The Spider: A Killer Instinct Novel (The Killer Instinct) - Hardcover

Buch 9 von 9: Killer Instinct

Kepler, Lars

 
9780593321041: The Spider: A Killer Instinct Novel (The Killer Instinct)
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0593321049 ISBN 13: 9780593321041
Verlag: Alfred a Knopf Inc, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

#1 INTERNATIONAL BEST SELLER • A serial killer is spinning a sinister web and Detectives Joona Linna and Saga Bauer are caught dead center.

This pulse-pounding descent into the chilling world of The Spider is another shocking thriller in the Killer Instinct series.

Three years ago, Detective Saga Bauer received an ominous postcard describing a gun and nine white bullets—one of which was intended for her partner, Detective Joona Linna. The sender alleged that Saga was the only person who could save him. But as time passed, the threat faded.

Until now.

A sack with a decomposing body has been found hanging from a tree in the forest. A milky white bullet casing turns up at the scene. When the body count begins to rise, the police realize that the killer is sending riddles, offering them the chance to stop the murders before they happen. But the police always seem to arrive a moment too late. As they begin to close in, the case becomes more and more tangled: someone is spinning a fiendishly intricate web, pulling Joona ever closer to a trap he may not be able to escape. The Spider is shocking and exhilarating in a way only Lars Kepler could accomplish.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

LARS KEPLER is the pseudonym of the critically acclaimed husband-and-wife team Alexandra Coelho Ahndoril and Alexander Ahndoril. Their number-one internationally best-selling novels have sold more than seventeen million copies in forty languages. The Ahndorils were both established writers before they adopted the pen name Lars Kepler. They live in Stockholm, Sweden. Translated by Alice Menzies.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1

Margot Silverman hears the thudding of the horse’s hooves against the bark chips as it gallops along the illuminated trail.

The sky is dark, the August air cool.

The trees race by on either side of her, fading away into the night before reappearing in the glow of the next lamp post.

Margot is head of the National Crime Unit in Stockholm, and she goes riding in Värmdö, to the east of the capital, four times a week. 

It helps to clear her head and centre herself.

The horse charges along the narrow trail, and the quick pace makes her heart race.

She catches brief glimpses of things in her periphery: fallen trees, the far edge of the field, a damp sweater with a smiley face on it, draped over a barrier.

The horse’s movements are asymmetrical as it gallops, its left hip higher than the right.

Each three-beat gait ends with its right front leg pushing off from the ground, followed by a moment of suspension.

In those few seconds as they fly through the air, she feels a tingle in her thighs.

Catullus is a Swedish warmblood gelding with long legs and a powerful neck, and Margot needed only to shift her outside leg back and push her hip forward to help spur him into a gallop.

Her braid thuds against her back each time his hooves hit the ground.

She sees a deer bolt across a clearing through the swaying ferns.

The lights are broken on the last part of the trail, and Margot can no longer see the ground in front of her. She closes her eyes and puts her faith in Catullus, allowing herself to be carried forward.

When she opens her eyes, she spots the bright stable between the trees and slows to an extended trot.

Margot’s chest and back are sweaty, and she can feel the lactic acid burning in her muscles after an hour’s interval training.

She walks Catullus in through the gates and dismounts.

It is almost 11 p.m., and Margot’s silver Citroën is the only car still parked outside the stable block.

She leads the horse through the darkness towards the building. His bit clinks, hooves beating softly against the dry, trampled grass.

From one of the stalls inside, she hears a couple of loud thuds.

Catullus stops dead, lifting his head and pulling back slightly.

‘Hey, what’s up?’ Margot asks, squinting into the darkness between the tractor and the nettles.

The horse is afraid, exhaling heavily through his nostrils. She strokes his neck and tries to coax him towards the stable, but he refuses to budge.

‘What’s going on, buddy?’

He shudders and veers sharply to one side, as though he is about to bolt.

‘Whoa-oh-ho.’

