Books by Robert Barnard

The news that Radio Broadwich is to make a documentary on Twytching for broadcast in America spreads through the small village like wildfire. Mrs Deborah Withens, Twytching's resident doyenne and arbiter of good taste, takes it upon herself to control the presentation of her 'county town' and assumes responsibility for picking those that will take part, provoking fierce rivalry amongst the villagers.One resident who is reticent to participate in the fuss is Inspector George Parrish . . . until the murder of the first villager chosen, and a rash of poison pen letters uncovering secrets Twytching's leading citizens had fervently hoped were buried, force him to get involved.In this early classic, Robert Barnard skilfully demonstrates that no one is more cunning in preparing the reader to expect the totally unexpected and his incisive character portrayals in this early gem impart a dimension rarely found in English detective fiction.

There were two Mrs Machins, relicts of the talented working-class writer Walter Machin, who was just about to be immortalised by the literary establishment. Viola was large, overbearing and, even in her seventies, still voluptuous. Hilda, the first (and divorced) Mrs Machin, was perky, sharp and the guardian of the deceased Walter's literary papers. For ten years the two 'widows' had lived together in the same house, not speaking to each other, but jealously guarding his memory and literary reputation. But before the Machin legend could really take off, there was a fire - and a murder. One of the Mrs Machins was silenced for good, and slowly, from the past, emerged a fascinating and intriguing assortment of characters. Somewhere, in their memories of Walter Machin, lay the catastrophic secret that had led to murder. 'A literary whodunit - with an unusual ending' London Mystery Selection 'Freshly written with lots of sly fun' Guardian 'Finely crafted and intriguing' Booklist 'A witty, well-written and intriguing story' Times Literary Supplement

It was midday on December 21st in the Norwegian city of Tromso when the boy was last seen - a tall, blond boy swathed in an anorak and scarf against the Arctic noon. He was not seen again, not until three months later, when Professor Mackenzie's dog started sniffing around in the snow and uncovered a human ear . . . attached to a naked corpse.Nobody knew who he was, or where he had come from. And after three months it was almost impossible to track down the identity of the corpse. But Inspector Fagermo refused to give up - and as he probed deeper into the Arctic city he began to discover a dangerous conspiracy of blackmail, espionage, and cold-blooded murder.Regarded as Robert Barnard's best, Death in a Cold Climate is a scandi detective novel with a captivating mystery at its heart.

Lill Hodsden was a monster. She rode roughshod over her daughter, wiped her feet on her husband, blackmailed her lovers and smothered her sons with a mother love that left them screaming out for freedom. Lill set the hackles rising all over Todmarsh, the little South Coast town she queened it over. She was just asking to be done in. And her sons were very ready to oblige. In fact, they had it all worked out, for Saturday night. But when Lill was found garrotted on Thursday, on the way home from one of her boy-friends', the case was wide open, and half Todmarsh would have regarded the murderer as a civic benefactor. Inspector McHale, on his first murder case, is a man who values intelligence, particularly his own. He is convinced he is going to discover the killer. But is he going to discover the right one? In the claustrophobic relationships around the appalling Lill, Robert Barnard has used his gift for creating murderable monsters to set up a murder everybody can sympathize with.

The Burleigh school was dying. It would be called a mercy killing were it not for the little band of inept, eccentric, or otherwise unemployable teachers who depended on this absolutely awful English boys' academy for their meagre livelihoods. A lack of funds, facilities, and foresight had brought Burleigh to the very edge of extinction. Now someone planned to give it one final, deadly push. Malice was afoot behind the ivied walls, trailing hard on the heels of Hilary Frome, Headmaster Crumwallis's unfortunate choice for the next headboy. For when something sinister popped up in the punch on Parents' Evening, when nasty pranks became no joke, the next event at bloody Burleigh was bound to be . . . simply murder. 'Crackerjack entertainment . . . deserves the kind of raves heaped up on his other prize whodunits.' Publishers Weekly 'There is no one quite like Robert Barnard in his ability to combine chills and chuckles and to sprinkle the whole with delicious irony.' San Diego Union 'The wryest wit and most scathing satire in today's mystery.' Chicago Sun-Times

