Good Girl, Bad Girl

“Stellar…Robotham is a master plotter at the top of his form, and readers will surely hope to see more of his complicated new characters.” —Kirkus Reviews, STARRED Review

“Haunting…Robotham expertly raises the tension as the action hurtles toward the devastating climax. Readers will hope the complex Cyrus will return for an encore.” —Publishers Weekly, STARRED review

“Explosive...This sensitive, suspenseful mystery firmly establishes Robotham in the top ranks of psychological-thriller writers. And it cries out for a sequel.” —Booklist, STARRED review

“Robotham’s writing is achingly beautiful in Good Girl, Bad Girl. He shows the redemptive power of love and trust on broken people who don't know how to ask for help. He also digs deeply into how well-meaning adults can hijack the aspirations of adolescents, causing irreparable damage... An unlikely pair of broken people come together to solve the murder of a junior champion ice skater in this spellbinding thriller.” —Shelf Awareness, STARRED review

“Good Girl, Bad Girl is an impeccable thriller with a plot that encompasses murder, incest, drugs, abuse, torture, sex—you name it, this book has it.” —New York Journal of Books

Autorentext

Michael Robotham is a former investigative journalist whose bestselling psychological thrillers have been translated into twenty-five languages. He has twice won a Ned Kelly Award for Australia's best crime novel, for Lost in 2005 and Shatter in 2008. His recent novels include When She Was Good, winner of the UK's Ian Fleming Steel Dagger Award for best thriller; The Secrets She Keeps; Good Girl, Bad Girl; When You Are Mine; and Lying Beside You. After living and writing all over the world, Robotham settled his family in Sydney, Australia.

Klappentext

Finalist for the 2020 Edgar Award for Best Novel

From the internationally bestselling author who Stephen King calls “an absolute master,” a fiendishly clever thriller about a dangerous young woman with the ability to know when someone is lying—and the criminal psychologist who must outwit her to survive.

A girl is discovered hiding in a secret room in the aftermath of a terrible crime. Half-starved and filthy, she won’t tell anyone her name, or her age, or where she came from. Maybe she is twelve, maybe fifteen. She doesn’t appear in any missing persons file, and her DNA can’t be matched to an identity. Six years later, still unidentified, she is living in a secure children’s home with a new name, Evie Cormac. When she initiates a court case demanding the right to be released as an adult, forensic psychologist Cyrus Haven must determine if Evie is ready to go free. But she is unlike anyone he’s ever met—fascinating and dangerous in equal measure. Evie knows when someone is lying, and no one around her is telling the truth.

Meanwhile, Cyrus is called in to investigate the shocking murder of a high school figure-skating champion, Jodie Sheehan, who died on a lonely footpath close to her home. Pretty and popular, Jodie is portrayed by everyone as the ultimate girl-next-door, but as Cyrus peels back the layers, a secret life emerges—one that Evie Cormac, the girl with no past, knows something about. A man haunted by his own tragic history, Cyrus is caught between the two cases—one girl who needs saving and another who needs justice. What price will he pay for the truth?

Emotionally explosive, swiftly paced, and “haunting…Robotham expertly raises the tension as the action hurtles toward the devastating climax” (Publishers Weekly, starred review).

Leseprobe
Good Girl, Bad Girl

1

CYRUS

“Which one is she?” I ask, leaning closer to the observation window.

“Blonde. Baggy sweater. Sitting on her own.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why I’m here?”

“I don’t want to influence your decision.”

“What am I deciding?”

“Just watch her.”

I look again at the group of teenagers, girls and boys. Most are wearing jeans and long tops with the sleeves pulled down to hide whatever self-inflicted damage has been done. Some are cutters, some are burners or scratchers or bulimics or anorexics or obsessive compulsives or pyromaniacs or sociopaths or narcissists or suffering from ADHD. Some abuse food or drugs, others swallow foreign objects or run into walls on purpose or take outrageous risks.

Evie Cormac has her knees drawn up, almost as though she doesn’t trust the floor. Sullen mouthed and pretty, she could be eighteen or she could be fourteen. Not quite a woman or a girl about to bid good-bye to childhood, yet there is something ageless and changeless about her, as if she has seen the worst and survived it. With brown eyes framed by thickened eyelashes and bleached hair cut in a ragged bob, she’s holding the sleeves of her sweater in her bunched fists, stretching the neckline, revealing a pattern of red blotches below her jawline that could be hickeys or finger marks.

Adam Guthrie is standing alongside me, regarding Evie like she is the latest arrival at Twycross Zoo.

“Why is she here?” I ask.

“Currently, her primary offense is for aggravated assault. She broke someone’s jaw with a half brick.”

“Currently?”

“She’s had a few.”

“How many?”

“Too few to mention.”

He’s attempting to be funny or deliberately obtuse. We’re at Langford Hall, a high-security children’s home in Nottingham, where Guthrie is a resident social worker. He’s dressed in baggy jeans, combat boots, and a rugby sweater, trying too hard to look like “one of them”; someone who can relate to teenage delinquency and strife rather than an underpaid, low-level public servant with a wife, a mortgage, and two kids. He and I were at university together and lived in the same college. I wouldn’t say we were friends, more like passing acquaintances, although I went to his wedding a few years ago and slept with one of the bridesmaids. I didn’t know she was Guthrie’s youngest sister. Would it have made a difference? I’m not sure. He hasn’t held it against me.

“You ready?”

I nod.

We enter the room and take two chairs, joining the circle of teenagers, who watch us with a mixture of suspicion and boredom.

“We have a visitor today,” says Guthrie. “This is Cyrus Haven.”

“Who is he?” asks one of the girls.

“I’m a psychologist,” I reply.

“Another one!” says the same girl, screwing up her face.

“Cyrus is here to observe.”

“Us or you?”

“Both.”

I look for Evie’s reaction. She’s watching me blankly.

Guthrie crosses his legs, revealing a hairless pale ankle where his trouser cuff has ridden up his shin. He’s a jolly, fat sort of bloke who rubs his hands together at the start of something, presupposing the fun that awaits.

“Let’s begin with some introductions, shall we? I want you to each tell Cyrus your name, where you’re from, and why you’re here. Who wants to go first?”

Nobody answers.

“How about you, Alana?”

She shakes her head. I’m sitting directly opposite Evie. She knows I’m looking at her.

“Holly?” asks Guthrie.

“Nah.”

“Evie?”

She doesn’t respond.

“It’s nice to see you&…