The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 7
Language: English
Pages: 496
ISBN: B003U2TCQI
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The must-have annual anthology for every crime fiction fan - the year's top new British short stories selected by leading crime critic Maxim Jakubowski.
This great annual covers the full range of mystery fiction, from noir and hardboiled crime to ingenious puzzles and amateur sleuthing. Packed with top names like Colin Dexter, Christopher Fowler, Alexander McCall Smith, Robert Barnard, Peter James, Natasha Cooper, Sophie Hannah, and many more
live there have a far superior quality of life.” “I know,” kmen nodded. “But the fact that everyone except Ofis Hanım moved out as soon as Mr Lukash bought those houses doesn’t sit well with me. That area was poor. Where did all those poor people go?” “We can find out,” Aye said. “Then that is what we must do,” kmen replied. “Find them. Talk to them.” “Yes, sir.” He looked up and smiled. “You know one place that has improved a lot in recent years?” he said. “Gulhane Park.” Aye knew the
people do.” Joe would never get to be old, but neither of them knew that yet. Besides, as he said, the pair weren’t strays: Tom Parker was mid-thirties, with a relaxed, confident way which expressed itself in his clothing, his smile, and the direct expression he wore when he shook Joe’s hand. “Joe,” he’d said. “Good to meet you. This is Tessa.” Tessa was a few years younger: a sweet-faced blonde woman whose small, squarish, black-framed spectacles gave the impression that she was trying to look
went on and on and the phone kept ringing. She reached the glass recycling-bin and fought with the lid. “Mum. Mum. Mum. Please come. Please. Mum.” This was the one. The voice was louder here. “Gemma, darling, I’m here. Don’t worry. I’m here.” The light was much dimmer now. It must have been nearly eleven. But Maggie could see down into the blackness of the bin, to where her daughter was lying in a foetal curl. Gemma’s head was a mass of dark-red stickness, the laboriously straightened,
rang the doorbell. Louise D’Acre opened it and smiled, hooking a hand round the back of his neck. “Come in, the children have gone up.” “That’s her, that’s her all over, all the time.” Garry “Gaz” Schofield sat in the armchair getting hungry and he thought that that was her. Her old bugbear, unfinished sentences. He read the note “I’ve taken the children”. Of course she’s taken the children, he could see that, did she think he was simple? But where had she taken them? The Railway Museum? The
still alive, but he’d decided to leave town. “You know where he’s gone?” I asked. Chief Cogan nodded. “Good, then let it be known it wouldn’t be good for his health to come back. Anything else?” “Usual stuff,” he said. “Clubs wanting licences, drive-bys in the ghetto and an unlicensed pimp trying to take over three blocks in the east city.” He dumped his notes in front of me and listened intently as I told him what I wanted done in each case. “You clear on that?” “Sure thing,” he said.