The Man by the Sea (The Slim Hardy Mysteries #1)
What's The Man by the Sea about?
John "Slim" Hardy, heavy drinker and disgraced soldier turned bumbling private detective, is hired to investigate Ted Douglas, an investment banker who slips out of work every Friday to visit a desolate cove on the Lancashire coast. There, he walks to the shore, opens an old book, and begins to read aloud.
His wife thinks he's having an affair.
Slim thinks he's insane.
The truth is more incredible than either could imagine.
The Man by the Sea is the sensational debut novel by Jack Benton, a classic story of love, betrayal, murder, and intrigue.
His wife thinks he's having an affair.
Slim thinks he's insane.
The truth is more incredible than either could imagine.
The Man by the Sea is the sensational debut novel by Jack Benton, a classic story of love, betrayal, murder, and intrigue.
Would you like to read a sample of The Man by the Sea?
Chapter One
The green saloon was parked at the top of the beach, its engine running, puffs of black smoke belching from its exhaust. A score-line angry enough to have been done by a key stretched in a wavering, drunken curve from under the car’s left wing mirror to just above the rear wheel rim.
From his vantage point on a low headland to the beach’s south, Slim Hardy lowered the binoculars, scanned the beach until he spotted a figure by the shoreline, then raised them again. With one finger he adjusted the focus until the man eased into clarity.
Wrapped in a rain jacket over his work clothes, Ted Douglas was alone on the beach. A single line of footprints in the damp sand trailed him back to the rocky foreshore.
In hands pink from the freezing wind, Ted held a book, the cover turned outward. A silver design on black, from this distance the words were unreadable. Slim wished he could get closer without being seen, but the shingle of the foreshore and the wet expanse of rock pools offered no cover.
As grey-blue waves churned and roiled, Ted lifted a hand, and a faint cry was just audible over the wind howling around the base of the towering northern cliff.
‘What are you really doing?’ Slim muttered. ‘There’s no one else down there, is there?’
He put down the binoculars and took a digital camera from his pocket. He took one snap of the car and one of Ted. Five weeks in a row Slim had captured the same pair of photographs. He was yet to say anything to Emma Douglas, Ted’s wife, because, even though she was beginning to push for results, as yet there was nothing to tell.
Sometimes he wished Ted would put the book away, pull out a fishing rod, and be done with it.
At first Slim thought Ted was reading, but the way he gestured with his free hand at the sea made it clear he was either practicing a speech or reciting verse. Why, or to whom, Slim had no idea.
He shifted on grass damp with sea spray, making himself comfortable. There was nothing much to do now but see what Ted did next, to see if today he did the same as he had on the previous four Fridays: walk back up the beach, brush the sand from his clothes and shoes, climb into his car, and head for home.
Eventually, he did.
Slim followed casually, his sense of urgency shaken out of him over the last month. As before, Ted drove the fifteen miles back to Carnwell, pulled in to his driveway, and stopped his car. With a newspaper under one arm and a briefcase under the other, he headed into the comfortable house where, through a dining room window with the curtains left open, Slim watched him kiss Emma on the cheek. As Emma headed back through a door into a kitchen and Ted sat in an armchair, Slim slipped his car into neutral, released the brake, and let it roll away down the hill. As soon as he was a safe distance away, he started the engine and drove off.
Once more, he had nothing to report to Emma. One thing was certain: there was no extramarital affair, just the strange ritual beside the sea.
Perhaps Ted, an investment banker by day, was a closet Coleridge fan, slipping secretly out of work each Friday afternoon at exactly two p.m. to lambast the wild ocean with tales of albatrosses and frozen shores.
Emma, of course, as most contented wives might after being jolted out of their comfort zone by a surprise discovery, suspected a mistress.
Slim had rent to pay, a drink habit to fuel, and a curiosity to feed.
Enjoying a large glass of red over a microwaved curry, he perused his notes, searching for oddities. The book, obviously, was one. The scratch on the car. That Ted had perfected a ritual. Emma had said that Ted had been taking half-day Fridays for three months, only discovered when she needed to make an urgent call to the office.
An urgent call.
He made a note to ask her, but its significance was limited when Ted’s ritual had been going on for so long.
There was something else too, something obvious he couldn’t quite nail down. It tickled him, just out of reach.
There were other variables he had crossed off. The ritual had lasted from thirty minutes to an hour and fifteen over the five weeks Slim had watched. Ted chose his parking spaces at random. He sometimes left the engine running, sometimes not. He varied his approach and return routes each time, but not in a way as to shake a tail. He drove so slowly that Slim—in his youth at least—could have followed by bicycle. His leisurely drive came across as mulling time, especially for a man like Ted, who Slim had witnessed during other observations driving arrow-straight to work each day, leaving home at a time that left him not five minutes for dawdling.
Whatever the reason for Ted’s strange ritual by the sea, it had left Slim floundering for answers, like a fish thrown out of the water by a stormy tide.
