Unbound Ties by Liz Mistry #BlogTour (review and book extract)

I don't want to draw her. Don't want to see her like that. I press my hands to my temples and try to squeeze the memory away, but it won't go. It won't go - not till I've finished drawing.

Unbound Ties by Liz Mistry is book no.7 in the DI Gus McGuire series. Dark and full of suspense, this fast-paced thriller will keep you up all night.

It reads as a standalone, but I did feel that reading some of the previous books in the series would help to understand the characters' background and development.

Earlier this year I reviewed Broken Silence, which is a book in another crime series by Liz Mistry. It was a tense, gripping thriller, and now that I've discovered her novels, I would love to catch up with the previous books.

This was also the first book that I've read which is set in the times of Covid, with references to the adherence to Covid 19 rules, with masks and sanitised hands.

The story starts with a haunting scene of a child discovering the body of his mother who has committed suicide. The child has special needs (autism?), and exceptional artistic skills. Rather than scream and run away in distress, he quietly sits on the floor and begins drawing his dead mother, observing all the minor details of the suicide scene.

The story moves to the present, when DI Gus McGuire is called out to the ghastly scene of murder. The victim is a pregnant woman, and the crime scene is carefully staged by the killer, as if to taunt the investigation team. There is a series of clues arranged beneath the victim's feet. Gus soon becomes aware that these clues are irrevocably connected to his mother's past.

When another murder happens, with the similar layout of mocking clues, the team realises they are dealing with a serial killer.

Corinne, Gus's mother, receives anonymous letters with sketches, which she keeps secret from her son because she knows how he is going to react. These sketches, sent in order to terrorise her, are similar to the ones which have turned up at the gruesome crime scenes.

Corinne grew up in foster care. Her childhood was so traumatic, she has suppressed her memories and hardly remembers anything from her past. She has become "a happy, successful woman with her own beautiful family. That dark part of her life, she kept locked up in a dark closet at the back of her mind and, the truth was, she didn't want to ever have to open it up".

Now she must face her past to help solve the current murders.

Being a child psychologist, she is aware of the risks and benefits of releasing memories through hypnosis. "In agreeing to open up her past like a tin of beans to be picked out and examined one at a time, she could drown herself in years of therapy. Now that the lightning had struck leaving her exposed, Corinne was aware of those suppressed memories festering inside her head."

Her past is truly disturbing and tragic. Her mother was a prostitute, a drug addict and alcoholic who hated her daughter and abused her. 

The pages of Corinne's childhood are distressing to read. It's not just her abominable mother, it's also the wider circle who show great prejudice and open hostility towards the mixed race child. Even the "well-meaning" teacher's attitude is highly offensive, when she makes a whole class touch Corinne's hands and hair. "She'd been born in a time when racism was casually delivered".

The thriller is weaving two main plotlines, that of the serial killer and his repulsive revenge, and of Corinne's past, her suppressed memories and the weight of guilt which lay heavily on her shoulders.

The killer is the despicable voyeur who takes pleasure in watching the suffering of his victims and also observing the work of the investigation team. He easily hacks the database to find and study his next victims.

"Yes, he wants revenge, for the opportunities that had been denied him, but with every new death, his enjoyment grows - he won't stop, not unless he's caught. But he won't be.

His main aim is the enjoyment of causing as much suffering to as many people as remotely possible.

True, hurting Corrine McGuire is personal - the life she had mapped out for herself should have been his."

Since Gus's mother is involved in the case, he cannot lead the team, and it's his colleague and house mate Alice Cooper who takes over the case.

"Maybe she'd be able to pull this off - after all, she was Alice Cooper - humorous, dedicated, a team player, and ferocious - she knew how to work her colleagues - how to play to their strengths."

Gus's personal life is very complicated. 

Disturbed by his mother's secrets, he is unsettled and upset. Working on another murder in town, Gus slowly comes to a realisation that the killer is dangerously close. He's determined to disentangle the threads of the past secrets and lies and catch the sadistic killer before he loses someone very close to him.

