The Mermaids Singing (Dr. Tony Hill & Carol Jordan Mysteries)
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This was the summer he discovered what he wanted--at a gruesome museum of criminology far off the beaten track of more timid tourists. Visions of torture inspired his fantasies like a muse. It would prove so terribly fulfilling.
The bodies of four men have been discovered in the town of Bradfield. Enlisted to investigate is criminal psychologist Tony Hill. Even for a seasoned professional, the series of mutilation sex murders is unlike anything he's encountered before. But profiling the psychopath is not beyond him. Hill's own past has made him the perfect man to comprehend the killer's motives. It's also made him the perfect victim.
A game has begun for the hunter and the hunted. But as Hill confronts his own hidden demons, he must also come face-to-face with an evil so profound he may not have the courage--or the power--to stop it...
The Mermaids Singing is a chilling and taut psychological mystery from Val McDermid.
‘This what we need?’ Tony nodded. ‘Perfect. You sure you want me to give this a go?’ ‘It’s got to be worth a try,’ Carol said. They walked back into the interview room, where Terry Harding was finishing a mug of coffee. ‘Can I go now?’ he said plaintively. ‘Only I’m due to fly out to Brussels tomorrow and I haven’t even unpacked my bag.’ ‘Not much longer, sir,’ Carol said, sitting down to one side of the table. ‘Dr Hill would like to try something with you.’ Tony smiled reassuringly. ‘We’ve
calves. At first, the pain blocked all his other senses. His eyes screwed up tight, all he knew was suffering so stark it made the sweat pop out on his forehead. Gradually, he learned to bear the extremes of his pain, realizing that if he took his weight on his feet, the cramps would slowly subside and the excruciating tearing in his shoulders grow less. As the torment became more tolerable, he grew aware that he felt nauseous, a deep queasiness that sat in his stomach and threatened to spill
and now you’ve got me.’ Acknowledgements It’s always disturbing when life seems to imitate art. I started planning this book in the spring of 1992, long before the killings that shook the gay community in London. I sincerely hope that there is nothing in these pages that will cause grief or offence to anyone. As ever, I have picked brains galore and thoroughly exploited my friends while researching and writing The Mermaids Singing. I’d particularly like to thank senior clinical
or Superintendent Cross. And any requests from Inspector Jordan must be treated as urgent enquiries. If I hear that anybody’s being a smartarse, trying to freeze Inspector Jordan or Dr Hill out of the investigation, I won’t be taking prisoners. The same goes for anybody who leaks anything about this aspect of the investigation to the media. So think on. Unless you’ve got a burning ambition to climb back into uniform and walk the streets of Bradfield in the rain for the rest of your career, you’ll
has. Popeye’s going around with a face like a melted wellie. But I’m hopeful we might get something constructive out of him. I’ve had one session with him already, and he’s bursting with ideas. He’s a nice guy as well, no hassle to work with.’ Michael grinned. ‘That must be a refreshing change.’ ‘You’re not kidding.’ ‘And is he your type?’ Carol pulled a piece of crust off her bread and threw it at Michael. ‘God, you’re as bad as the sexist pigs I work with. I haven’t got a type, and even if