A Darker Domain: A Novel by Val McDermid

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By Val McDermid

“[A Darker Domain] combines an exhilarating tale with heartbreaking questions of social justice and history.”
Seattle Times

 

The New York instances calls Val McDermid, “As gentle a practitioner of crime fiction as an individual out there…the top we’ve got.” Time spent together with her awesome mystery, A Darker area, will end up that it’s actual. Set in Scotland, the milieu of Ian Rankin’s John Rebus, McDermid’s very good exploration of loyalty and greed intertwines the prior and current. It used to be selected as a New York Times awesome Crime booklet of the 12 months and used to be a finalist for the Los Angeles occasions Book Prize.

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Bel couldn’t resist a quick teasing look at Susan Charleson. ” she said, flipping the paper. Susan took a leather case from the pocket of her skirt and extracted a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. She perched them on her nose, taking her time about it, but her eyes never left the stark black-and-white images before her. The silence between the women seemed to expand, and Bel felt almost breathless as she waited for a response. ” Susan said, her tone as prim as a Latin mistress. Monday, 18th June 2007; Campora, Tuscany, Italy At seven in the morning, it was almost possible to believe that the baking heat of the previous ten days might not show up for work.

He’d sooner starve. Aye, and see you starve with him. ” “My mother told me. ” The impact of his words left her feeling as if all the air had been sucked from her. “Well, they’re wrong. ” 22 Val McDermid “Because the night you went to Nottingham was the last night anyone in the Newton saw him or heard from him. ” Laidlaw breathed heavily, a concertina wheeze in her ear. “By Christ, that’s wild. Well, sweetheart, I’m sorry to disappoint you. There was five of us left Newton of Wemyss that December night.

It’s time. ” Her voice sounded cold even to her. But she couldn’t afford warmth. Warmth would melt her frozen state, and this wasn’t the place for an outpouring of grief or love. John clasped her fingers tight inside his. “It’s maybe not too late,” he said. “Maybe they’ll—” “Please, John. ” His shoulders squared inside his suit jacket, his body tensing as he held his dissent close. “So,” he said, an outbreath that was more sigh than anything else. ” Wednesday, 27th June 2007; Glenrothes Karen scratched her head with her pen.

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