A must read for fans of crime fiction, Unbound Ties is deeply affecting and entirely compulsive.

Purchase Link - mybook.to/UnboundTies

Author Bio – Born in Scotland, Made in Bradford sums up Liz Mistry’s life. Over thirty years ago she moved from a small village in West Lothian to Yorkshire to get her teaching degree. Once here, Liz fell in love with three things; curries, the rich cultural diversity of the city … and her Indian husband (not necessarily in this order). Now thirty years, three children, two cats (Winky and Scumpy) and a huge extended family later, Liz uses her experiences of living and working in the inner city to flavour her writing. Her gritty crime fiction police procedural novels set in Bradford embrace the city she describes as ‘Warm, Rich and Fearless’ whilst exploring the darkness that lurks beneath.

Struggling with severe clinical depression and anxiety for a large number of years, Liz often includes mental health themes in her writing. She credits the MA in Creative Writing she took at Leeds Trinity University with helping her find a way of using her writing to navigate her ongoing mental health struggles. Being a debut novelist in her fifties was something Liz had only dreamed of and she counts herself lucky, whilst pinching herself regularly to make sure it’s all real. One of the nicest things about being a published author is chatting with and responding to readers’ feedback and Liz regularly does events at local libraries, universities, literature festivals and open mics. She also teaches creative writing too. Now, having nearly completed a PhD in Creative Writing focussing on ‘the absence of the teen voice in adult crime fiction’ and ‘why expansive narratives matter’, Liz is chock full of ideas to continue writing.

In her spare time, Liz loves pub quizzes (although she admits to being rubbish at them), dancing (she does a mean jig to Proud Mary – her opinion, not ratified by her family), visiting the varied Yorkshire landscape, with Robin Hoods Bay being one of her favourite coastal destinations, listening to music, reading and blogging about all things crime fiction on her blog, The Crime Warp.  

 

Social Media Links – 

FB https://www.facebook.com/LizMistrybooks/

Twitter @LizMistryAuthor

Website: https://www.lizmistry.com/

I'm pleased to be able to share an extract from Unbound Ties, as kindly provided by the author.

Bellbrax Psychiatric Facility, Scotland 

She’s watching me; the girl with the dark hair and brown eyes. I don’t like it. It’s putting me off my stride. I want to draw her, but then I’d have to look at her and, if I do that, she’ll ask me again. I don’t want to answer. I just want to draw. Want to be left alone. Why is she still here, looking at me? Her eyes see right into my heart and it’s not nice. She’s poking about in there. Making it go all fast and bumpy; thurrump, thurrump, thurrumpity, thrump. I feel all sick. Wish she’d go … wish she’d just leave me alone. I like being alone.

            I glance at her – just a quick one – but she notices and smiles. Her teeth are straight and very white, her eyes crinkle up when she smiles, but I still don’t like it. She could be a bad person – she probably is. Most girls are bad. Except maybe Coco. Yes, Coco wasn’t bad. I liked her. 

Now they’re in my head again. They start off quiet, then they get louder till they’re shouting at me. 

‘Don’t trust her!’

I must have said it out loud because she frowns and leans closer to me. ‘Did you say something? You know you can speak to me. I’m your friend.’

‘Don’t trust her.’ This time I don’t say it out loud. But it’s still banging inside … on my brain. It’s banging on my brain.

I can smell her perfume. Not lavender, something else, but it’s nice, I suppose. I shake my head and try to draw. If I ignore her, she’ll go. Yes, that’s what to do, I’ll ignore her. But she doesn’t go. She stays there looking at me, staring at me, making me feel sick. This isn’t good. 

The girl’s asking me a question again. I don’t like it. ‘Can you remember what happened to your wife, Rory? Helen, can you tell me about her?’

