Fatherland well into second draft at 116k words (and that has to come down!). Here’s a taste of Chapter 1:
It’s Friday night and, caught freeze-frame, DCI Jackie Kaminski is lying flat out on the road, right outside an obliterated taxi on Sauchiehall Street. Stunned silence has replaced drunken banter at the rank, the singing along to the auld busker with the guitar, and the tapping of feet to wee Johnny the fiddler. Close to her broken body, a mobile is in bits on the ground, the same mobile answered minutes before, the one with a device triggered by a call.
I am standing over her saying “In the name of the Father,” with tears in my voice.
“Is she dying son?” an old lady standing next to me asks.
“I think so,” I reply. “I was blessing her.”
“Do you know her?”
“Aye,” I say. “Her name’s Jackie, she used to be my wife.”
I had to get out of there, disappear, go somewhere no one would find me, especially Hubert.
A Detective Chief Inspector has been the victim of a bomb attack while travelling in a private taxi. Glasgow has progressed from the typical occasional chibbing after the clubs spill out. This is a new, more cynical, more scary, climate of crime in the No Mean City. Jackie was in charge of the investigation into the Father, an infamous proxy killer and head of the Family of Families, a collective of the most feared crime families in the country. An attack on her breaks the code of the traditional mobs: not to involve the police nor the public in their turf wars. This is a real game changer, even more so given she’s Hubert Kaminski’s daughter, the Chief Constable of Strathclyde Police, a man who doesn’t take prisoners.