Articoli correlati a A Cold Treachery
In December 1919, when five members of a family are found slaughtered in the kitchen of their Lake District cottage, Inspector Ian Rutledge heads up the investigation into the crime and into the disappearance of the missing youngest child in the family, negotiating a maze of suspects, dark secrets, and motives to uncover a killer. 15,000 first printing.
Le informazioni nella sezione "Riassunto" possono far riferimento a edizioni diverse di questo titolo.
L'autore:
CHARLES TODD is the author of The Murder Stone, A Fearsome Doubt, Watchers of Time, Legacy of the Dead, A Test of Wills, Wings of Fire, and Search the Dark. He lives on the East Coast, where he is at work on the next novel in the Inspector Ian Rutledge series.
Estratto. © Riproduzione autorizzata. Diritti riservati.:
CHAPTER ONE
The North of England
December 1919
He ran through the snow, face into the swirling wind, feet pounding deep trenches into the accumulating drifts. Rocks, their shapes no longer familiar under the soft white blanket, sent him sprawling, and he dragged himself up again, white now where the snow clung, and almost invisible in the darkness. He had no idea what direction he had taken, enveloped by unreasoning panic and hardly able to breathe for the pain inside him. All he could hear was the voice in his head, shouting at him--
"You will hang for this, see if you don't. It's my revenge, and you'll think about that when the rope goes round your neck and the black hood comes down and there's no one to save you--"
The sound of the shot was so loud it had shocked him, and he couldn't remember whether he had slammed the door behind him or left it standing wide.
He could still smell the blood--so much of it!--choking in the back of his throat like feathers thrown on a fire. He could feel the terror, a snake that coiled and writhed in his stomach, making him ill, and the drumming wild in his head.
They would catch him. And then they'd hang him. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. Unless he died in the snow, and was buried by it until the spring. He'd seen the frozen body of a dead lamb once, stiff and hard, half rotted and sad. The ravens had been at it. He hated ravens.
Half the countryside knew he'd been a troublemaker since the autumn. Restless--unhappy--growing out of himself and his clothes. They'd look at what lay in that bloody room, and they'd hate him.
He was crying now, tears scalding on cold skin, and the voice was so loud it seemed to be following him, and he ran harder, his breath gusting in front of his face, arms pumping, pushing his way through the snow until his muscles burned.
"You'll hang for this--see if you don't----!"
He would rather die in the snow of cold and exhaustion than with a rope around his neck. He'd rather run until his heart burst than drop through the hangman's door and feel his throat close off. Even with the ravens eating him, the snow was cleaner. . . .
"You'll hang for this--see if you don't----!
That's my revenge . . . my revenge . . . my revenge. . . ."
CHAPTER TWO
Paul Elcott stood in the kitchen beside Sergeant Miller, his face pale, his hand shaking as he unconsciously brushed the back of it across his mouth for the third time.
"They're dead, aren't they? I haven't touched them--I couldn't--Look, can we step outside, man, I'm going to be sick, else!"
Miller, who had come from a butcher's family, said stolidly, "Yes, all right. The doctor's on his way, but there's nothing he can do for them." Except pronounce them dead, he added to himself. Poor souls. What the devil had happened here? "We might as well wait in the barn, then, until he's finished."
Elcott stumbled out the door. He made his way to the barn, where he was violently sick in one of the empty horse stalls. Afterward he felt no better. He could still see the kitchen floor--still smell the sickening odor of blood--
And the eyes--half closed--staring at nothing the living could see.
Had Gerald looked at Hell? He'd said the trenches were worse--
He sat down on a bale of hay, and dropped his head in his hands, trying to regulate his breathing and hold on to his senses. He should have sent the sergeant back alone. He'd been mad to think he could face that slaughter again.
After a while, Sergeant Miller came across to the barn, and the doctor was with him, carrying a lantern. Elcott lifted his head to nod at Dr. Jarvis. He cleared his throat and said, "They didn't suffer, did they? I mean--no one lingered--"
"No. I don't believe they did," the doctor answered quietly, coming to stand by him and lifting the lantern a little to shine across Elcott's face. He prayed it was true. He couldn't be sure until the autopsies. Without moving the bodies, he'd been able to find only a single gunshot wound in each, to the chest, with resulting internal trauma. Sufficient to kill. A surge of sympathy swept Jarvis and he reached out to press Elcott's shoulder. The bloody dead were this man's family. His brother, his brother's wife, their children. An unspeakable shock . . .
