Time of Death (Tom Thorne Novels Book 13) (English Edition) de Mark Billingham está disponible para descargar en formato PDF y EPUB. Aquí puedes . 8Yt3. Time of Death by Mark Billingham!Download Time of Death by Mark Billingham! ABOUT THE BOOK The astonishing thirteenth Tom. Mark Billingham. The Killing Habit (eBook, ePUB). Leseprobe · The Killing Habit ( eBook, ePUB) - Billingham, Mark . Time of Death (eBook, ePUB). 4,
|Language:||English, Spanish, Arabic|
|Distribution:||Free* [*Registration Required]|
Billingham Mark books bestauthor best selling novels all time. Display: Show: Time Of Death epub mobi (Tom Thorne 13) by Mark Billingham. The Missing. 10 Good as Dead - Mark Billingham - dokument [*.epub] Also by Mark black hole from which death could emerge in less time than it took for her heart to beat. Full of betrayal, deceit and suspense, Die of Shame is the spectacular new book from number-one best seller Mark Billingham - author of Time of Death and In.
Trying to decide whether or not to make a move.
Same as she was. He was grinning and opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped when he saw Mr Akhtar reach quickly below the counter and come up with a baseball bat. One of the boys at the fridge whistled, mock-impressed, and said, 'Oh, look out.
Helen took a step towards the end of the counter, but felt herself held back by the man next to her and could only watch as Mr Akhtar came charging from behind it, yelling and swinging the bat wildly. Get out.
They screamed threats and promised that they would be back and one of them shouted something about the place stinking of curry anyway. When the last one was out on the pavement - still swearing threats and making obscene gestures - Mr Akhtar slammed the door.
He fumbled in his pocket for keys and locked it, then stood with his head against the glass, breathing heavily. Helen took a step towards him, asked if he was all right. Outside, one of the boys kicked at the window, then hawked up a gobbet of thick spittle on to the glass.
It had just begun to dribble down past the ads for gardeners, guitar teachers and massage, when he was pulled away by his friends. You know I'm a police officer, so ,,, ' Still with his back to the shop, Mr Akhtar nodded and began fumbling in his pocket a second time. Helen swallowed hard, tried to control the shaking in her leg and in her voice when she spoke. The curse sounded awkward in his mouth though, like something spoken by an actor who has over-rehearsed.
Like a white lie. He said the offending word again and Thorne slapped his hand against the steering wheel. There's no bloody X in it ,,, ' Sitting in a long line of rush-hour traffic, crawling north towards lights on Haverstock Hill, Thorne glanced right and saw a woman staring across at him from behind the wheel of a sporty-looking Mercedes. He smiled and raised his eyebrows. Muttered, 'Sod you, then,' when she turned away. He had hoped that, having seen him talking to himself, she might presume that he was making a hands-free call, but she clearly had him marked down as a ranting nutter.
Shouting at the radio was probably just another sign of growing older, Thorne thought. One of the many. Up there on the list with losing a little hearing in his right ear and thinking that there was nothing worth watching on television any more. Wondering why teenagers thought it was cool to wear their trousers around their knees. The song finished and the DJ cheerfully informed him which station he was tuned into. Up there with listening to Radio 2! Changes of opinion or temperament were inevitable of course, Thorne knew that, and on some days he might even admit that they were not necessarily a bad thing.
When change happened gradually, its slow accretion of shifts and triggers could go almost unnoticed, but Thorne was rarely comfortable with anything that was more sudden. However necessary it might be. Too many things in his life had changed recently, or were in the process of changing, and he was still finding it hard to cope with any of them.
To adjust. He pulled somewhat less than smoothly away from the lights, cursing as his foot slipped off the still unfamiliar accelerator pedal. The bloody car, for a start.
He had finally traded in his beloved BMW CSi for a two-year-old 5 Series that was rather more reliable and for which he could at least obtain replacement parts when he needed them. The car had been the first and as yet only thing to go, but more major changes were imminent.
