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PROLOGUE
WAS IT LUCK, REALLY? SOME MIGHT CALL IT FATE. OTHERS THE MANIFEST presence of God’s guiding hand. He almost missed her. Between the dark and the trees and the cars parked up on the grass verge, his headlights caught a flash of white top and the gleam of something gold. He’d never have seen her if he hadn’t been in the van, sitting high up. By the time it hit him full-on, he’d driven past. But he knew the road well, the quiet residential estates behind laid out in a grid. He took the next left, then three rights, and he was back out on the main road again—behind her now, taking it slowly.
She’d got barely thirty yards further, sauntering along like all of them did, like there was no tomorrow. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Nothing. Scanned ahead. Not a ghost in sight but her. No need even to stop and ask. As he passed her again, he tried to get a better look, but a lamp post was in the way and he only caught a glimpse. It was enough, though. He gave it fifty yards or so, then pulled up on the verge, nice and easy, cut the engine and lights. Then it was just a matter of slipping into the back, checking the gauge on the cylinder, and making sure everything was in place.
Watching her through the square tinted windows at the back, he could tell she hadn’t noticed him stopping. Wasn’t noticing much by the look of it. Excitement gripped his breath as each step brought her closer, slowly, until he got his first clear look at her. Dark hair, shoulder-length and glossy, a white crop top flattening out her chest, a slash of bare belly, a tiny slip of skirt only just covering her. The gleam of precious metal on her neck. Typical.
He struggled to keep his breathing slow, forced himself to relax using the technique the doctor had shown him. Concentrating, making sure he got it right this time. He’d practised it over and over in his head, but experience had taught him to make allowances for the unpredictable in these matters and be prepared to react accordingly. Only the last few yards now. He closed his eyes, blessed himself, and began counting down. It was easier that way. Left hand holding the sack, right hand gripping the handle of the side panel door. He’d spent hours getting the sliding action smooth. Then he was out, landing perfectly, just a couple of feet in front of her, and his right hand was a fist now, flying like a missile straight at her face, so startled she didn’t have time to take a step back—or even be frightened.
© 2011 Gerard O’Donovan
Revue de presse :
WAS IT LUCK, REALLY? SOME MIGHT CALL IT FATE. OTHERS THE MANIFEST presence of God’s guiding hand. He almost missed her. Between the dark and the trees and the cars parked up on the grass verge, his headlights caught a flash of white top and the gleam of something gold. He’d never have seen her if he hadn’t been in the van, sitting high up. By the time it hit him full-on, he’d driven past. But he knew the road well, the quiet residential estates behind laid out in a grid. He took the next left, then three rights, and he was back out on the main road again—behind her now, taking it slowly.
She’d got barely thirty yards further, sauntering along like all of them did, like there was no tomorrow. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Nothing. Scanned ahead. Not a ghost in sight but her. No need even to stop and ask. As he passed her again, he tried to get a better look, but a lamp post was in the way and he only caught a glimpse. It was enough, though. He gave it fifty yards or so, then pulled up on the verge, nice and easy, cut the engine and lights. Then it was just a matter of slipping into the back, checking the gauge on the cylinder, and making sure everything was in place.
Watching her through the square tinted windows at the back, he could tell she hadn’t noticed him stopping. Wasn’t noticing much by the look of it. Excitement gripped his breath as each step brought her closer, slowly, until he got his first clear look at her. Dark hair, shoulder-length and glossy, a white crop top flattening out her chest, a slash of bare belly, a tiny slip of skirt only just covering her. The gleam of precious metal on her neck. Typical.
He struggled to keep his breathing slow, forced himself to relax using the technique the doctor had shown him. Concentrating, making sure he got it right this time. He’d practised it over and over in his head, but experience had taught him to make allowances for the unpredictable in these matters and be prepared to react accordingly. Only the last few yards now. He closed his eyes, blessed himself, and began counting down. It was easier that way. Left hand holding the sack, right hand gripping the handle of the side panel door. He’d spent hours getting the sliding action smooth. Then he was out, landing perfectly, just a couple of feet in front of her, and his right hand was a fist now, flying like a missile straight at her face, so startled she didn’t have time to take a step back—or even be frightened.
