

What’s my aim with this blog?

It’s to provide as much info as I can about my books, mainly by publishing excerpts of them, in order to get you to feel intrigued, and eager to delve further into them.

It’s as simple as that. I’m not going to dress up my motives any further than that.

At least I’m honest…

And I am genuine and sincere in wanting to provide you with the only relevant information you need to decide whether to read my books or not…namely, excerpts from the books themselves…

OK, guys?

Here are some links:

https://www.amazon.com/Alan-Hardy/e/B00GDDS4UG/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Alan-Hardy/e/B00GDDS4UG/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1

 

 

Excerpt No. 2 from THE CASE OF THE TORN YELLOW SOCKS

 

Scotland Yard’s three greatest living detectives, and PC Blunt, stood in a semi-circle around the sitting-room sofa on which was splayed out the naked body of a young woman.

A wicked-looking, jagged gash still emitting rivulets of blood was the clearest of proofs, even to PC Blunt, that her throat had been cut.

The room was as luxuriously set out as the adjoining bedroom, with the plushest of carpets, a decadently-expensive chandelier, and amazingly crafted items of furniture such as an ornate wardrobe in the far corner.

“But how do you know she killed the gentleman in the next room, sir?” asked Sergeant Watkins.

“When Forensics gets here, I’m sure they’ll discover the lady’s prints on the knife, and that the drops of blood you can just see on her fingers didn’t come from her but from her victim as she thrust the knife into his unsuspecting breast.”

“That will certainly be proof of your suspicions, daddy,” countered Stephanie, “but it doesn’t show why you suspected her in the first place.”

“Our gentleman was lying on the bed, fully clothed, waiting no doubt for the sexual games to begin, when the lady now lying before us stabbed him, to his immense horror and surprise, as evidenced by the ghastly expression fixed on his face. She then had her throat cut by a person or persons unknown, and just managed to make her way back here to die on her sofa.”

“But how do you know, sir?” asked Blunt, still scribbling furiously away, although unable to shift his gaze from the subtle curves and undulations of the dead body on the sofa.

“I have my methods and insights, as you well know, gentlemen and Stephanie,” replied the great man.

“But, daddy, that’s not fair! You must tell us what you know.”

“Sir,” interposed Watkins, “how do you know it didn’t happen differently? Perhaps the lady was killed here first by a person or persons unknown, who then, blood dripping from his or her knife, rushed into the bedroom to kill our other victim.”

“Unlikely, Watkins. The amount of blood on the carpet leading to this room was too extensive to be a few drops issuing from a bloodied hand, but was obviously caused by blood gushing out of this poor lady’s slashed jugular.”

“I follow that, daddy, and it’s clear she was stabbed in the bedroom and just managed to make her way here. But, how do you know she had first killed the other victim before being struck down herself? The person, or persons, who killed her could have committed a double murder.”

“All will become clear in time,” the Inspector pronounced enigmatically.

“But, sir!”

“Daddy!”

“Observe the body before us, gentlemen and Stephanie,” Inspector Cullot intoned in a low voice, emitting a sigh. “What do you see?”

“Well,” noted Stephanie with a cruel sneer, “PC Shunt should be able to fill in all the details, from the way he’s been ogling the poor dead wretch since we’ve been here, let alone annoying everyone with his obscene, heavy breathing.”

“I object, sir!” exclaimed Blunt. “I’ve merely been taking note of anything that might be relevant to the case.”

“Well, Blunt?”

“Well, she’s got long black hair…”

“And blue eyes…”

“Yes, Stephanie, and…”

“Red-painted fingernails…”

“Yes, Watkins…”

“Red-painted toe-nails, as well…”

“Yes, Stephanie…”

“And massive tits, sir…”

“Well, yes, yes, Blunt…”

“He’s a complete pervert…”

“Well, she certainly had a gorgeous figure…”

“That’s true, Watkins…”

“They definitely look cosmetic to me…I’d say it was a boob-job…”

“That may well be, Stephanie… Anything else?”

“There’s something in her right hand! Is that it, daddy?”

