âWonderfully dark and peppered with grim humour. Finch is a born storyteller and writes with the authentic voice of the ex-copper he is.â
PETER JAMES
âEdge-of-the-seat reading ⦠formidable â a British Alex Cross.â
SUN
âAn ingenious and original plot. Compulsive reading.â
RACHEL ABBOTT
âAs good as I expected from Paul Finch. Relentlessly action-packed, breathless in its finale, Paul expertly weaves a trail through the Northâs dark underbelly.â
NEIL WHITE
âA deliciously twisted and fiendish set of murders and a great pairing of detectives.â
STAV SHEREZ
âAvonâs big star ⦠part edge-of-the-seat, part hide-behind-the-sofa!â
THE BOOKSELLER
âAn explosive thriller that will leave you completely hooked.â
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Paul Finch 2018
Cover design © www.blacksheep-uk.com 2018
Cover photograph © Alamy
Paul Finch 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.
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Source ISBN: 9780008243982
Ebook Edition © August 2018 ISBN: 9780008243999
Version: 2018-06-21
2014
âOK ⦠hereâs how we do it. Now pay attention, Brian. Pay very close attention â¦â
The older one was speaking, the one whoâd been so indescribably vicious all night.
It was a strange thing, but as recently as one day ago, if youâd asked Brian Kelso which of two desperate criminals youâd expect to be the most unrestrainedly violent â the older one, or the younger one â heâd have opted for the younger one every time.
But of course, the last nine hours had not just changed his views on that â it had changed everything.
âAre you listening?â the guttural voice wondered.
Again, the guy sounded as if he was from East Yorkshire. Again, Kelso made a mental note to remember this, so that he at least had something he could tell the police, though both he and Justine needed to survive this ordeal first.
âYes, Iâm listening,â he told the throwaway phone theyâd supplied him with.
âDrive out of the north end of town along Welton Road. You know it?â
âYes ⦠I know it.â
âYouâll see a bus stop at the junction with Horncastle Lane. Slow down when you get there, and stop. Thatâs when youâll receive further instructions.â
âOK.â
âBefore you set off ⦠how much did you manage to get?â
âErm â¦â Kelsoâs mouth, already flavoured like mud after what seemed an age without even a sip of water, went fully dry. He glanced over his shoulder at the four heavy haversacks, now zipped and buckled tight on the rear seat of his Peugeot. âAbout two hundred ⦠I think.â
There was a protracted silence.
âTwo hundred?â came the eventual response. âI thought weâd agreed three at the very least?â
âLook ⦠I was on my own, OK? The staff were due within the next hour. I got as much as I could in the time available. Surely you understand that? Itâs not like the Dunholme branch is crammed with cash anyway.â
âI suppose itâll have to do.â The tone was deeply grudging. âBut Iâm not happy with you, Brian. Iâm not happy at all.â
The line went dead.
âWait, please!â Kelso shouted. âIs Justine all right?â
Only the dial tone purred back at him.
Just about managing to suppress the cry of emotional agony set to burst its way out of him like a piece of actual anatomy, he dropped the phone onto the passenger seat next to him, and slumped forward, his forehead striking the steering wheel.