© 2011 Gerard O’Donovan
“It is difficult to believe that The Priest is Gerard O’Donovan’s first novel, so gripping and assured is it. And, one asks, in crime-writing terms, is Ireland becoming the new Scotland?”--The Times (London)
“Fast-paced, exciting and thrilling, this is an impressive debut.” – The Sunday Times (Ireland)
“A sure command of plot and pacing, a lively sense of locale and a quirky sense of character...compelling.” --Irish Independent
“In Mike Mulcahy, O'Donovan has created a well-drawn, multi-faceted cop who readers are likely to want to spend more time with in the future...An impressive debut, with a well-paced plot and enough twists to keep the reader interested until the last page.”--Sunday Business Post (Ireland)
“An exciting serial-killer thriller . . . The writing is strong and the Dublin locations are well described and interesting.”—Canberra Times (Australia)
“Gerard O'Donovan is a pleasing new Irish voice and his DI, Mike Mulcahy, may do for Dublin what Ian Rankin's hard-boiled cop, Rebus, did for Edinburgh. Well-paced and full of the set-pieces crime fans adore, O'Donovan's first Mulcahy novel is a classy exploration of the melancholy cop story.”-- Weekend Australian
“With deft atmospheric prose and an ear for crisp dialogue, Gerard O’Donovan tells a tale you’d like to look away from, but cannot.”--Bryan Gruley, author of Starvation Lake and The Hanging Tree
"A fine debut . . . This is a book you want to read right now, so you can later lay claim to bragging rights of having been 'one of O'Donovan's earliest fans.'"--Bookpage
"Mr. O'Donovan builds suspense carefully and cleverly, leading us to a pulse-raising climax . . . just the thing for St. Patrick's Day."--Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“Fast-paced, exciting and thrilling, this is an impressive debut.” – The Sunday Times (Ireland)
“A sure command of plot and pacing, a lively sense of locale and a quirky sense of character...compelling.” --Irish Independent
“In Mike Mulcahy, O'Donovan has created a well-drawn, multi-faceted cop who readers are likely to want to spend more time with in the future...An impressive debut, with a well-paced plot and enough twists to keep the reader interested until the last page.”--Sunday Business Post (Ireland)
“An exciting serial-killer thriller . . . The writing is strong and the Dublin locations are well described and interesting.”—Canberra Times (Australia)
“Gerard O'Donovan is a pleasing new Irish voice and his DI, Mike Mulcahy, may do for Dublin what Ian Rankin's hard-boiled cop, Rebus, did for Edinburgh. Well-paced and full of the set-pieces crime fans adore, O'Donovan's first Mulcahy novel is a classy exploration of the melancholy cop story.”-- Weekend Australian
“With deft atmospheric prose and an ear for crisp dialogue, Gerard O’Donovan tells a tale you’d like to look away from, but cannot.”--Bryan Gruley, author of Starvation Lake and The Hanging Tree
"A fine debut . . . This is a book you want to read right now, so you can later lay claim to bragging rights of having been 'one of O'Donovan's earliest fans.'"--Bookpage
"Mr. O'Donovan builds suspense carefully and cleverly, leading us to a pulse-raising climax . . . just the thing for St. Patrick's Day."--Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
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- ÉditeurDreamscape Media Llc
- Date d'édition2011
- ISBN 10 1611200725
- ISBN 13 9781611200720
- ReliureCD
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The Priest: Vol 11
Edité par
Dreamscape Media, LLC
(2011)
ISBN 10 : 1611200725
ISBN 13 : 9781611200720
Neuf
Quantité disponible : 1
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Description du livre Compact Disc. Etat : Brand New. unabridged edition. 6.50x5.60x1.20 inches. In Stock. N° de réf. du vendeur 1611200725
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