CHECK OUT THE LINKS BELOW FOR MORE
The green saloon was parked at the top of the beach, its engine running, puffs of black smoke belching from its exhaust. A score-line angry enough to have been done by a key stretched in a wavering, drunken curve from under the car’s left wing mirror to just above the rear wheel rim.
From his vantage point on a low headland to the beach’s south, Slim Hardy lowered the binoculars, scanned the beach until he spotted a figure by the shoreline, then raised them again. With one finger he adjusted the focus until the man eased into clarity.
Wrapped in a rain jacket over his work clothes, Ted Douglas was alone on the beach. A single line of footprints in the damp sand trailed him back to the rocky foreshore.
In hands pink from the freezing wind, Ted held a book, the cover turned outward. A silver design on black, from this distance the words were unreadable. Slim wished he could get closer without being seen, but the shingle of the foreshore and the wet expanse of rock pools offered no cover.
As grey-blue waves churned and roiled, Ted lifted a hand, and a faint cry was just audible over the wind howling around the base of the towering northern cliff.
‘What are you really doing?’ Slim muttered. ‘There’s no one else down there, is there?’
He put down the binoculars and took a digital camera from his pocket. He took one snap of the car and one of Ted. Five weeks in a row Slim had captured the same pair of photographs. He was yet to say anything to Emma Douglas, Ted’s wife, because, even though she was beginning to push for results, as yet there was nothing to tell.
Sometimes he wished Ted would put the book away, pull out a fishing rod, and be done with it.
At first Slim thought Ted was reading, but the way he gestured with his free hand at the sea made it clear he was either practicing a speech or reciting verse. Why, or to whom, Slim had no idea.
He shifted on grass damp with sea spray, making himself comfortable. There was nothing much to do now but see what Ted did next, to see if today he did the same as he had on the previous four Fridays: walk back up the beach, brush the sand from his clothes and shoes, climb into his car, and head for home.
Eventually, he did.
Slim followed casually, his sense of urgency shaken out of him over the last month. As before, Ted drove the fifteen miles back to Carnwell, pulled in to his driveway, and stopped his car. With a newspaper under one arm and a briefcase under the other, he headed into the comfortable house where, through a dining room window with the curtains left open, Slim watched him kiss Emma on the cheek. As Emma headed back through a door into a kitchen and Ted sat in an armchair, Slim slipped his car into neutral, released the brake, and let it roll away down the hill. As soon as he was a safe distance away, he started the engine and drove off.
Once more, he had nothing to report to Emma. One thing was certain: there was no extramarital affair, just the strange ritual beside the sea.
Perhaps Ted, an investment banker by day, was a closet Coleridge fan, slipping secretly out of work each Friday afternoon at exactly two p.m. to lambast the wild ocean with tales of albatrosses and frozen shores.
Emma, of course, as most contented wives might after being jolted out of their comfort zone by a surprise discovery, suspected a mistress.
Slim had rent to pay, a drink habit to fuel, and a curiosity to feed.
Enjoying a large glass of red over a microwaved curry, he perused his notes, searching for oddities. The book, obviously, was one. The scratch on the car. That Ted had perfected a ritual. Emma had said that Ted had been taking half-day Fridays for three months, only discovered when she needed to make an urgent call to the office.
An urgent call.
He made a note to ask her, but its significance was limited when Ted’s ritual had been going on for so long.
There was something else too, something obvious he couldn’t quite nail down. It tickled him, just out of reach.
There were other variables he had crossed off. The ritual had lasted from thirty minutes to an hour and fifteen over the five weeks Slim had watched. Ted chose his parking spaces at random. He sometimes left the engine running, sometimes not. He varied his approach and return routes each time, but not in a way as to shake a tail. He drove so slowly that Slim—in his youth at least—could have followed by bicycle. His leisurely drive came across as mulling time, especially for a man like Ted, who Slim had witnessed during other observations driving arrow-straight to work each day, leaving home at a time that left him not five minutes for dawdling.
Whatever the reason for Ted’s strange ritual by the sea, it had left Slim floundering for answers, like a fish thrown out of the water by a stormy tide.
CHECK OUT THE LINKS BELOW FOR MORE
What are people saying about The Man by the Sea?
From bestthrillers.com:
Bottom Line: An absolute feast for noir and paranormal thriller fans alike. Highly recommended.
Slim Hardy is a functioning alcoholic who has paid his dues to the military. More recently, he has embarked on a career as a private eye, where he is tasked with figuring out exactly what Ted Douglas is doing in a remote cove every week. What seems like a straightforward marital affair gets turned on its ear when Hardy witnesses what appears to be an exorcism, spirits and other strange phenomenon. Being a man of reason, Hardy digs deeper to find out exactly what's going on. Could Ted really be having an affair with a ghost?
Jack Benton is the pen name for this exciting new series, authored by none other than prolific horror and sci-fi author Chris Ward. Amidst scores of predictable detective novels, The Man by the Sea is anything but formulaic. And yet, Benton has served up a perfectly satisfying tale for pulp fans with a dash of the supernatural.