<h2>A classic British whodunit.</h2>Chetton Hall was one of the glories of Jacobean domestic architecture, and the Spenders had lived in Chetton ever since their founder had peculated the money to build it while he was the King's Secretary of Monopolies. Over the years they had accumulated accrustations of dignity, to say nothing of wealth. Which made it doubly shocking when the Earldom descended to Percy Spender, who was 'not quite', not to mention his family, who were not at all. When the family descends on Chetton for his sixtieth birthday, accompanied by various hangers-on, their main obsession is to discover his intentions for the future of the place. Hardly less interested is his man of business, and his neighbours, who feel sadly the diminished glory of the house. The Spenders, in fact, have always felt like birds in a guilded cage at Chetton. <font size="e;+2"e;>Before the celebrations are over, one of the birds is a very dead duck indeed.</font> _____________________ The traditional country house party murder is turned on its head, given a few twists, and ends up much reinvigorated in this witty and lively whodunit by a writer who, as described in The Times Literary Supplement, 'can write most under the table with one hand behind his back.' 'Mr Barnard always maintains an exceptionally high level, being as much litterateur as mystery story writer; fortunately, he never lets his literary flair get in the way of his mysteries.' New York Times Book Review

Hexton-upon-Weir was ruled by its women: they set the tone, they made the decisions, they called the tune. When they decided to band together to block the appointment of a new vicar who was not only unacceptably High Church but - of all ugly things - celibate to boot, they managed to create merry hell. As the town was riven by faction and counter-faction, Helen Kitterage tried to remain aloof, but before long she was drawn into the maelstrom, as, during the down's fete, ill-will and conspiracy degenerated into murder. Helen was convinced that somewhere among the secrets of this murderous Cranford there must be found some key shame that someone had thought it worth killing to keep unknown. In this tart and witty updating of the traditional English village mystery, 'the chameleon talent of Mr Barnard' (Sunday Times) is demonstrated once again through that sharp ear and eye that led the Washington Post to exclaim: 'One of the funniest men writing mysteries today has to be Robert Barnard.'

The MP for Bootham East was something of a fish out of water - a Tory with a conscience. When he was actually fished out of water, the Thames to be precise, it looked like a clear case of suicide or accident. But as Superintendent Sutcliffe's investigations got under way, and as the by-election campaign to elect his successor hotted up, some very murky political waters were dredged and made to reveal their secrets. The local Labour Party had been hijacked by the extreme left, the Tory Party had had an unattractive young man with dubious City connections foisted on it, and the Alliance candidate had something nasty in his past he would prefer to forget. In fact, by the time of the declaration poll, all the parties wished the by-election had never had to happen, and that the dirt had remained brushed away under the carpet. In this witty and penetrating look at British politics, Robert Barnard shows a 'sharp and knowing eye', as well as what Newsweek called his 'wit . . . energy and style.

Susannah Sneddon had never received a great deal of fame or fortune from her novel-writing in the twenties and thirties. In the remote Yorkshire village of Micklewike, where she had lived on a run-down farm, she was now chiefly remembered for the violence of her demise - battered to death, apparently by her jealous brother, who then shot himself. That was back in 1932, and now there was a renewed surge of interest in the Sneddons, led by the shady publisher and entrepreneur Gerald Suzman. He had bought up the farm and formed the Sneddon Fellowship, with the declared aim of making the Sneddons' reputation as a kind of twentieth-century Bronte family. A motley collection of enthusiasts gathered in Micklewike for the inaugural meeting of the Sneddon Fellowship, including Charlie Peace, a young black detective constable sent to keep an eye on things. There was a suspicion that Suzman's motives were not quite as purely literary as they seemed. And when Suzman was found lying dead with his head bashed in, a surprising number of possible reasons for his death emerged amongst the group of Sneddon followers. Charlie and Superintendent Mike Oddie had to examine evidence both old and new as the strange case of the Sneddon literary heritage was gradually unravelled. 'One of the deftest stylists in the field' New York Times Book Review 'This story is a beauty . . . enlivened by Barnard's wit and his knowledge of the seedier side of literary affairs' Birmingham Post