The doctor himself had been badly shaken by the scene and found it difficult to imagine how he would answer his wife, when she asked him why the police had come to fetch him in the middle of his dinner. Nothing in his practice had prepared him for such a harrowing experience. It was, he thought, something one might see in war, not in a small, peaceful farmhouse. At length he said gently to Elcott, "Let me take you home, Paul, and give you something to help you sleep."
"I don't want to sleep. I'll have nightmares." Without warning Elcott began to cry, his face crumpled and his chest heaving. His nerve gone.
The doctor gripped the weeping man's shoulder, and looked to Sergeant Miller over his head. "I wish I knew what's keeping Inspector Greeley--his wife told me he'd gone to see if the Potters needed help getting out. I hope to God he hasn't stumbled on anything like this!"
"We'll know soon enough," the sergeant replied.
They listened to the sobbing man beside them, feeling helpless in the face of his grief.
"I ought to take him home," Jarvis said. "He's no use to you in this state. You can wait for Greeley. When you're ready for me, I'll be with Elcott."
Miller nodded. "That's best, then." He glanced at Elcott, then jerked his head, moving to the door. Jarvis followed him. The two men stood there in the late afternoon light, gray clouds so heavy that it was difficult to tell if dusk was coming, or more snow. It had been a freak two-day storm, fast moving with a heavy fall, and the skies still hadn't cleared. The roads were nearly impassable, the farm lanes worse. It had taken Miller a good hour to reach the house, even following in the ruts left by Elcott's carriage.
"There's one still missing." Miller pitched his voice so that Elcott couldn't hear him. "I daresay Elcott's not noticed. I've walked through the rest of the house. He's not there."
"Josh? By God, I hadn't--Is he in the outbuildings, do you think?" Jarvis shivered and glanced over his shoulder at the unlit interior of the small barn, with its stalls, plows, barrows, tack, and other gear stacked neatly, the hay in the loft, filling half the space. Two horses and a black cow watched him, ears twitching above empty mangers. "Gerald Elcott was always a tidy man. It shouldn't take long to search."
Miller counted on his gloved fingers. "Elcott penned his sheep, against the storm. I could see them up there to the east of Fox Scar. Stabled his horses, and brought in the cow. At a guess, then, he was alive this time Sunday, when the snow was coming down hard and he knew we were in for it. But the cow's not been milked since, nor the stalls mucked out, nor feed put down."
"That confirms what I saw inside. I'd say they've been dead since Sunday night." Jarvis frowned and stamped his feet against the cold, torn. "I should stay until you've found Josh. In the event there's anything I can do. . . ."
"No, take Elcott back. If the rest are dead, the boy is as well. I'll manage."
The doctor nodded. He was moving toward Elcott again, when Miller cautioned, "Best to say nothing about what we've seen"--he gestured to the house--"in the village. Until we know a little more. We don't want a panic on our hands."
"No. God, no." Jarvis handed the lantern to Miller and settled his hat firmly on his head against the wind. Raising his voice, he said, "Now then, Paul, let's take you home, and I'll find something to help you get past this."
"Someone has to look after the animals," Elcott protested. "And I want to help search. For whoever it was killed them. I want to be there when you find this bastard."
"That's to your credit," Miller answered him. "But for now, I'd go with the doctor if I was you. I'll see to the beasts, and there'll be someone to care for them tomorrow. Leave everything to us. As soon as we know anything, I'll see you're told."
Elcott walked to the barn door and stepped outside, unable to turn away from the silent house just across the yard. "I wish I knew why," he said, his voice ragged with grief. "I just wish I knew why. What had they ever done to deserve--?"
"That'll come out," Miller told him calmly, soothingly. "In good time."
Elcott followed Jarvis to the horse-drawn carriage that had brought the doctor out to the isolated farm. The only tracks in the snow were theirs, a hodgepodge of footprints around the kitchen door of the house, and the wheel markings of the two vehicles, cart and carriage. Beyond these, the ground was smoothly white, with only the brushing of the wind and the prints of winter birds scratching for whatever they could find.
As if only just realizing that the cart was his, Elcott stopped and said, "Dr. Jarvis--I can't--"
"Leave it for Sergeant Miller, if you will. He'll bring it back to town later. I expect he'll need it tonight"
"Oh--yes." Dazed, Elcott climbed into the carriage and settled himself meekly on the seat, stuffing his cold hands under his arms.