With its rolling fog to keep secrets away from prying eyes (like strange rituals and performances of Romeo & Juliet), Benton’s setting, Cramer Cove, is mesmerizing. Finally, Benton has packed the novel with a tight cast of characters that aren't quite who they seem at first glance. With the stage set for even more adventures with Hardy and Co., readers should relish this new must-read series.
See this review on Bestthrillers.com
Bottom Line: An absolute feast for noir and paranormal thriller fans alike. Highly recommended.
Slim Hardy is a functioning alcoholic who has paid his dues to the military. More recently, he has embarked on a career as a private eye, where he is tasked with figuring out exactly what Ted Douglas is doing in a remote cove every week. What seems like a straightforward marital affair gets turned on its ear when Hardy witnesses what appears to be an exorcism, spirits and other strange phenomenon. Being a man of reason, Hardy digs deeper to find out exactly what's going on. Could Ted really be having an affair with a ghost?
Jack Benton is the pen name for this exciting new series, authored by none other than prolific horror and sci-fi author Chris Ward. Amidst scores of predictable detective novels, The Man by the Sea is anything but formulaic. And yet, Benton has served up a perfectly satisfying tale for pulp fans with a dash of the supernatural.
With its rolling fog to keep secrets away from prying eyes (like strange rituals and performances of Romeo & Juliet), Benton’s setting, Cramer Cove, is mesmerizing. Finally, Benton has packed the novel with a tight cast of characters that aren't quite who they seem at first glance. With the stage set for even more adventures with Hardy and Co., readers should relish this new must-read series.
See this review on Bestthrillers.com
What else is there to know about The Man by the Sea?
It has an interesting origin story.
Back in summer 2017, my wife would frequently leave me in the car to watch our sleeping one-year-old during supermarket and other shopping trips. My daughter would frequently nap for an hour or more, and I would spend the time doing what most other people likely do in the same circumstances, by wasting it on my phone.
One day, perhaps a moment of epiphany, I decided that it might be a good idea to stop browsing social media and picking fights on the internet, and use the time for something useful.
I happened across an app on my iPhone called Notes, which prior to that day I'd never paid any attention to. Low and behold, I had a way to write on my phone.
The first line I wrote, without any inkling of what I was writing, other than perhaps a short horror story, was "The blue sedan sat at the head of the beach."
And the Slim Hardy mystery series was born. I wrote the entire first book on my phone, and enjoyed it so much, that the following year, I wrote the next book the same way. Even after my daughter grew out of naps, I continued to draft each Slim Hardy book on my iPhone, mostly in an attempt to keep the tone the same throughout the series. As you can imagine, this has brought in some polarised reviews, everything from "I can't believe he wrote this on a iPhone!" to "You can tell it was written on an iPhone..."
However, I'll let you, dear reader, decide.
Back in summer 2017, my wife would frequently leave me in the car to watch our sleeping one-year-old during supermarket and other shopping trips. My daughter would frequently nap for an hour or more, and I would spend the time doing what most other people likely do in the same circumstances, by wasting it on my phone.
One day, perhaps a moment of epiphany, I decided that it might be a good idea to stop browsing social media and picking fights on the internet, and use the time for something useful.
I happened across an app on my iPhone called Notes, which prior to that day I'd never paid any attention to. Low and behold, I had a way to write on my phone.
The first line I wrote, without any inkling of what I was writing, other than perhaps a short horror story, was "The blue sedan sat at the head of the beach."
And the Slim Hardy mystery series was born. I wrote the entire first book on my phone, and enjoyed it so much, that the following year, I wrote the next book the same way. Even after my daughter grew out of naps, I continued to draft each Slim Hardy book on my iPhone, mostly in an attempt to keep the tone the same throughout the series. As you can imagine, this has brought in some polarised reviews, everything from "I can't believe he wrote this on a iPhone!" to "You can tell it was written on an iPhone..."
However, I'll let you, dear reader, decide.
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FAQ about The Man By the Sea
- Is this the first book in a series and can it be read as a standalone?
- Why is John Hardy called "Slim"?
- What are Slim's quirks?
- What are Slim's dark sides?
- Does Slim have a girlfriend?
The stuff only computers and A.I. like:
Amazon ebook
Narrated by: Kevin E. Green
Apple ISBN
Barnes & Noble
Rakuten Kobo ISBN
Google Play GG Key
- ASIN : B078SYNP3F
- STORE LINKS
- United States
- United Kingdom
- Australia
- Canada
- ISBN-10 : 1977020593
- ISBN-13 : 978-1977020598
- STORE LINKS
- United States
- United Kingdom
- Australia
- Canada
- ISBN-13 : 979-8724403184
- STORE LINKS
- United States
- United Kingdom
- Australia
- Canada
- ASIN : B092JPDNKC
Narrated by: Kevin E. Green
Apple ISBN
Barnes & Noble
- Ebook ISBN
- Paperback ISBN
Rakuten Kobo ISBN
Google Play GG Key