Birdman (Jack Caffery, Book 1) by Mo Hayder

By Mo Hayder

Now in Grove Press paperback for the 1st time, Birdman showcases Hayder at her spine-tingling top as cherished sequence personality Jack Caffery tracks down a terrifying serial killer.

In his first case as lead investigator with London’s crack homicide squad, Detective Inspector Jack Caffery is named directly to examine the homicide of a tender lady whose physique has been chanced on close to the Millennium Dome in Greenwich, south-east London. Brutalized, mutilated past reputation, the sufferer is quickly joined by means of 4 others came upon within the similar area—all lady and all ritualistically murdered. And while the autopsy exam unearths a grotesque signature connecting the sufferers, Caffery realizes precisely what he’s dealing with—a risky serial killer.

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Extra info for Birdman (Jack Caffery, Book 1)

Example text

Standing beneath the only lamp on the street, Sherlock Holmes was smoking his pipe. Edging our way closer in the shadows and crouching there, we quickly perceived that the situation was an impossible one. As long as Holmes was planted squarely opposite the professor's front door, we could not hope to enter unobserved except by a diversion; what that diversion might be we neither of us could imagine. In low whispers we held a brief consultation. The strategy of retreating to the street behind the house and entering through the back door was raised, but several arguments militated against such a ruse.

Toby knew me and rushed forth, straining at his lead and wagging his stringy tail with ferocious energy and good will. I responded by presenting him with a lump of sugar, brought for the purpose—a regular feature of our reunions. As usual, I offered to pay Sherman in advance, and, in accordance with his own way of doing things—at least where Sherlock Holmes was concerned—he refused. "You keep him long as you need him," he insisted as he escorted me to the door, pushing a chicken aside on the way.

I responded by presenting him with a lump of sugar, brought for the purpose—a regular feature of our reunions. As usual, I offered to pay Sherman in advance, and, in accordance with his own way of doing things—at least where Sherlock Holmes was concerned—he refused. "You keep him long as you need him," he insisted as he escorted me to the door, pushing a chicken aside on the way. "We'll settle it up later. Good-bye, Toby! Here's a good doggy! Give my best to Mr. " he called out to me as I, with Toby in tow, stumbled towards the cab.

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