By the time Inspector Greeley had completed his examination of the Elcott farmhouse, he was absolutely certain of one thing. He needed help.
Five dead and one missing, believed dead.
It was beyond comprehension--beyond the experience of any man to understand.
In Urskdale with its outlyin...
The North of England
December 1919
He ran through the snow, face into the swirling wind, feet pounding deep trenches into the accumulating drifts. Rocks, their shapes no longer familiar under the soft white blanket, sent him sprawling, and he dragged himself up again, white now where the snow clung, and almost invisible in the darkness. He had no idea what direction he had taken, enveloped by unreasoning panic and hardly able to breathe for the pain inside him. All he could hear was the voice in his head, shouting at him--
"You will hang for this, see if you don't. It's my revenge, and you'll think about that when the rope goes round your neck and the black hood comes down and there's no one to save you--"
The sound of the shot was so loud it had shocked him, and he couldn't remember whether he had slammed the door behind him or left it standing wide.
He could still smell the blood--so much of it!--choking in the back of his throat like feathers thrown on a fire. He could feel the terror, a snake that coiled and writhed in his stomach, making him ill, and the drumming wild in his head.
They would catch him. And then they'd hang him. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. Unless he died in the snow, and was buried by it until the spring. He'd seen the frozen body of a dead lamb once, stiff and hard, half rotted and sad. The ravens had been at it. He hated ravens.
Half the countryside knew he'd been a troublemaker since the autumn. Restless--unhappy--growing out of himself and his clothes. They'd look at what lay in that bloody room, and they'd hate him.
He was crying now, tears scalding on cold skin, and the voice was so loud it seemed to be following him, and he ran harder, his breath gusting in front of his face, arms pumping, pushing his way through the snow until his muscles burned.
"You'll hang for this--see if you don't----!"
He would rather die in the snow of cold and exhaustion than with a rope around his neck. He'd rather run until his heart burst than drop through the hangman's door and feel his throat close off. Even with the ravens eating him, the snow was cleaner. . . .
"You'll hang for this--see if you don't----!
That's my revenge . . . my revenge . . . my revenge. . . ."
CHAPTER TWO
Paul Elcott stood in the kitchen beside Sergeant Miller, his face pale, his hand shaking as he unconsciously brushed the back of it across his mouth for the third time.
"They're dead, aren't they? I haven't touched them--I couldn't--Look, can we step outside, man, I'm going to be sick, else!"
Miller, who had come from a butcher's family, said stolidly, "Yes, all right. The doctor's on his way, but there's nothing he can do for them." Except pronounce them dead, he added to himself. Poor souls. What the devil had happened here? "We might as well wait in the barn, then, until he's finished."
Elcott stumbled out the door. He made his way to the barn, where he was violently sick in one of the empty horse stalls. Afterward he felt no better. He could still see the kitchen floor--still smell the sickening odor of blood--
And the eyes--half closed--staring at nothing the living could see.
Had Gerald looked at Hell? He'd said the trenches were worse--
He sat down on a bale of hay, and dropped his head in his hands, trying to regulate his breathing and hold on to his senses. He should have sent the sergeant back alone. He'd been mad to think he could face that slaughter again.
After a while, Sergeant Miller came across to the barn, and the doctor was with him, carrying a lantern. Elcott lifted his head to nod at Dr. Jarvis. He cleared his throat and said, "They didn't suffer, did they? I mean--no one lingered--"
"No. I don't believe they did," the doctor answered quietly, coming to stand by him and lifting the lantern a little to shine across Elcott's face. He prayed it was true. He couldn't be sure until the autopsies. Without moving the bodies, he'd been able to find only a single gunshot wound in each, to the chest, with resulting internal trauma. Sufficient to kill. A surge of sympathy swept Jarvis and he reached out to press Elcott's shoulder. The bloody dead were this man's family. His brother, his brother's wife, their children. An unspeakable shock . . .
The doctor himself had been badly shaken by the scene and found it difficult to imagine how he would answer his wife, when she asked him why the police had come to fetch him in the middle of his dinner. Nothing in his practice had prepared him for such a harrowing experience. It was, he thought, something one might see in war, not in a small, peaceful farmhouse. At length he said gently to Elcott, "Let me take you home, Paul, and give you something to help you sleep."
"I don't want to sleep. I'll have nightmares." Without warning Elcott began to cry, his face crumpled and his chest heaving. His nerve gone.
