By Caro Ramsay
Anderson & Costello #4
The Blood of Crows is the fourth instalment in Caro Ramsay's epic Anderson and Costello series.
For one Scottish cop the beat is set to get darkish and intensely bloody . . .
DI Colin Anderson is having a nasty week. His conviction of paedophile Skelpie Fairbairn is said dangerous - placing Fairbairn again on Glasgow's streets and leaving Anderson less than investigation.
Add to this a gangster torched alive, a teenage boy tortured then dropped off a bridge and the suicide of a cop who labored an unsolved baby kidnapping long ago in 1996 and Anderson's obtained his arms complete. Then one evening, a tender lady is tied to the river financial institution and left for the tide. Anderson will get there, yet she dies in his arms.
Working round-the-clock his staff realize those unusual crimes are associated with an elusive legal mastermind often called The Puppeteer. yet not able to discover him, not able to prevent the murders, Anderson is pressured to persist with the one lead he has - Skelpie Fairbairn . . .
But that's worse - The satan you don't comprehend, or the only you do . . .?
Caro Ramsay's Anderson & Costello thrillers were extensively recognized as probably the most major new sequence within the style in recent times and Ramsay's completely precise investigators are able to develop into the nation's favorite Scottish cop duo. Absolution is the superb establishing to this beautiful sequence. next titles comprise darkish Water and making a song to the lifeless. fanatics of Ian Rankin and Val McDermid will love this sequence.
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Additional info for The Blood of Crows (Anderson & Costello, Book 4)
Example text
When he saw me he got up and took a Sig Sauer pistol from the table, stuffing it into his waistband, the grip hanging over the lip of his drawstring pants. We shook hands and he walked me over to my bike. He straddled it, started it up, and rode the throttle in neutral. He yelled over the engine, “That Spectre pistol Core's selling you? ” “Mommy. That's too much for a pistol, Bird. It was me I'd charge you three hundy” “That's cool of you, dude, but he ain't budging. ” I stuck my chin at the bike.
Or get shot here and let my partners waste him? Or hope one of them gets a clean line on him right this second? Or lie down and try to stay out of the way of everyone's bullets that were sure to puncture the Monte Carlo any second? Or, or, or … drop the keys? Yes, drop the keys. If I was going to die, then he was going to die too. I pulled the keys out of the ignition and let them fall into the footwell. ” “Motherfucker—” I leaned forward and Provestgaard did too. Mellor, who was closest to the passenger's side of the car, stuck his revolver in the rear window gap and emptied it.
Shoot, in that year, 1987, he probably even had his own computer. It didn't appeal to me. The bullet put the rush of the streets in me and through me. It guaranteed I'd never direct anything but myself, and convinced me that large desks were for castrated dummies. I thought, Fuck that, I'm gonna be an undercover. ” AUGUST 2001—JANUARY 2002 IF ANYTHING, THE shooting proved that my job, and therefore my life, was not glamorous in any way. Pathetically, I'd imagined that undercover life would be like Miami Vice—full of cigarette boats, fast cars, expensive clothes, and perfect tens in bikinis sitting in my lap while I negotiated with drug kingpins.