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The Black Path: A Rebecka Martinsson Investigation par [Larsson, Åsa]
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The Black Path: A Rebecka Martinsson Investigation Format Kindle

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Longueur : 400 pages Word Wise: Activé Composition améliorée: Activé
Page Flip: Activé Langue : Anglais

Description du produit


Saturday March 15

An early spring evening, Torneträsk. The ice was thick, more than a meter. All along the lake, some seventy kilometers long, lay arks, small cabins on runners, four square meters in size. At this time of year the inhabitants of Kiruna made their pilgrimage up to Torneträsk. They came up on snowmobiles, towing the ark behind them.

Inside the ark there was a hole in the floor. You drilled a hole through the thick ice. A plastic pipe linked the hole in the ice to the hole in the floor, and that prevented the icy wind from getting into the ark from below. And then you sat inside fishing through the hole in the ice.

Leif Pudas was sitting in his ark in just his pants, fishing. It was eight-thirty in the evening. He’d cracked open a few beers, it was Saturday night after all. The Calor gas stove was hissing and whistling. It was lovely and warm, almost eighty degrees. And he’d caught some fish too, fifteen mountain char, only small, but still. And he’d saved a few sprats for his sister’s cat.

When it was time for a pee it felt like a kind of liberation, he was

much too hot, it would be nice to get outside and cool down a bit. He pulled on his boots and clambered out into the cold and dark in just his pants.

As soon as he opened the door, the wind seized hold of it.

During the day it had been sunny and calm, with no wind. But in the mountains the weather changes constantly. Now the storm was tugging and snapping at the door like a rabid dog. One moment there was hardly any wind at all, it was as if it were lying there growling and gathering its strength, then it was pulling at the door for all it was worth. Would the hinges hold? Leif Pudas got hold of the door with both hands and closed it behind him. Maybe he should have put some clothes on. Oh, what the hell, it only took a minute to have a pee.

The gusts of wind carried loose snow with them. Not soft, fine fresh snow, but sharp diamond slivers of compacted snow. It whirled across the ground like a white cat-o’-nine-tails, flaying his skin with a slow, evil rhythm.

Leif Pudas ran around the ark to shelter from the wind and got ready to pee. He might be sheltered from the wind, but it was cold so far up north. His scrotum contracted to a rock-hard ball. But at least he managed to pee. He almost expected it to freeze on its way through the air. To be transformed into a yellow arc of ice.

Just as he finished, he heard a kind of bellowing through the wind, and all of a sudden the ark was at his back. It almost knocked him over, and the next second it was gone.

It took a little while for him to understand. The storm had taken the ark. He could see the window, the square of warm light in the darkness, traveling away from him.

He ran a little way in the darkness, but now its mooring had come loose, the ark was gathering speed. He hadn’t a chance of catching up with it, it was hurtling away on its runners.

First of all he thought only about the ark. He’d built it himself of plywood, then insulated it and covered it with aluminum. Tomorrow morning when he found it, it would be firewood. All he could do was hope it didn’t cause any damage. That could lead to difficulties.

All of a sudden there came a powerful squall. It almost knocked him to the ground. Then he realized he was in danger. And he had all that beer inside him, it was as if his blood was just beneath the surface of the skin. If he didn’t manage to get inside somewhere very soon, he’d freeze to death in no time.

He looked around. It had to be at least a kilometer up to Abisko tourist station, he’d never make it, it was a question of minutes now. Where was the closest ark? The whirling snow and the storm meant he couldn’t see the lights of any other arks.

Think, he said to himself. You don’t take one single bloody step until you’ve used your head. Which direction are you facing now?

He used his head for three seconds, felt his hands starting to stiffen, and tucked them under his arms. He took four steps from where he was standing and managed to walk straight into the snowmobile. The key was in the disappearing ark, but he had a little toolbox under the seat, and he got it out.

Then he prayed to someone up there that he was going the right way, and set off in the direction of his closest neighboring ark. It was no more than twenty meters, but he wanted to weep with every step. He was so afraid of missing it. And if he did, he was a dead man.

He searched for Persson’s fiberglass ark. The wet snow covered his eyes; he tried to peer through, but it was as if a slush kept forming over his eyes and he had to wipe it away. It was impossible to see anything, darkness and snow.

He thought about his sister. And he thought about his ex-partner, about the fact that things had been good between them in many ways.

He’d almost walked straight into Persson’s ark before he saw it. Nobody home, the windows dark. He took the hammer out of his toolbox, had to use his left hand, the right one was completely useless, pain shooting through it after holding the cold steel of the toolbox handle. He fumbled his way through the darkness to the small Plexiglas window and smashed it.

The fear made him strong, and he heaved his entire bulk of over two hundred pounds in through the window. Swore when he scraped his stomach on the sharp metal frame. But what did that matter. Death had never been quite so close before, breathing down his neck.

