The discovery of the body of a young, red-haired school mistress, lying in a pig-pen with her face half-eaten away, is the beginning of a new investigation for Charlie Woodend. But it is to be an investigation he is soon ordered to abandon when Helen Dunn, the daughter of Wing Commander Dunn - an...
DCI Woodend's first foreign holiday, in General Franco's Spain, ends abruptly when he sees a fellow guest plunge mysteriously from his hotel balcony to the rocky beach below With the help of Paco Ruiz a former policeman, living in disgrace since the Spanish Civil War Woodend embarks on an unoffic...
When Eddie Barnes is electrocuted on stage in front of 300 adoring fans, the Liverpool Police immediately call in Scotland Yard, which means calling in the Yard's resident expert Chief Inspector Charlie Woodend. But for once Woodend feels out of his depth.
With its unfair, caravan sites and social clubs, Swann's Lake is the ideal weekend retreat for working class Mancunians. But it is also the setting for the brutal murder of Robbie Peterson, a criminal-turned-club-owner, found dead in his office, a six-inch nail driven deep into his skull.Brought ...
A man and a young woman are found blasted away by a rifle in a remote farmhouse on the Yorkshire moors. But where is the farmer, why did he have such swanky furniture in his living room, and who on earth are the victims? Charlie Woodend isn't amused with the people who are getting under his feet ...
It is one of the most brutal murders Chief Inspector Woodend has ever encountered . . . Pamela Rainsford, found on a lonely canal path in the middle of a dark night, has not only been raped and strangled, but her face has been hacked to pieces. At first it seems a random killing, but as the case ...
Prove my wife is innocent or the hostages die!DCI Woodend has just days to prove that Judith Maitland did not butcher her lover; a few terrifying days to find the real killer. But with the hostage-takers growing twitchy and the army itching to intervene whatever the cost, how can he avoid a blood...
The third book in the new series featuring DCI Monika Paniatowski - When a recently released prisoner claims in a deathbed confession that he is innocent of the rape and murder of a young girl for which he was convicted twenty-two years earlier, DCI Monika Paniatowski is tasked to lead an unoffic...
‘Can you hear me, Joan?’ he asked. ‘Clear as a bell,’ his wife replied. ‘Is somethin’ the matter, Charlie?’ ‘Why should somethin’ be the matter?’ Woodend asked defensively. ‘I don’t know. It’s just somethin’ in your voice. An’ you never ring me when you’re workin’ on a case – except, of course, w...
It was at this table that she had first decided that she hated DI Bob Rutter, and then realized that she had fallen in love with him. It was on this very chair that she sat – heartbroken – when Rutter’s sense of duty forced him to end the affair, and it was where she had come to grieve when she l...
Two of these people – Susan Danvers and the police sketch artist – were sitting at a desk close to the stage. The other two – Beresford and Crane – were watching them from a distance. ‘I don’t understand why you’re going through all this rigmarole, sir,’ Crane said. Beresford smiled complacently....
Not all right. Not quite good. But perfect. There would have been reason enough for this assertion. She had a nice home – a substantial semi in a good street – which she always kept in the most immaculate condition. She had two wonderful children, who never earned less than the highest praise fro...
‘And what special way is that?’ Blackstone asked. ‘It pretends it isn’t corrupt at all. It pretends it’s not only as pure as the driven snow, but that it’s the best damn detective bureau in the whole world. And it’s got a lot of other people – people who should know better – completely buying int...
They were all rather depressing – and deliberately so – but Interview Room C, which had the smallest window and the least natural light, was the dreariest of the trio. And Interview Room C was the one in which Woodend had chosen to conduct his interrogation of Thelma Hawtrey. Woodend looked acros...
The new arrival was in his early forties, had short black hair and sported a large handlebar moustache. He crossed the room to the bar with the brisk strides of someone who had taken his military training very seriously indeed. “Group Captain Simon Hailsham at your service,” he said, holding out ...
Looking back on that particular encounter she felt ashamed that, even allowing for the fact that she was new to the job and still unsure of herself, she’d issued him with no more than a mild rebuke. It wouldn’t happen now. Not with Walker. Not with anybody. If she could relive that moment, she’d ...
