Chief Inspector Erik Winter, Death Angels  by Ake Edwardson, Ken Schubert

By Ake Edwardson, Ken Schubert

The debut mystery within the across the world acclaimed sequence? on hand for the 1st time within the United States

A long-time no 1 bestseller in his local Sweden, Åke Edwardson?s profile was once conspicuously raised whilst his novel Frozen Tracks used to be selected as a finalist for a 2008 Los Angeles Times ebook Prize. previously, although, the unconventional that introduced Edwardson?s significantly acclaimed Erik wintry weather sequence hasn't ever been on hand within the usa. With a brand new sequence translator who absolutely captures Edwardson?s signature atmospheric sort, Death Angels is America?s advent to Sweden?s youngest leader Inspector as he groups up with Scotland backyard to resolve the mysterious parallel killings of younger British and Swedish travelers. Richly evocative of mid-nineties South London and Gothenburg, Sweden, Death Angels is an excellent starting to a enchanting sequence that has turn into a phenomenon in overseas crime fiction.

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Sample text

Anderton sat back down. ” “The character was doing most of the talking, but it looked like the kid understood him. ” The kettle began to whistle. Anderton went over to the stove and fixed more tea, his back to Macdonald. ” He sat down again. ” “I have no idea. The kid turned around once and he might have noticed me. But what difference does it make now? ” “I didn’t stare at them until they disappeared over the horizon, if that’s what you mean. I was in a hurry to get home and watch East-Enders .

The funeral was quite an event,” Winter said. “I didn’t know he had so many friends. ” “I was thinking it would be mostly men, but there were plenty of women too. ” Ringmar was looking out the window behind Winter, who assumed the church tower had caught his attention. “It’s a hell of a disease,” he said, turning back to Winter. ” “In the middle of your Grand Canary vacation? Mats was a close friend, but I can handle the grief. ” Their silence gave way to the roar of the engines. “It’s a bunch of diseases rolled up in one,” Winter said after a while.

Nobody remembered what the man looked like. But they showed no reluctance to describe him anyway. He had been tall, average height or a bit short. Compared to the kid? No, compared to the streetcar, somebody said, and Winter closed his eyes as if he were exorcising the world’s ingratitude. The man’s hair had been blond, black and brown. He had been wearing a suit, leather jacket and tweeds. He had horn-rimmed glasses, dark sunglasses and no glasses at all. He was stooped over, his posture was perfect, he was bowlegged and he had long, muscular legs.

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