JIm Kelly - The Coldest Blood

PENGUIN BOOKS

THE COLDEST BLOOD

Praise for Jim Kelly

Kelly is fast gaining a reputation for his literate,
atmospheric novels Daily Mail

A significant new talent Sunday Times

A rare combination of poetic writing and a gripping plot
Sunday Telegraph

The sense of place is terrific: the fens really brood.
Dryden, the central character, is satisfyingly complicated
a good, atmospheric read Observer

A masterful stylist, Kelly crafts sharp, crisp sentences so
pure, so true, they qualify as modern poetry Publishing News

A sparkling star newly risen in the crime fiction
firmament Colin Dexter

Superb Kelly has produced another story rich in plot
and character, with a bit of history as well Publishers Weekly

Kelly is clearly a name to watch a compelling read
Crime Time

Beautifully written The climax is chilling. Sometimes a
book takes up residence inside my head and just wont
leave. The Water Clock did just that Val McDermid

An atmospheric, intriguing mystery with a tense
denouement Susanna Yager, Sunday Telegraph

Excellent no-frills thriller with a real bite. 4 stars FHM

A story that continuously quickens the pulse makes
every nerve tingle. The suspense here is tight and controlled
and each character is made to count in a story that engulfs
you while it unravels Punch

Kellys evocation of the bleak and watery landscapes,
provide a powerful backdrop to a wonderful cast of
characters The Good Book Guide

A thriller debut of genuine distinction. Kelly is a name to
watch and this is a compelling read Crime Time

The Water Clocks praise is well deserved highly
recommended Washington Post

Jim Kelly is a journalist. He lives in Ely with the biographer Midge Gillies and their young daughter. The Coldest Blood is his fourth novel, following The Water Clock, The Fire Baby and The Moon Tunnel. His new novel, The Skeleton Man, is now available in hardback from Michael Joseph.

He has been shortlisted for a number of awards, including the CWA John Creasey Dagger for The Water Clock, and Theakstons Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year Award for The Fire Baby. In 2006 Jim Kelly was awarded the Dagger in the Library by the Crime Writers Association for a body of work giving greatest enjoyment to crime fiction readers.

To find out more about Jim Kelly and other Penguin crime writers, go to www.penguinmostwanted.co.uk

The Coldest Blood

JIM KELLY

PENGUIN BOOKS

PENGUIN BOOKS

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First published by Michael Joseph 2006
Published in Penguin Books 2007
1

Copyright Jim Kelly, 2006
All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

EISBN: 9780141018645

For Peggy and Brian, who are together

This is a work of fiction but several experts have been generous with their time to ensure that technical details are as accurate as possible. I am particularly indebted to Dr Alan Whitmore, of the Institute of Ophthalmology at University College London and Moorfields Eye Hospital; Neil OMay, head of the criminal law department of Bindman & Partners; and the Forensic Science Service, for guidance on issues pertaining to blood. Thanks also to members of the Fen Skating Committee, who were welcoming and gave freely of their memories. Lets hope that, despite climate change, their sport thrives for at least one more generation. All information on the national electricity grid and the network of pylons which are its backbone came from the internet beginning with the indispensable Pylon of the Month website. Would-be pyloneers should start here. The National Farmers Union in East Anglia was helpful in explaining the use of commercial kites to replace more traditional bird-scaring devices.

So much for specific areas of expertise. Others have given constant help and encouragement. My wife, Midge Gillies, has provided a wide-ranging consultancy throughout the writing of The Coldest Blood; from plot, through character, to setting she has made an indispensable contribution. Beverley Cousins, my editor, has continued to keep me on course with her combination of experience and skill. Faith Evans, my agent, is an ever-present guide to good writing.

Trevor Horwood, my copy-editor again, combined meticulous attention to detail with a watchful eye on continuity. Other friends have provided help selflessly: Jenny Burgoyne read the manuscript with forensic intensity and Bridie Pritchard brought an overview to the final draft; Martin Peters set me on the right road from the start with some commonsense advice about the properties of blood. My brother Bob Kelly provided a vivid insight into the realities of an ice storm.

And finally, the landscape the English Fens and the cathedral city of Ely. As in Philip Drydens earlier adventures, The Coldest Blood combines entirely fictitious characters and plot with locations blending real and imagined geography. This has allowed me once again to be creative with place names, institutions and traditions in order to enrich the story and facilitate the plot, a liberty I hope will not infuriate my loyal, local readers too greatly.

Thursday, 29 August 1974

The dagger lay on his naked thigh, its blade as cold as a rock-pool pebble. Lying back in his bunk, he raised the weapon with one hand and splayed the fingers of the other across the muscle of his upper arm, stretching the suntanned skin taut as a drum. Outside, the water of the saltmarsh slapped against the Curlew s hull, rocking him on the incoming tide.

He tasted salt on his lips as he bit down on the leather belt in his mouth and pressed the daggers V-shaped point into the biceps, wincing at the gritty sound of the metal penetrating the flesh. He knew he mustnt scream, but his stomach rolled at the thought of what must come next.

The holiday camp was a mile away but hed seen kids wandering at dusk in the marsh, four of them, torches dancing amongst the reeds. No one must hear. No one must know.

He held his breath and bit down again on the strap, drawing the blade through the skin, revealing a hint of the meat of the inner arm, a single artery exposed, then severed. Blood flowed like poster paint, dripping from his elbow, as the pain sudden and electric now jolted his nervous system and made him drop the dagger and cry out, despite himself.

He gagged on the strap, wanting to weep, and spat it out. Two more, he said. A jagged S, like a lightning bolt. Three cuts. But he knew he couldnt see it through, not then, so he lay flat, matching his breathing to the slow cadence of the sea beyond the dunes, and for comfort placed a hand on the cold metal of the box at his side, a finger outlining the double locks.