The Killing Club
Get hooked on Heck: the maverick detective who knows no boundaries. The perfect read for fans of Stuart Macbride and Luther.DS Mark ‘Heck’ Heckenburg is used to bloodbaths. But nothing can prepare him for this.Heck’s most dangerous case to date is open again. Two years ago, countless victims were found dead - massacred at the hands of Britain’s most terrifying gang.When brutal murders start happening across the country, it’s clear the gang is at work again. Their victims are killed in cold blood, in broad daylight, and by any means necessary. And Heck knows it won’t be long before they come for him.Brace yourself as you turn the pages of a living nightmare. Welcome to The Killing Club.
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AVON
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014
Copyright © Paul Finch 2014
Cover photographs © Shutterstock
Cover design © Andrew Smith 2014
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: 9780007551255
Ebook Edition © May 2014 ISBN: 9780007551262
Version: 2017-10-26
For my children, Eleanor and Harry, with whom I shared many a chilling tale when they were tots, but whose enthusiasm is as strong now as it ever was
Contents
Gull Rock was just about the last place on Earth.
Situated on a bleak headland south of that vast tidal inlet called âthe Washâ, it was far removed from any kind of civilisation, and battered constantly by furious elements. Even on Englandâs east coast, no place was lonelier, drearier, nor more intimidating in terms of its sheer isolation. Though ultimately this was a good thing, for Gull Rock Prison (aka HM Prison Brancaster) held the very worst of the worst. And this was no exaggeration, even by the standards of âCategory Aâ. None of Gull Rockâs inmates was serving less than ten years, and they included in their number some of the most depraved murderers, most violent robbers and most relentless rapists in Britain, not to mention gangsters, terrorists and urban street-hoodlums for whom the word âderangedâ could have been invented.
When Detective Superintendent Gemma Piper drove onto its visitor car park that dull morning, her aquamarine Mercedes E-class was the only vehicle there, but this was no surprise. Visits to inmates at Gull Rock were strictly limited.
She climbed out and regarded the distant concrete edifice. It was early September, but this was an exposed location; a stiff breeze gusted in across the North Sea, driving uncountable whitecaps ahead of it, lofting hundreds of raucous seabirds skyward, and ruffling her tangle of ash-blonde hair. She buttoned up her raincoat and adjusted the bundle of plastic-wrapped folders under her arm.
Another vehicle now rumbled off the approach road, and pulled into a parking bay alongside her: a white Toyota GT.
She ignored it, staring at the outline of the prison. In keeping with its âspecial securityâ status, it was noticeably lacking in windows. The grey walls of its various residential blocks were faceless and sheer, any connecting passages between them running underground. A towering outer wall, topped with barbed wire, encircled these soulless inner structures, the only gate in it a massive slab of reinforced steel, while outside it lay concentric rings of electrified fencing.
The occupant of the Toyota climbed out. His tall, athletic form was fitted snugly into a tailored Armani suit. A head of close-cropped white curls revealed his advancing years â he was close on fifty â but he had a lean, bronzed visage on which his semi-permanent frown was at once both dangerous and attractive. He was Commander Frank Tasker of Scotland Yard, and he too had a heap of paperwork with him, zipped into plastic folders.
âI donât mean to tell you how to do your job, Gemma,â Tasker said, pulling on his waterproof. âBut weâve got to start making headway on this soon.â
Gemma nodded. âI understand that, sir. But everythingâs on schedule.â
âI wish I was as sure about that as you. Weâve interviewed him six times now. Is he going to crack, or isnât he?â
âGuys like Peter Rochester donât crack, sir,â she replied. âItâs a case of wearing them down, slowly but surely.â
âThe time factor â¦â
âHas been taken into consideration. I promise you, sir ⦠weâre getting there.â
