Chapters (55)
- PERFECT CRIME
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- Chapter Thirty-Eight
- Chapter Thirty-Nine
- Chapter Forty
- Chapter Forty-One
- Chapter Forty-Two
- Chapter Forty-Three
- Acknowledgments
- Can’t get enough of the Perfect series?
- Chapter 1
- Loved Perfect Silence? Then why not get back to where it all started with book one of the D.I. Callanach series?
- Welcome to Edinburgh.Murder capital of Europe.
- The worst dangers are the ones we can’t see …
- When silence falls, who will hear their cries?
- About the Author
- By the same author:
- About the Publisher
‘Fenella Hawksmith’s daughter didn’t want to be found and was remarkably blasé about her mother’s murder. The lovely Kylie Shozo, who was accommodating both husband and lover in a one-bedroomed flat, was deeply worried by how the murder might affect her tenancy. Does society have victim stereotypes, do you think? Does the public need victim sympathy to come wrapped in the body of a twenty-something woman with smiling photos on social media, with the standard “a life cut short” or “so much potential unfulfilled” bylines? Replace that with an ageing, overweight widow and a Japanese immigrant, and who gives a fuck?
‘I worry, Luc. I really worry that bodies don’t count as victims unless their skin colour and dress size matches our atrociously low bloody standards.’
Her voice was raised as she finished her sentence.
Callanach waited until she’d taken a breath, then stepped forwards to hug her, holding her tightly for half a minute until he felt her relax in his arms.
‘Do you want me to get the popcorn back out of the bin for you?’ Callanach asked.
Ava let out a small laugh, dropped her forehead onto his shoulder, then laughed again.
‘Am I still standing on my soapbox?’ she asked.
‘I think you broke it, actually. Come on,’ he said, releasing her but taking one of her hands in his and pulling her gently along the street. ‘If it’s worth anything at all, Rosa – Stephen Berry’s former partner – is very concerned indeed. She cares, and one person is just as important as a thousand. Doing justice isn’t about crowd-pleasing.’
He slid his key in the communal door and stepped back to let Ava take the stairs first. She waited for him outside his apartment, her back against the wall, fighting tears.
‘I know this is going to sound pathetic of me, but it made me wonder who’d miss me.’
Callanach took her by the hand again and pulled her inside.
‘Well, anyone who’s a massive fan of incredibly high-level self-pity would hold a week-long wake in your honour, but other than that particular cult, then, no, you’re probably right. Absolutely no one.’