I Confess
‘Gripping, stylish, convincing’ Sunday Times They won’t all live to tell the tale… Seven friends. One killer. No escape… A group of childhood friends are reunited at a luxury inn on a remote west coast peninsula in Ireland. But as a storm builds outside, the dark events that marred their childhoods threaten to resurface. And when a body is discovered, the group faces a shocking realisation: a killer is among them, and not everyone will escape with their lives… ‘Almost unbearably tense and shocking’ IRISH INDEPENDENT ‘Compelling…sharply observed’ IRISH TIMES
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I CONFESS
Alex Barclay
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Alex Barclay 2019
Cover design layout © HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Cover photographs © Hayden Verry/Arcangel Images
Alex Barclay asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s 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 e-books
Source ISBN: 9780008273002
Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2019 ISBN: 9780008273026
Version: 2019-07-24
‘Gripping, stylish, convincing’
Sunday Times
‘The rising star of the hard-boiled crime fiction world, combining wild characters, surprising plots and massive backdrops with a touch of dry humour’
Mirror
‘Tense, no-punches-pulled thriller that will have you on the edge of your deckchair’
Woman and Home
‘Explosive’
Company
‘Compelling’
Glamour
‘Excellent summer reading … Barclay has the confidence to move her story along slowly, and deftly explores the relationships between her characters’
Sunday Telegraph
‘The thriller of the summer’
Irish Independent
‘If you haven’t discovered Alex Barclay, it’s time to jump on the bandwagon’
Image Magazine
To OMGP This is what it feels like to be seen.
Contents
Copyright
Praise for Alex Barclay:
Dedication
Pilgrim Point: Beara Peninsula, Cork, Ireland
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Alex Barclay
About the Publisher
Darkness had travelled loyally with Pilgrim Point through all its incarnations, as if passed in the handshake between each fleeing owner and the hopeful successor whose eye he could barely meet. This anvil-shaped promontory on the south-west coast of Ireland had once been a battleground, and at various times in the centuries that followed, had been fought over, lost, regained, or relinquished.
The sufferings of each owner – and there were many – would at first be borne privately, but the anguish of their aggregate would eventually sound like an alarm, travelling east to Castletown, where it would turn to whispers at a retreating back. Pilgrim Point, now empty of life, would release into the silence a siren cry that would always be answered. Deep and discordant, it called to those of a darker persuasion. The greater surprise was the fine gold thread of its lighter melody and how its gleam, though rare, could attract to Pilgrim Point, in equal measures, those of more noble intent.
Perhaps its grounds had swallowed the consequences of so many sins that, under the feet of sinners, it felt like home and under the feet of the righteous, like a summoning. This despite stories of strange apparitions and untimely occurrences. There was also the curious fertility of its grass – stark against the dark stones of the ruins that marked it. This trick of nature kindled even the faintest hope of triumph, when it was doubtless nothing more than a pleasing cover for what lay beneath – the roots of sin itself. From under this vibrant green bed, it released a pale malevolence that rose like smoke to disappear into the late-evening mist.
Were you to pass through the black gates of Pilgrim Point now, you would find yourself on land cloven by a bitter feud between brothers. The path you must take marks the dead centre, its course as unbending as the will of the men who occasioned it. As you follow this path, you will feel as though the landscape is unfurling around you, ahead of you, and for you – in time with the fall of your foot or the galloping hooves of your mount. You will be rewarded, then, at the cliff edge with such astonishing natural beauty; this anvil pointing towards nothing but sky and wild Atlantic. Turn left or right and you will catch glimpses of lesser headlands, like runners that have fallen behind in a race. You have won. Or so you think. You won’t know yet that, in fact, you have been won. Through the powerful sweep of the wind and the steady crash of the waves, you won’t hear the voice of the true winner:
