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Mystery / Suspense / Thriller
Date Published: December 14, 2015
Silk
on the skin—luxurious, luscious..lethal.
London-Fall, 1888The city is in a panic as Jack the Ripper continues his murderous spree. While the Whitechapel police struggle to find him, Detective Inspector Rudyard Bloodstone and his partner are working feverishly to find their own serial killer. The British Museum's beautiful gardens have become a killing ground for young women strangled as they stroll through.
Their investigation has them brushing up against Viscount Everhard, a powerful member of the House of Lords, and a friend to Queen Victoria. When the circumstantial evidence points to him as a suspect, Rudyard must deal with the political blowback, and knows if they are going to go after the viscount, they'd better be right and have proof.
My review:
4/5 stars
I don’t read as much crime
fiction nowadays as I used to, but Silk reminded me why I adore this genre. I
love the time period the book is set in and this was the initial reason why I
wanted to read Chris Karlsen’s novel.
The book started with a murder
that set the mood for the story. I liked that we could see things from the
murderer’s perspective. William is a very peculiar person, he has strange personality
treats that makes his character all the more intriguing. For example he doesn’t
like eating together with anyone and he would do everything to stay young in
body and mind.
Our other main character, Rudyard
Bloodstone, is a lovely chap. He leads the investigation process that the
reader gets tangled in in Silk. I was glad I could ’see’ how the police worked,
how investigations were running in Victorian London.
The writing was very solid, I
enjoyed the book from the beginning to the end and therefore I recommend it to
everyone who would like to relax in the company of a good crime novel.
Excerpt:
Events of the day and the
potential satisfaction of giving Napier a bloody nose dwindled. Questions about
the murder crept back into Ruddy's thoughts. Morris joined him at his table in
the rear of the pub with a Guinness, the popular beer of choice in hand.
“You’ve got the look of a man whose thoughts are a long distance from London.”
“No, sadly my thoughts
are fixed here in the city. I’m trying to figure out a clue. Ellis’s roommate
said she’d sometimes meet with a well-dressed man, a man of means the victim
indicated. They’d meet up at the fountain by the British Museum.”
“Don’t know the spot but
then the museum isn’t my cup of tea.”
“Not the point. I’m
saying it’s odd. What member of the upper class chooses to stroll through a
public garden other than Hyde or Regents, where they can see and be seen by one
of their own?”
“I agree the wealthy
prefer the parks filled with others of their kind but it doesn’t mean a man
can’t enjoy someplace different.”
“We interviewed the guard
again. The one that discovered the body walks that half of the building. He
told us the majority of their male patrons are natty dressers, but he never saw
a man like that loitering by the fountain.”
“My guess is: the man is
married and can’t afford to run the risk of being seen by a friend of his
wife’s. Or, he might live or work in the area and the spot is convenient.”
“Or, he’s a murderer
who’s noticed the victim walking through the park on a regular basis, saw it as
an opportunity and cozied up to her.”
Ruddy took another
swallow of his ale, mentally debating the merit of each theory. “I don’t think
he lives in the area. If so, he’d have cut through the park more and been seen
by the guards. Not sure about the married man having a tryst idea."
To Ruddy's way of
thinking, if the man was married and looking for a tumble, he’d have met her
someplace other than the gardens and at a better hour.
Instinct drew him back to
his original sense of the culprit and crime. “I feel like this was a crime of
opportunity. I’ve thought it all along and can’t shake the sense.”
“If he was just seeking a
victim, then why haven’t you had more murders like this?” Morris asked.
Ruddy downed the rest of
his beer and put his tankard on the edge of the table where June would refill
it. “Everyone has to start somewhere. She might be number one.”
Chris Karlsen
I was born and raised in Chicago. My father was a history
professor and my mother was, and is, a voracious reader.
I grew up with a love
of history and books.
Website: http://chriskarlsen.com/
Any Others: http://www.pinterest.com/chriskarlsen/
I was born and raised in Chicago. My father was a history
professor and my mother was, and is, a voracious reader.
I grew up with a love
of history and books.
Website: http://chriskarlsen.com/
Any Others: http://www.pinterest.com/chriskarlsen/
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