{"product_id":"the-murder-room-isbn-9781400076093","title":"The Murder Room","description":"\u003cb\u003eNATIONAL BESTSELLER • Murders present meet murders past in this harrowing, thought-provoking thriller • Part of the bestselling mystery series that inspired \u003ci\u003eDalgliesh\u003c\/i\u003e on Acorn TV \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Suspenseful, atmospheric.... No shortage of surprise twists.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCommander Adam Dalgliesh is already acquainted with the Dupayne—a museum   dedicated to the interwar years, with a room celebrating the most notorious murders   of that time—when he is called to investigate the killing of one of the family trustees.   He soon discovers that the victim was seeking to close the museum against the wishes   of the fellow trustees and the Dupayne's devoted staff. Everyone, it seems, has   something to gain from the crime.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen it becomes clear that the murderer has been   inspired by the real-life crimes from the murder room—and is preparing to kill again—Dalgliesh   knows that to solve this case he has to get into the mind of a ruthless killer.“\u003cb\u003eThe Murder Room\u003c\/b\u003e is James’s most suspenseful, atmospheric novel in years and has   no shortage of surprise twists.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Another elegant   tale of murder, mystery, human misery and the wonder of love. James explores the   lowest of depravity...with the most elegant prose.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Riveting...exquisite, absorbing.... \u003cb\u003eThe Murder Room\u003c\/b\u003e possesses everything we desire, no,   long for, from James.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Miami Herald\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Elegantly constructed, beautifully written...[\u003cb\u003eThe Murder Room\u003c\/b\u003e] is cause for rejoicing.... [It]\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eis that much-sought-after   but rare combination of reading that both transports the reader to another world   and engages the imagination.\" \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eSt. Louis Post-Dispatch\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e“Difficult—and delightful—as   it is to believe, P. D. James keeps getting better.... \u003cb\u003eThe Murder Room\u003c\/b\u003e might be   the best mystery novel of 2003.... This is a book to savor...with writing   so felicitous the reader doesn't want it to end.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eIndianapolis Star\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Riveting.... \u003cb\u003eThe Murder Room\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003epossesses everything we desire from James.... [Her] lovely,   clear prose travels at a stately pace, never cluttered by random violence or unnecessary   characters, taking us where we need to be with assurance, intelligence and grace.   No word or action is wasted; everyone and everything matters.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Chicago Tribune\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Ms. James skill is impressively displayed.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “P.D. James is   surely one of the best living writers of English. [\u003cb\u003eThe Murder Room\u003c\/b\u003e]’s typical James–wonderful   English settings, fine writing, psychological depth.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eRocky Mountain News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Any   ranking of today’s best crime writers would surely put Britain’s P.D. James at or   near the top. This subtly told, character-driven novel, which emphasizes people over   plot, provides, as usual, a richly-rewarding reading experience.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe San Diego   Union-Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Immensely satisfying, with James introducing her large cast and its   secrets with consummate skill.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Carefully crafted...[with]   richly portrayed characters.... P. D. James can still spin an intricate web of   psychological suspense that demands the reader's attention and involvement....   James tells this tale in lucid language, with a wry eye on people and their faults.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Antonio Express-News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Elegant...smooth storytelling.... The culprit   remains convincingly elusive until the end.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eHouston Chronicle\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A perfectly cozy   read for a cold, foggy night when you feel like curling up with a cup of tea.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003ci\u003eEntertainment   Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Sophisticated literary entertainment.... Masterful detailing of people   and place.... Acute psychological portraits.... [A] carefully crafted tale.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Orlando Sentinel\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Literate prose, sprinkled with enough deliciously British   details to satisfy even the most diehard Anglophile.... [James is] an enormously   appealing novelist.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Boston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Expertly plotted and elegantly written,   the novel will stand with the best of her always-fine work. And as usual with a James   novel, the characters are drawn with care and sympathy.