At Death's Window (A Shaw and Valentine Mystery, 5) (Libro en Inglés)

$ 990.00
ISBN: 9781780290683
ISBN: 9781780290683
Editorial: Severn House
Autor: Kelly, Jim
Año de edición: 2015
N° Paginas: 256
Tipo de pasta: Pasta dura
Descripción: A Shaw & Valentine mysteryWhen a body is discovered beneath the waves off Scolt Head Island, the contents of the dead man’s pockets lead Detective Inspector Peter Shaw to suspect an outbreak of ‘samphire wars’: a turf battle for control of the prized sea asparagus which sells for a small fortune along the affluent North Norfolk coast. Or does the killer merely want it to look that way?Meanwhile, Detective Sergeant George Valentine is investigating a series of break-ins targeted at wealthy second-home owners. And a lethal strain of adulterated cocaine is flooding the streets of nearby Lynn, leaving devastation in its wake.Then the second body is found – and the simmering tensions underpinning this remote coastal community come bursting into the open … with devastating consequences.Review“Darkly atmospheric, fast-paced, and involving” ― Booklist“Kelly’s superior fifth Shaw and Valentine police procedural” ― Publishers Weekly Starred Review"To describe this book as a police procedural does not do it justice at all. The author presents a loving portrayal of the maritime community of Lynn and its surrounding villages, churches and even its graveyards, but it is the seascape along the North Norfolk coast that gets most of the attention, making it almost a living presence." -- Gloria Feit, ReviewerAbout the AuthorA previous Dagger in the Library winner, Jim Kelly is the author of seven Philip Dryden mysteries and four Shaw & Valentine police procedurals. He lives in Ely, Cambridgeshire.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.At Death's WindowBy Jim Kelly Severn House Publishers Ltd.Copyright © 2014 Jim KellyAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-78029-068-3CHAPTER 1Saturday, 18 OctoberThe first killing frost of the year struck on the night of the first of October; then, the following day, the skies cleared and the sun rose, burning off an autumn mist which clung to the beaches. Thermometers began to climb into the sixties, and then the seventies as a classic Indian summer took hold. For eighteen days in a row the noon air crackled with heat and electricity along the north Norfolk coast and thunderclouds billowed at sea, mushrooms of boiling, billowing, humid air. Thunder rumbled and jagged lightning crackled, but the rain held off. Trippers and second homeowners made the most of the heatwave for a week, then two, until even they had to go back to work, leaving the sands to grey-heads and couples with pre-school toddlers. The locals simply waited for the weather to break. The water was green and choppy, white with spray: a winter sea under a summer sky.DI Peter Shaw sat on the back terrace of the Old Ship Inn – one of the coast's burgeoning collection of gastropubs – looking out over Brancaster Marsh, his wife, Lena, beside him. They sat in wicker chairs beside a glass-topped table, a bottle of white wine in a chiller. The plate before Shaw was porcelain, the two scallops chargrilled, each with its accompanying orange 'coral'. The detective used his knife to separate what he knew to be the mollusc's brightly coloured ovary from the rest of its body. There was something visceral about the vivid flesh which made his throat contract. He concentrated on the three new potatoes, which had been shaken in lovage, and the sprig of green samphire, the local 'sea asparagus', picked from the marsh and dusted with sea salt.High tide was an hour away, and the sound of the surf breaking on the distant, unseen beach was a clear, methodical drum roll. The channels and creeks of the marsh were filling up to the brim like silvered mirrors. Lightning flashed once out at sea and the cutlery and glasses pulsed, as if intermittently charged with neon.'God's fireworks,' said Shaw. The detective had a quiet, musical voice, which suggested an ability to hit a note at will. One of his eyes was blue – almost colourless, like tap water falling. The other was blind, the iris simply a moonlike white disc
  • Idioma: Inglés
  • Envío: Desde EE. UU.
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