Inhaltsangabe
When the body of a young mother is found on the banks of New Zealand’s Mataura River, young female police constable Sam Shephard begins an investigation, with horrifying and very personal implications. Book one in an addictive, atmospheric new series.
*** SHORTLISTED for the CWA John Creasey (New Blood) Dagger 2019***
***SHORTLISTED for the Ngaio Marsh Award***
’The tensions within a tightknit village, along with various aspects of Kiwi society, are laid out with real authority, but it is Symon’s copper Sam, self-deprecating and very human, who represents the writer’s real achievement’ Guardian
‘Lively evocation of small-town life, with a plot that grabs the reader’s attention with a heart-stopping opening and doesn’t let go’ The Times
‘An achievement that blends heart-stopping thrills with deep, believable characters in a stark New Zealand setting. It will leave readers reaching for the next Sam Shephard mystery’ Foreword Reviews
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
When the body of a young mother is found washed up on the banks of the Mataura River, a small rural community is rocked by her tragic suicide. But all is not what it seems.
Sam Shephard, sole-charge police constable in Mataura, soon discovers the death was no suicide and has to face the realisation that there is a killer in town. To complicate the situation, the murdered woman was the wife of her former lover. When Sam finds herself on the list of suspects and suspended from duty, she must cast aside her personal feelings and take matters into her own hands.
To find the murderer … and clear her name.
A taut, atmospheric and page-turning thriller, Overkill marks the start of an unputdownable and unforgettable series from one of New Zealand’s finest crime writers.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
‘A sassy heroine, fabulous sense of place, and rip-roaring stories with a twist’ Kate Mosse
‘Symon has created a compelling series lead, and her treatment of small-town New Zealand is superbly atmospheric. This one’s a cracker’ Liam McIlvanney
‘Overkill certainly feels like the beginning of something great. It’s a clever first novel and a dark thriller that’s well-paced and well-plotted … with a satisfying and fitting ending’ CultureFly
‘Symon nicely balances action, character and story in a well-drawn rural setting, and realistically speckles the book with light-hearted moments and humour throughout’ Kiwi Crime
‘Powerful, coolly assured, and an absolute belter of a read’ LoveReading
‘The key to the novel for me is definitely the humorous portrayal of the one-woman police band, both extremely naïve and too eager to prove herself in the eyes of her superiors and against the silent backdrop of her parents’ disappointment’ Crime Review
‘With a twisty plot, a protagonist who shines and beautifully written observations of the cruellest things, Overkill is crime fiction at its best and this is an outstanding book. I predict that this series is going to soar here in the UK and it deserves to’ Crime Watch
‘The author’s style of storytelling is smooth and engaging, making Overkill very easy to read, which is enough to keep you cranking through the pages. The ending is a cracker … We’ll look forward to the next in the series because with the author’s storytelling skills, the first is a pleasure to read’ Crime Fiction Lover
‘Overkill is Symon’s first novel, but it reads like the polished effort of a genre veteran. More, please’ Booklist
*** SHORTLISTED for the CWA John Creasey (New Blood) Dagger 2019***
***SHORTLISTED for the Ngaio Marsh Award***
’The tensions within a tightknit village, along with various aspects of Kiwi society, are laid out with real authority, but it is Symon’s copper Sam, self-deprecating and very human, who represents the writer’s real achievement’ Guardian
‘Lively evocation of small-town life, with a plot that grabs the reader’s attention with a heart-stopping opening and doesn’t let go’ The Times
‘An achievement that blends heart-stopping thrills with deep, believable characters in a stark New Zealand setting. It will leave readers reaching for the next Sam Shephard mystery’ Foreword Reviews
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
When the body of a young mother is found washed up on the banks of the Mataura River, a small rural community is rocked by her tragic suicide. But all is not what it seems.
Sam Shephard, sole-charge police constable in Mataura, soon discovers the death was no suicide and has to face the realisation that there is a killer in town. To complicate the situation, the murdered woman was the wife of her former lover. When Sam finds herself on the list of suspects and suspended from duty, she must cast aside her personal feelings and take matters into her own hands.
To find the murderer … and clear her name.