The doctor gripped the weeping man's shoulder, and looked to Sergeant Miller over his head. "I wish I knew what's keeping Inspector Greeley--his wife told me he'd gone to see if the Potters needed help getting out. I hope to God he hasn't stumbled on anything like this!"
"We'll know soon enough," the sergeant replied.
They listened to the sobbing man beside them, feeling helpless in the face of his grief.
"I ought to take him home," Jarvis said. "He's no use to you in this state. You can wait for Greeley. When you're ready for me, I'll be with Elcott."
Miller nodded. "That's best, then." He glanced at Elcott, then jerked his head, moving to the door. Jarvis followed him. The two men stood there in the late afternoon light, gray clouds so heavy that it was difficult to tell if dusk was coming, or more snow. It had been a freak two-day storm, fast moving with a heavy fall, and the skies still hadn't cleared. The roads were nearly impassable, the farm lanes worse. It had taken Miller a good hour to reach the house, even following in the ruts left by Elcott's carriage.
"There's one still missing." Miller pitched his voice so that Elcott couldn't hear him. "I daresay Elcott's not noticed. I've walked through the rest of the house. He's not there."
"Josh? By God, I hadn't--Is he in the outbuildings, do you think?" Jarvis shivered and glanced over his shoulder at the unlit interior of the small barn, with its stalls, plows, barrows, tack, and other gear stacked neatly, the hay in the loft, filling half the space. Two horses and a black cow watched him, ears twitching above empty mangers. "Gerald Elcott was always a tidy man. It shouldn't take long to search."
Miller counted on his gloved fingers. "Elcott penned his sheep, against the storm. I could see them up there to the east of Fox Scar. Stabled his horses, and brought in the cow. At a guess, then, he was alive this time Sunday, when the snow was coming down hard and he knew we were in for it. But the cow's not been milked since, nor the stalls mucked out, nor feed put down."
"That confirms what I saw inside. I'd say they've been dead since Sunday night." Jarvis frowned and stamped his feet against the cold, torn. "I should stay until you've found Josh. In the event there's anything I can do. . . ."
"No, take Elcott back. If the rest are dead, the boy is as well. I'll manage."
The doctor nodded. He was moving toward Elcott again, when Miller cautioned, "Best to say nothing about what we've seen"--he gestured to the house--"in the village. Until we know a little more. We don't want a panic on our hands."
"No. God, no." Jarvis handed the lantern to Miller and settled his hat firmly on his head against the wind. Raising his voice, he said, "Now then, Paul, let's take you home, and I'll find something to help you get past this."
"Someone has to look after the animals," Elcott protested. "And I want to help search. For whoever it was killed them. I want to be there when you find this bastard."
"That's to your credit," Miller answered him. "But for now, I'd go with the doctor if I was you. I'll see to the beasts, and there'll be someone to care for them tomorrow. Leave everything to us. As soon as we know anything, I'll see you're told."
Elcott walked to the barn door and stepped outside, unable to turn away from the silent house just across the yard. "I wish I knew why," he said, his voice ragged with grief. "I just wish I knew why. What had they ever done to deserve--?"
"That'll come out," Miller told him calmly, soothingly. "In good time."
Elcott followed Jarvis to the horse-drawn carriage that had brought the doctor out to the isolated farm. The only tracks in the snow were theirs, a hodgepodge of footprints around the kitchen door of the house, and the wheel markings of the two vehicles, cart and carriage. Beyond these, the ground was smoothly white, with only the brushing of the wind and the prints of winter birds scratching for whatever they could find.
As if only just realizing that the cart was his, Elcott stopped and said, "Dr. Jarvis--I can't--"
"Leave it for Sergeant Miller, if you will. He'll bring it back to town later. I expect he'll need it tonight"
"Oh--yes." Dazed, Elcott climbed into the carriage and settled himself meekly on the seat, stuffing his cold hands under his arms.
By the time Inspector Greeley had completed his examination of the Elcott farmhouse, he was absolutely certain of one thing. He needed help.
Five dead and one missing, believed dead.
It was beyond comprehension--beyond the experience of any man to understand.
In Urskdale with its outlyin...
Le informazioni nella sezione "Su questo libro" possono far riferimento a edizioni diverse di questo titolo.
- EditoreBantam Dell Pub Group
- Data di pubblicazione2005
- ISBN 10 0553803492
- ISBN 13 9780553803495
- RilegaturaCopertina rigida
- Numero di pagine373
- Valutazione libreria
Compra nuovo
Scopri di più su questo articolo
EUR 20,05
Spese di spedizione:
EUR 3,73
In U.S.A.
