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Zusatztext “The storytelling is dazzling! as it always is in a Perry novel. . . . Like the great Dickens novel Our Mutual Friend ! the Monk series has a deep! almost primal bond with London's river! which disgorges all sorts of objects! including human bodies! with each tide. . . . [An] uncommonly atmospheric mystery.” —The New York Times Book Review “Fascinating and addictive . . . Another strong historical mystery that is true in both culture and manners to its Victorian setting.” —New York Journal of Books “Perry is a master storyteller whose writing encompasses rich detail and nuance. . . . [ Revenge in a Cold River ] is her best to date.” — The Star-Ledger Praise for Anne Perry and her William Monk novels Corridors of the Night “[A] suspenseful! twisting narrative.” —Historical Novels Review Blood on the Water “One of Ms. Perry’s most engrossing books . . . gallops to a dramatic conclusion.” — The Washington Times Blind Justice “[Perry’s] courtroom scenes have the realism of Scott Turow.” — Huntington News A Sunless Sea “Anne Perry’s Victorian mysteries are marvels.” — The New York Times Book Review Acceptable Loss “Masterful storytelling and moving dialogue.” — The Star-Ledger Informationen zum Autor Anne Perry is the bestselling author of two acclaimed series set in Victorian England: the William Monk novels! including Corridors of the Night and Blood on the Water! and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels! including Treachery at Lancaster Gate and The Angel Court Affair . She is also the author of a series of five World War I novels! as well as thirteen holiday novels! most recently A Christmas Message! and a historical novel! The Sheen on the Silk! set in the Ottoman Empire. Anne Perry lives in Scotland and Los Angeles. chapter 1 William Monk stepped out of the boat and climbed up the stone steps from the river, leaving Hooper to tie the vessel to the bollard and follow him. As he reached the top, the November wind struck him with chill, although it was a clear day. Or perhaps it was the figure of the customs officer McNab, waiting for him with one of his subordinates, that made him so aware of the cold. How long had they known each other? He had no idea. In the coach accident nearly thirteen years ago, in 1856, his entire life up until then had vanished. He knew of it only through deduction, and other people’s memories. He had bluffed it brilliantly. A handful of people closest to him knew. Each one of them, in a sense, held the quality of his life in their hands. McNab hated him. Monk did not know why, but he knew very well why he hated McNab. McNab was behind the failure of the gunrunning arrest that had ended in open battle on the deck of the smugglers’ ship, and Orme’s death. He just did not know exactly how McNab was involved well enough to prove it. It was months ago now, but Monk still grieved for Orme, who had been his mentor, right-hand man, and above all friend, since the day Monk was appointed as commander of the Thames River Police. McNab was waiting for him now, a solid man with his feet planted firmly on the dockside, the wind tugging at his heavy coat. He turned as he caught sight of Monk, and his blunt face assumed an expression of anticipation. “Morning, Mr. Monk,” he said loudly enough for his voice to carry above the distant sounds of chains being hauled, the slap of water on the steps, and the shouts of bargees and lightermen out on the tide. “Got one for you!” “Good morning, Mr. McNab,” Monk replied,...
