Your page description goes in here.


About the Author

 Tom Bryson writes crime/thriller novels. His Birmingham based cop DCI Matt Proctor series comprises 'Too Smart to Die' and 'In it for the Money'. He is currently writing a third Matt Proctor novel set in a contemporary criminal world of sex trafficking and child 'grooming'. In addition he has written a stand-alone thriller, 'Sarcophagus' and an adventure novella 'The Zeppelin of Kinver Edge'. All books are available in print and eBook format. To preview or download a free sample of any of these books please click here

For more information about the author and his books please explore the links below:

View my novels: In it for the Money Sarcophagus Too Smart to Die  

Click here for my website

Click here for my Amazon author page"



Examples of Work


I go over the conversation in my head for the millionth time. What had I done, said, that was so wrong? Her cryptic 'Well, if you don't know I'm not going to tell you!' was so typically female - and unfair. Just like that - in a flash she was off. Picked her things up off the bedroom floor, started dressing and was off - still fastening her bra strap as she slammed the door. I couldn't see what the problem was. Still don't.                  

We'd been together about three months, Karen and me and... yes, I was a bit preoccupied with my new job - meant travelling from Bridgnorth to Kidderminster, but the job was cool. 

   Now Karen and me, we'd walk to Bridgnorth's Theatre on the Steps, or wander down the Cartway, look down over the glistening Severn from the terrace of the Cinammon café, sip coffees or a few beers. Kept telling her things about the office, getting to know new colleagues, describing them, Dave with the spiked gel haircut, Kenny who kept nipping outside for a ciggie, the 'never stop nattering' Sharon and Kelly, the directors' PA's. Yeah, telling Karen who I was getting on well with - or not - how inept I felt as I struggled along the learning curve. All that sort of thing.

   So, Karen's dumped me, gone. And I'm buggered if I know the reason even now. What had I done? Said? Can't think of a thing that would make her swing from one extreme to the other like that. I mean, I thought we were getting along really well, cut out for each other, and might have made a go of it together.

   I place my hand over the neck of the bottle of Becks, tilt it to my mouth, look around the Mirage nightclub in Kiddy. A lot of guys with girls, groups of girls eyeing up the talent, a few lads in a corner - one who'd clearly overdone his solace-seeking from the way his head rolled and the beer dribbled out the corner of his mouth and down his shirt.   Know how you feel!

   The DJ plays some smooch - real retro stuff, Sinatra, Sammy Davis Junior...way back stuff.    I half listen - thinking again about Karen, Why? Why? The lyrics of the song float inside my head like some kind of mantra, you know that kind of thing? Like poetry in the performance café that you can't shake out of your head. You hear it and for minutes, maybe hours afterwards there it is, repeating itself in your head, intruding on other thoughts, squeezing out any new thoughts you think to try and get rid of the words that... 

repeat and repeat in your ear

'Don't you know little fool, you never can win...

Use your mentality, wake up to reality...'


   Oh, shit, there goes that stuff, over and over again. 

   Now he's playing more oldies, this time Beatles sixties tracks. A few lines of the lyric... I hear them drift into my sub-conscious - louder, louder, and wham bang! Suddenly! I know,

 Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be,

There's a shadow hanging over me,

Oh, yesterday came suddenly. 

   Yeah, I understand. I get it now. When we were in the bedroom of my flat, I was a bit pissed, not too bad...but well. Aggh, it all comes back to me now as if a fog has lifted. Shit, shit.

   I'd pressed my lips to Karen's ear, smelt her familiar Ysatis - knew that stuff because I'd bought her some for her birthday. Whispering in her ear, oh, no, oh shit. "I love you, I really, really love you...Sharon."


© Tom Bryson