Sunday, March 05, 2017

The Killing Bay - Chris Ould

Sent to me by the Publisher in exchange for an honest review

Release Date: 21/02/17

Publisher: Titan Books

ISBN: 978-1783297061

Format: Paperback, 464pp

Genre: Crime/Thriller

Today we have a book extract from one of Titan Books latest releases The Killing Bay by Chris Ould. This is the much anticipated second instalment of the Faroe Islands series. The extract I am sharing today is from chapter one. Jan Reyna is unfocused and distracted, he needs to clear his head and regain control of himself. The piece both sets the scene for the novel and also gives a good look at Ould's writing style.

Thank you to Philippa from Titan Books for sending me a review copy of the book as well as including me on The Killing Bay blog tour. The Killing Bay was released on 21/2/17 in U.K, you can pick up a copy here and a copy of the first instalment The Blood Strand  here. Titan Books are releasing so many awesome books in 2017, for more details check out their website

Book Synopsis: When a group of international activists arrive on the Faroe Islands, intent on stopping the traditional whale hunts, tensions between islanders and protesters run high. Then a woman is found murdered only hours after a violent confrontation at a whale drive and the circumstances seem purposely designed to increase animosity between the two sides. 

For English DI Jan Reyna and local detective Hjalti Hentze, the case quickly exposes personal connections and conflicts of interest. But as they dig deeper it becomes increasingly clear that the murder has other, more sinister aspects to it. Knowing evidence is being hidden from them, neither policeman knows who to trust, or how far some people might go to defend their beliefs. (Official Titan Synopsis).

Book Extract - Chapter One, Page 21. 

So where was I?

Mending/mended. Suspended. Putting things off: decisions; movement; leaving; asking. I supposed I was waiting for something: to take a hint. I can take a hint. But there was none, and I had no imperative until one came along. 

Fríða had still given no sign of wanting to kick me out of the guest house and a few days ago when I’d told her I thought it might be time I went back to a hotel she dismissed the idea as if I’d suggested something illogical. “Why? There’s no need. It would be a waste of money.” 

I didn’t want to impose on her hospitality or outstay my welcome – I was still English enough for that – but if I read it right, she viewed my presence as a pragmatic solution to my situation: first injured, then – after the news of Signar’s death – awaiting his funeral. I also knew her well enough not to argue when she’d made up her mind. 

So I stayed. 

I’d also emailed Kirkland, my superintendent back in England, and told him I was unavailable to be interviewed by the Directorate of Professional Standards on the dates he’d requested. I used the word request deliberately because it hadn’t been one. There had been a family bereavement, I told him; on top of the fact I was recovering from injuries sustained while assisting the Faroese police. I even offered to provide medical notes and testimonials if he required them. Not necessary as it turned out. I hadn’t thought so. He knew what he could do. 

And I walked. 

Not to outdistance or shake off the black dog, but because I wanted to. Because, by and large, I hadn’t walked for the sake of the walk for a long time and if I tired myself out I hoped it might bring my sleep back to normal. 

Ever since the concussion and painkillers had scrambled a couple of my days I’d been waking in the small hours, vaguely conscious that in my dreams I’d been inhabiting a place I didn’t like. It was a sensation I remembered, like déjà vu, from almost a lifetime away: a primal thing, almost childlike in its simplicity. Maybe not surprising because I had been a child when I’d last felt it: waking up and not knowing where I’d been. 

So I walked, and after the first day when I’d underestimated the terrain, I remembered the addictive muscle-aching satisfaction of accomplishment it gave. This was something I could do, and while I was doing it there was nothing else I could do at the same time: just be preoccupied by the next step and the one after that.

So, that’s where I was: abstracted from reality, I guess. As much in limbo as Signar Ravnsfjall had been when I’d seen him that one time in his hospital bed, between his first stroke and his last. Unresolved. Unanswered. Unfinished.

About the Author: Chris Ould is the author of The Blood Strand, the first book in the Faroes series - which Booklist declared ''a winner for fans of both Scandinavian and British procedurals'' - as well as two Young Adult crime novels. He is a BAFTA award-winning screenwriter who has worked on many TV shows including The Bill, Soldier Soldier, Casualty and Hornblower. He lives in Dorset. (Official Bio)(Author image from Chris Ould's twitter page @WriterChrisOuld)

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