Exile [Paperback]

Exile is every bit as atmospheric and idiosyncratic as Mina's earlier novel, Garnethill but with an increased sharpness in characterisation that makes for a highly compelling read. The Glasgow setting of this piece is rendered with a gritty authority that might not please the Scottish Tourist Board, but is perfect for the reader. Mina's protagonist Maureen O'Donnell is working in the Glasgow Women's Shelter when she encounters Anne Harris, suffering from two broken ribs and fighting the effects of a crippling descent into alcoholism. A fortnight later, Anne's body turns up in the river, grotesquely mutilated and embedded in a mattress. Is Anne's husband the murderer, as he so clearly seems to be? Maureen and her friend Leslie try to penetrate the indifference surrounding Anne's death, but Leslie is curiously close-mouthed about what she knows. Attempting to escape from the turmoil of her own life, Maureen travels to London, but she is soon immersed in a dangerous world of violence and drug abuse.

Utilising the classic structure of the thriller (the investigator in danger of encountering the same fate as the victim) Mina brings a level of compassion and understanding to her grim tale that ensures a remarkable experience for the reader. She is unblushing in confronting the darker side of life, and her conflicted heroine is satisfyingly embroiled in the revelations she is forced to confront. The final effect of this idiosyncratic and dark thriller is both life-affirming and exhilarating, and though we may all soon need a holiday from the dark alleys of Scotland, it isn't time yet.

--Barry Forshaw --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

"'Head and shoulders above the superficial ganster glamour of much contemporary British crime fiction' Val McDermid 'Confirms Mina's place in the premier division... atmospheric,intense and full of the disturbing flavour of inner-city lowlife' Guardian 'This fast-paced first novel set in Glasgow romps its way to a satisfying conclusion in which the evil doer receives rough justice of a most apt and unpleasant kind...Funny, raw, compassionate, often brutal, Garnet Hill turns a wry humour on the shortcomings of its very human characters' Independent 'A corking page-turner that flows like a dream' The List 'Mina,a feisty new crime-writing voice, carves a taut, humane whodunit into Glasgow's impassive face' Scotland on Sunday"

The stunning new novel from the John Creasey prize-winning author of Garnethill.

‘One of the most exciting writers to have emerged in Britain for years’ IAN RANKIN The last time Maureen O’Donnell saw Ann Harris, she was in the Glasgow Women’s Shelter smelling of a long binge on cheap drink. A month later, Ann’s mutilated body, stitched into a mattress, is washed up on the banks of the Thames. No one, except for Maureen and her best mate Leslie, seems to care about what has happened to her, and Maureen is the only person who thinks Ann’s husband is innocent. But solving Ann’s murder comes as light relief for Maureen. Her father is back in Glasgow, living in an area overlooking her bedroom window; Leslie is sloping about like a nervous spy; and then there’s Angus – Maureen’s old therapist – who’s twice as bright as she is, and is making her play a dangerous game with the police. In the long tradition of Scots in trouble, Maureen runs away to London. Looking for answers to the mystery surrounding Ann’s death, she becomes embroiled in a seedy world of deceit and violence. Alone and vulnerable in a strange city, Maureen starts to piece together Ann’s final days. But time is not on her side, and Maureen needs twelve more hours, just twelve, to put things right and she doesn’t care what it costs...

‘One of the most exciting writers to have emerged in Britain for years’ IAN RANKIN The last time Maureen O’Donnell saw Ann Harris, she was in the Glasgow Women’s Shelter smelling of a long binge on cheap drink. A month later Ann’s mutilated body, stitched into a mattress, is washed up on the banks of the Thames. No-one, except for Maureen and her best mate, Leslie, seems to care about what has happened to her, and Maureen is the only person who thinks Ann’s husband is innocent. But solving Ann’s murder comes as light relief. Maureen’s father is back in Glasgow, Leslie is sloping about like a nervous spy, and then there’s Angus, Maureen’s old therapist, who’s twice as bright as she is and making her play a dangerous game with the police. In the long tradition of Scots in trouble, Maureen runs away to London. Looking for answers to the mystery surrounding Ann’s death, she becomes embroiled in a seedy world of deceit and violence. Alone in a strange city, Maureen starts to piece together Ann’s final days. But time is not on her side, and Maureen needs just twelve hours, just twelve, to put things right, and she doesn’t care what it costs…

As an academic researcher, Denise Mina has written extensively on the medicalization of deviant women, and until recently she taught criminology and Criminal Law. She is the author of Garnethill, for which she won the John Creasey Award for best first crime novel in 1998, Exile, Resolution and Sanctum. She lives with her partner and young son in Glasgow.

