Nyctophobia
Praise for Christopher Fowler
‘Fowler writes devilishly clever and mordantly funny novels that are sometimes heartbreakingly moving.’
Val McDermid,
The Times
‘Christopher Fowler is an award-winning novelist who would make a good serial killer.’
Time Out
‘An imaginative fun house of a world where sage minds go to expand their vistas and sharpen their wits.’
New York Times Book Review
on the
Bryant & May
books
‘Fowler repeatedly challenges the reader to redraw the boundaries between innocence and malevolence, rationality and paranoia... He has the uncanny ability to invoke terror in broad daylight.’
The Guardian
on
Demonised
‘His sentences zip along, wonderfully funny or moving – sometimes both.’
The Independent
on
Paperboy
‘The climax is truly spectacular... this would make a great piece of cinema. It has everything that you could ever want from a thriller.’
The Eloquent Page
on
Roofworld
Also by Christopher Fowler
Roofworld
Rune
Red Bride
Darkest Day
Spanky
Psychoville
Disturbia
Menz Insana
Soho Black
Calabash
Breathe
Paperboy
(Autobiography)
Film Freak
(Autobiography)
Hell Train
Plastic
B
RYANT
& M
AY
Full Dark House
The Water Room
Seventy Seven Clocks
Ten Second Staircase
White Corridor
The Victoria Vanishes
Bryant & May On the Loose
Bryant & May Off the Rails
The Memory of Blood
C
OLLECTIONS
The Bureau of Lost Souls
City Jitters
More City Jitters
Flesh Wounds
Sharper Knives
Personal Demons
Uncut
The Devil in Me
Demonised
Old Devil Moon
Red Gloves
First published 2014 by Solaris
an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd,
Riverside House, Osney Mead,
Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK
ISBN: 978-1-84997-781-4
Copyright © 2014 Christopher Fowler
Cover art by Pye Parr
The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.
CHAPTER ONE
The Agent
T
HE TAXI DRIVER
spoke no English, but was kind enough to be unhappy about dropping me off in the middle of nowhere. He had the most sunburned face I’d ever seen, walnut-coloured, with a cheap white sailor’s cap perched on top, more like a Greek sailor than a Spaniard.
I looked out and saw the road, rocks shimmering in the heat haze, a dense dry row of gnarled olive trees. It looked like we’d driven into the middle of a spaghetti western. I half-expected to see buzzards circling the cliffs.
He turned around in his seat and raised his eyebrows again.
Are you sure this is the right place?
I nodded. We used universally acknowledged hand signals:
(Point down)
Should I wait for you?
(Shake of head)
No, it’s okay.
(Hand across brow, waving fingers)
It’s very hot
.
(Indicate watch)
She’ll be here soon.
(Point at tree)
There’s shade over there.
I paid him and he reluctantly drove off, leaving me alone with the lizards. I sat on some dry brown grass beneath the nearest tree, pinging crickets everywhere, and waited. In my bag I had the name of Julia’s agency and the card from the cab company in case she didn’t show. Nothing else, not even a bottle of water. I’m from central London, we don’t ‘do’ outdoors.
Ten minutes later, just as I was starting to get worried, an old white Mercedes SLK materialised from the burning haze. I could see a woman behind the wheel. She crunched to a stop in front of me, opened the door and climbed out, carefully uncreasing herself. Julia was wearing a pink suit jacket with huge padded shoulders and a matching skirt too short at the knee, with pink patent leather high heels and large square sunglasses. She looked like a burly flamingo.
I clambered dustily to my feet and shook her hand.
‘Senora Shaw,’ she cried with an alarming roll of the R, ‘is a pleasure to meet ju.
Ay
.’ She stopped before me and gave me the full head-to-foot stare over the top of her glasses. ‘
Tan bonita
.’
