When Fear Stalks: A Case for 'the Player'

By Herbert Howard Jones

When handsome Australian art detective Jack Truepster, also known as ‘the player,’ is visiting an art gallery in Madrid with a beautiful young lady, they are attacked by kidnappers who whisk his companion away.

During the attack Jack is knocked unconscious and he wakes up in a police cell accused of being complicit in the kidnap. He also learns that the victim, Laura, is the daughter of a senator who is trying to extradite a criminal to America to face trial for drug offences. The criminal, a Johnny Vazo just happens to have a powerful underground buddy in Madrid and together they hatch a plan to get Vazo off the hook. It involves the kidnap of the senator’s daughter, Laura, pure and simple.

It soon becomes clear that the kidnappers want the extradition of Johnny Vazo to be stopped in return for the safe return of the kidnap victim. It’s nothing less than blackmail. The senator has the authority to withdraw the extradition order, but he has spent many months on the case, and it would mean a waste of all that time and effort.

But the kidnappers have made it clear that his daughter Laura’s life hangs in the balance unless the senator agrees to their terms. The distraught senator’s wife demands swift action from her husband, but as he is a man of duty and responsibility, he is dithering.
It seems that only the enterprising Jack Truepster and his sidekick, Dino, may have the ingenuity to outwit the kidnappers and unravel the corruption which surrounds the case. But will they succeed when the odds are greater than anyone has realised?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Herbert Howard Jones
• Release date: Feb 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005764432

Herbert Howard Jones

HERBERT HOWARD JONES grew up in Notting Hill, London in the sixties. He went to a boarding school in Norfolk and then local schools including Sloane School where crime writer John Creasy attended near the King's Road. When he left school he got numerous jobs, including as a porter at the BBC London, working as a jewellery assembler in a factory in Hatton Garden and also in a number of roles at a showbiz solicitor's office where he was a trainee legal executive and ran errands for a few of the British movie and music names of the time.He is a creative spirit who also likes dabbling in music and art himself. When he was in the jewellery business he personally made over ten thousand 14 carat gold gate bracelets which was a great learning experience for him. However, he was more interested in media and always wanted to write suspense books with a melodramatic element and so spent years reading them and working on various projects. He is also interested in romantic and fantasy fiction.But meeting people has always inspired him the most and he has had the good fortune to meet quite a few interesting people. He was personally friends with horror writer, Denis Wheatley's housekeeper when she lived in Blackheath, and knew poet John Pudney who lived nearby before he passed. One of the most interesting people that he met was the daughter of the Captain of the Titanic with whom he had tea in her cottage up in Suffolk. Miss Smith was a lady with a big personality and a very interesting home. She was surrounded with Titanic memorabilia wherever you looked. Jones was only a boy at the time and didn't appreciate the significance of all this stuff, but regrets not quizzing her on the catastrophic event which has forever featured large in shipping folklore!PERSONAL MESSAGE:I WANT TO EXPRESS my gratitude to readers who have bothered to download my books. I put a lot of effort into them and also design my own covers, and so it is a wonderful reward to get a download. Every author on this platform will be grateful for them because writing can be a lonely and thankless task. It is only the reader who makes it all worth while, and so thanks very much again.HHJ

Book preview

When Fear Stalks - a case for ‘The Player’

Herbert Howard Jones

Copyright © Herbert Howard Jones 2021

The right of Herbert Howard Jones to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

This is a work of fiction. Opinions expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect the author’s own views.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Cover by Herbert Howard Jones

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

About the author

Chapter One

When suave and debonair Australian Jack Truepster found himself at the Museo del Prado in Madrid, it wasn’t just to study the beautiful art there. It was also to check on the international art-loving beauties who hovered around such sites like moths to a flame. But as far as tourist attractions go, this one was probably one of the most popular in Madrid. The 18th century structure designed by architect Juan de Villanueva, houses one of the world’s finest art collections.

If Truepster’s wandering eye ever managed to wrest itself away from the ladies, it would undoubtedly settle on the fine art itself. These included the Velasquez’s and Picasso’s which adorned the gracious walls of this elegant museum. Truepster knew that the value of the fine works on display was virtually incalculable. He should know, he had come here several times before.

Today he had arrived by taxi, after having done a general tour of the main parts of the city, before being dropped him off at the Museo del Prado itself. Truepster gave the taxi driver a generous tip and then had to fight off the small army of vendors hovering around the museum. Where there were tourists, there was invariably money to be made.

Jack Truepster cut a dashing figure with his shiny black coiffed hair, moderate goatee beard, expensive Italian clothes, open necked silk shirt and crocodile shoes. It was probably true that the women were as equally enamored of him as he was of them.

Before he entered the Museum, he lit up one of his favourite cigaros and stood puffing thoughtfully, observing the crowd around him, which drifted in and out of the museum. He watched a small group of fellow Australians standing nearby, being taken advantage of by a canny Spanish photographer.

Jack observed as the photographer lined them up in a couple of poses, snapped away and demanded a payment which would have made any native Spaniard wince. But this was business and the Australians still hadn’t twigged that they were being taken for a right royal ride. But there was something they did notice – the famous Jack Truepster standing there in his typical unassuming way.

‘Hey mother,’ one of the big burley Australians said. ‘Doesn’t that look like Jack Truepster, the art detective also known as The Player?’

Mother was an equally tough-looking lady. She glanced at Jack briefly and then shook her head, ‘Not really, too handsome. He wouldn’t be here anyway, he’d be in New York or Chicago or someplace like that solving a crime!’

The Spanish photographer bowed and moved away with his easy won money, leaving the group to stare up at the Museum.

‘Wasn’t this the palace in Ben Hur with Errol Flynn?’ the second Australian queried getting it completely wrong.

‘Maybe,’ Mother replied. ‘But who cares? Let’s go in and have a sit down. My legs are killing me!’

Amused, Jack watched them go into the museum and was planning to follow in a moment after he had finished his 5-Vegas cigaro, a brand he particularly liked.

Eventually, Jack stubbed out his cigaro underneath his expensive shoes and turned to make his way into the museum. It was then that a horse driven tourist carriage trotted up and paused just in front of him. Jack might have moved on if the occupant of the carriage wasn’t so delectable.

Jack stood riveted to the spot as the beautiful auburn haired, elegantly dressed young woman gingerly alighted from the decorative carriage. But then she immediately seem to get into an argument with the carriage owner.

Jack approached out of curiosity, eager to hear what the angelic lady was saying.

‘That’s far too expensive just for a short drive around!’ the young woman was protesting.

‘Five hundred is the going rate around here!’ the carriage driver replied. He was a short curly haired man who spoke in broken English. ‘You are the first lady to complain.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ the women replied. ‘I think you are trying to take advantage of me because I’m a tourist!’

The carriage owner’s jaw dropped. ‘What an insinuation! Never! I love the English!’

Seeing a damsel in distress was like a red flag to a bull where Jack Truepster was concerned. He could also easily handle himself, being over six feet in height, well-built, and would not be intimidated by the carriage owner.