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Contents:
  1. accenconssenn.tk | THE FINAL SILENCE, by Stuart Neville
  2. The best crime novels – review roundup
  3. What was the showrunners’ favorite moment?
  4. The Final Silence Synopsis

Waited while the blood coursed through his body. A pub just ahead, perched on the riverbank, tables and benches and umbrellas damp and pathetic in the grey.

accenconssenn.tk | THE FINAL SILENCE, by Stuart Neville

A drink. Just one last swallow to see it done. Raymond entered the pub. The only other patrons were a pair of businessmen comparing charts over cups of coffee. They did not notice him. But the girl behind the bar did. He approached. The girl smiled. Blonde hair tied back, dressed in black trousers and a shirt that clung to her form. He stared for a moment. Felt his teeth with his tongue. A foreign girl, Eastern European. Raymond had been to Eastern Europe more than once.

Even before the Soviets lost their hold.

He had tasted many things there. Things few men ever taste. He went to reply, but his throat and his tongue would not obey. Sweat tingled on his cheek. Something pulsed inside his skull. She hesitated, a thin line between her eyebrows. The liquidglowed amber, swaying in the glass as it clinked on the bar top.

A shrill thought sounded in his mind, causing a moment of giddy panic. Had he brought any money? Raymond checked each pocket in turn, the fear building in him, until his fingers touched leather at his hip. He opened the wallet, sighed when he found a twenty-pound note, and handed it over. He inhaled as much air as they would hold.

He took the glass to the farthest table, pausing on the way to let another dizzy wave pass. Raising the tumbler, he smelled warm earthy peat, sweet caramel, spice. Heat in his throat, the aftertaste of aniseed. As he sat sipping at the whiskey, a knot of pain tightened around his left arm. It travelled up through his shoulder and neck before hammering on the inside of his skull.

Not here. Raymond downed the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, coughed, and marvelled at the constellations that flowered across his vision. The girl approached. I can call a doctor. Outside, he went to the towpath. Too close to the pub and the houses. He had walked the towpath many times, letting the quiet air enshroud him, the calm seeping in through his pores. Another charge of pain coursed from his arm up to his brain, stronger than before.

Jesus Christ, walk. His legs obeyed. Time bent and cracked around him. Grey turned to green. Civilisation faded into the distance, only the rough ground and the sound of the wind through leaves. A woman and a dog.

The best crime novels – review roundup

It sniffed at him as he passed, whined, smelling the death on him. His and that of the others. A cyclist, wrapped in Lycra, a helmet on his head, skidding to avoid a collision. Raymond did not answer.

He stepped off the gravel path, toward the grass and weeds at the edge. His shoes sank in the wetness. Hard, needling cold swamping his feet. The river flowed past, fat from the rainfall. He laughed at the futility of his prayer. He and God had parted ways half a lifetime ago.

He dug his fingers into his pocket, the tips already going numb. His keys snagged on a thread. He pulled harder, and they came free. It took the last of his strength to toss them six feet. They splashed in the water without a sound. At least none that he could hear. Another shock of pain, bigger than his body could hold, raging up through his left arm, his shoulder, his neck, then an explosion in his brain like the birth of a star.

The water came to meet him, swallowed him, as tender as it was cold. They sparked and fell like the scatterings of a firework, falling into black, down to where the fire awaited him. Down into the final silence. She had been six years old, a funeral in a draughty church whose location she could not recall.

People had whispered, asking what her mother was doing bringing a child that age to a funeral? Uncle Raymond had stood quiet and still throughout, had smiled and shaken hands with people who seemed to be as strange to him as they were to Rea. Her mother embraced him. His arms remained by his sides, his back stiff and straight. When they put his wife in the ground, Uncle Raymond brought a finger to his eye.


  • ‎The Final Silence (Unabridged) on Apple Books.
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But there was no tear to wipe away. Even though Rea could recall only the most vague image of his face, she remembered clearly how silly the action of wiping away a non-existent tear seemed to her. She asked her mother about it on the drive home in the Mini Metro. Ida stayed quiet for a while, watching the road ahead. Rea knew her mother had tried to contact Raymond, by telephone, by letter, but never a reply.

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He faded from their lives like mist from a window. The phone call had come a week ago. Rea had been sitting at her kitchen table, eating a microwaved ready meal straight from the plastic container, scrolling through the listings of a jobs website on her iPad. Ida had a knack of calling at awkward moments.

When Rea was eating, or in the bath, or on the toilet, or trying to get out the door, she could almost guarantee the phone would ring. Och, you know him surely, Ida would say.

What was the showrunners’ favorite moment?

Och, you do. Back and forth until Rea would be ready to scream. My brother. His year-old niece, Rea Carlisle, hopes to take possession of the house rather than live with her submissive mother and coldly ambitious father. What she finds there makes her call DI Jack Lennon, who dated her briefly and dumped her in a bar, because she needs to talk to someone in law enforcement about her dreadful suspicions regarding her uncle.

Jack took three bullets to get her to safety and is still partly disabled from the injury. Although he secretly thinks Rea is crazy, he still tries to help. He has some secret information of his own as protection against those who are trying to destroy him professionally, but as the stakes rise, he realizes that being kicked off the force may not be the worst danger he faces.

The Final Silence Synopsis

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