“An absolutely prime slice of Scandicrime . . . the writer channels her professional expertise into a noteworthy domestic thriller” Barry Forshaw, FT
“Having hit a bull’s-eye with . . . The Therapist . . . Helene Flood repeats the trick with another twisty tale of domestic goings-on . . . teasing and pleasing the reader till the very last page” Sunday Times Crime Club
“The Lover is taut, clever and irresistible” Anna Bailey
“A wonderful storyteller” Chris Whitaker
Is it worse to deceive to your husband or the police?
Rikke is lying to them both.
But how many lies can she get away with?
When her upstairs neighbour Jørgen is found murdered, she’s questioned alongside her husband. How can she admit that she and Jørgen were having an affair? Or explain to the police the complexity of her feelings? The hint of relief that he’s dead. And what would they say if they knew she used a spare key to enter his apartment the morning after he was killed?
Rikke knows she can’t hide the evidence of the affair from the police. And if she’s caught in her lie, suspicion will turn to her.
With her perfect family life threatening to unravel, Rikke realises that finding the killer is the only way to put herself in the clear. So long as the killer doesn’t get to her first.
Praise for The Therapist
“Creepy, compelling and very well written” Harriet Tyce
“Wonderfully creepy, twisty and compelling” Karen Hamilton
“Masterfully paced and hauntingly written” Anna Bailey
“Gets under your skin” Jo Spain
“I couldn’t put it down” Sarah Ward
“A marvellously assured debut thriller” Irish Times.
“A striking debut” Spectator
Translated from the Norwegian by Alison McCullough
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Reviews
An absolutely prime slice of Scandicrime . . . the writer channels her professional expertise into a noteworthy domestic thriller
Having hit a bull's-eye with . . . The Therapist . . . Helene Flood repeats the trick with another twisty tale of domestic goings-on . . . teasing and pleasing the reader till the very last page
The joy of the book is the vivid variety of characters, and the cynicism with which Flood dissects the sad illusions of married life