IT WAS MINUS FIVE OUTSIDE THE BEDROOM WINDOW and Maureen's face prickled against the cold. She wanted to get out of bed, wanted a cigarette and a coffee and to be alone, but his leg was pressed tightly against hers and his hand was under her thigh. The cumulative heat was itchy and damp. She peeled their skins apart, trying hard not to wake him, but he felt her stir. He peered around at her through sleep-puffed eyes. ''Kay?' he murmured. 'Yeah,' breathed Maureen. She waited, watching her milky breath hover above her, listening to the wind hissing outside. Vik's breathing deepened to a soft, nasal whistle and Maureen slid into the bitter morning. She flicked on the kettle, lit a cigarette and looked out of the kitchen window. January is the despairing heart of the Scottish winter and black clouds brooded low over the city, pregnant with spiteful rain. It came to her every morning now; it was the first thought in her head when she opened her eyes. After a wordless fifteen-year absence, Michael, her father, was back in Glasgow. They only found out afterwards that their elder sister Marie hadn't bumped into Michael in London. She'd gone looking for him, contacting the National Union of Journalists and putting adverts in the Evening Standard. She found him living in the Surrey Docks in a high-rise council flat carpeted with empty lager cans. He was troubled with his health and hadn't worked for a long time so Una paid his fare home. Maureen told them she wouldn't see him but her insistence was needless. Liam said Michael never mentioned her, had never once spoken her name and ignored it when anyone else did. Even their mother, Winnie, was starting to wonder about that. Maureen couldn't get over the injustice of it. Michael was back in the bosom of the family and she was outcast. The moment she heard he was home everything changed for her. It wasn't like the breakdown: she wasn't flashing back all the time and she knew it wasn't depression. It was a limitless, aching sadness that marred everything she cast her eye over. She couldn't contain it: her eyes had become incontinent, dripping stupid tears into washing-up, down her coat, into shopping trolleys. She even cried while she slept. When she stood at the window in Garnethill and looked down over Glasgow she felt her face might open and flood the city with tears. Grief distracted her entirely; it was as if her life continued in an adjacent room - she could hear the noises and see the people but she couldn't participate or care about any of it. Vik snored loudly once and stopped. He was the only thing in her life that wasn't about the past but it was the wrong time for a fresh chapter and coy new discoveries. Maureen was seeing her father everywhere, grieving for Douglas and missing Leslie desperately. Vik knew almost nothing about her, nothing about Douglas being murdered in her living room six months ago, or Michael's late-night visits to her bedroom when she was a child, nothing about the schism in her family. Telling about Michael was the worst moment with new boyfriends: she saw them change towards her, saw them feel confused and implicated. Douglas had been different because he was a therapist. She'd never had to explain away the nightmares or the irrational phobias. Douglas was as soiled and melancholy as herself and Vik was a big, jolly boy. She looked out of the window, took a deep draw on her fag and heard the swish of paper scraping through metal, followed by a light thud on the hall carpet. She recognized the blue hospital envelope at once - Angus was keeping busy. She picked it up and went back into the kitchen, sat down and lit a fresh cigarette from the dying tip of the old one. The envelope was made of cheap porous paper, her name and address written in a careful hand. She leaned across to the bills drawer and pulled out the pile of blue envelopes, laying all fifteen in chronological rows on the table. The writing was changing, becoming more controlled. He was getting better. Some of his letters were threatening, mostly they were gibberish, but the threats and the gibberish were evenly interspersed, regular and anticipatable. She knew the voice of random insanity from her own time in mental hospital and this wasn't it. He was a rapist and a murderer, but she wasn't afraid of him and she didn't give a shit. He was locked away in the state mental hospital. It was like being challenged to a dancing competition by a brick. Wearily, she gathered the unopened letter together with the old ones and shoved them into a drawer. She could read it later. 'Maureen?' Vik called sleepily from the bedroom. 'Maureen?' She stubbed out her fag and tried to find her voice. 'Yeah?' She sounded tense. 'Maureen, come here.' She stood up. 'What for?' she called. 'I've got something for you.' Vik was grinning. She brushed the hair off her face. 'What sort of thing?' she said, forcing the playfulness. If she could act normal she might feel normal.