Stop it, stop it. I want to yell them words at her, but she might get cross and I don’t like it when people get cross. I bend my head lower so she can’t see my face. I remember Helen. I’ll never forget her. Why would I? She was my world and she was going to have my baby. I turn to a blank page and I can’t stop myself. I choose charcoal because I can smudge it. I don’t want to draw her. Don’t want to see her like that. I press my hands to my temples and try to squeeze the memory away, but it won’t go. It won’t go – not till I’ve finished the drawing. 

My beautiful Helen, hanging from the ceiling, smelling of lavender, my baby a puddle on the floor beneath her. The charcoal flies across the page and there she is – Helen. We had everything and now nothing. I smudge out her private parts, her eyes, her tortured face. My Helen, how did this happen to you too? First my mother and then you. At least now I’m in here it won’t happen again.

‘Oh yes it will. You know it will. Of course it will. You can’t stop it!’ 

Stop it, stop it, stop it! I want to scream, but my throat’s all dry and the words won’t come out. Helen … Mum.

‘She’s trying to trick you. She’ll get you in trouble. You can’t trust her.’

That’s not the lavender voice – it’s the monster one. It scares me. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to hide, but no matter where I go, it comes after me and I hate it. The lavender voice doesn’t come very often now. Maybe if I draw Helen or my mum, it will come back. Tell me it’s all right. I wish it would.

‘She’s trying to trick you. She’ll get you in trouble. You can’t trust her.’

The thurrumps are getting faster and the maggots are back in my tummy, like squidgy little creatures eating me up from the inside out. My hand’s all sweaty and it slips, and a big dark pencil mark appears right over my drawing. Right over my mum’s foot. This is bad. Very bad now. I can’t have that. Can’t have a pencil mark on her foot, that shouldn’t be there. No, it shouldn’t, not there. So bad … thurrump, thurrump, thurrump. The maggots wriggle and the colours flash. ‘Ouch’ 

‘You didn’t stop it then. You can’t stop it now. Who will be next?’

‘NO!’ I roar the word and the girl flinches, but still the voices come. 

 ‘Don’t trust anyone!’

I want to scream it – let it out because keeping the words inside is hurting me. Thurrump, thurrump, thurrump, bang, bang, bang. I need to get this right. Need to make it right. I reach over for my eraser. Not to call it a rubber – don’t know why. It’s an eraser now. That’s what I call it. I don’t call it a rubber. Thurrump, thurrump, thurrump. Can’t breathe, can’t see. 

‘Don’t trust her. Don’t trust anyone! Don’t trust yourself.’

 

 ‘You didn’t stop it then. You can’t stop it now. Who will be next?’

I fall to the ground and curl up, my hands over my head, my knees digging into my chest as the thurrump, thurrump, thurrump gets faster and the maggots wriggle and the colours explode from the top of my head and I remember…

‘Don’t trust her. Don’t trust anyone! Don’t trust yourself.’

When I wake up, I’m in bed. In my pyjamas, the nice ones that smell clean,

like being outside. She’s gone – the woman with the dark eyes. I look round my room to make sure. Then I lean over and peer under the bed, but she’s not there. She wouldn’t like it under there, I can tell. No, she wouldn’t hide under the bed, not in her nice clothes. Listening for a second to see if anyone’s in the corridor, I wait. No one’s out there, so I get up and pad across to the wardrobe. My heart’s thurrumping again – just a little bit. Not like before. Holding my breath, I yank it open, but the girl with the dark hair and brown eyes isn’t there either. Only place she could be now is the bathroom. I open the door and peer inside – it’s empty. Satisfied, I head back to bed, pull the over-bed table towards me and begin to draw the girl with the dark hair and brown eyes from memory. Nobody can see what I’m doing, so nobody can tell the voices to come. 

 This book review and book extract post is part of the blog tour.

Many thanks to Liz Mistry and Rachel's Random Resources for my e-copy of the book!