Wendy H. Jones from her novel Killer's Cut
Despite the green-eyed man driving the old Mercedes Benz carefully up the steep mountain road, the human leg still rattled around in the boot. Only the light of a low-slung moon, almost dazzling in its brilliance, lighted his way. The narrow road wound through rocky, gorse covered terrain, known only to the spirits of the night. This was a barren, God forsaken wilderness. The sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata accompanied the occupant of the car. It was a soothing backdrop completely at odds with the macabre purpose of this trip.