I migliori risultati di ricerca su AbeBooks
Foto dell'editore
A Cold Treachery
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Hardcover. Condizione: new. New. Fast Shipping and good customer service. Codice articolo Holz_New_0553803492
Compra nuovo
EUR 20,05
Convertire valuta
Foto dell'editore
A Cold Treachery (An Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery)
Editore:
Bantam
(2005)
ISBN 10: 0553803492
ISBN 13: 9780553803495
Nuovo
Rilegato
Prima edizione
Quantità: 1
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Hardcover. Condizione: New. Condizione sovraccoperta: New. 1st Edition. Synopsis: Charles Todd returns to the world of Scotland Yards Inspector Ian Rutledge in a series that the New York Times Book Review called "harrowing psychological drama" and the Washington Post Book World hailed as "among the most intelligent and affecting being written these days." This time the embattled Inspector has met his match hunting a brutal killer across a frozen hell and the one witness who may have survived a crime of. A COLD TREACHERY "Youll hang for thissee if you dont! Thats my revenge! And youll think about that when the rope goes around your neck and the black hood comes down." Called out by Scotland Yard into the teeth of a violent blizzard, Inspector Ian Rutledge finds himself confronted with one of the most savage murders he has ever encountered. Rutledge might have expected such unspeakable carnage on the World War I battlefields, where hed lost much of his souland his sanitybut not in an otherwise peaceful farm kitchen in remote Urskdale. Someone has murdered the Elcott family at their table without the least sign of struggle. Was the killer someone the young family knew and trusted? When the victims are tallied the local police are in for another shock: One of the Elcotts children, a boy named Josh, is missing. Now the Inspector must race to uncover a murderer and to save a child before hes silenced by the merciless elementsor the even colder hands of a killer. Haunted and goaded by the soldier-ghost of his own tortured war past, Rutledge will discover the tragedy of war that splintered one marriageand pulled together another. Love, jealousy, greed, revengeor was it some twisted combination of all of them? Any one could lead a man or woman to murder. What had the Elcotts done to ignite their killers rage? With time running out, Rutledge knows all too well that such a cold-blooded murderer could be hiding somewhere in the blinding snow. preparing to strike again. "About this title" may belong to another edition of this title. Codice articolo ABE-1636659332947
Compra nuovo
EUR 19,20
Convertire valuta
Foto dell'editore
A Cold Treachery
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Hardcover. Condizione: new. Buy for Great customer experience. Codice articolo GoldenDragon0553803492
Compra nuovo
EUR 24,96
Convertire valuta
Foto dell'editore
A Cold Treachery
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Hardcover. Condizione: new. New Copy. Customer Service Guaranteed. Codice articolo think0553803492
Compra nuovo
EUR 26,59
Convertire valuta
Foto dell'editore
A Cold Treachery
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Hardcover. Condizione: New. Hardcover. New, unused. For any additional information or pictures, please inquire. Codice articolo 210608040
Compra nuovo
EUR 26,92
Convertire valuta
Foto dell'editore
A Cold Treachery
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Condizione: new. Codice articolo FrontCover0553803492
Compra nuovo
EUR 28,14
Convertire valuta
Foto dell'editore
A Cold Treachery
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Hardcover. Condizione: new. New. Codice articolo Wizard0553803492
Compra nuovo
EUR 29,58
Convertire valuta
Foto dell'editore
A Cold Treachery
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Condizione: New. Book is in NEW condition. Codice articolo 0553803492-2-1
Compra nuovo
EUR 32,91
Convertire valuta
A Cold Treachery // FIRST EDITION //
Editore:
Bantam Books
(2005)
ISBN 10: 0553803492
ISBN 13: 9780553803495
Nuovo
Rilegato
Prima edizione
Quantità: 1
Da:
Valutazione libreria
Descrizione libro Hardcover. Condizione: New. Condizione sovraccoperta: New. 1st Edition. FIRST EDITION with full number line in place. A MINT volume in same condition UNclipped Dust Jacket. Clean, tight, no markings at all. An Inspector Ian Rutledge brilliant murder mystery. A FIRST/FIRST. 373 pages. Mylar protected jacket. Codice articolo 005618
Compra nuovo
EUR 30,72
Convertire valuta
Foto dell'editore
Compra nuovo
EUR 32,64
Convertire valuta