By Mo Hayder
Detective Jack Caffery’s most recent case sounds like a regimen carjacking, against the law he’s obvious lots of occasions prior to till he realizes the sickening fact: the thief wasn’t after the automobile, however the 11-year-old woman within the backseat. in the meantime police diver Sergeant Flea Marley is pursuing her personal idea of the case, and what she unearths in an deserted, half-submerged tunnel may well placed her in grave probability. The carjacker is usually a step sooner than the foremost Crime research Unit, and because the percentages for his sufferers develop slimmer, Jack and Flea race to slot the items jointly in time.
Gone is Mo Hayder at her terrifying most sensible. each one darkish and desirable twist unearths a brand new measurement to this tight-knit plot, burrowing deeper into the chilling and shrewdpermanent international Mo Hayder creates.
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Extra info for Gone (Jack Caffery, Book 5)
Ten inches – a foot? Made a great task of it. We’re unlikely to get any readable footprints. ’ ‘Can I see? ’ Sergeant Flea Marley got here ahead from the gang, conserving a polystyrene cup of espresso. She used to be bedraggled from the hunt – her hair used to be a multitude, her black coat unzipped to teach her sweat-stained police T-shirt. Her face used to be diverse from the way in which she’d seemed the opposite evening outdoor the workplaces, he proposal. a section calmer. This morning her unit had fallen on its ft for a transformation and, particularly, he could be happy for her. ‘I’d wish to glance. ’ The CSM held out a few nitrile gloves. ‘Want those? ’ She placed down the espresso, pulled at the gloves and tilted the forged to at least one aspect. Squinted at it. ‘What? ’ stated Caffery. ‘Dunno,’ she murmured. ‘Dunno. ’ She became it around and around. She rested her palms thoughtfully at the suggestions of the spikes. ‘Weird. ’ She passed the solid again to the CSM, grew to become away and wandered alongside the trestle desk to the place the indicates officer was once busily bagging and tagging a few of the bits and items they’d pulled out at the seek to take to the forensics lab: tissues, Coke cans, syringes, a size of blue nylon rope. where used to be evidently a haunt for neighborhood glue huffers, the variety of baggies they’d discovered. so much were discarded within the box – besides greater than 100 plastic cider bottles. She stood, fingers folded, and scanned the items. Caffery got here as much as her. ‘See whatever? ’ She became over a six-inch nail. An outdated plastic coat hanger. positioned them again back. Bit her lip and regarded again to the place the CSM was once wrapping the solid. ‘What is it? ’ ‘Nothing. ’ She shook her head. ‘Thought the form of these gouges jogged my memory of whatever. however it doesn’t. ’ ‘Boss? ’ DC Turner seemed from the course of the most street, making his approach among the parked vehicles. In a raincoat, with a bit tartan shawl on the neck, he appeared weirdly preppy. ‘Turner? i presumed you have been in your as far back as the place of work. ’ ‘I comprehend, I’m sorry, yet I’ve simply acquired off the telephone to Prody. He’s been attempting to name – you need to were out of sign variety. He’s despatched a PDF via for your BlackBerry. ’ Caffery had a brand new cell and he may possibly get electronic mail attachments at any place he was once. The strolling guy could say it used to be commonplace of him to discover extra methods of by no means being absent from paintings. He fished in his pocket for the telephone. the e-mail icon used to be lit up. ‘It arrived on the workplace an hour ago,’ Turner acknowledged. ‘Prody scanned it and despatched it directly over to you. ’ He gave an apologetic shrug, as though this complete factor was once his fault. ‘Another letter. comparable because the one within the vehicle. comparable handwriting, similar paper. Has a stamp on it yet no postmark. got here via inner so we’re attempting to hint it again – yet thus far not anyone understands the place it originated, the way it obtained within the damned submit. ’ ‘OK, okay. ’ Caffery pulled out his telephone. He might consider a vein pulsing in his temple. ‘Get again to the workplace, Turner. i would like you doing liaison for these seek warrants the POLSA’s after. ’ He went extra up the music to face the place he couldn’t be obvious, on the fringe of the lumber-yard, at the back of an open-sided barn piled with the trunks of Norway spruces.
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