Death Knock (Inspector Jim Meldrum Thriller series)
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'Intelligent, entertaining, gripping and well-written.' - Ian Rankin
Three hot days in a row and Edinburgh is going a little crazy.
Taking a short cut through a tough housing scheme, Detective Inspector Jim Meldrum finds himself caught up in an ambush by a mob of twelve-year-olds.
And when he arrives at a murder scene, it is with a lump gouged out of his skull and mild concussion.
But that is just the start of his trouble.
The victim is identified as the well-connected city businessman Brian Ashton.
Even with a brooding headache and a bad case of double vision, Meldrum can see this case is a minefield.
And that's before he meets the victim's red-headed widow.
Helped by local academic and crime profiler Henry Stanley, Meldrum begins to unravel the bizarre secrets surrounding more than one sudden death.
Can he catch the killer before death comes knocking again?
Or has Meldrum finally met his match?
Death Knock is a chilling crime thriller that is perfect for fans of Peter James and Peter Robinson.
Praise for Frederic Lindsay
'A complex and satisfying crime novel.' - The Sunday Times
‘One of the most interesting thriller writers around.’ - The Scotsman
‘One of the most potent voices in contemporary Scottish fiction.’ - The Herald
'Lindsay can chill your soul.' - The Listener
Frederic Lindsay was a novelist living in Edinburgh. His books include When The Stranger Came and Ripped.
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shook her head. 'He put on those clothes to look like me. Ivor Warren thought it was me. It was to degrade me, that's why he did it. And now he's dead. I can't get my head round that. They say you don't believe it, if you're not there when someone dies. Like in a war, you know, when the next of kin would get the telegram.' It evolved from there under her insistence, the offering of the details of the fatal wound like some salve for grieving, as Meldrum beguiled himself into the role of brother
narrows as you get older. Does it ever quite vanish?' He stared past them into the street. 'Do you have any brothers, Inspector?' 'No.' 'Nor I. Observation suggests you get that tension between brothers. The younger one envying the fact that the older had mother to himself for a time.' Guessing, Meldrum put him in his early fifties, but wouldn't have argued if told he was ten years older. Though his hair was white, there was a full head of it, beautifully cut with a deep wave which might even
monitor screen. His curiosity was automatic. hair, nose, deep set eyes: the effect noble and judgemental. I've seen that face before as a cloud shape that held for minutes one summer afternoon when I was a child. A face by Michelangelo, omniscient and omnipotent, but not necessarily kind. It is so familiar, familiar from a lifetime ago, and here it is again. I'm haunted by a patriarch. 'Just a nonsense,' Stanley said from the doorway, 'to please myself' 'I never thought you were the
hour.' Settled across the table from Meldrum in the Italian restaurant at the top of Pitt Street, she gave that broad disconcerting grin and said, 'What do you mean, why should you want to talk to me? That's the kind of question does wonders for a girl's confidence.' 'Nothing personal.' He'd to raise his voice slightly. The place was crowded and noisy. Meldrum glanced beyond her to where Shields and an irate-looking Stanley were having to share a table for four. 'Exactly.' Her name was Ella
photographs of properties for sale placed the operation for Meldrum. Nothing conspicuously cheap - what was in the city at the moment? - but no country estates plus shooting rights either. Inside there were three girls busy at desks, one of whom told them that Mr Hodge wasn't available. At his least compromising, Meldrum had not only why not but where out of her in short order. Hodge was in Trinity showing clients a semi-detached stone property, a little run down if the garden was anything to go