His flat in Kentish Town had been on the market for a month, though he still had some repairs to do and downloaders seemed thin on the ground. And, despite several weeks of quiet words and clandestine sniffing around, a suitable transfer to another squad had yet to become available. Then there had been Louise ,,, All these less than comfortable shifts in Thorne's life, important as they might seem, were secondary to that. The car, the flat, the job. The flurry of changes had come about, had been decided upon, as a direct result of what had happened with Louise.
He and Louise Porter had finally parted company a couple of months before, after a relationship that had lasted just over two years. For half that time it had been better than either of them had expected; way better than most relationships between police officers, certainly.
But as a team they had not been strong enough to cope with the loss of a baby. Neither had been able to give the other the particular form of comfort they needed and, while the relationship had limped on for a while, they had suffered separately and paid heavily for it. Louise had been understandably resentful that Thorne seemed more easily able to deal with the grief of strangers, while Thorne himself had struggled with guilt at not having been quite as devastated by the miscarriage as he thought he should have been.
By the time that guilt had burned itself out and Thorne was able to admit just how much he had wanted to be a father, it was too late for both of them.
They had become lovers by numbers, and in the end it had simply fizzled away. It was Louise who finally plucked up the courage to say what needed saying, but Thorne had known for a while that the break had to come, before such feelings as were left between them darkened and became destructive. They had both kept their own flats, which made the practicalities straightforward enough.
Louise had taken away a bin-liner stuffed with clothes and cosmetics from Thorne's place in Kentish Town, while Thorne had left Louise's flat for the last time with a carrier bag, a few tins of beer and a box of CDs. It had ended with a hug, but it might just as well have been a handshake. Loading his boxes and bags into the back of his car, Thorne had decided that it might be a good idea to change a whole lot of other things.
To start again ,,, He turned towards Finchley and almost immediately hit a tailback. No more than five miles now, but still half an hour or so away from Hendon, and Becke House. The headquarters of the Area West Murder Squad. Thorne shook his head, but had listened anyway. Hendricks' opinion was the one he most valued professionally and the same thing usually applied when it came to his private life, because the pathologist was the nearest thing he had to a best friend.
It's not necessary. It would be like me doing a post-mortem on some poor bugger who'd been shot twelve times in the head, then saying the fact he had hardened arteries and a slight heart condition might have had something to do with his death. Just because you've split up with someone doesn't mean you have to change everything. I mean, car ,,, yes! The bloody thing was a death-trap and I'm not saying there's anything wrong with moving to a new flat either.
We'll find you somewhere much nicer than that dump you're in now and I'll take you shopping for some decent furniture, but do you really need to be looking for a new job as well? Even though he still believed he was doing the right thing in looking for a new challenge, the thought of leaving Area West Homicide made him feel slightly sick.
The nature of the job and the politics of arse-covering meant that it was often hard to build up real trust between members of a team. Thorne had come to value the relationships he had with a number of those he worked with every day.
Men and women he liked and respected. Plenty of idiots as well of course, but even so.
Better the devil you know, all that. He switched to CD and scanned through the ten discs he had mounted in the changer. Automatyczne logowanie Zarejestruj.
Zaloguj Anuluj. Opublikowany In modern history, the chemical industry, and in particular the company ICI, has played an important role in the growth of Billingham. Stephen Booth is an English novelist of crime fiction. He worked as a journalist of newspapers and magazines such as the Wilmslow Advertiser, Huddersfield Examiner and the Worksop Guardian.
A newspaper and magazine journalist for over 25 years, Stephen Booth was born in the English Pennine mill town of Burnley. He was brought up on the coast at Blackpool, where he began his career in journalism by editing his school magazine and wrote his first 'novel' at the age of The Tom Thorne series is a series of crime fiction novels written by the awards winning author from London.
England, Mark Billingham. All the novels of the series revolve around the fictional character Tom Thorne, who is a middle-aged Detective Inspector living in London. Jango is about making online music social, fun and simple. Free personal radio that learns from your taste and connects you to others who like what you like. Last Name: First Name: