PRAISE FOR THE COLD COLD GROUND ,
THE FIRST OF ADRIAN MCKINTY’S SEAN
DUFFY THRILLERS
“The Cold Cold Ground is a razor sharp thriller set against the backdrop of a country in chaos, told with style, courage and dark-as-night wit. Adrian McKinty channels Dennis Lehane, David Peace and Joseph Wambaugh to create a brilliant novel with its own unique voice” Stuart Neville
“It’s undoubtedly McKinty’s finest … Written with intelligence, insight and wit, McKinty exposes the cancer of corruption at all levels of society at that time. Sean Duffy is a compelling detective, the evocation of 1980s Northern Ireland is breathtaking and the atmosphere authentically menacing. A brilliant piece of work which does for NI what Peace’s Red Riding Quartet did for Yorkshire” Brian McGilloway
“The setting represents an extraordinarily tense scenario in itself, but the fact that Duffy is a Catholic in a predominantly Protestant RUC adds yet another fascinating twist to McKinty’s neatly crafted plot … a masterpiece of Troubles crime fiction: had David Peace, Eoin McNamee and Brian Moore sat down to brew up the great Troubles novel, they would have been very pleased indeed to have written The Cold Cold Ground” Declan Burke, Irish Times
“The Cold Cold Ground is a fearless trip into Northern Ireland in the 1980s: riots, hunger strikes, murders – yet Adrian McKinty tells a very personal story of an ordinary cop trying to hunt down a serial killer” John McFetridge
“McKinty’s The Cold Cold Ground has got onto my five best books of the year list as it is riveting, brilliant and just about the best book yet on Northern Ireland” Ken Bruen
“The Cold Cold Ground confirms McKinty as a writer of substance … The names of David Peace and Ellroy are evoked too often in relation to young crime writers, but McKinty shares their method of using the past as a template for the present. The stories and textures may belong to a different period, but the power of technique and intent makes of them the here and now … There’s food for thought in McKinty’s writing … The Cold Cold Ground is a crime novel, fast-paced, intricate and genre to the core” Eoin McNamee, Guardian
“Adrian McKinty is the voice of the new Northern Irish generation but he’s not afraid to examine the past. This writer is a legend in the making and The Cold Cold Ground is the latest proof of this” Gerard Brennan
“Detective Sergeant Sean Duffy could well become a cult figure … McKinty has not lost his touch or his eye for the bizarre and the macabre, or his ear for the Belfast accent and argot … McKinty creates a marvellous sense of time and place … he manages to catch the brooding atmosphere of the 1980s and to tell a ripping yarn at the same time … There will be many readers waiting for the next adventure of the dashing and intrepid Sergeant Duffy” Maurice Hayes, Irish Independent
“McKinty [has] a razor-sharp ear for the local dialogue and a feeling for the bleak time and place that was Ulster in the early 80s, and pairs them with a wry wicked wit … If Raymond Chandler had grown up in Northern Ireland, The Cold Cold Ground is what he would have written” Peter Millar, The Times
“Adrian McKinty is fast gaining a reputation as the finest of the new generation of Irish crime writers, and it’s easy to see why on the evidence of this novel, the first in a projected trilogy of police procedurals. At times The Cold Cold Ground has the feel of James Ellroy, the prose is that focused and intense, but then there are moments of darkest humour, with just a hint of the retro feel of Life On Mars thrown in” Doug Johnstone, Herald
Works by Adrian McKinty published by Serpent’s Tail
The Dead Trilogy
Dead I Well May Be
The Dead Yard
The Bloomsday Dead
Fifty Grand
Falling Glass
The Sean Duffy thrillers
The Cold Cold Ground
I Hear the Sirens in the Street
I Hear the Sirens in the Street
Adrian McKinty
“A Sweet Little Bullet from A Pretty Blue Gun”, Thomas Waits © copyright Mushroom Music Pty Ltd on behalf of BMG Gold Songs/Six Palms Music Corporation. All print rights for Australia and New Zealand administered by Sasha Music Publishing, a division of All Music Publishing & Distribution Pty Ltd ACN 147 390 814. www.ampd.com.au. Used by Permission. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorised Reproduction is illegal.
A complete catalogue record for this book can be obtained from the British Library on request
The right of Adrian McKinty to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Copyright © 2013 Adrian McKinty
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
First published in 2013 by Serpent’s Tail,
an imprint of Profile Books Ltd
3A Exmouth House
Pine Street
London EC1R 0JH
website: www.serpentstail.com
ISBN 978 1 84668 818 8
eISBN 978 1 84765 929 3
Designed and typeset by Crow Books
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays, Bungay, Suffolk
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
MARTY MCFLY: Wait a minute, Doc. Are you telling me that you built a time machine … out of a DeLorean?
DR EMMETT BROWN: The way I see it, if you’re gonna build a time machine into a car, why not do it with some style?
Robert Zemeckis & Bob Gale, Back to the
Future (1985)
Now I lay me down to sleep
I hear the sirens in the street
All my dreams are made of chrome
I have no way to get back home
Tom Waits, “A Sweet Little Bullet
From A Pretty Blue Gun” (1978)
1: A TOWN CALLED MALICE
The abandoned factory was a movie trailer from an entropic future when all the world would look like this. From a time without the means to repair corrugation or combustion engines or vacuum tubes. From a planet of rust and candle power. Guano coated the walls. Mildewed garbage lay in heaps. Strange machinery littered a floor which, with its layer of leaves, oil and broken glass was reminiscent of the dark understory of a rainforest. The melody in my head was a descending ten-on-one ostinato, a pastiche of the second of Chopin’s études; I couldn’t place it but I knew that it was famous and that once the shooting stopped it would come to me in an instant.
The shotgun blast had sent the birds into a frenzy and as we ran for cover behind a half disassembled steam turbine we watched the rock doves careen off the ceiling, sending a fine shower of white asbestos particles down towards us like the snow of a nuclear winter.
The shotgun reported again and a window smashed twenty feet to our left. The security guard’s aim was no better than his common sense.
We made it to safety behind the turbine’s thick stainless steel fans and watched the pigeons loop in decreasing circles above our heads. A superstitious man would have divined ill-omened auguries in their melancholy flight but fortunately my partner, Detective Constable McCrabban, was made of sterner stuff.