Watkins moved forward and extricated a scrap of paper from the poor victim’s grasp, still as tight in death as it had been in life, if not tighter.

“What does it say, sir?” queried Blunt, wide-eyed and flushed-cheeked.

 

Excerpt from The Case of the Torn Yellow Socks: Inspector Cullot Mystery Series Book 4

The latest enthralling, eye-popping, edge-of-the-seat, plot-deciphering, maze-like-intricate murder case for Inspector Cullot and his world-famous Murder Squad to unravel like a master knot-undoer, and dissect like a surgeon’s scalpel.

Three rich, old men are gruesomely murdered in the poshest London apartments imaginable. There are a whole host of potential suspects, nearly all of them, of whatever sex, of stunning beauty and gorgeous allure. Can Cullot and his Team find their way through the twisting maze of possibilities, and seize the foul fiend (or fiends) before it’s too late?

Greater urgency is given to Cullot’s investigatory pursuit when sexy Stephanie, his gorgeous love-child, is herself kidnapped… Can Cullot get to her in time? And is the love of Cullot’s life, the famed ex-movie star, Janice Butler, somehow involved?

Here’s the excerpt:

“Well, your job, Blunt, and a very important one it is, is to apprehend the person who is at this very moment hiding within it, and causing it to wobble ever so, so slightly which, to anybody who does not share my unique acuity of ocular perception, would be quite unnoticeable.”

“Good Lord!”

“Who is it, daddy? Is it the murderer?”

Blunt advanced fearlessly towards the wardrobe, twirling his trusty British Police helmet in his hand as he geared up for whatever physical danger awaited him.

As he approached, the wardrobe’s left door was flung open, smashing into Blunt’s face, occasioning a yell of pain to issue from his bruised and battered lips.

A figure burst out from the wardrobe’s inner depths, colliding viciously with the stumbling Blunt, sending him flying to the right where he ended up on the plush carpet, all twisted limbs and groaning moans.

Sergeant Watkins moved swiftly to intercept the running figure as it made for the door and possible escape.

The figure was wearing a long, loose-shaped beige raincoat, and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low to hide its face, no doubt both handy items nicked from the wardrobe’s contents.

As Watkins neared the flying figure, a long-fingered hand shot out into Watkins’s face, causing a yelp of pain and an instinctive stumble as his hands moved to his cheek.

It seemed the route to the door was unhindered, but, just as the running figure was about to reach out for the welcome knob, Stephanie, who had expertly positioned herself, dangled a convenient high-heeled-shod foot in front of the figure, caught its shin and sent the figure crashing to the floor, fetching up with a wincing thud against the door itself.

Stephanie strode over to the crumpled figure and snatched off its now askew hat.

As the forlorn figure seemed for a moment to be about to resist, in a plaintive, anguished frenzy of itchy movement, Stephanie gave a vicious slap across the figure’s face, forcing its head to jolt against the door, thereby bringing into view a shock of long, blonde hair.

“OK, darling,” Stephanie warned in a sinister drawl, “I’d advise you to know when to quit.”

“My God, it’s a woman!” exclaimed Sergeant Watkins rather sheepishly, as he moved towards the figure sprawled on the floor, all the while clutching a handkerchief to his bleeding cheek.

The young woman glanced up at Stephanie, her indomitable conqueror, who was standing tall above her, legs astride, mini-black-dressed, firm-limbed and muscle-rippling. The young woman sighed and fell back against the door.

“Splendid work, Stephanie!” called out an elated Cullot, as he too neared the door.

Moans could still be heard emanating from the other side of the room, from the inert, lumpen mass that was PC Blunt.

“Go and help Blunt to his feet, will you, Watkins?” commanded the great man.

“And what’s your name, then?” Stephanie asked gruffly, as the young woman stirred herself into a sitting position, looking unsurely from Cullot to Stephanie and back.

“Hilda,” she replied in something of a whisper.

Stephanie stepped forward and roughly grabbed hold of the woman’s raincoat, causing her to wince at Stephanie’s menacing attitude.