Once he was inside, he had to do something about getting some heat going. Even if he was protected from the wind, it was bitterly cold inside the ark.

He rummaged in the drawers and found some matches. How can you hold something so small when the cold has made your hands completely useless? He pushed his fingers into his mouth to warm them until they were working well enough to allow him to light the lamp and the stove. His entire body wanted to do nothing but shiver and shake, never in his life had he felt this cold. Frozen through to his bones.

“Bloody hell it’s cold, fuck me it’s cold,” he kept saying to himself over and over again. He spoke out loud, it somehow kept the panic at bay, as if he were keeping himself company.

The wind howled through the window like a malevolent god; he grabbed a big cushion that was leaning against the wall and managed to wedge it fast between the curtain pole and the wall.

He looked around and found a red padded jacket, probably one of Mrs. Persson’s. He also found a drawer full of underwear, pulled on two pairs of long johns, one on his legs and one on his head.

The warmth came slowly, he held his limbs out toward the stove, pain shooting through his body; it was agonizing. He had no feeling at all in one cheek and ear, which wasn’t a good sign.

There was a heap of blankets on the bunk bed. They were ice cold, of course, but he could wrap himself up in them anyway, they’d provide some sort of insulation.

I’ve survived, he said to himself. What does it matter if I lose an ear?

He yanked a blanket off the bed. It was covered in big flowers in different shades of blue, a relic of the seventies.

And underneath it lay a woman. Her eyes were open and had frozen to ice, so they were completely white, like frosted glass. Something that looked like porridge, or maybe it was vomit, on her chin and hands. She was wearing sports clothes. There was a red mark on her top.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t even feel surprised. It was as if his emotions had been completely wiped out by what he’d been through.

“What the fuck” was all he said.

And the feeling that washed over him was like the feeling you get when your new puppy pees in the house for the hundredth time. Exhaustion in the face of how crap everything is.

He resisted the impulse to simply put the blanket back and forget about her.

Then he sat down to think. What on earth should he do now? He had to get to the tourist station, of course. He wasn’t too keen on going up there in the dark. But he had no choice, did he? And he didn’t much like the idea of sitting here thawing out with her.

But he needed to sit here for a little while longer. Until he wasn’t so damned cold.

It was like a kind of companionship between them. She kept him company as he sat there for an hour, tortured by the pain in various parts of his body as the warmth brought the feeling back. He held his hands out to the stove.

He didn’t say a word. And neither did she.

Revue de presse

“Asa Larsson is as deft at writing heart-stopping scenes … as she is at getting inside the heads of characters.”—Washington Post

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 1032 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 400 pages
  • Editeur : MacLehose Press (7 juin 2012)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B007C4FYVC
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur (beta) (Peut contenir des commentaires issus du programme Early Reviewer Rewards) 4.0 étoiles sur 5 82 commentaires
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Swedish Noir Thriller That Will Keep You Reading Until the End. 12 juin 2015
Par Fairbanks Reader - Bonnie Brody - Publié sur
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
Asa Larsson knows how to get her readers sucked into a book. I picked this one up and had trouble putting it down until I was finished.

This thriller takes place in Sweden. A woman is found murdered in a lake house and it appears that she was tortured by electrocution and stabbed multiple times. Her name is Ina Wattring and she is the public relations officer for Kallis Mines, a multi-national mining company with ties to mines in conflict-laden African nations. Ina and her brother Didi both work for Mauri Kallis, the mine's owner. They all met while college students and this book goes back and forth in time, providing the reader with information about what is happening currently along with the back story of the protagonists.

The investigators for this crime are Inspectors Anna-Maria Mella and Sven-Erik Stalnacko. They are joined by Rebecka Martinson, an attorney who has recently recovered from a terrible psychiatric breakdown which sounds like post-traumatic stress disorder. She was hospitalized for some time and this is her first case since being discharged.

The investigation of the case is very interesting and it goes into the workings of the mine and the people who run it. I especially enjoyed the back stories of the characters which help to flesh them out. Interestingly, the people who are least fleshed out are the investigators.

