My DI Andy Horton is far removed from many of the detectives of that era. He is a brave, earthy and a complex character: physically strong but emotionally vulnerable. He is driven by a deep need to belong, yet always finds himself on the outside. Abandoned by his mother when he was ten, Horton was raised in a succession of children’s homes. Growing up on the rough streets of Portsmouth, Horton survived on his wits – and with his fists. He knows the dark, seedy recesses of his home city – which he hates and loves in equal measure. He seeks justice and doesn’t much care how he gets it, just as long as the villains get done. He lives alone.
The Golden Age of Crime Fiction threw up many great writers whose names have lived on long after they have gone, and whose books are still read by many people across the World today, and what a huge tribute to their talent that is. Here are just a few of my favourites from the era, which I have great pleasure in re-reading again and again: The Moving Toyshop by Edmund Crispin; The Port of London Murders by Josephine Bell; The Silk Stocking Murders by Anthony Berkeley, The Singing Sands by Josephine Tey, and Blood Upon The Snow by Hilda Lawrence. All brilliant and thoroughly enjoyable.
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