Irish Detective Mysteries

You are in the capital city of Ireland. Like any city, there are problems. Your job is to find Irish solutions to Irish problems. Your team includes your beautiful Russian assistant Alice and the dangerous ex-army ranger, called the PMC, who has a slightly scrambled brain. Your customers include gangsters, police, business men, politicians, and tailors each with a unique problem.

July 8, 1921. Ireland. A British Officer is shot dead on a remote hillside south of Dublin. November 22, 2015. United Kingdom. Former police detective Jayne Sinclair, now working as a genealogical investigator, receives a phone call from an adopted American billionaire asking her to discover the identity of his real father. How are the two events linked? Jayne Sinclair has only three clues to help her: a photocopied birth certificate, a stolen book, and an old photograph.

A wave lifts the stern of the boat, rigging groans in protest and a crash comes from down below, as the wails of the cargo rise above the howl of the storm. It's a wild Christmas Day on the rugged Northern Irish coast. But there's no time for turkey and pud with the family for Detectives Harvey and Birch. DS Aaron Birch leans into the wind and driving sleet. Thick, scudding clouds make the streets of Lisburn almost as dark as early evening. Then he gets the tip-off. Smugglers coming into a boatyard in Bangor.

Sue Hearn is planting a herb garden on the site of her grandfather's old greenhouse. She's spent the morning digging up all sorts of odds and ends already. But she doesn't expect this grisly find. A skull. Could it be the remains of her mother, Monica, who went missing thirty years ago? Sue's father, in hospital with dementia, insinuates that a police officer was involved in her mother's disappearance. But can he be trusted?

Siobhán O'Sullivan's hopes for a quiet Irish Christmas are dashed when the local Santa turns up dead in a carnival dunk tank of hot cocoa. Now instead of hunting down holiday gifts, she's pursuing a heartless killer. Seems the dead Santa was no angel either, stealing neighborhood dogs to guide his sleigh. But was it his holiday antics - or worse - that led to his death by chocolate?