A Killing Mind
The fifth novel in the DI Sean Corrigan series – authentic and terrifying crime fiction with a psychological edge, by an ex-Met detective. Perfect for fans of Mark Billingham, Peter James and Stuart MacBride.A serial killer stalks the streets…In the darkest corners of London, a killer is on the hunt. His murders are brutal. Teeth pulled out. Nails pulled out. Bodies abandoned.A detective follows his every move…DI Sean Corrigan desperately tries to use his ability to see inside the minds of killers before another victim is ruthlessly murdered.A clash of dangerous minds…Corrigan is all too willing to take deadly risks, but this time the killer has set a trap, just for him. Will Corrigan stop the murderer in time, or is he about to become a victim himself?
Читать A Killing Mind онлайн беплатно
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Luke Delaney 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photograph © Roy Bishop/Arcangel Images
Luke Delaney asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007585762
Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780007585786
Version: 2018-07-31
Table of Contents
Iâd like to dedicate this book to my brothers and sisters: Kirsty, Cathy, John and Alex. Thanks for always being so supportive, funny and caring. Youâre a pretty cool bunch.
Luke Delaney
William Dalton was glad to be alone in the lift that jerked and rocked its way from the platforms in the depths of the Borough Underground station towards the streets of Southwark high above. The shiny metal walls of the large steel box reflected his image from all sides. There was no way to escape his own dishevelled appearance. Only eighteen years old, but the ravages of crack cocaineand living without a home had taken a heavy toll. His white skin had taken on a yellow tinge, his blue eyes were faded and sunken, his fair hair unkempt and tangled. At least with the lift to himself he didnât have to worry about disapproving or pitiful looks from the more fortunate or worry that it was his odour that made them contort their faces or cover their noses with sweeter smelling hands.
The steel cube jolted to a stop and the doors scraped apart. Quickly he moved through the ticket area, nodding to the guard he recognized from previous days and nights, and used his treasured Oyster card to open the barrier and head into the freezing night streets of this ancient part of London. He moved as fast as he could along Marshalsea Road, only looking up occasionally to check for any possible threats. The money heâd earned from a hard dayâs begging in Londonâs West End was carefully hidden in the crotch of his underpants; the last place anyone would put their hands â or so he hoped, although he knew other beggars desperate for cash would not hesitate to search everywhere. The only other serious risk was gangs of drunks or groups of feral youths who might decide to kick him to death purely for entertainment, but it was late and the night was bitterly cold â like only January can be â so the streets were practically deserted.
As he scuttled towards his current home â an abandoned garage at the back of a low-rise residential block â he was oblivious to the faded detritus of Christmas hanging from some of the lampposts, and the torn, dirty streamers and decorations that adorned the windows and doors of the flats he passed, fairy lights forlornly trying to cling to a happier, less bleak time. He turned into Mint Street and was soon at the garage that served as home. He could have stayed in the West End, but that would have meant sleeping on a bed of cardboard in a shop doorway till he was kicked awake by frustrated employees or owners. He moved some corrugated metal sheets aside and slipped into the garage, pulling them back into place behind him as he took a small torch from his pocket and surveyed the interior, relieved to see his few possessions were still where heâd left them. With a sense of urgency, he turned on both his camping lantern and a battery-powered outdoor heater. Its effectiveness was minimal, but it took the bitterness from the air and provided a comforting, almost homely glow. He rubbed his hands and began to search the garage for food heâd been given by donors who wanted to help but didnât want to give him cash. On a night like this he was grateful for the food and was soon devouring a packet of biscuits as if it was his last meal.
After heâd retrieved the cash bag from its hiding place he settled down to count his daily earnings on the old broken car seat that served as his sofa, the foam protruding from gaping wounds in the vinyl cover. He pushed another biscuit into his mouth and tipped the money next to him on the seat, pushing the coins around with the tips of his fingers, satisfied at a glance that he had enough to take to his dealer tomorrow to replenish the supply he was about to use. He wiped the mix of saliva and crumbs from his lips, gathered the coins back into the bag and carried it to the wall at the back of the garage. His fingers traced the outline of a loose brick â his