Stephanie pulled hard at the raincoat, forcing the woman to rise falteringly to her feet as she was rudely divested of the coat, revealing a lithe, slim figure dressed in a tight-fitting, blue dress.

“A German whore, I would say, brought in to mete out some Teutonic pleasures to this apartment-block’s rich and demanding clientele,” opined Stephanie, with a glance at Cullot, who had now been joined by Watkins, and the stooping figure of PC Blunt, breathing heavily from his exertions, supported by Watkins’s hands gripped around his arm.

“Without doubt, Stephanie,” murmured Cullot. “Blunt, if you have managed to recover your senses, I want you to place Hilda under arrest and take her to Scotland Yard.”

“Of course, sir,” said Blunt. “Is she the murderer, sir?”

“Murderer of whom, Blunt?”

“Well, of the young lady on the sofa, sir,” said Blunt, turning round towards the sofa to have another swift gawp at her superb, if tragically inert body.

“Time will tell, Blunt,” answered the Inspector enigmatically.

Alan Hardy’s books

Follow the INSPECTOR CULLOT MYSTERY SERIES, a murder mystery series highlighting the cases of Inspector Cullot’s world-famous Murder Squad. Gasp in horror and fascination, sit spellbound at Cullot’s intuitive brilliance, gawp at Detective Constable Stephanie Gorge’s alluring, stunning gorgeousness, side-split with laughter at the antics of the love-struck Sergeant Watkins and the bumbling, half-witted Police Constable Blunt…

 

Check out THROUGH THE GATES, as Mark travels back to 1944, at the height of WW2, in search of love, sex, gold, the mysteries of life…and a beautiful, black-haired woman…

 

In VAMPIRE HUNT, Dr Joseph Aymon travels back to the land of his birth in search of Bella, the woman he loved and lost years ago…and in search of vampires…to kill…

 

In JULIA, a young man relentlessly pursues his first love from city to city, country to country, unable to forget her, wanting to put right everything he did wrong the first time… Is he just a young man madly in love…or is it something more…something too obsessive…something dangerous..?

 

Check out BRITT, set in 1918 towards the end of WW1, when Germany seem about to win the war… Can Britt and Wriggles save the world…and find true love at the same time?

 

Check out GOOD QUEEN BETH, a savage, provocative, no-holds-barred dissection of modern society…with a comic, adult satire on royalty and the powers-that-be…and with maybe one of the world’s greatest love-stories thrown into the mix…

 

GABRIELLA tells the tale of eighteen-year-old Gabriella, a beautiful, sexy, sexually experienced aristocrat, and sixteen-year-old Jim, an awkward, rebellious, inexperienced member of the lower classes. They meet on a sports field during a cricket match, and sparks start to fly, passions begin to be aroused, and the game of love is played out during a game of cricket… Passionate, saucy, witty, and hilarious…well, that’s my opinion…

 

Excerpt from The Case of the Torn Yellow Socks: Inspector Cullot Mystery Series Book 4

The latest enthralling, eye-popping, edge-of-the-seat, plot-deciphering, maze-like-intricate murder case for Inspector Cullot and his world-famous Murder Squad to unravel like a master knot-undoer, and dissect like a surgeon’s scalpel.

Three rich, old men are gruesomely murdered in the poshest London apartments imaginable. There are a whole host of potential suspects, nearly all of them, of whatever sex, of stunning beauty and gorgeous allure. Can Cullot and his Team find their way through the twisting maze of possibilities, and seize the foul fiend (or fiends) before it’s too late?

Greater urgency is given to Cullot’s investigatory pursuit when sexy Stephanie, his gorgeous love-child, is herself kidnapped… Can Cullot get to her in time? And is the love of Cullot’s life, the famed ex-movie star, Janice Butler, somehow involved?

Here’s the excerpt:

“Well, your job, Blunt, and a very important one it is, is to apprehend the person who is at this very moment hiding within it, and causing it to wobble ever so, so slightly which, to anybody who does not share my unique acuity of ocular perception, would be quite unnoticeable.”

“Good Lord!”

“Who is it, daddy? Is it the murderer?”