With A City of Strangers, award-winning novelist Robert Barnard, acclaimed for his quick wit and astute insight into the vagaries of class distinction and human foible, achieves a new level of mastery. He also creates one of his most memorable characters ever: the dreadful Jack Phelan. Dirty, potbellied, vulgar, selfish, Jack is a man everyone loves to hate. And the rest of his family isn't much better. The wife is slatternly, the teenaged children flirt with petty crime and prostitution, even the baby is unpleasant. Only twelve-year-old Michael Phelan seems to have escaped the family curse, and it may be just a question of time until he, too, sinks to the Phelan level. For years the infamous Phelans, known with equal horror to the Social Security office and the local school, have lived in slovenly squalor in their council house in the run-down Belfield Grove Estate in the northern English city of Sleate. The Phelans' infamy has even penetrated the middle-class bastion of respectability, Wynton Lane, where six imposing Victorian stone houses stand in fearful isolation next to Belfield Grove. Wynton Lane and Belfield Grove have only their unfortunate proximity in common until the fateful day when the Phelans come to call. It seems that Jack has won big on the pools, and he's thinking of buying one of the six houses. Nothing so exciting has ever happened on Wynton Lane, and the homeowners hope it never will again. Until now barely nodding acquaintances the Wynton Lane residents call an urgent meeting to map an emergency strategy. What can they do to stop Jack Phelan? What indeed? The Wynton Lane people have always thought of themselves as law-abiding, but they soon discover that malice can take on a momentum of its own, a momentum that can even lead to murder. Shocking, mesmerizing, incisive, A City of Strangers leaves a deep impression on the reader and confirms the artistry of a superb novelist in his prime.

A Scandal In Belgravia is a story of murder; it is also a penetrating analysis of a decaying social class and a society in transition. And it is the personal, deeply moving story of two men, Peter Proctor, recently retired as a senior British cabinet minister, and Timothy Wycliffe, a young aristocrat who was bludgeoned to death more than thirty years ago. The two had met in the early 1950s as fledgling diplomats in the Foreign Office. Wycliffe, the grandson of a marquess, had little in common with Proctor, the self-made man on his way up. But the elegant, joyful, intensely alive Wycliffe relished all kinds of people, including his very naive and earnest middle-class colleague. The friendship was close for a while, gradually becoming more occasional. Even Wycliffe's murder, shocking as it was, caused relatively little impact on his friends and the national press, who were distracted that week by more momentous events in the news. Only now, over three decades later, does Wycliffe's brutal death become Proctor's obsession. Relieved of his official post after a long and distinguished career, Proctor decides to write his memoirs. But beyond a banal chapter on his youth, nothing will come. Memories of Timothy Wycliffe take over his mind, pushing aside all other thoughts. It is only in probing the past, in tracking down the people who knew Wycliffe, in discovering the shocking truth of his murder, that Peter Proctor will find peace.

The body of a young man, almost naked, in the car park behind one of Haworth's many eating establishments marks the beginning of the case, and it is his identity that is the first puzzle for DC Charlie Peace and his superior Detective Superintendent Oddie. But before long the puzzle that most concerns them is the nature of the close-knit artistic community where Declan O'Hearn had acted as odd-job boy. The little knot of people seem to be united less by their ability as painters than by a common worship of the distinguished artist Ranulph Byatt, who has not only brought them together, but seems to prefer the adulation of his inferiors to the judgement of his equals. Peace, searching for clues, soon starts to wonder if there isn't a sinister reason for this. And as the search for the killer gathers pace, Peace and Oddie uncover a series of dark secrets on the harsh Haworth landscape. Atmospheric, witty and perceptive, The Corpse at the Haworth Tandoori is vintage Robert Barnard.

