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20 kirjaa tekijältä Anne Cleeland
It was a bit puzzling, that Chief Inspector Acton hadn't mentioned the body they'd discovered in the burnt-out church, even though he must have known that Doyle would find it of great interest. Was the arsonist caught up in her own fire, or was there a deeper, more sinister tale told by the blackened rubble? Although she was sidelined on maternity leave, Detective Sergeant Kathleen Doyle was fast coming to the realization that her husband hadn't told her, because he was masterminding some scheme-a scheme that may-or-may-not involve arson, blood money, and the ducks of St. Petersburg.
A member of the French migr community in London, Epione is forced to hide her true identity, and instead works as a milliner's assistant in a Bond Street shop. Cautiously optimistic, she believes she's managed to avoid public scrutiny-until she notices that a handsome man is watching her movements from across the way. As she is swept up in the plots and counter-plots surrounding the restoration of the French monarchy, Epione must call upon reserves of courage she wasn't aware she possessed, and re-learn long-forgotten lessons about loyalty, and love.
This holiday trip to Dublin had been very hard on Doyle's husband-although he was making a monumental effort to disguise this fact-and unless she very much missed her guess, it was all somehow connected to the grisly murder on the station-house steps. That, and an African cab-driver who wore a jaunty tam o'shanter.
Doyle was back at Scotland Yard after taking maternity leave, and the powers-that-be had decided they'd ease her way by assigning her to assist DS Isabella Munoz, which was a fate only slightly worse than death.Annoying, it was, that she had to answer to Munoz; not to mention that Munoz wasn't given many high-quality homicide assignments in the first place.As a case in point, the first assignment out of the box was a possible suicide at the housing projects, something that happened with such regularity that it was a wonder the responding officer had even thought it worthy of a detective's notice. . . .
This homicide case featured aristocrats as far as the eye could see, between the Russians and the Spaniards-and Acton, of course, who was supposedly investigating the others but seemed a little too deferential, for Doyle's taste. Why wasn't her husband moving in on the killer? And why did she have the sense that she was standing on the outside, peering into a world where there were no laws and no explanations-only birthrights, forged in ancient blood.
A shocking death at St. Michael's Church pitches Detective Sergeant Kathleen Doyle into a confusing case--one where the motive for the crime is not at all clear, and only becomes less and less so as the investigation unearths a massive criminal enterprise.Why was the murder of such a famous man necessary? And why does Doyle have the sense that the killer had to steel himself to commit the crime?Once again, Doyle has to keep a wary eye on her husband, Chief Inspector Acton, as she ponders these strange events; Acton may protest his innocence, but she knows--in the way that she knows things--that he's harboring a secret, which does not bode well for her peace of mind. . .
A trainer has been murdered at a London racecourse, and in quick succession, two potential witnesses also lie dead. Rookie detective Kathleen Doyle has been assigned to be Chief Inspector Acton's support officer on the cases, but thus far, they've little to work with; the killer appears to be a professional, but the gruesome crime scenes are not the work of a professional killer. Indeed, there seems to be an almost pathological rage motivating these murders, which makes Doyle very uneasy, especially since she'd the sense that the killer was turning his focus upon her. . . The first book in the Doyle & Acton Scotland Yard series, as revised by the author in 2020
Detective Sergeant Kathleen Doyle was investigating a tip she'd received about doctors who were being assaulted at a London free clinic, but-strangely enough-none of the volunteers was willing to give her a statement. Instead, her only witness offered a fanciful tale about supernatural evildoers-which was nonsense, of course; it was clearly an attempt to shift the blame to the appropriate cultural bogeyman. Although it did seem as though there were a lot of strange things happening, and all of them at once. A shame, that she had to interrupt the investigation to attend a servant's funeral at Trestles, but Acton felt they were obligated to go. If only she didn't feel as though her husband was a little too eager to attend this particular funeral. . . .
Detective Sergeant Kathleen Doyle has been called-in to assist with a few unsound-mind murders, lately-murders committed by a person who appears to be mentally unhinged. This type of murder is always a concern for Scotland Yard, since it raises the possibility that there's a serial killer on the loose. And it doesn't help matters that the weather is so very cold and miserable-small wonder, that these killers have gone off the deep end; Doyle was half-way there herself, what with Christmas coming far too quickly, and a husband who was showing some troubling signs of his own.
The war was over, but Captain Geordie Venables was not leaving Spain just yet-not until he discovered the truth behind his commanding officer's death. Colonel Merryfield didn't deserve the cloud that was hanging over his good name, and Geordie has finally unearthed a promising lead-a gypsy troop, traveling by stealth along the River Tagus. With any luck, he can bribe them for some answers, and unravel the web of deception that seems to have led to the Colonel's death. It looked to be no easy task, though; he was fast running out of money, and everyone kept stealing his horse. . .
As Detective Sergeant Kathleen Doyle settles into her surprising new role as Acton's wife, a new slate of homicides thankfully comes along to distract from the firestorm of gossip.It appears that two underworld factions are engaged in an escalating turf war, with Scotland Yard unable to do much about it, other than tally up the body-count and await the discovery of the next victim.Since Chief Inspector Acton is not one to be stymied, Doyle can only assume that her new husband is not overly-motivated to solve these underworld killings-which is not right, in Doyle's mind. Murder is murder, no matter how justified the killer's actions may seem. . .
Artemis Merryfield has lived a soldier's life, following the drum with her father as the British Army battled Napoleon's forces on the Continent. But the Colonel was unexpectedly killed, and so she's been shipped off to his nearest relative in Sheffield, England. As she struggles to adjust to civilian life, Artemis soon discovers that there are factions from the last war who seem to be intensely interested in the silver mines she is to inherit, and equally interested in any secrets she may hold-secrets that could see her hanged for treason.
The detectives called it "graveyard love," and it happened more than you'd think; a spurned lover would rather murder his beloved, than allow her to walk away. This case seemed no different than the usual-a murder-suicide, by someone who'd decided he couldn't bear such a rejection. Doyle thought it was a bit odd, though, that the perpetrator worked for an armed transport company; you'd think he'd have been thoroughly vetted. And it was an interesting coincidence that the female victim had a connection to the Public Accounts investigation-the one that was giving Chief Inspector Acton such fits. Who would have guessed, that the cornered bureaucrats would put up such a fight? Certainly not Doyle, who was fast coming to the conclusion that there was much more to all this than met the eye, and plenty of graveyard-love to go around.