A taut, atmospheric and page-turning thriller, Overkill marks the start of an unputdownable and unforgettable series from one of New Zealand’s finest crime writers.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
‘A sassy heroine, fabulous sense of place, and rip-roaring stories with a twist’ Kate Mosse
‘Symon has created a compelling series lead, and her treatment of small-town New Zealand is superbly atmospheric. This one’s a cracker’ Liam McIlvanney
‘Overkill certainly feels like the beginning of something great. It’s a clever first novel and a dark thriller that’s well-paced and well-plotted … with a satisfying and fitting ending’ CultureFly
‘Symon nicely balances action, character and story in a well-drawn rural setting, and realistically speckles the book with light-hearted moments and humour throughout’ Kiwi Crime
‘Powerful, coolly assured, and an absolute belter of a read’ LoveReading
‘The key to the novel for me is definitely the humorous portrayal of the one-woman police band, both extremely naïve and too eager to prove herself in the eyes of her superiors and against the silent backdrop of her parents’ disappointment’ Crime Review
‘With a twisty plot, a protagonist who shines and beautifully written observations of the cruellest things, Overkill is crime fiction at its best and this is an outstanding book. I predict that this series is going to soar here in the UK and it deserves to’ Crime Watch
‘The author’s style of storytelling is smooth and engaging, making Overkill very easy to read, which is enough to keep you cranking through the pages. The ending is a cracker … We’ll look forward to the next in the series because with the author’s storytelling skills, the first is a pleasure to read’ Crime Fiction Lover
‘Overkill is Symon’s first novel, but it reads like the polished effort of a genre veteran. More, please’ Booklist
Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.
Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor
Vanda Symon is a crime writer, TV presenter and radio host from Dunedin, New Zealand, and the chair of the Otago Southland branch of the New Zealand Society of Authors. The Sam Shephard series has climbed to number one on the New Zealand bestseller list, and also been shortlisted for the Ngaio Marsh Award for best crime novel. She currently lives in Dunedin, with her husband and two sons.
Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Prologue
The day it was ordained that Gabriella Knowes would die there were no harbingers, omens or owls’ calls. No tolling of bells. With the unquestioning courtesy of the well brought up, she invited Death in.
Death politely showed his identification and explained that there had been a telecommunication problem in the area. He then requested Gaby check if her landline had a dial tone.
She left him on the doorstep under the watchful gaze of Radar, hallway sentinel, and turned back into the house. She recalled she had left the phone in the bedroom after her usual morning chat with her mother, and smiled at the memory of her mother’s excitement when she told her about Angel’s first faltering steps.
The distant clatter of plastic told her that Angel was happily strewing Duplo around the lounge floor.
Gaby picked up the phone and pressed the ‘Talk’ button: sure enough, no dial tone.
‘You’re right, it’s dead,’ she said, as she walked back to the door.
‘It was fine an hour ago when I was talking to Mum. Are everyone’s phones down?’
‘Just the homes in this block. It seems to be a localised fault,’ he said.
‘How long will it take to fix?’
‘Well, if I can come in and check each of your jack points, we can eliminate them as the problem.’ The man bent down to pick up a large black tool bag. ‘In any case, we should have it sorted out within two hours, so you won’t be without a phone for too long.’
Gaby opened the door wide for him. ‘Oh sure, come in. But would you mind taking your shoes o?? We’ve just got new carpet and I’m still a bit precious about it.’
‘Of course.’ He put the bag down and leaned over to untie his work boots. ‘We’ve carpeted recently too. Where are your jack points?’
She walked down the hallway and pointed into the bedroom.
‘There’s a phone in there, another in the dining room through here,’ she waved her arm to the right, ‘and one in the bedroom straight ahead. I’ll shut the dog away so he doesn’t hassle you.’ She grabbed Radar by the collar.
‘Thanks for that. I’ll start in there,’ he said, and indicated the main bedroom. He shifted his bag out of the way and closed the front door. Gaby watched him for a moment as he found the jack point in the bedroom and began to unzip the bag.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said.
She deposited the dog in the end bedroom and went back to the lounge, where Angel was sitting on the floor amid a riot of coloured plastic. She bent over and kissed the top of her daughter’s wispy blonde head, then continued through to the laundry to empty the machine and put on the next load. It never ceased to amaze her howmuch extra washing one kid could produce. She had just tossed in the last of the towels when she heard footsteps approach. She turned and was surprised to see the Telemax man carrying Angel on one hip.