The disappearance from school of two apparently unconnected teenagers worries DC Charlie Peace, until he discovers that they are both working at a hostel for homeless street kids. Peace knows the life and crimes of the people these two are trying to help, and decides that, for the moment, they are safe. But will Peace have cause to regret his decision? After all, just who is the man running the hostel? And how nasty is the local opposition to the place likely to become? As the pair continue their good work, the situation at the hostel becomes even more fraught with the appearance of an Asian girl fleeing an arranged marriage. And it isn't long before a murderous attack seems about to put an end to the whole project. 'Nicely drawn characters' Irish Times 'Very appealing. . .sensitively written' Evening Standard 'He plots a mystery as well as any writer alive' Time Magazine

The Ketterick Festival revolves around the Saracen's Head, a Jacobean inn with its inn-yard and balconies miraculously preserved intact, due to the sloth of successive landlords. Here in festival time are performed the lesser-known masterpieces of Elizabethan and Jacobean theatre. This year it is The Chaste Apprentice of Bowe (a play of uncertain authorship, since no one owned up at the time). But the actors find that the Saracen's Head has been transformed by its new landlord - an Australian know-all with an insatiable curiosity and an instinct for power. The loathsome Des's activities bring him into conflict with actors, committee, even the performers of Adelaide di Birckenhead, the little-known Donizetti opera that is the other lynchpin of the Festival programme. So adept is Des at fomenting friction and ferreting in the undergrowth of private lives that it is not surprising that it all ends in biers. Barnard's festive romp spares no one in the arts world, and even suggests a solution to a long-felt operatic want, showing once again why he has been called 'a specialist in snide japery' (Time Magazine), whose mysteries are 'among the best' (New York Times).

In the late winter of 1979, Leeds housewife Ellen Heenan dies in childbirth - abandoning a guilt-stricken husband to insanity's grasp and leaving four young children to find for themselves. Thirteen-year-old Matthew and Annie, age twelve, know what the authorities will do if the learn of Father's debilitating madness. A close-knit family will be speedily unravelled, its threads scattered carelessly to the winds. So deception is the only recourse - a facade of normalcy that must be carefully constructed to fool prying neighbourhood eyes. And resourceful young Matthew and his sister have the situation well in hand - until a freshly slain corpse turns up beneath the kitchen window . . . 'Gripping and satisfying' Chicago Tribune 'Subtle and surprising . . . Robert Barnard at his best' San Diego Union-Tribune 'A sad, sweet horror of a story . . . the suspense is delicious.' New York Times Book Review

Those two days in May seem to be a highpoint in Colin Pinnock's life: a stunning election victory, a new government, and junior office for himself. But among the many congratulations he receives is one hostile message, a grubby card asking, 'Who do you think you are?' Is this merely someone putting him back in his place, or do the words have a more profound meaning? And who, indeed, is he? Who were his real parents? As Colin investigates these questions he is led back in time to an old political scandal: a murder case which led to a politician's downfall and disappearance. Events in the present, however, start tangling with those of the past, and he finds himself the object of a series of incidents that at first seem designed to bring down his career with ridicule, but later actually threaten his life. A beautifully written and intriguing mystery form one of our foremost crime writers. 'Robert Barnard has the habit of delighting his readers' Sunday Times

A witty and poignant chiller about the evil of gossip and the sin of indifference. Father Christopher Pardoe is a good priest. He cares about his parishioners. He is also a human being-and is thus saddled with man's inherent weaknesses. Is it a bit odd, then, how much time the good Father has been spending at the house of a certain young, single mother called Julie Norris? And why, during each of his visits, are Julie's bedroom curtains always closed? Julie looks to be pregnant again. Just who could that father be? As nasty rumours begin to scorch the parish phone lines, Father Pardoe is suspended from St. Catherine's, and Cosmo Horrocks, the West Yorkshire Chronicle's shameless, muckraking journalist, exploits the story in a big way. Nothing goes over better than a juicy sex-and-the-church scandal, except, perhaps, murder. Do Father Pardoe and Julie protest too much? Why did Julie's parents throw her out and disown her? Is she really as bad as they say? And what, exactly, does Cosmo Horrocks hear in that London-to-Leeds dining car that makes him tingle with excitement? A tale of chastity besmirched? This story could make his year. But will it lead to tragedy? And, if so, whose? When Inspector Mike Oddie and Sergeant Charlie Peace are called in to investigate a murder, they are saddened and surprised by the raw emotions-the hate, the fear-they find in the outwardly peaceful town of Shipley. There may be only one killer, but there are many others who must share the town's guilt and, perhaps, one day start the process of healing. Rich with eccentric characters, crisp dialogue, stylish prose, and perceptive insights into human nature, Unholy Dying is vintage Barnard, acknowledged master of suspense. 'He plots a mystery as well as any writer alive' Time

