Human Remains - Elizabeth Haynes Police analyst Annabel wouldn't describe herself as lonely. Her work keeps her busy and the needs of her ageing mother and her cat are more than enough to fill her time when she s on her own. But Annabel is shocked when she discovers her neighbour s decomposing body in the house next door, and appalled to think that no one, including herself, noticed her absence.

Back at work she sets out to investigate, despite her police officer colleagues lack of interest, and finds data showing that such cases are frighteningly common in her own home town.

A chilling thriller and a hymn to all the lonely people, whose individual voices haunt the pages, Elizabeth Haynes new novel is a deeply disturbing and powerful thriller that preys on our darkest fears, showing how vulnerable we are when we live alone, and how easily ordinary lives can fall apart when no one is watching.

All the lonely people…

I loved the authors debut novel Into the Darkest Corner because it was so believable and one of those “there for the grace of God” stories.

Human Remains differs because it is so unlikely but totally credible at the same time(if that makes sense).

The author superbly portrays the isolation of the elderly and other troubled people who have withdrawn from a society that hasn't got time or the inclination to care and feeds on that visceral horror of dying alone, forgotten and unloved.
The dual narrative between prey and predator peppered with the wonderfully poignant monologues of the “transformed” is excellent
Colin is a magnificent creation: super intelligent narcissistic sociopath - I had no difficulty in believing that vulnerable people would find him trustworthy...I can still hear his voice in my head

I was eating cornflakes and reading jokes aloud from the back of the 1982 Beano annual when my father clutched his chest and dropped dead on the kitchen floor.

Looking back it almost seems comical, but I believe that this was the moment when my life took a change in direction. My father was the sort of person you could read jokes to. He would spend Sundays fixing the car and I would help him, learning where all the pieces went and what they all did. He laughed a lot and together we both laughed at my mother, who was thin, and serious, and bitter.

After he died, I couldn’t bring myself to read the Beano any more. I didn’t really laugh any more, either.

I must remember to look deliriously happy when doing my weekly supermarket shop in future because you never know who is watching…….