‘Oh, you found my Angel. Come to Mummy, poppet,’ she said, and stepped through into the kitchen, arms outstretched to take her. But the man backed away into the dining room, putting the table between them.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
‘No, no, just pass her straight to me, she’ll be fine.’ Again, she reached out for her Angel.
‘Sit down at the table,’ the man said, all pleasantness gone from his voice.
‘What are you doing? Just give her to me.’ Gaby was moving around the table. Unease weighted the bottom of her stomach.
‘Sit down. Now.’ His tone made it clear there was no room for discussion, and his right hand drew what looked like a flick knife from his pocket. ‘You’ve got such a pretty girl here. It would be a pity to have to spoil that face.’
Gaby lowered herself onto the chair; her legs no longer had the strength to support her. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and struggled to hear over the pulsating, rushing noise in her head. Te world had started to turn grey around the edges. She sucked in a deep breath and thought, Don’t faint, don’t faint. Tink. Look for something – a weapon, anything. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from her daughter who, oblivious to the threat, was smiling in the stranger’s arms.
‘We can make this easy or we can make this hard. It’s up to you,’ he said as he adjusted Angel’s weight on his hip. ‘I need you to write a note.
‘If it’s money you want, my purse is in the bedroom. Take it, take anything, just give me back my daughter.’
‘Ah, money. Well, no. It’s not that simple.’
Gaby watched him gently tease Angel with the flick knife, tickling her under the chin. Angel giggled and kept reaching out, trying to grab at it. Gaby felt her gorge rise, and swallowed back hard. She could not allow herself to retch or faint. She had to keep a cool head. With her eyes she begged Angel not to hit the damned button by accident. Ten her anger flared up, momentarily breaking through the fear. She leaped to her feet.
‘What do you want, you fucking sick bastard! If you hurt her, I will kill you, I fucking swear—
‘Well, I’m afraid I’m not the one who’s going to be dying today.’
A contemptuous grin spread across the man’s face. ‘Like I said, wecan make this easy, or we can make this hard. It’s up to you. Me, I have a job to do. I don’t personally like hurting children, so if you cooperate, we can just get this done and your daughter will be fine. If you make any trouble…’ With a lightning-fast action he activated the flick knife and deftly removed a lock of Angel’s hair.
Gaby flopped back onto the chair, fighting the urge to vomit as she watched the curl drift down to the floor. Her hands ?ew up to her face, to physically hold back the need to scream. It took her several seconds to regain control. She forced herself to lower her hands back to the tabletop, to battle the constriction in her throat.
‘I’ll do anything,’ she whispered, and then looked up to meet his gaze. ‘Just don’t hurt my baby. For God’s sake, just leave her alone.’
He looked at her, appraising, then reached down and pressed the blade of the knife on the table. The click as it closed made Gaby flinch.
‘Now get a pen and a piece of paper. I need you to write that note.’
Gaby reached over and grabbed at the pen and pad she kept by the telephone; she almost dropped them, her hands were shaking so
much. ‘What do I have to write?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I think we’ll keep it simple. “Sorry, Honey, I love you” – something like that.’
‘What?’
‘Let me spell it out for you. You are going to die. I want you to write a simple, fitting suicide note. That’s it. It’s not that hard. Now
write.’
His words hit like a blow to the stomach. A gasping sob escaped her and she grasped the edge of the table to steady herself. Te man was tall, muscular and probably twice her weight. He had Angel, squirming now, tired of being held and wanting her mother’s arms. Disbelief surged up, and Gaby found herself banging her fists on the table. A keening noise escaped her mouth.
‘Don’t be so bloody childish, lady....
The day it was ordained that Gabriella Knowes would die there were no harbingers, omens or owls’ calls. No tolling of bells. With the unquestioning courtesy of the well brought up, she invited Death in.
Death politely showed his identification and explained that there had been a telecommunication problem in the area. He then requested Gaby check if her landline had a dial tone.
She left him on the doorstep under the watchful gaze of Radar, hallway sentinel, and turned back into the house. She recalled she had left the phone in the bedroom after her usual morning chat with her mother, and smiled at the memory of her mother’s excitement when she told her about Angel’s first faltering steps.