‘He asked me if he could have half an hour off,’ Paniatowski replied. ‘He said he had some personal business to attend to.’ ‘Personal business,’ Beresford repeated, with mild disgust. ‘Doesn’t he realize we’re in the middle of a murder inquiry?’ Paniatowski grinned. ‘You’ve gone from being the pl...
‘So this is the sequence of events,’ she said, summing up. ‘They’ve eaten the paella. Everybody at the table is looking at the pictures Louisa took with her to Spain, and when they eventually reach Elena Vargas, she finds herself gazing down at a newspaper photograph of a husband she probably tho...
‘Bong!’ said the clock in his local church tower, as he left home that morning. Only six days and twenty-two hours left. ‘Bong!’ said Big Ben, as he passed the Palace of Westminster. Another hour gone, and you’re still no closer to finding Max. And now this caretaker – this insignificant little r...
Thus, while the Black Bull had a view – of sorts – over the Green, all that could be seen from the store was a seemingly endless row of grim stone cottages. The store was no more than a stone cottage itself, Woodend noted. And a badly neglected one, at that. The paintwork around the door and wind...
‘You are,’ Woodend confirmed. ‘I’m an anonymous informant,’ the woman said. Woodend grinned. ‘Are you, indeed? Well, has anybody ever told you, Anonymous Informant, that you sound just like Councillor Polly Johnson, JP?’ The woman laughed. ‘Damn it! Rumbled!’ she exclaimed. Then, in a more seriou...
‘Did you happen to glance at the morning papers on your way to work, Sarge?’ Cotteral asked. ‘No,’ Woodend replied. ‘I didn’t.’ ‘Not even the Globe?’ ‘Not even the Globe.’ ‘Well, the guv’nor’s seen it,’ Cotteral said, as his smirk widened. ‘Oh yes, he’s seen it, all right. And now he wants to see...
They always said the first pint of the day was the best, he thought, and they were quite right. Not that this was his first pint of the day – strictly speaking, it was his fifth – but it was his first in the Drum and Monkey, and that had to count for something. The night before, alone in his shit...
‘That’s it,’ Drayman said almost mournfully, lowering his field glasses and turning to Blackstone. ‘That’s the Bluebell.’ Blackstone nodded. ‘So I see.’ ‘There’s still time to decide you’ve made a mistake.’ ‘I’ve made no mistake,’ Blackstone replied. And he believed what he was saying. &nbs...
The vicarage was large, and probably extremely draughty – especially when the wind was blowing in from across the moors. It had been built at a different time, to meet a different set of needs. Thus, there were gable windows in the roof, which would allow a little light to permeate into the serva...
‘The Slimes’ were rough. They invariably had sawdust sprinkled on the floor – so useful for soaking up the blood that would undoubtedly be spilled by closing time! – and brass spittoons within expectorating distance of each table. They drew their clientele from the furthest, darkest fringes of so...
They were noted for being the first customers of the day, and that morning was no exception. What was exceptional, however, was that instead of their normal intense conversation, during which pages of script were shuffled back and forth across the table, the two writers seemed to be barely aware ...
The room had a far less businesslike atmosphere than his father’s office, Blackstone thought, looking around him. True, it contained a large, impressive desk and several tall filing cabinets, but there were personal touches, too – stuffed animal heads mounted on the wall and a billiard table in t...
The boat bobbed slightly as the sluices let in water and the level of the lock rose. The process seemed incredibly slow that day, although he knew well enough that the lock was filling at its usual rate and it was only his own impatience that was expanding time. He needed to get back to Salton, a...
Not that it was exactly an enthralling sight, she thought. The place could never have been mistaken for Fleet Street – and that was putting it mildly. In fact, it only a shade more impressive than the offices of the Maltham Chronicle, the provincial weekly rag on which she’d been working when Cha...
At first he could not pin down the source of the feeling, because, on the surface at least, the clinic looked to him to be perfectly fine. And then he put his finger squarely on the problem. It was not that the place looked perfectly fine – it was that it looked perfect! There was no sign of wear...