Murder at The Fortnight is a darkly hilarious tale of murder, greed, fame and lust set squarely under the bright lights of the world of showbusiness. When celebs start dropping like flies at The Playwright's Fortnight, Stella and Ng must battle media hysteria and political backstabbing in their desperate search for a killer who keeps on killing. Who will be next?
In Innocent Murder, Investigator Ng and Stella Pentangeli work different sides of the crime fence. Ng's case is one of triads, sex slavery and murder. Stella's case is a showbiz trifle - she must discover who is stealing plotlines from the hugely successful soap The Young and the Naked and selling the information to a rival channel.
Not a pretty sight. Not a pretty situation. But when you're a crime fighter, things seldom come pretty.
The name's Martinelli. Angelo Martinelli. Most people call me Angel. I haven't always wanted to fight crime. Some days I think it's easier just to write about it. (I've got a certain talent in that direction.) Saddle old Sherlock Holmes with an Italian mother and see how many cases he'd crack.
This 90s thriller romance moves between the boardrooms of Sydney and the "Deliverance" country of the Tasmanian wilderness.
Heroine Brady Martin, twenty-eight and unemployed, ignites a rebellion among th Tasmanian farmers who are being forced off their land by the banks. Meanwhile, in Sydney, the chiefs of a new investment organisation play a dicey game with the nation's workers' superannuation funds.
The thrusts of the story come together in a passionate and powerful tale of kidnap and murder.
When Harry Gartner's business falls into the fat receiver's hands confusion reigns in the family.
Steven leaves Karen and the farm, and finds Jane, investigative journalist.
Emily, for her children's sake, wishes she'd never signed that personal guarantee.
Together, they need to thwart the machinations of the Pinton brothers - Alan, the duplicitous accountant, and Michael, the lawyer, who is bad to the bones.
Bankrupts and Bandits is a rollicking, topical and racy novel, set squarely in the Australian financial landscape of the 1990s.
At a time when massive corporations are collapsing all over the world as a result of fraudulent behaviour at the top, Fred Guilhaus's third novel is a highly topical read. The "analyst" of this story, Henry Sinclair, is attracting a celebrity following for his newspaper columns about money and love. A group of social climbers has adopted him - promising rivers of gold if he'll hype their ventures to ordinary investors. Their ventures of course, are built on sand. As the bank forecloses on his parents' cottage, and "the Group" unravels in its own deceit, Henry must make his choices.
Cruel, egotistical Noel, a thistledown, a cheap balloon whisking willy-nilly away from the piercing, deflating needle of her fine judgement. Geraldine needs to keep her cool through the highs and the lows, but it's maddening when Noel keeps missing the point. The trek up north was gruelling, yet every plant and bird she saw, every sweaty, purposeless mile she crossed, convinced her that they were made for each other. Back home in Sydney, when there's still a gap between them, he has to be made to see.
A dead man alive at Melbourne's Festival Hall . . . a merino-shaped lake . . . a stolen copy of Thoreau's Walden . . . ASIO's wall of silence . . . Sandy Carmichael can pick up the pieces, but to fit the jigsaw together, he needs to risk his life.
Jock Corless didn't understand the cryptic S.O.S., but he knew that his cousin, Laurie, would not have sent it without good reason, so he was soon speeding to Ungamillia, Queensland, where Austin Flax had his homestead and his eccentric creation Dream Time Land, in the jungle mazes of which tourists could stumble over astonishing depictions of native initiation ceremonies, or start back from armed warriors peering from the thick bush. Jock's arrival at Ungamillia coincided with Laurie's body being lifted into an ambulance, apparently the victim of a road accident.
'Anyone with money is a god, anywhere. Here, you may be the biggest, vilest, ugliest, moste diseased blackguard in the state, but if there's cash behind you, you're respected.'
John Archibald Cups is a bitter young man. Falsely accused of embezzlement by his banking employers, he's turned against respectable Adelaide, where the hypocrisy of the racecourse rules.
Protected by his false face, false identities, and false fortune, he's racing to out-jockey the hounds of the law.