The Retribution
| The Retribution | |
| Tony Hill and Carol Jordan [7] | |
| Val McDermid | |
| Hachette UK (2011) | |
| Rating: | *** |
| Tags: | Mystery, Suspense, Thriller |
It's perhaps fitting that for McDermid's 25th novel she's revisited her most thrillingly murderous creation, Jacko Vance (
Daily Mirror
)
Val McDermid's 25th novel is stunningly good, but it comes with a health warning. It is truly disturbing (
The Times
)
McDermid never pulls her punches in her graphic descriptions of the evils men (and women) inflict on each other...tension filled from start to finish (
Irish Independent
)
Her writing is taut, her plotting pacy... McDermid is particularly good at analysing human damage and its effects (
Scotsman
)
To write one brilliant book is hard. To write 25 is a miracle. That is what Val McDermid has achieved over the course of her career and it's why she is a much-loved legend in the literary world...the pace here is flawless and the various storylines are expertly interwoven...a superb crime novel (
Sunday Express
)
Brilliant ... sensational ...unforgettable (
Guardian
)
It's a tribute to McDermid's skill as a storyteller that she deliberately creates a trio of central characters who are essentially incapable of conventional empathy yet still manages to sustain reader sympathy right through to the coldly brutal finale (
Irish Times
)
The unforgettable, gripping new Tony Hill and Carol Jordan novel
Killing the Shadows
The Distant Echo
The Grave Tattoo
A Darker Domain
Trick of the Dark
TONY HILL NOVELS
The Mermaids Singing
The Wire in the Blood
The Last Temptation
The Torment of Others
Beneath the Bleeding
Fever of the Bone
KATE BRANNIGAN NOVELS
Dead Beat
Kick Back
Crack Down
Clean Break
Blue Genes
Star Struck
LINDSAY GORDON NOVELS
Report for Murder
Common Murder
Final Edition
Union Jack
Booked for Murder
Hostage to Murder
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
The Writing on the Wall
Stranded
NON-FICTION
A Suitable Job for a Woman
Published by Hachette Digital
ISBN: 978-0-748-12578-4
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Val McDermid
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, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Hachette Digital
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
ContentsFor Mr David: for reminding me how much fun this is,
for shaking up my ideas and for showing faith.
Acknowledgements
Carolyn Ryan was generous with her contacts; thanks also to her and Paul for putting up with me on the caffeine-free dog walks. Professor Sue Black and Dave Barclay gave me the benefit of their forensic knowledge, and Dr Gwen Adshead talked more sense about abnormal psychology than anyone else I’ve ever heard.
I just write the books. It takes a small army of dedicated people to get them into the hands of readers. Thanks as always to everyone at Gregory & Co; to my support team at Little, Brown; to the peerless Anne O’Brien and to Caroline Brown who could make the trains run on time if she put her mind to it.
And finally, thanks to my friends and family whose love is really all I need. In particular to Kelly and Cameron, the best companions a woman could ask for.
George Eliot
Scenes of Clerical Life
Best of all was the misdirection that the onlooker didn’t even know was happening. To accomplish that you had to make your diversion blend into the spectrum of normal.
Some settings made that harder than others. Take an office where everything ran like clockwork. You’d struggle to camouflage a distraction there because anything out of the ordinary would stand out and stick in people’s minds. But in prison there were so many unpredictable variables – volatile individuals; complex power structures; trivial disputes that could go nuclear in a matter of moments; and pent-up frustrations never far from bursting like a ripe zit. Almost anything could go off at any time, and who could say whether it was a calculated event or just one of a hundred little local difficulties getting out of hand? The very existence of those variables
made some people uneasy. But not him. For him, every alternate scenario provided a fresh opportunity, another option to scrutinise till finally he hit on the perfect combination of circumstances and characters.
He’d considered faking it. Paying a couple of the lads to get into a ruck on the wing. But there were too many downsides to that. For one thing, the more people who knew about his plans, the more prospects there were for betrayal. For another, most of the people inside were there because their previous attempts at dissimulation had failed dismally. Probably not the best people to entrust with putting on a convincing performance, then. And you could never rule out plain stupidity, of course. So faking it was out.
However, the beauty of prison was that there was never a shortage of levers to pull. Men trapped on the inside were always prey to fears of what might be going down on the outside. They had lovers, wives, kids and parents who were vulnerable to violence or temptation. Or just the threat of those things.
So he’d watched and waited, gathering data and evaluating it, figuring out where the possibilities offered the best chance of success. It helped that he didn’t have to rely on his own observations. His support system beyond the walls had provided the intelligence that plugged most of the gaps in his own knowledge. It really hadn’t taken long to find the perfect pressure point.
And now he was ready. Tonight he would make his move. Tomorrow night, he’d be sleeping in a wide, comfortable bed with feather pillows. The perfect end to a perfect evening. A rare steak with a pile of garlic mushrooms and rösti potatoes, perfectly complemented by a bottle of claret that would have only improved in the dozen years he’d been away. A plate of crisp Bath Olivers and a Long Clawson stilton to take away the bad taste of what passed for cheese in prison. Then a long hot
bath, a glass of cognac and a Cuban Cohiba. He’d savour every gradation on the spectrum of the senses.
A jagged cacophony of raised voices penetrated his visualisation, a routine argument about football crashing back and forth across the landing. An officer roared at them to keep the noise down and it subsided a little. The distant mutter of a radio filled the gaps between the insults and it occurred to him that even better than the steak, the booze and the cigar would be the freedom from other people’s noise.
That was the one thing people never mentioned when they sounded off about how awful it must be to be in prison. They talked about the discomfort, the lack of freedom, the fear of your fellow inmates, the loss of your personal comforts. But even the most imaginative never commented on the nightmare of losing silence.
Tomorrow, that nightmare would be over. He could be as quiet or as loud as he chose. But it would be his noise.
Well, mostly his. There would be other noises. Ones that he was looking forward to. Ones he liked to imagine when he needed a spur to keep going. Ones he’d been dreaming about even longer than he’d been figuring out his escape route. The screams, the sobs, the stammering pleas for mercy that would never come. The soundtrack of payback.
Jacko Vance, killer of seventeen teenage girls, murderer of a serving police officer and a man once voted the sexiest man on British TV, could hardly wait.
