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Date Published: September 1, 2016

A Haszard Narrative

When asked to look into the death of a man in a town known for pagan connections, Haszard quickly makes progress, and it isn’t long before matters become dangerous. With little to work with, Haszard makes progress, yet the task is a daunting one, and not everyone he encounters is friendly.

Collating interesting and significant information from various sources along the way, Haszard has to link factors linked with the past, and as he does so, he realizes that in order to save someone from certain death, he is in a race against time.

Other Books in A Haszard Narrative Series

Unfortunate in life and unlucky in love, the mysterious Haszard is intrigued by the death of an acquaintance at the local hospital, in which he works. Suspicious about the circumstances, he begins to look into the matter, meeting the woman of his dreams along the way.

After joining forces a local businessman, he speaks to a number of people, discovering irregularities in the life of the murdered woman. As he makes progress, he realises that the key to the matter lies in the dark and murky world of drug dealers, and has to face the possibility that the killer may well be someone he knows . . .

When asked to frame an old map, Haszard discovers that it’s linked to lost valuables from the past. Intrigued, he begins looking into the legend, discovering there to be cryptic clues on the map that must be deciphered. Unfortunately, though, Haszard isn’t the only person interested in the whereabouts of the missing items, and the other contingent resorts to violent tactics, which leads to a chilling climax . . .

When told by a former colleague that she saw her dead husband walking around a quaint market town, Haszard’s curiosity is engaged. As he begins to look into the matter, he unearths a number of facts that lead him to believe that there’s more to the sighting than merely a dead man walking. Also, there are people who are prepared to kill for something that’s worth a lot of money . . .

Haszard is asked to look for a family’s missing inheritance. Guided by words provided by a medium, he goes about the case with his typical fervour. Side-tracked by other matters, and spooked by a mysterious man in the woods, Haszard soon comes to realise that he isn’t alone in his quest, and persons unknown are not afraid to kill . . .

When on holiday with his friends, Haszard sees a girl who went missing a number of weeks previous. Fuelled with his usual determination, he sets about looking into the matter, although all is not as it appears, and it isn’t long before matters become eventful.

Having befriended a local artist, Haszard moves closer to an answer, yet the odds are stacked heavily against him. In order to win through, he must endure his most arduous and perilous challenge yet . . .

Intrigued by the bizarre events surrounding the murder of a friend, Haszard is asked by the family to look into the matter. Against the advice of his friends, he begins making enquiries, and is disturbed when he realizes that it may well be someone he knows. As progress is made, further events occur, endangering the life of Haszard and his friends, and he is forced to delve into the deepest recesses of his resourcefulness . . .

     Driving away we agreed that a chat with Ed Loughmann, a friend of ours who owned a number of pubs, clubs, and gyms, along with a security protection service for the local businesses, would be of value. My immediate thought was to look obviously at what had been said, therefore finding out something about Paul Tudor should be the first move. If anyone could find out anything about him, it would be Ed. Once we had some facts on the table, we’d then be able to look at the situation differently.

     Another immediate thought was the fact that Dean had been in Lamesford, a place that he was unfamiliar with. With him being a creature of habit, this threw up a major question, possibly even being the key to the entire affair; however, it was far too early for blind conjecture.

     Our destination was a pub owned by Ed—the Railway Tavern, the jewel in Ed’s crown. A grand old building in the area of the main rail depot, the Tavern stood out as out of place. Ed had refurbished every aspect of the establishment, from the interior and exterior decor through to the catering, which was among the finest around.

     After parking up we made our way in to see Ed sitting at his usual table, grinning as we approached. Ed was ex-British Special Forces, and in his early forties. He had short light-brown hair, and stood at around six feet, his features somewhat rugged, though they brightened considerably when he smiled.

     “Sabrina, you survived the weekend with this lunatic. Congratulations,” Ed said, raising himself, holding a seat out for Sabrina, and leaving me to fend for myself as always. Ed was an imposing figure, feared by the local criminals. He ran a security service for local businesses and select private residences. “No mishaps or misdemeanors we should hear about?”

     “Other than eyeing the waitress up, no,” Sabrina said, smiling at me.

     “I was only returning her admiring glances,” I defended. “Is it my fault I’m irresistible? Who’s for a drink?”

