![]() ![]() So I bought London Falling and I started to read, telling myself that if it was that terrifying, I’d simply put it down. Right? Right? (I had forgotten about The Exorcist.) What kind of reader would I be if I never left my comfort zone? And come on, it was recommended to me by a Jesuit brother. ![]() What the hell, I thought (an unfortunate choice of wording, there). “I don’t like horror,” he said, “but I loved this.” ![]() So I would never have picked up London Falling, a novel about a small dysfunctional group of police battling forces beyond their ken on the streets of the big city (and written by Paul Cornell, who specialises in all kinds of things I know nothing about, like Doctor Who and Wolverine and, well, sci fi), except that a trusted friend recommended it. I have very good reasons not to read horror, and I’ve discussed them here on more than one occasion. But nothing about Toshack’s murder is normal. Furious, Quill pursues the investigation, co-opting intelligence analyst Lisa Ross and undercover cops Costain and Sefton. Then his prize suspect Rob Toshack is murdered in custody. Detective Inspector James Quill is about to complete the drugs bust of his career. ![]()
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