By Jason Webster
Spain is corrupt and close to collapse.The king is sick, banks are last, hospitals are in chaos, houses are misplaced, demonstrators rebellion and rightwing thugs patrol the road. The tunnels underneath the streets are instantaneously a shelter and a resource of anger. and because the blood flows Cámara roars in on his motorbike...
Cámara is again in Valencia, together with his companion Alicia and his anarchist, marijuana-growing grandfather Hilario. within the outdated police headquarters, the temper is stressful, because the leader hunts for cuts - who will pass, Cámara or his good friend Torres? the 2 males are flung into motion investigating the suicide of an ex- financial institution clerk and the brutal homicide of a tender American girl. because the urban erupts round them, their case takes them into the guts of the trouble.
This mind-blowing new Cámara novel - regularly amazing, jam-packed with bright characters - exposes the darkish underside of today's Spain. a robust, gripping page-turner, it confirms Max Cámara because the detective to monitor, feeling the heart beat of the instant.
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In een rode regencape stuift de uiterst aantrekkelijke Arendje van Nijmegen de recherchekamer van bureau Warmoesstraat binnen. Sinds haar echtgenoot met een buurman ging tennissen, is er niets meer van hem vernomen. Arendje vreest dat hij niet meer leeft. Heeft zij daar een reden toe? Of. .. .. Is er een ander in het spel, vraagt de ervaren rechercheur De Cock, met CeeOoCeeKaa.
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Extra info for Blood Med
The rug, I thought, might give me a clue as to where the box had come from. Most trainers and some owners have their initials embroidered or sewn in tape in large letters on the corners of their horse rugs. If there were initials on this one, it would be easy. I picked it up. It was pale fawn with a dark brown binding. I found the initials. I stood there as if turned to stone. Y. It was my own rug. Pete, when I ran him to earth, looked in no mood to answer any questions needing much thought. He leaned back against the weighing-room wall with a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigar in the other, surrounded by a pack of friends similarly equipped.
I said, as he lapsed into silence again. ' I told him about the wire. He listened with a calm, unsurprised expression, but his grey eyes were bleak. ' said Pete. 'Can't say I blame you. I can't help you much, though. There's only one thing… Bill told me he'd had a telephone call which made him laugh. But I didn't listen pro- perly to what he said - I was thinking about my horses, you know how it is. It was something about Admiral falling. He thought it was a huge joke and I didn't go into it with him to find out what I'd missed.
I don't know,' I said, perplexed and more interested in Joe's troubles than I had been before. The phone call was inconsistent, I thought, with the notes. One ordered business as usual, the other promised revenge. 'I wonder if Joe always tells the truth,' I said. 'Highly unlikely,' said Dane, dismissing it. One of the Stewards came and reminded us that even after the Champion Hurdle, drinking in the weighing room itself was frowned on, and would we please drift along into the changing room. Dane did that, but I finished my drink and went outside.