Fault Lines - Doug Johnstone

 So, here I am, at the beginning of a promising thriller which opens with our heroine being where she shouldn't, discovering a dead body and running away unseen.


Hours later, in the middle of the night our, by now high, heroine receives a text on a phone only she is supposed to know exists and which she retrieved from the dead body.


It's a moment of high drama. I should be tense. But the text message takes my badly wired head to the wrong place.


The message reads:


"I know you were there".


And my mind, without hesitation, provides the reply she would make if she were a sassy American Urban Fantasy heroine rather than a Scottish vulcanologist:


"But do you know what I did last summer?"


Sadly, the heroine's response was "Who is this?" and I was unable to continue with the novel until I'd given the voices in my head time to settle down and pretend to be grown-ups.