Blog Tour - Murder at the Residence by Stella Blómkvist tr. Quentin Bates

I'm very pleased to be today's stop on the Blog Tour for Murder at the Residence by Stella Blómkvist tr. Quentin Bates. 

I have a teaser extract for you. 

You can read a review of Murder at the Residence at yesterday's stop at Books'n'Banter.

Murder at the Residence by Stella Blómkvist 

Translation Quentin Bates

Corylus Books

‘Let me up the stairs, guys,’ I say.

One of them spreads his arms wide.

‘Come to daddy, baby,’ he croons.

I try to push my way between the men. But they both grab. They’re holding on tight.

The younger one says something in a language I don’t understand. Just then, he slides a hand up my leg, over the top of one tall black boot.

His pal sniggers.

I glare into dark, drunken eyes.

‘You want to go to prison?’ I snap, in English.

‘Me no prison,’ the man replies, shaking his head.

‘I’m a lawyer,’ I continue in the same harsh tone. ‘Hands off. Right now. Or I’ll have you both charged with assault.’

‘No fucking prison,’ the guy repeats, reluctantly withdrawing his hand.

The other one does the same.

The blonde grabs my arm.

‘You real lawyer?’ she asks in stiff English.

‘Of course.’

‘Can I talk with you?’

‘No. I’m going home.’

‘Please. I’m desperate.’

There’s anguish in her dark eyes.

‘All right.’

Those horny-as-hell guys aren’t going to let the blonde get away without getting what they’ve been waiting so long for. They encircle her. Their voices babble. Banknotes are waved. Euros and dollars.

She manages to calm them down. It looks like she’s promised to come right back to deal with their needs.

I’m not going to interfere in private enterprise. Let alone meddle in every patriarchy’s oldest profession. But these girls’ enthusiasm for their work seems to be at a low ebb, if they need to pep themselves up with a blast of white powder between clients.

The girl follows me up the stairs. There are three of the boys in black in full uniform waiting at the top of the stairs. Two of them are young bucks. One’s fair. The other has dark hair. The third is a red-haired girl. Looks hardly more than twenty.

‘Do good business down there?’ the fair-haired one asks in easy English, with a superior grin on his face.

‘Has the police college stopped teaching youngsters manners?’ I retort, my voice waspish.

The grin slips from the face of the boy in black.

‘Show me your ID,’ he orders.

‘My name’s Stella Blómkvist and I’m a lawyer,’ I say coldly, handing him a business card. ‘Come to my office if you need to talk to me.’

Many thanks to Ewa, Stella, Quentin and Corylus Books for this extract and the opportunity to be involved.

Tomorrow's stop is at Emerald Reviews.