Clean Break. Val McDermid

      

      CLEAN BREAK

      Val McDermid

       Copyright

      HarperCollinsPublishers

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      This ebook edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 1995

      Copyright © Val McDermid 1995

      Cover design by Micaela Alcaino © HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

      Cover photographs © Stephen Mulcahey / Trevillion Images (woman, background), © Shutterstock.com (sky)

      Val McDermid asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      This is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

      Source ISBN: 9780008344924

      Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2019 ISBN: 9780007327553

      Version: 2019-10-15

       Praise for Val McDermid

      ‘The queen of crime is still at the top of her game’

       INDEPENDENT

      ‘No one can tell a story like she can’

       DAILY EXPRESS

      ‘One of today’s most accomplished crime writers’

       LITERARY REVIEW

      ‘McDermid remains unrivalled’

       OBSERVER

      ‘Incredibly suspenseful’

       SUNDAY MIRROR

      ‘This is crime writing of the very highest order’

       THE TIMES

      ‘A gripping page-turner’

       METRO

      ‘A terrific read’

       DAILY TELEGRAPH

       Dedication

      To Chelsea fans everywhere,

      in deepest sympathy;

      God knows, you need something to

      cheer you up.

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Praise for Val McDermid

      Dedication

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Acknowledgements

       Keep Reading …

       About the Author

       By Val McDermid

       About the Publisher

       1

      I don’t know much about art, but I know what I don’t like. I don’t like paintings that go walkabout after I’ve set up the security system. I especially don’t like them when I’ve packed my business partner off to the Antipodes for two months with the calm assurance that I can handle things while he’s gone.

      The painting in question was a small Monet. When I say small, I mean in size, not in value. It would barely cover the hole my lover Richard punched in the wall of his living room in a moment of drunken ecstasy when Eric Cantona clinched the double for Manchester United, but it was worth a good dozen times as much as both our adjoining bungalows put together. Which, incidentally, they never will be. The painting depicted an apple tree in blossom and not a lot else. You could tell it was an apple tree; according to our office manager Shelley, that’s because it was painted quite early on in Monet’s career, before his eyesight began to go and his whole world started to look like an Impressionist painting. Imagine, a whole artistic movement emanating from one bloke’s duff eyesight. Amazing what you can learn from the Open University. Shelley started a degree course last year, and what she doesn’t know about the history of art I’m certainly not qualified to uncover. It’s not one of the course options in Teach Yourself Private Dicking.

      The Monet in question, called, imaginatively enough, Apple Tree in Blossom, belonged to Henry Naismith, Lord of the Manor of Birchfield with Polver. Henry to his friends, and, thanks to John Major’s classless society, to mere tradespeople like me. There were no airs and graces with Henry, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hide his thoughts and feelings behind his charming façade. That’s how I knew it was serious when I picked up