     Ed told me what he’d like, and I returned minutes later to see Ed with a serious expression. “Sabrina’s told me. Why don’t you leave this one alone?” He paused and looked around the room. “Did you hear that? That was the sound of me wasting my breath!”

     I grinned. “I don’t think there’s anything dangerous this time.”

     “Haszard, you say that every time, and every bloody time it gets worse,” Ed said bluntly. “What’s more, this happened in bloody Lamesford of all places!”

     “I don’t know Lamesford; what’s it like?’ I said, realizing that I’d regret asking.

     “It’s full of inbred bloody sheep-shaggers that still consider cows lying down as a weather forecast. They’re all as mad as March hares, worshipping and sacrificing God alone knows what!”

     “It can’t be that bad,” I said, suddenly thinking back to the name. Lamesford, I should point out is actually pronounced lambs-ford. I thought, there can’t be anything in that, surely.

     “I’ve heard a few things about it,” Sabrina said. “I’ve a cousin who lived there. She didn’t for long. She couldn’t get away fast enough.”

     I shook my head. “All we’re doing is finding out why he was seen in Southington at the moment of his death. If anything, we’ll be concentrating our efforts there.”

     Ed didn’t look convinced. “If laddo did the big splat in Lamesford, I’d say that Lamesford is where you’ll be looking, unless Old Nick had a hand in it, of course.”

     “Ed!” Sabrina snapped. “Dean was the brother of an old friend of mine!”

     Ed held his hands up. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t see his death having anything to do with Southington, that’s all.”

     “I suppose you’re right,” I said, “but I’ll have to bear Southington in mind. It may hold the key as to why he was seen by another party, but why he was killed—well, that’ll be another matter. Maybe it is something to do with Southington, maybe it isn’t. You putting the feelers out on this Paul Tudor would come in handy, though.”

     Ed raised his eyes to the heavens. “How did I know that was coming? When do you want the info for?”

     “Tomorrow would be great,” I said.

     “No pressure, then,” Ed said with a wry smile. “On one condition.”

     “Go on.”

     “We’ve a twenty-twenty match next Friday. You’re captain.” For those not in the know, twenty-twenty is cricket.

     I smiled. “You just try stopping me.”

     “Good man.”

     I thought back to Grace’s call and the request for Phil to pick her up from Cardiff. “Ed, can you get Phil to call Grace? She wants him to pick her up from the airport and says to take his overnight bag. Apparently, there’s a party on.”

     Ed grimaced and sighed heavily. “If it’s anything like the last one, we may not see him for a few days, and I need my members of staff here.”

     “I’m sure it won’t be for long,” I said.

     Ed looked me in the eye. “Haz, that bloody mad woman creates chaos wherever she goes. Yes, Phil has a few days of leave, but I’d like him compos mentis when he gets back. Whoever has shares in rubber, I’d say they’re in for a decent payout. Anyway, now for some good news, your car should be ready in the next week or so. I had a sneak preview and it looks better than it ever did.”

     “Great,” I said excitedly. My car was badly damaged due to a fire a month or so back. I used to work part-time at the hospital and spend the rest of the time at my shop, but I’d been working in theatres full-time of late, having to use Sabrina’s cabriolet, or Grace’s V12 five hundred-horsepower rocket of a car, when I wasn’t cadging lifts here and there. “Ed, I could kiss you.”

     Ed shook his head. “Haz, I know how much you love that roadster, but there’s no need to come across as a bloody pansy.”

Kevin E. Hatt is the author of the Haszard series of narratives. His interest in writing began at school, and he carried it on into his twenties, writing for fun. He wrote the first two Haszard stories in the late eighties, but shelved the project until 2009, when he revived and updated it, going on to write seventeen stories. With the stories having been well received by friends, Kevin published the first five books, and after good reviews is furthering the project.

In 1984 he commenced his training as an Operating Department Practitioner, rising to the height of deputy head, before leaving the profession in 1999 to pursue his other love, that of art. Kevin worked as an art consultant, demonstrator, teacher, retailer and framer, but returned to the medical profession in 2010. His main passions are cricket, running, humour, ale and curries. He lives with his wife of twenty-five years and his twenty-three-year-old daughter. Kevin has never been to Ipswich. Or Scunthorpe.