By Mark Billingham
Detective Inspector Tom Thorne now is familiar with that 3 murdered younger women have been a killer's error -- and that Alison used to be his triumph. And except Thorne can input the brain of a super madman -- a frighteningly elusive fiend who enjoys toying with the police up to he savors his ailing obsession -- Alison Willetts are usually not the final sufferer consigned perpetually to a hideous waking hell.
Already a global bestseller, Mark Billingham's Sleepyhead is a chilling masterwork of crime fiction -- a boldly unique test in terror that might beget darkish goals and sleepless nights.
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Additional resources for Sleepyhead (Tom Thorne, Book 1)
Sample text
If you leave me to get on with my work, some time later today, Inspector Horton,’ she answered brightly. ’ He heard her call as he left. ‘ We can start now. ’ Cantelli shrugged. pmd 46 14/11/2005, 18:15 T IDE OF D EATH 47 Cantelli laughed. ‘She knows her stuff and she can hold her own. I’ve seen Uckfield try to brow beat her without the slightest effect and you know what he can be like when he gets into his stride. ’ The corridor back into the main part of the hospital smelt of cabbage and disinfectant but even that was better than the formaldehyde of the mortuary.
She held his eyes. If she read his thoughts and was embarrassed by them she didn’t show it. She lifted the coffee cup in front of her and took a sip, then pulled a face. Horton guessed it had grown cold. ’ he asked, lightly. She answered as if he’d personally insulted her. ’ He wondered if her terseness was a cover for shyness, or guilt perhaps? He got the impression she didn’t really care that much for her husband but that didn’t mean she had killed him. Their body might not be Thurlow at all, although in a way he hoped it was.
And his future was too irretrievably linked to his past to forget the man. ‘Drop me at the marina, will you, Barney. I want to collect my bike. You return to the station; get those fingerprints over to the Scientific Services for checking. ’ Uckfield roared. I wasn’t playing, thought Horton, standing ramrod stiff the other side of the DCI’s desk. Who had told Uckfield about his encounter with Jarrett? Not Cantelli, surely? ‘Jarrett’s complained to the Super. Says you’ve been harassing him. ’ He might have guessed that Jarrett would go bellyaching right to the top.