Acknowledgements
How lovely to have Joyce, Elizabeth, Ibrahim and Ron back together again, and in (slightly) happier times. I hope you enjoyed getting reaaccquainted. I can’t tell you how many different ways I have just attempted to spell the word ‘reacquainted’. The relief when the spellcheck finally waved it through was palpable. If you ever want to spend a long time writing a short paragraph, just put the words ‘acknowledgements’ and ‘reacquainted’ in it. That will be your morning gone.
I have many people to thank. My wonderful agent Juliet Mushens and her team, Alba Arnau Prado, Catriona Fida and Emma Dawson. My amazing editor Harriet Bourton, and the whole gang at Viking in the UK: Rose Poole, Rosie Safaty, Rosey Battle (I insist that all the many Rosies on the team spell their names differently to help with admin), the incomparable Olivia Mead, Kayla Fuller, Yazmeen Akhtar and new kid on the block, Joe Cooper.
Thanks to the sales teams: Autumn Evans, Lucy Keeler, Caitlin Knight, Emily Cornell, Chris Wyatt, Grace Dellar, Jessica Sacco, Carrie Anderson, Jessica Adams, Nadia Patel and Charlotte Owens. And special thanks, as always, to Samantha Fanaken.
Thank you so much to the amazing audio team: Meredith Benson, Helena Sheffield and Carmen Byers.
I am indebted once more to the forensic brilliance of Donna Poppy, Natalie Wall, Annie Underwood and Leah Boulton, and the continued creative mastery of Richard Bravery and Alisha Kruse.
In the US my undying thanks go to Pamela Dorman, Jeramie Orton and the team at Pamela Dorman Books. I think I have met all of them now, and I can confirm they are lovely. Thank you to Brian Tart, Natalie Grant, Andrea Schulz, Patrick Nolan, Kristina Fazzalaro and the only Fulham fan on the team, Kate Stark. Further thanks to Tricia Conley, Tess Espinoza, Diandra Abernethy (great name for a character), Mike Brown, Jason Ramirez, Claire Vaccaro, Mary Stone, Anna Brill, Rebecca Marsh, Magdalena Deniz, Andy Dudley and Rachel Obenschain.
I’ve been very lucky to spend time with so many of my foreign publishers this year, and I can’t wait to see many more of you this year!
Heartfelt thanks to the booksellers and librarians of the world. You continue to make the world a better place by choosing love and empathy and imagination and understanding.
Particular thanks for The Impossible Fortune go to my brilliant brother-in-law Matt Bessey, for guiding me through the world of ‘cold storage’. Matt is a cyber-security expert if you ever need one, but also a stone-cold dude who just three days ago managed to rig up a television signal so we could all watch the Eurovision Song Contest halfway up an Italian mountain. That’s the type of family you’re glad you married into.
Thank you to Dan Hatfield for donating to Action for Children to have a character named after him in the book. Sorry I cut your arm off, Dan. Thank you too to Luna and family for useful advice, and good luck in whatever you do next.
To you, the reader, I can’t express my thanks enough. It’s my greatest pleasure to enjoy these worlds with you – long may we all continue. I’ve just started the new We Solve Murders adventure, and then there will be more Thursday Murder Club after that. It’s a lot of murder, I know, but it’s a lot of love and laughs too.
As ever, I could do none of this without my family and friends. Thank you for everything. I will just single out my mum, Brenda, the beating heart of these books, my children, Ruby and Sonny, and the love of my life, now and forever, my wife, Ingrid.
I know Ingrid won’t want her name to be the last in these acknowledgements, however, because, alongside our long-time awesome cat Liesl, we now have a new cat, Lottie, who, by sheer force of personality, demands star billing. Lottie is very much the chaotic Ron to Liesl’s calm and thoughtful Ibrahim.
Here’s to chaos and love, and to life and books. Until next time!
DISCOVER A BRAND-NEW SERIES FROM
RICHARD OSMAN
A cunning killer.
A race around the world.
An iconic new detective team is born.
READ ON FOR AN EXTRACT
1
It had finally happened.
Andrew Fairbanks had always known he would be famous one day. And that day – a quiet, sunny Tuesday in early August – had, at last, arrived.
The years of Instagram fitness videos had given him a following, sure, but nothing like this. This was insane.
There had been an on-off relationship with a minor pop singer, which had seen his picture in the papers from time to time. But not on the front pages like today.
The notoriety Andrew Fairbanks had chased for so long was finally his. His name on lips around the world. Trending on social media. That selfie on the yacht was everywhere. Andrew, shirtless and tanned, winking into the camera, the warm sun winking along behind him. His bottle of Krusher Energy Drink raised in a happy toast.
And the comments beneath the photo! The heart emojis, the fire emojis, the lust. Everything Andrew had ever dreamt of.
Some of the other comments might have dampened his spirits a little, however. ‘Gone too soon’, ‘So fit, RIP’, ‘So haunting to see that photo when you knew what was about to happen’ – but you couldn’t argue with the volume. Impressive traffic. In the offices of the Love Island production team, his photograph was passed around, and there were discussions about how perfect he might have been if only, well, you know.
Yes, finally, everybody knew Andrew Fairbanks. Or, as he was now more commonly known, ‘Tragic Instagram influencer, Andrew Fairbanks’.
So it wasn’t all upside. And, in fact, even that slim upside is starting to dim. It is Wednesday afternoon by now, and his name is already beginning to slip down the rankings. Other things are happening in the world. A baseball star has driven his pick-up into his ex-wife’s swimming pool. A beauty vlogger has said something inappropriate about Taylor Swift. The conversation, like the tide, is turning.
Andrew Fairbanks had been found dead: shot in the head, tied to a rope and thrown from a yacht bobbing about in the Atlantic. There was no one else on the yacht, and no sign that anyone had ever been there, with the exception of a leather bag containing nearly one million dollars.
But none of this gives you the right to be famous more than a day or so. One day, perhaps, there might be a podcast about the case or, better still, a Netflix true-crime documentary, but, for now, Andrew’s limelight is turning to dusk.
Soon Andrew Fairbanks will be just a figure in a photograph, holding a purple energy drink in front of a blue sea, a corpse in a South Carolina mortuary, and the odd ‘Remember that guy that died on that yacht with all that money?’
Who killed him? Who knows? Someone or other, certainly, and social media has a lot of opinions on it. Why did they kill him? No idea – someone must have had their reasons, mustn’t they? Jealous partner? Instagram fitness rival? Could be all sorts of explanations. Can you believe what this vlogger has said about Taylor Swift?
Just for the one day, though, what a ride it had been. If Andrew had still been alive, he would have been looking for a full-time manager. Get me a few more deals, protein bars, teeth-whitening clinics, perhaps I could launch my own vodka?