The Game Changer
‘A gripping, suspenseful story peopled with well-drawn characters’
Irish Independent
‘A satisfyingly chilling yet enthralling read that had me turning around checking I was home alone’
Woman’s Way
‘A deliciously dark thriller … the writing is truly spectacular’
Writing.ie
‘Phillips goes from strength to strength … the pace is excellent, the characters well drawn and believable … Highly recommended’
Belfast Telegraph
‘Unusual and unsettling’
Irish Times
‘Among the best crime writing in the world – a top notch thriller’
BBC Radio Ulster
‘As fast-paced and thrilling as a rollercoaster’ Jane Casey
‘A page-turning, gut-wrenching thriller which will undoubtedly earn Phillips further accolades and hordes of new fans’
Lisa Reads Books
‘Fast-paced, dark and intriguing – and well worth reading’
Novelicious
‘This book is superb! Chilling and original … it has an ending that you just can’t see coming’
Eurocrime
‘It was dark, it was deep, it was scary, it chilled me to the bone. It was brilliant!’
Kim the Bookworm
Dublin-born crime author Louise Phillips won the Ireland AM Crime Fiction Book of the Year Award for The Doll’s House, her bestselling second novel, in 2013. Red Ribbons (2012) and Last Kiss (2014), which also feature criminal psychologist Dr Kate Pearson and DI O’Connor, were each shortlisted for the award. Louise’s work has been published as part of various anthologies and literary journals. She has won the Jonathan Swift Award, was a winner in the Irish Writers’ Centre Lonely Voice platform, and her writing has been shortlisted for prizes such as the Molly Keane Memorial Award and Bridport UK. In 2015, she was awarded a writing residency at Cill Rialaig Artists’ Retreat in Kerry and was also a judge on the Irish panel for the EU Literary Award. The Game Changer is her fourth novel.
Last Kiss
The Doll’s House
Red Ribbons
Copyright © 2015 Louise Phillips
The right of Louise Phillips to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Ireland in 2015 by HACHETTE BOOKS IRELAND
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters and places in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious. All events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real life or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Quotation by G.K. Chesterton used with permission of United Agents LLP on behalf of The Royal Library Fund.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 4447 8939 3
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For Mum and Dad
‘When we step into the family, by the act of being born, we step into a world which is incalculable, into a world which has its own strange laws, into a world which could do without us, into a world we have not made. In other words, when we step into the family, we step into a fairy-tale.’
G.K. Chesterton
November 1988
DUBLIN
THE SMOG HAD BEEN HEAVY FOR DAYS, DUBLIN CITY falling into darkness by late afternoon. The poison billowing from the chimneys attacked the throat and lungs as it crept menacingly through doors and windows. Some of those who ventured outside wore masks in an effort to stop the sickening blackness, while politicians argued in government buildings about speeding up the transfer to smokeless fuels, and another black Dublin winter took its toll. The mood on the streets was sombre, the air choking, as if the city was partially buried.
It was after midnight when Valentine Pearson strolled past the town-hall clock in the suburb of Rathmines, then turned around and went back in the opposite direction. The repeated solitary movement, up and down the footpath, fought off the night chill and the edge to his mood. He wore a long grey overcoat with a black silk scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth, his collar raised, his black trilby tilted downwards, keeping his eyes in shadow. He listened as the clock chimed a quarter past midnight, his irritation and impatience at the late hour forming a tight knot in his chest. He swallowed hard. The man he was due to meet was now fifteen minutes late. He kicked a stray beer can with more force than he’d intended as a lone car crawled past him with its fog lights on. The rest of the street was deserted, apart from some teenagers, a few moments earlier, falling out of the late-night chip shop further up the street.