Nobody Walks (Soho Crime)
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Set in the same fictional London as his CWA Gold Dagger Award-winning Slough House spy series, Mick Herron now introduces Tom Bettany, a man with a violent past and only one thing to live for: Avenging his son’s death.
Tom Bettany is working at a meat processing plant in France when he gets a voicemail from an Englishwoman he doesn’t know telling him that his estranged 26-year-old son is dead—Liam Bettany fell from his London balcony, where he was smoking pot.
Now for the first time since he cut all ties years ago, Bettany returns home to London to find out the truth about his son’s death. Maybe it’s the guilt he feels about losing touch with Liam that’s gnawing at him, or maybe he’s actually put his finger on a labyrinthine plot, but either way he’ll get to the bottom of the tragedy, no matter whose feathers he has to ruffle. But more than a few people are interested to hear Bettany is back in town, from incarcerated mob bosses to those in the highest echelons of MI5. He might have thought he’d left it all behind when he first skipped town, but nobody ever really walks away.
From the Hardcover edition.
found she was mouthing the word aloud, and disguised this by mouthing another word or two, as if humming a lyric or rehearsing a shopping list, then glanced around to see who was staring at the mad lady. But nobody was staring at the mad lady. Everyone had their own bubble they were trying not to burst. But nothing. That was what it said about her. Vincent was Vincent, and Flea Pointer could be … Kylie Minogue, it wouldn’t make a difference. Talk about being inside your own bubble. Vincent,
take the rest of the day off, he’d been told. You don’t look yourself. We all need a sick day now and then. So he was expected to turn up tomorrow as if everything was normal. He laid a hand flat against the window. Didn’t punch but pushed gently, enough to feel the glass pushing back—to know that it was solid, and wouldn’t give without effort. Even glass was capable of that much. And he remembered again how he’d shit himself when Bettany had stepped into view, naked, wielding a knife.
touching her throat. Driscoll said, “If Bettany was right, I’m the one in danger. And once Shades 3’s out, the danger goes away. The company can’t reverse the release even if I’m dead.” “And what about that madman in the meantime? He’s out there on the streets.” “Bettany will deal with him.” “It’s Bettany I was talking about,” said Boo. 5.3 Coe drove round a corner or two and parked by a church whose redbrick spire cast a shadow over its neighbours. A row of headstones out front had been
fridge was a photo of Hannah from before she grew sick. Unthinkingly he pulled it free for a closer look. But it was no riddle awaiting solution. It was an old photograph, that was all. The fridge obligingly carried on humming, keeping up the good work of chilling Liam’s out-of-date milk and slowly perishing vegetables. An array of bowls, sealed with clingfilm, held leftovers he’d never finish. It was all very clean, Bettany thought. All surfaces wiped. Cutlery in its drawer. Pans in their
to go haunted the underground, seeking warmth on its platforms, variety on its circuits, charity in its carriages. There was nothing unusual about a man passing time while the trains roared by. He wouldn’t raise alarms. The paper was a free handout, its news two cycles old. It didn’t matter. He was scanning his surroundings, not the print. If there was anyone else doing the same, they were too good to be spotted. He folded the paper, tucked it under an arm, and leaned back into the bench’s