Blunt advanced fearlessly towards the wardrobe, twirling his trusty British Police helmet in his hand as he geared up for whatever physical danger awaited him.

As he approached, the wardrobe’s left door was flung open, smashing into Blunt’s face, occasioning a yell of pain to issue from his bruised and battered lips.

A figure burst out from the wardrobe’s inner depths, colliding viciously with the stumbling Blunt, sending him flying to the right where he ended up on the plush carpet, all twisted limbs and groaning moans.

Sergeant Watkins moved swiftly to intercept the running figure as it made for the door and possible escape.

The figure was wearing a long, loose-shaped beige raincoat, and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low to hide its face, no doubt both handy items nicked from the wardrobe’s contents.

As Watkins neared the flying figure, a long-fingered hand shot out into Watkins’s face, causing a yelp of pain and an instinctive stumble as his hands moved to his cheek.

It seemed the route to the door was unhindered, but, just as the running figure was about to reach out for the welcome knob, Stephanie, who had expertly positioned herself, dangled a convenient high-heeled-shod foot in front of the figure, caught its shin and sent the figure crashing to the floor, fetching up with a wincing thud against the door itself.

Stephanie strode over to the crumpled figure and snatched off its now askew hat.

As the forlorn figure seemed for a moment to be about to resist, in a plaintive, anguished frenzy of itchy movement, Stephanie gave a vicious slap across the figure’s face, forcing its head to jolt against the door, thereby bringing into view a shock of long, blonde hair.

“OK, darling,” Stephanie warned in a sinister drawl, “I’d advise you to know when to quit.”

“My God, it’s a woman!” exclaimed Sergeant Watkins rather sheepishly, as he moved towards the figure sprawled on the floor, all the while clutching a handkerchief to his bleeding cheek.

The young woman glanced up at Stephanie, her indomitable conqueror, who was standing tall above her, legs astride, mini-black-dressed, firm-limbed and muscle-rippling. The young woman sighed and fell back against the door.

“Splendid work, Stephanie!” called out an elated Cullot, as he too neared the door.

Moans could still be heard emanating from the other side of the room, from the inert, lumpen mass that was PC Blunt.

“Go and help Blunt to his feet, will you, Watkins?” commanded the great man.

“And what’s your name, then?” Stephanie asked gruffly, as the young woman stirred herself into a sitting position, looking unsurely from Cullot to Stephanie and back.

“Hilda,” she replied in something of a whisper.

Stephanie stepped forward and roughly grabbed hold of the woman’s raincoat, causing her to wince at Stephanie’s menacing attitude.

Stephanie pulled hard at the raincoat, forcing the woman to rise falteringly to her feet as she was rudely divested of the coat, revealing a lithe, slim figure dressed in a tight-fitting, blue dress.

“A German whore, I would say, brought in to mete out some Teutonic pleasures to this apartment-block’s rich and demanding clientele,” opined Stephanie, with a glance at Cullot, who had now been joined by Watkins, and the stooping figure of PC Blunt, breathing heavily from his exertions, supported by Watkins’s hands gripped around his arm.

“Without doubt, Stephanie,” murmured Cullot. “Blunt, if you have managed to recover your senses, I want you to place Hilda under arrest and take her to Scotland Yard.”

“Of course, sir,” said Blunt. “Is she the murderer, sir?”

“Murderer of whom, Blunt?”

“Well, of the young lady on the sofa, sir,” said Blunt, turning round towards the sofa to have another swift gawp at her superb, if tragically inert body.

“Time will tell, Blunt,” answered the Inspector enigmatically.

The Case Of The Torn Yellow Socks: Inspector Cullot Mystery Series Book 4

Three rich old men skewered in luxury London hotels! A bevy of gorgeous suspects, male and female! Sexy Stephanie, Cullot’s love-child, kidnapped! Has Cullot met his match?

A series of baffling murders in some of London’s poshest apartments… Is it cold-blooded revenge? And is gorgeous Stephanie, Cullot’s love-child, in mortal danger?

Is Cullot up against the most ruthless criminal gang he has ever come across in his illustrious career? Has he finally met his match? Will this be his Waterloo?