Cover

Praise

Praise for

‘I flew through it . . . Tense, gripping and brilliantly inventive’

SIMON LELIC

‘A hugely compelling procedural thriller set in London. Unsettling, fast-paced, suspenseful and gripping. Loved the way the cityscape was rendered. Excellent’

WILL DEAN

‘A serial killer thriller with the darkest of hearts, David Fennell more than earns his place at the crime fiction table with this superb exploration of a psychopath with the creepiest modus operandi I’ve read in a long time, and a flawed yet brilliant detective’

FIONA CUMMINS

‘A tense-as-hell, high-body-count page turner, but a rarer thing too – one that’s also full of genuine warmth and humanity’

WILLIAM SHAW

‘A stunning start to what promises to be a fantastic new series. The Art of Death is layered, twisty and so deliciously dark. A hero for our age; DI Grace Archer is fierce and relentless, intuitive and driven, yet underneath the mask she wears, she’s also surprisingly vulnerable and just a little bit damaged. I can’t wait to see what she gets up to next’

M. W. CRAVEN

‘A serial killer classic in the making, The Art of Death is neatly plotted, perfectly paced and brilliantly characterised with a clever concept that hooks you in and holds you tight, right up to the extremely satisfying final page’

SUSI HOLLIDAY

‘A gritty, dark thriller. Perfect for fans of Chris Carter’

OLIVIA KIERNAN

‘Chilling, unsettling and wonderfully atmospheric, it grips from first page to last. I hope we’ll be hearing much more from Fennell and his brilliant detective, Grace Archer’

BRIAN MCGILLOWAY

Dedication

In memory of my big brother, Marty Fennell

Map

Epigraph

Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.

Pablo Picasso

I never paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.

Frida Kahlo

Art is a way of recognising oneself.

Louise Bourgeois

Chapter 1

1

Central London

HE APPROACHES THE LUMBERYARD CAFÉ on the corner of Monmouth Street and Tower Street and checks his watch. It’s 8.09 a.m. Less than one hour until the curtains drop. A tingling sensation surges through him, prickling his flesh, rousing his senses. He takes a breath and composes himself.

The Lumberyard Café is one of a breed of urban ‘cool’ coffee shops dotted throughout Central London. The exterior is painted an à la mode Victorian dark grey in a shabby chic style with splashes of contrived meaningless graffiti ‘art’ that pull at his eyes for all the wrong reasons. The entrance door is a contrasting pillar-box red, not a colour he would have chosen, but each to their own.