Never Coming Back: A David Raker Mystery - Softcover

Buch 4 von 11: David Raker

Weaver, Tim

 
9780147516244: Never Coming Back: A David Raker Mystery
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0147516242 ISBN 13: 9780147516244
Verlag: PLUME, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

A British bestseller comes to American shores

British mystery fans are well acquainted with David Raker, missing-persons investigator and star of Tim Weaver's bestselling crime series. When Emily Kane arrives at her sister Carrie's house, she discovers the front door unlocked. Dinner is in the oven-but Carrie, her husband, and their two daughters are gone. When the police are unable to find a lead, Emily enlists the help of missing persons investigator (and former boyfriend) David Raker. But as he gets closer to the truth, Raker begins to uncover evidence of a sinister cover-up, spanning decades and costing countless lives.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

TIM WEAVER also writes about films, television, sports, games, and technology. He lives with his wife and daughter near Bath, England.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof

Copyright © 2014 Tim Weaver

When the night came, it came fast. The sky yellowed, like a week-old bruise, and then the sun began its descent into the desert floor, dropping out of the clouds as if it were falling. The further it fell, the quicker the sky changed, until the sun was gone from view and all that remained was a smear of red cloud, like a bloodstain above the Mojave.

The city limits emerged from the darkness about twenty minutes later: to start with just small, single-story satellite towns, street lights flickering in the shadows either side of the Interstate; then, as the 15 carved its way through the Southern Highlands, a brighter, more persistent glow. Housing estates, strip malls and vast tracts of undeveloped land, illuminated by billboards and the orange tang of sodium lights; and then the neon: casinos, motels and diners, unfurling beyond the freeway. Finally, as I came off the Interstate at Exit 36, I saw the Strip for the first time, its dazzling, monolithic structures rising out of the flatness of the desert, like a star going supernova.

Even a quarter of a mile short of its parking garage, I knew the Mandalay Bay would be a step up from the last time I'd stayed in Las Vegas. On my first trip to the city five years before, the newspaper had taken care of the booking and left me to rot in a downtown grind joint called The George. "George," I later found out, was casino lingo for a good tipper. Except the only people doing the gambling at The George were the homeless, placing 25c minimum bets on the blackjack tables out front so they could scrape together enough for a bottle of something strong. This time, as I nosed the hired Dodge Stratus into a space on a huge rooftop parking lot, I passed eight-story signs advertising a televised UFC fight at the hotel in January, and I knew I'd made the right decision to book it myself: last time out, the only fighting I'd seen anywhere close to The George was of the fully drunk kind.

I turned off the ignition and as the engine and radio died, the sound of the Las Vegas Freeway filled the car; a low, unbroken hum, like the rumble of an approaching storm. Further off, disguised against the sky except for the metronomic wink of its taillight, was a plane making its final approach into McCarran. As I sat there, a feeling of familiarity washed over me, of being in this city, of hearing these same sounds, five years before. I remembered a lot from that trip, but mostly I just remembered the noise and the lights.

I opened the door of the Dodge and got out.

The night was cool, but not unpleasant. Popping the trunk, I grabbed my overnight bag and headed across the lot. Inside, the hotel was just as loud, the cars and planes and video screens replaced by the incessant ding, ding, ding of slot machines. I waited in line for the front desk, watching as a young couple in their twenties started arguing with one another. By the time I was handed my room card, I was ready for silence-or as close as I could get.

I showered, changed, and raided the minibar, then called Derryn to let her know I'd arrived okay. We chatted for a while. She'd found it hard to adapt to our new life on the West Coast initially: we had no friends here, she had no job, and in our Santa Monica apartment block our neighbors operated a hermetically sealed clique. Gradually, though, things were changing. Back home, she'd been an A&E nurse for twelve years before giving it up to come out to the States with me, and that experience had landed her a short-term contract at a surgery a block from where we lived. She was only taking blood and helping doctors patch up wounds-much more sedate than the work she'd been doing back in London-but she loved it. It got her out meeting people, and it brought in a little money, plus she got weekends off too, which meant she could go to the beach.

"You going to spend all our money, Raker?" s

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Verlag
PLUME
Erscheinungsdatum
2015
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0147516242
ISBN 13 
9780147516244
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
384
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Purmerul LTD
https://strengholt.nl/en/

22 Liuleburgaz Str., floor 4, app. 9
Plovdiv
Bulgarien

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