Police superintendent Percy Trethowan found London's Soho as colourful and full of life as every-except for the four corpses in a seedy photography studio. Shot doing a layout for Bodies, a soft-porn "e;health and fitness"e; magazine, the photographer, his assistant, and two models had left a camera loaded with film but no clues. Then one victim's obsession with pumping iron sent Trethowan into the erotic world of body-building, where an out-of-shape policeman would learn that building biceps isbeautiful and the temptation to star in the buff in the bluest of movies could really be murder.

Superintendent Perry Trethowan was used to cases that involved people in high places, and in this one he finds himself at the top of the tree - among the British royals. A Princess, albeit only a minuscule royal offshoot, with a snug little apartment in Kensington Palace and a snug little sum on the Civil List, is threatened - but by whom, why, and exactly what is uncertain. Her circle consists mostly of boy-friends, and they are a motley lot, drawn from the worlds of politics, the stage, even the football field. But are they endangered too or are they part of the threat? The Princess (fresh as morning dew, and much more treacherous) trips gaily through the minefield, while around her men keep dying. But blood will out, especially blue blood, and by the time Perry Trethowan gets to the bottom of the case, a murderer has been brought to justice and not a few reputations tremble in the scales. Robert Barnard's ability to create entertaining plots in the classic tradition was recognised through multiple nominations for Edgar Awards in the States, and he received the 2003 CWA Cartier Diamond Dagger Award for a lifetime of achievement.

With the Nazis bombing London on a nightly basis, many working-class families sent their children to the comparative safety of the countryside. When the Blitz ended, the families came for their kids . . . but no one ever came for Simon Thorn. His name appears on no list of the evacuated children. And none of his meagre belongings offer any clues to his origins. Now an adult, newly moved to London, Simon is puzzled by an odd sense of familiarity when he walks down certain streets. He remembers his years of terrible nightmares-nightmares that would cause him to wake up screaming, terrifying his bewildered foster parents. And he resolves, once and for all, to find out where he originally came from . . . even as everything he uncovers suggests that, really, he doesn't want to know. Widely praised for his deliciously, maliciously witty mysteries, the multi-award-winning Robert Barnard takes a decidedly different tack in this fascinating novel of wartime London and the dark side of identity. 'An engrossing tale of a man's search for his identity and his discovery of an alarming past' Publishers Weekly 'There are shrewd characterisations and villains aplenty in this oddly affecting tale' Time 'Barnard untangles his riddle with great skill, and I suspect he is going to outwit all but a handful of readers' New York Times

Moving into an upmarket new home in Leeds, rising radio star Matt Harper is shocked to find the skeleton of a small child in the attic. His grisly discovery takes him back to the summer of 1969, when he lived with his aunt only a few streets away, reawakening dim, disquieting memories from his childhood. While Detective Charlie Peace heads up the nominal police investigation into the bones, Matt revisits the past in an attempt to solve the mystery himself. Tracking down the other members of a gang of local children he'd once belonged to, he gradually unearths a shared secret that has laid buried ever since. Were the bones in the attic the result of a tragic accident, or has time concealed a more sinister truth? 'Exceptionally well-plotted and written with a stylistic modesty that does the story proud' Literary Review 'Barnard never disappoints' The Times 'Another fine crime novel by the master of the genre' Irish Times