Carlyle stood shading his eyes in the middle of a massive empty space, the size of maybe half a dozen soccer pitches, five minutes from the Westway, halfway to Heathrow. Poking at some rubble with the toe of his trainers, he scanned the site, which was bathed in bright sunlight. It had been compl...
It was grey and damp. Three hours earlier, when Carlyle had left the flat, clear blue skies offered the hint of a pleasant summer day. Now it seemed a facsimile of February in June. Cursing himself for ignoring the weather forecast and leaving his raincoat at home, he cast his gaze to the heavens...
Signs everywhere. It was the hundred and sixty-ninth day of the year. It was one hundred and sixty-nine years to the day since the English had triumphed at Waterloo. It was a time for history. A time for destiny. And, above all, a time for pain.In the here and now, it was the end of the summer te...
Then he looked at the victim’s face. It came to him almost immediately. Without a doubt, he had seen this guy before. Even the where and when popped into his head without a moment’s further thought. He closed his eyes and saw the same guy sitting in that bar, sipping his beer, playing with his mo...
‘Does it hurt?’ Her expression was a perfect mixture of compassion and annoyance. ‘Nah, I’m fine,’ Carlyle replied, happy to play the brave soldier if it would win him some cheap sympathy. ‘They sent me to A and E for a check-up, but nothing’s broken.’ He grinned at her lecherously. ‘They gave me...
‘Got any whisky?’ ‘Of course not.’ ‘In that case, a coffee would be great. The stronger the better.’ He watched Roche disappear inside the empty kiosk and start banging about, trying to work the complicated-looking coffee machine. ‘What happened to the guy serving here?’ Carlyle asked no one in p...
Carlyle grunted non-committingly as he sucked down on a latte that was way too cold for his liking. He always asked for it ‘extra hot’ and the Brazilian/Indian/Ukrainian/whatever boy/girl behind the counter would nod happily and then serve him up something that was barely lukewarm. It drove him m...
After a most agreeable night on the tiles with Ryder, Flyte and Marchmain, Palmer had only slipped into bed just after two. What seemed like mere minutes later, he was being shaken awake by his mother and told he had to get up. The old biddy hadn’t even brought him a cup of tea. She seemed to tak...
Scanning her face, Carlyle thought there was something missing. And then he saw it: the loss of sparkle in her eyes as she looked at him made him wonder if she could really recover from her tussles with Alain Costello. Stepping forward, she greeted him with a limp handshake. ‘Hello, Inspector.’ ‘...
It was grey and damp. Three hours earlier, when Carlyle had left the flat, clear blue skies offered the hint of a pleasant summer day. Now it seemed a facsimile of February in June. Cursing himself for ignoring the weather forecast and leaving his raincoat at home, he cast his gaze to the heavens...
fit into the Carlyle series? The novella ties in to a series of novels featuring Inspector John Carlyle, an Inspector working out of the police station at Charing Cross. The first novel, “London Calling”, was published in 2011. Early on in that book, there is a flashback to Carlyle’s experiences ...
After getting Francis Clegg to sign his statement, the inspector retreated back up to the third floor. Joe was sitting at his desk, drinking a mug of coffee, while WPC Hall was perched on the edge of a nearby desk, munching happily on a banana. Since returning from Heathrow, each of them had main...
Holding a small cube of sugar to the surface of his strong, syrupy Turkish coffee, he watched it turn brown before letting it drop it into the demitasse. Picking up his teaspoon, he began carefully stirring his coffee, eyeing the small band of anti-war protestors as he did so.What a rabble, he th...
Discharging his driver on Clerkenwell Road, Carlyle made his way on foot through the backed-up traffic towards the police tape. Almost immediately, he felt sweat soaking into his shirt as his body temperature rose. The inspector was not good in the heat and he quickly began to feel oppressed and ...
Good luck with that, lads. ‘Excuse me.’ ‘Huh?’ ‘Out of the way.’ ‘Sorry.’ Belatedly realising that he was blocking the exit, Max jumped out of the way as a pair of paramedics pushed a gurney towards him. One of the paramedics, a middle-aged skinhead with blo...