Within these pages lies a puzzle written by a dead man.
Last December, my friend Nicholas Rogers went to Madrid to stay in my flat and work on a new novel. I thought if he could start writing again, he could get the rest of his life back on track.
At first, Madrid suited him. Long walks through Retiro Park with his dog. Afternoons writing in Café Gijón. Then he noticed the pale man.
Every day, the stranger sat alone in the café, writing in an elegant black leather-bound book. At first, Nicholas was fascinated. Then envious. Until one afternoon, he crossed a line.
He stole the black book.
Now three people are dead. Nicholas may be one of them.
The truth lies in these pages. And I believe I have found it.
A DARK PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ABOUT OBSESSION, AUTHORSHIP, AND THE STORIES WE CHOOSE TO BELIEVE.