Margot grips the reins and firmly leads him in a half-circle, through the tall meadow grass and out onto the gravel. The lights outside the stable block give everything nearby three sharp shadows.

Catullus snorts and lowers his head.

Margot squints at the end of the building, and though she can’t see anything, she shudders.

Once they are safely inside the bright stable building, she takes off her helmet. The tip of her nose is red, her blonde braid heavy against the back of her quilted jacket. Above the tops of her long boots her jodhpurs are dirty.

The smell of hay and manure hangs heavy in the air.

The other horses are quiet as she leads Catullus to the wash stall, takes off his saddle and hangs it up in the heated tack room.

A couple of stirrups clink against the wooden wall.

Her first job is to rinse Catullus down and give him a blanket, then she needs to take him to his stall, feed him, give him a little extra salt and turn out the lights before heading home.

She reaches into her pocket to make sure she hasn’t lost her father’s old hip flask. She uses it for hand sanitiser rather than liquor—not because it’s especially practical but because it brings her luck and amuses her.

The door onto the yard creaks, and Margot feels a rush of unease. She steps out into the main area and peers towards the front of the building.

She hears Catullus shuffling in the wash stall behind her. The hose is dripping, a dark trickle of water flowing around the sweat scraper towards the drain.

Several of the other horses snort, their hooves striking the ground, while the electrical cabinet on the wall emits a low hum.

‘Hello?’ says Margot.

She holds her breath, standing perfectly still with her eyes on the door and the dark window for a moment before turning back to Catullus.

She can see the ceiling light mirrored in the curve of his black eye.

Margot hesitates, then takes out her phone and calls Johanna. Her wife doesn’t pick up, and she feels a knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. For the past two weeks, Margot has had the sense that someone is watching her. She even began to wonder whether Special Investigations or the Security Service has her under surveillance. She isn’t a paranoid person, but a number of anonymous calls and a pair of missing earrings have left her wondering whether she or Johanna have themselves a stalker.

Margot tries calling again. The phone rings and rings, but right as the voicemail is about to kick in, she hears a crackling sound.

‘Drenched and naked,’ Johanna answers.

Margot smiles. ‘How do I always manage to call at the right time?’

‘Hang on, let me put you on speakerphone.’

Something rustles and the background noise changes. An image of a nude Johanna, standing in the middle of their brightly lit bedroom, fully visible from the apple orchard outside, flashes through Margot’s mind.

‘Sorry, I’m just drying off,’ says Johanna. ‘Are you on your way back?’

‘Need to give the little man a quick hose down first.’

‘Remember to drive carefully.’

Margot can hear Johanna rubbing herself with a towel as they talk.

‘Make sure you close the curtains and check the door is locked,’ she says.

‘It’s like we’re in Scream. You’re watching me from the garden right now, aren’t you? And by the time I manage to lock the door, you’ll already be in the house.’

‘This isn’t funny.’

‘OK, boss.’

‘Ugh, I don’t want to be the boss anymore; I’m no good at it. I was fine as a detective, even if I was a bit cocky, but now that I’m in charge—’

‘Stop,’ Johanna interrupts her. ‘I’d have you as my boss any day.’

‘Oh la la,’ Margot laughs, her mood improving.

She hears Johanna lower the blind, the cord clinking against the radiator.

‘Put the blue lights on and come home,’ Johanna tells her. Her voice sounds faint, distant.

‘Were you able to get the girls into bed?’

‘Yeah, although Alva asked me whether you like your horse more than you like her.’

‘Ouch,’ Margot says, laughing.

The minute they hang up, the feeling of unease comes creeping back up on her. She can still hear a faint clinking sound, which continues for a moment or two before stopping. It must be coming from somewhere in the stable building, Margot thinks. It sounds like when the buckets hanging in the aisle knock...

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Verlag
Alfred a Knopf Inc
Erscheinungsdatum
2023
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593321049
ISBN 13 
9780593321041
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
480
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar

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