Caro Ramsay is the Glaswegian author of the critically acclaimed DI Anderson and DS Costello series, the first of which, Absolution, was shortlisted for the CWA’s New Blood Dagger for best debut of the year. The ninth book in the series, The Suffering of Strangers, was longlisted for the McIlvanney Prize 2018.
@CaroRamsayBooks | caroramsay.com
Also by Caro Ramsay
The Anderson and Costello series
Singing to the Dead
Dark Water
The Blood of Crows
The Night Hunter
The Tears of Angels
Rat Run
Standing Still
The Suffering of Strangers
The Sideman
This paperback edition published in Great Britain, the USA and Canada in 2020
by Black Thorn, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE
Distributed in the USA by Publishers Group West and in Canada by
Publishers Group Canada
First published in 2007 by Michael Joseph Publishers Ltd,
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This digital edition first published in 2020 by Canongate Books
Copyright © Caro Ramsay, 2007
The right of Caro Ramsay to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance
with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 78689 873 9
eISBN 978 1 78689 874 6
To Jessie RamsayBorn 1904
You can tell a Sheffield lass,You just cannot tell her much.
Contents
Anna
Glasgow, 1984
White.
Nothing but white.
No sense. No awareness. Only white.
Nothing.
Then breathing.
Rhythmic breathing.
Nothing more than the ebb and flow of life.
She slept.
Pain picked at her as she emerged slowly from the depths. Her hands were strapped to her sides, and she could feel bindings cutting into her wrists. The pain in her face – cracking, burning – was unbearable.
Thirsty. She was thirsty.
She tried to lick her lips, but her tongue was swollen, and as immobile as leather. Something rigid filled her mouth; she could taste chloroform and rotten meat. She sensed her face was covered, her mouth and nose blocked. Panic rose until she could not breathe, and she tried to roll her shoulders to break free. Deep-seated agony skewered her stomach, and she lay still, thinking she might die if she moved again.
A voice, indistinct, insistent, was repeating words over and over.
There was a distant memory . .
