Download A Test of Wills (Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery, Book 1) by Charles Todd PDF

By Charles Todd

The good conflict has been won—but victory has its cost. The 12 months is 1919, and Ian Rutledge has again to London to renew his place as Scotland backyard inspector, bringing nightmares and ghosts domestic with him from the French battlefields. Tormented and being affected by shell surprise, he's instantly plunged into the affair of a well-liked colonel believed murdered via a adorned warfare hero—a case that could be a own and political minefield that may ruin Rutledge's occupation and what continues to be of his sanity.

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Extra info for A Test of Wills (Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery, Book 1)

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Many of the regulars looked at Johnny with a mixture of pity and suspicion. No one mentioned Angela's name, though some patted him on the shoulder as they passed by, and a few, including the publican, stood him a drink. Others were more circumspect, perhaps wary of being seen to take sides, in case at a later date it transpired that Johnny himself had been involved in some way in the murder of the blonde-haired child. m. crossing the bridge above the point where the rivers Finn and Mourne merge into the Foyle.

Just clearing some things up. " "Muire, run up and fetch them tablets from the bathroom, love," Sadie said, and the younger of the two girls - the girl whom I had thought was going to speak on my last visit - ran up the stairs, her footfalls thudding across the ceiling above us. While I waited for her to return, I promised Sadie that we would bring Angela to them as soon as possible. "And her belongings, Sadie. You'll want that gold ring back, I'm sure," I said, remembering the ring Angela had been wearing.

I stood by the river as she worked, wondering what to say to Johnny Cashell, and watched the sun exploding low over the horizon, turning the ribs of the clouds first pink, then purple and orange. Cashell was a barrel-chested, red-faced man with thick, curly red hair that he kept tied back in a ponytail. He dressed as if from a charity shop and his clothes had a musty, damp odour. He was more particular about his feet, and I never met him wearing the same pair of trainers twice: they were always new and always a brand label.

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