I was disappointed with the ending as it seemed to come out of nowhere like a deus ex machina. However, the reading experience was great and I hope to read more books by this author.
4 internautes sur 4 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 The weakest of Larsson's books 12 décembre 2014
Par vera kolpakova - Publié sur
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
There is a lot mixed into this, 3rd in the series of Rebecka Martinsson stories: international intrigue, murder, love and betrayal, self-searching... Way too many things for one murder mystery. Moreover, a lot of the elements of the story don't really contribute to the plot -- too many details for the sake of details. I was really disappointed by the book. Rebecka Martinsson has a very small role to play in this book, and it has hardly anything to do with the investigation. In fact, there is not much of an investigation either.
This book is not a total waste of time if you have to kill time on a plane or at an airport but if you are looking for an enjoyable murder mystery, don't waste your time.
1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 third in the Rebecka Martinsson series 20 décembre 2012
Par audrey frances - Publié sur
Format: Broché Achat vérifié
Please read these books in order: Sun Storm, The Blood Spilt, and this one, The Black Path. This is planned to be a six book series. Fair warning, Spoiler alert: Holy crap! After the events of Sun Storm, who expected another such brutal encounter for Ms. Martinsson?! At the end of the second book, Rebecka is brutalized and threatened by a man who kills himself and the son Rebecka had befriended; at the beginning of this book, she has undergone an extensive convalescence and is still considered fragile.

Police detective Anna-Maria Mella is back on the job with her partner Sven-Erik, and they're looking into the death of an executive from a big mining venture capital firm based in the area. The narrative hops from one character to the next to good effect, from Martinsson and Anna-Maria to the head of the mining firm, his relatives, the victim and her charismatic brother and more, and in each one Larsson uses a unique voice that subtly helps to reveal the character; she is a terrific writer, with superb plotting, dark content and tiny rays of humor. And Martinsson is a charming protagonist. You want her to be happy, and watch as she cautiously emerges back into the world, hoping she won't get hurt again. At this point she and Mella have begun to be friendly. They work together well and each admires the other. Martinsson is able to help the police find motive and backstory in this murder wrapped in corporate intrigue.

The leisurely portrait of Sweden is a pleasure, and this has become one of my very favorite Scandinavian series. I can't wait for more volumes in this series. We are in the hands of a master.

Read them in order for maximum pleasure. They are: Sun Storm (also published as The Savage Altar), The Blood Spilt, The Black Path, Until Thy Wrath Be Past, and The Second Deadly Sin.
2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 I enjoyed the Black Path 6 décembre 2014
Par geoffrey hancox - Publié sur
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
The Black path is very typical of the Scandinavian genre of crime writing with realistic style and sometimes moody and complex backgrounds of the individuals involved. In this story a woman is brutally murdered, her body is found in a small fishing hut located on a frozen lake and the body is certainly not dressed for fishing more like office attire. Detective Anna-Maria Mella and her police colleague are assigned the case. Lawyer Rebecka Martinsson has suffered a mental breakdown after a case that almost destroyed her, she is now desperate to successfully get back to work. Martinsson delves into the background of the victims boss the founder of Kallis Mining. These relationships with the murdered woman are morally complex and here the reader will have to be very patient as I found this build up a bit boring taking you into the intrigue of African politics and corrupt mining practices. However the reason for the murder is slowly but surely exposed. The author provides an exiting ending. I liked the book.
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Traveling to her heart. 23 janvier 2014
Par PamRL - Publié sur
Format: Format Kindle Achat vérifié
Writing that will amaze and hold you. Simply and deeply descriptive. Inner and outer narrative creating a story of complex people. Police action. The past and present context of a character's life. Åsa Larsson, in "The Black Path"-Rebecka Martinsson #3 crime thriller, has written yet another superbly crafted crime novel.

The storyline follows Rebecka as she recovers from depression, and a psychotic break. She is a gifted tax lawyer who has returned to the frozen north of her home town, Kiruna, where life and culture is influenced by, among other factors: location above the Arctic Circle, the indigenous Sami culture, reindeer, and the economics of modern mining. She no longer works for a legal firm in Stockholm. Fortunately, she has been recruited as a special prosecutor for the Kiruna branch of the Chief Prosecutor, and her new boss is Alf Bjornföt.

This places her a few floors above the office of Inspector Anna-Maria Mella and her partner, Sven-Erik Stålnache. While investigating a murder, and possible corporate crime, Anna-Maria and Rebecka's paths cross, a friendship and collaboration develop. There are other interesting characters, not the least of which is the mystifying Ester Kallis, an artist raised by a Sami couple.

The murder victim worked for an entrepreneur/sociopath and corporate head of a mining corporation. There are connections to the stock market and far-flung mining operations in Africa. The criminals are not romanticized or stereotyped, and the progressive nature of their moral deterioration is noted in the matter-of-fact style of Larsson's narrative. They leave you cold, and rightly so. However, Rebecka, Anna Maria and Sven-Erik leave you with a desire for more. You may find yourself wondering how they will fare in a new story.

Despite the deficiency of a map and an adequate translation of some Swedish words, this is a very compelling novel. I never did find a translation for "hätähousu". Any American reader could use a map to back up the reality of this interesting location. I think there are important uses of Sami spirituality and mythology in the novel, and these needed explanation to make the story complete, and I realize that not all readers will feel as peevish as I do about these small pieces. A worthy read.
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