Atlantic Monthly Press
Atlantic Monthly Press
Atlantic Monthly Press

Love Like Blood

by Mark Billingham

When a murder strikes near to the heart for DI Nicola Tanner, she enlists Tom Thorne’s help in the latest thriller from “one of the best crime novelists working today” (Laura Lippman).

  • Imprint Atlantic Monthly Press
  • Page Count 432
  • Publication Date June 20, 2017
  • ISBN-13 978-0-8021-2653-5
  • Dimensions 6" x 9"
  • US List Price $26.00
  • Imprint Atlantic Monthly Press
  • Publication Date June 20, 2017
  • ISBN-13 978-0-8021-8954-7
  • US List Price $26.00

About The Book

Internationally bestselling author Mark Billingham’s riveting new novel Love Like Blood marks the return of series character Tom Thorne, “the next superstar detective” (Lee Child), as he pairs up with perfectionist Detective Inspector Nicola Tanner of Die of Shame on an investigation that ventures into politically sensitive territory.

DI Nicola Tanner needs Tom Thorne’s help. Her partner, Susan, has been brutally murdered and Tanner is convinced that it was a case of mistaken identity—that she was the real target. The murderer’s motive might have something to do with Tanner’s recent work on a string of cold-case honor killings she believes to be related. Tanner is now on compassionate leave but insists on pursuing the case off the books and knows Thorne is just the man to jump into the fire with her. He agrees but quickly finds that working in such controversial territory is dangerous in more ways than one. And when a young couple goes missing, they have a chance to investigate a case that is anything but cold.

Racing toward a twist-filled ending, Love Like Blood is another feat of masterful plotting from one of Britain’s top crime novelists.


They moved out of the shadows and across the road as the woman turned on to her front path. Quickly, but not too quickly, trying to time it right; heads down and hooded, ready to turn and walk casually away should anyone come along. A dog walker, a nosy neighbor. Emerging from between cars, they were coming through the gate as the woman pushed in her door key and one of them was calling out her name as she bent to pick up her bags from the step.

They had the water pistols out by the time she turned round.

She opened her mouth, but the words, the scream, were quickly silenced by the twin jets of bleach and a few seconds after she staggered back, blinded, and fell into her house, they were on her.


The water pistols were shoved back into pockets and the bags that had been dropped just over the threshold were kicked aside, so that the door could be shut. Folders and files spilled out on to the hall carpet, a bottle of orange juice, a notebook, pens.

They stood and watched as the woman spluttered and kicked out at them, inching herself across the floor towards the foot of the stairs.

“Where does she think she’s going?”

“She’s not going anywhere.”