Steven Maxwell

Steven Maxwell is the English author of the novels Hanging Fields (2012), The Dark Confides (2019), and All Was Lost (2021). He has published work in various anthologies, including Horizon Review, Outside the Asylum, The Big Issue, Staple, and Dream Catcher.

Steven Maxwell was born in Liverpool, England. He is a PhD Creative Writing candidate and winner of the prestigious PhD Research Scholarship at Lancaster University.

Maxwell is known for writing novels that delve into crime, suspense, and psychological intrigue. His writing features tension, dark themes, and intricate plots, defining its characteristics.

The earlier book, Hanging Fields, delves into themes of secrets, paranoia, and survival, focusing on the consequences of a soldier's brutal secret.

The Dark Confides explores the world of a police officer infiltrating a crime family while dealing with personal and professional challenges.

All Was Lost is a heart-pounding Northern noir thriller that revolves around Orla McCabe's desperate quest to provide a better life for her family. When she stumbles upon a case of money, Orla flees with her husband and baby daughter, but the money owners are determined to track her down.

On the isolated northern moors, detectives Lynch and Carlin are investigating a gruesome human trafficking operation, leading to a collision course with Orla's desperate flight.

Steven Maxwell lives in Wirral.

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ngyanaranjan05has quoted2 months ago
The detectives looked through the glass. The glass was one-way and beyond was a purpose-built chamber. The chamber’s walls were concrete block fitted with ringbolts and against the far wall lay an iron-frame bed, thin mattress wrapped in plastic, headboard hung with manacles. Gazing down at what lay piled beside the bed on the poured concrete floor was the cold glass eye of a wall-mounted camera.

‘What are we talking here?’ Lynch said.

They were standing in the viewing room, a dark and narrow space that ran the length of the chamber, and maybe out of reverence for the dead or owing to the oppressive dimensions of the room, both men whispered when they spoke.

‘Communication breakdown,’ Carlin said. ‘Transaction failure.’

Male and female. Some barely adults. A death-camp pile yoked together by their necks with collars and chains. Their hands and feet manacled. At least three of them had fresh purple scars hacking across the sides of their torsos. All had track-marked arms. All had been branded. All had been shot in the head. The blood
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