The distant clatter of plastic told her that Angel was happily strewing Duplo around the lounge floor.
Gaby picked up the phone and pressed the ‘Talk’ button: sure enough, no dial tone.
‘You’re right, it’s dead,’ she said, as she walked back to the door.
‘It was fine an hour ago when I was talking to Mum. Are everyone’s phones down?’
‘Just the homes in this block. It seems to be a localised fault,’ he said.
‘How long will it take to fix?’
‘Well, if I can come in and check each of your jack points, we can eliminate them as the problem.’ The man bent down to pick up a large black tool bag. ‘In any case, we should have it sorted out within two hours, so you won’t be without a phone for too long.’
Gaby opened the door wide for him. ‘Oh sure, come in. But would you mind taking your shoes o?? We’ve just got new carpet and I’m still a bit precious about it.’
‘Of course.’ He put the bag down and leaned over to untie his work boots. ‘We’ve carpeted recently too. Where are your jack points?’
She walked down the hallway and pointed into the bedroom.
‘There’s a phone in there, another in the dining room through here,’ she waved her arm to the right, ‘and one in the bedroom straight ahead. I’ll shut the dog away so he doesn’t hassle you.’ She grabbed Radar by the collar.
‘Thanks for that. I’ll start in there,’ he said, and indicated the main bedroom. He shifted his bag out of the way and closed the front door. Gaby watched him for a moment as he found the jack point in the bedroom and began to unzip the bag.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said.
She deposited the dog in the end bedroom and went back to the lounge, where Angel was sitting on the floor amid a riot of coloured plastic. She bent over and kissed the top of her daughter’s wispy blonde head, then continued through to the laundry to empty the machine and put on the next load. It never ceased to amaze her howmuch extra washing one kid could produce. She had just tossed in the last of the towels when she heard footsteps approach. She turned and was surprised to see the Telemax man carrying Angel on one hip.
‘Oh, you found my Angel. Come to Mummy, poppet,’ she said, and stepped through into the kitchen, arms outstretched to take her. But the man backed away into the dining room, putting the table between them.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
‘No, no, just pass her straight to me, she’ll be fine.’ Again, she reached out for her Angel.
‘Sit down at the table,’ the man said, all pleasantness gone from his voice.
‘What are you doing? Just give her to me.’ Gaby was moving around the table. Unease weighted the bottom of her stomach.
‘Sit down. Now.’ His tone made it clear there was no room for discussion, and his right hand drew what looked like a flick knife from his pocket. ‘You’ve got such a pretty girl here. It would be a pity to have to spoil that face.’
Gaby lowered herself onto the chair; her legs no longer had the strength to support her. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest and struggled to hear over the pulsating, rushing noise in her head. Te world had started to turn grey around the edges. She sucked in a deep breath and thought, Don’t faint, don’t faint. Tink. Look for something – a weapon, anything. But she couldn’t tear her eyes from her daughter who, oblivious to the threat, was smiling in the stranger’s arms.
‘We can make this easy or we can make this hard. It’s up to you,’ he said as he adjusted Angel’s weight on his hip. ‘I need you to write a note.
‘If it’s money you want, my purse is in the bedroom. Take it, take anything, just give me back my daughter.’
‘Ah, money. Well, no. It’s not that simple.’
Gaby watched him gently tease Angel with the flick knife, tickling her under the chin. Angel giggled and kept reaching out, trying to grab at it. Gaby felt her gorge rise, and swallowed back hard. She could not allow herself to retch or faint. She had to keep a cool head. With her eyes she begged Angel not to hit the damned button by accident. Ten her anger flared up, momentarily breaking through the fear. She leaped to her feet.
‘What do you want, you fucking sick bastard! If you hurt her, I will kill you, I fucking swear—
‘Well, I’m afraid I’m not the one who’s going to be dying today.’
A contemptuous grin spread across the man’s face. ‘Like I said, wecan make this easy, or we can make this hard. It’s up to you. Me, I have a job to do. I don’t personally like hurting children, so if you cooperate, we can just get this done and your daughter will be fine. If you make any trouble…’ With a lightning-fast action he activated the flick knife and deftly removed a lock of Angel’s hair.
Gaby flopped back onto the chair, fighting the urge to vomit as she watched the curl drift down to the floor. Her hands ?ew up to her face, to physically hold back the need to scream. It took her several seconds to regain control. She forced herself to lower her hands back to the tabletop, to battle the constriction in her throat.
‘I’ll do anything,’ she whispered, and then looked up to meet his gaze. ‘Just don’t hurt my baby. For God’s sake, just leave her alone.’
He looked at her, appraising, then reached down and pressed the blade of the knife on the table. The click as it closed made Gaby flinch.
‘Now get a pen and a piece of paper. I need you to write that note.’
Gaby reached over and grabbed at the pen and pad she kept by the telephone; she almost dropped them, her hands were shaking so
much. ‘What do I have to write?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I think we’ll keep it simple. “Sorry, Honey, I love you” – something like that.’
‘What?’
‘Let me spell it out for you. You are going to die. I want you to write a simple, fitting suicide note. That’s it. It’s not that hard. Now
write.’
His words hit like a blow to the stomach. A gasping sob escaped her and she grasped the edge of the table to steady herself. Te man was tall, muscular and probably twice her weight. He had Angel, squirming now, tired of being held and wanting her mother’s arms. Disbelief surged up, and Gaby found herself banging her fists on the table. A keening noise escaped her mouth.
‘Don’t be so bloody childish, lady....
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Paperback. Zustand: Very Good. When the body of a young mother is found on the banks of New Zealands Mataura River, young female police constable Sam Shephard begins an investigation, with horrifying and very personal implications. Book one in an addictive, atmospheric new series. *** SHORTLISTED for the CWA John Creasey (New Blood) Dagger 2019*** ***SHORTLISTED for the Ngaio Marsh Award*** The tensions within a tightknit village, along with various aspects of Kiwi society, are laid out with real authority, but it is Symons copper Sam, self-deprecating and very human, who represents the writers real achievement Guardian Lively evocation of small-town life, with a plot that grabs the readers attention with a heart-stopping opening and doesnt let go The Times An achievement that blends heart-stopping thrills with deep, believable characters in a stark New Zealand setting. It will leave readers reaching for the next Sam Shephard mystery Foreword Reviews When the body of a young mother is found washed up on the banks of the Mataura River, a small rural community is rocked by her tragic suicide. But all is not what it seems. Sam Shephard, sole-charge police constable in Mataura, soon discovers the death was no suicide and has to face the realisation that there is a killer in town. To complicate the situation, the murdered woman was the wife of her former lover. When Sam finds herself on the list of suspects and suspended from duty, she must cast aside her personal feelings and take matters into her own hands. To find the murderer and clear her name. A taut, atmospheric and page-turning thriller, Overkill marks the start of an unputdownable and unforgettable series from one of New Zealands finest crime writers. A sassy heroine, fabulous sense of place, and rip-roaring stories with a twist Kate Mosse Symon has created a compelling series lead, and her treatment of small-town New Zealand is superbly atmospheric. This ones a cracker Liam McIlvanney Overkill certainly feels like the beginning of something great. Its a clever first novel and a dark thriller thats well-paced and well-plotted with a satisfying and fitting ending CultureFly Symon nicely balances action, character and story in a well-drawn rural setting, and realistically speckles the book with light-hearted moments and humour throughout Kiwi Crime Powerful, coolly assured, and an absolute belter of a read LoveReading The key to the novel for me is definitely the humorous portrayal of the one-woman police band, both extremely naive and too eager to prove herself in the eyes of her superiors and against the silent backdrop of her parents disappointment Crime Review With a twisty plot, a protagonist who shines and beautifully written observations of the cruellest things, Overkill is crime fiction at its best and this is an outstanding book. I predict that this series is going to soar here in the UK and it deserves to Crime Watch The authors style of storytelling is smooth and engaging, making Overkill very easy to read, which is enough to keep you cranking through the pages. The ending is a cracker Well look forward to the next in the series because with the authors storytelling skills, the first is a pleasure to read Crime Fiction Lover Overkill is Symons first novel, but it reads like the polished effort of a genre veteran. More, please Booklist. The book has been read, but is in excellent condition. Pages are intact and not marred by notes or highlighting. The spine remains undamaged. Bestandsnummer des Verkäufers GOR009428199
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