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Richmond Times-Dispatch\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “James whips up a thought-provoking, finely crafted literary murder mystery.... \u003cb\u003eThe Murder Room\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eis a riveting and well-constructed read.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Jose Mercury   News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Elegant language and deft, intricate characterizations.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePittsburg Tribune-Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “James writes of the whydunit rather than the whodunit and her grasp and appreciation   for the boundless perplexities of human behavior deeply enriches her books.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePhiladelphia   Inquirer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The eminence grise of British detective fiction, James delivers another   ruminative puzzler, generous in character, graceful in prose.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Village Voice\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “James' strength as a writer lies in her ability to craft characters with depth.   She doesn't just supply names and ages but gives readers a sense of her characters'   desires and motives (and not just murderous ones).” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eFort Worth Star-Telegram\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cp\u003eP. D. James was the author of twenty books, many of which feature her detective hero Adam Dalgliesh and have been televised or filmed. She was the recipient of many honors, including the Mystery Writers of America Grand Master Award and the National Arts Club Medal of Honor for Literature, and in 1991 was created Baroness James of Holland Park. She died in 2014.\u003c\/p\u003eOn Friday 25 October, exactly one week before the first body was discovered at the Dupayne Museum, Adam Dalgliesh visited the museum for the first time. The visit was fortuitous, the decision impulsive and he was later to look back on that afternoon as one of life’s bizarre coincidences which, although occurring more frequently than reason would expect, never fail to surprise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe had left the Home Office building in Queen Anne’s Gate at two-thirty after a long morning meeting only briefly interrupted by the usual break for brought-in sandwiches and indifferent coffee, and was walking the short distance back to his New Scotland Yard office. He was alone; that too was fortuitous. The police representation at the meeting had been strong and Dalgliesh would normally have left with the Assistant Commissioner, but one of the Under Secretaries in the Criminal Policy Department had asked him to look in at his office to discuss a query unrelated to the morning’s business, and he walked unaccompanied. The meeting had produced the expected imposition of paperwork and as he cut through St James’s Park Underground station into Broadway he debated whether to return to his office and risk an afternoon of interruptions or to take the papers home to his Thames-side flat and work in peace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere had been no smoking at the meeting but the room had seemed musty with spent breath and now he took pleasure in breathing fresh air, however briefly. It was a blustery day but unseasonably mild. The bunched clouds were tumbling across a sky of translucent blue and he could have imagined that this was spring except for the autumnal sea-tang of the river -- surely half imagined -- and the keenness of the buffeting wind as he came out of the station.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSeconds later he saw Conrad Ackroyd standing on the kerb at the corner of Dacre Street and glancing from left to right with that air of mingled anxiety and hope typical of a man waiting to hail a taxi. Almost immediately Ackroyd saw him and came towards him, both arms outstretched, his face beaming under a wide-brimmed hat. It was an encounter Dalgliesh couldn’t now avoid and had no real wish to. Few people were unwilling to see Conrad Ackroyd. His perpetual good humour, his interest in the minutiae of life, his love of gossip and above all his apparent agelessness were reassuring. He looked exactly the same now as he had when Dalgliesh and he had first met decades earlier. It was difficult to think of Ackroyd succumbing to serious illness or facing personal tragedy, while the news that he had died would have seemed to his friends a reversal of the natural order. Perhaps, thought Dalgliesh, that was the secret of his popularity; he gave his friends the comforting illusion that fate was beneficent. As always, he was dressed with an endearing eccentricity. The fedora hat was worn at a rakish angle, the stout little body was encased in a plaid tweed cloak patterned in purple and green. He was the only man Dalgliesh knew who wore spats. He was wearing them now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Adam, lovely to see you. I wondered whether you might be in your office but I didn’t like to call. Too intimidating, my dear. I’m not sure they’d let me in, or if I’d get out if they did. I’ve been lunching at a hotel in Petty France with my brother. He comes to London once a year and always stays there. He’s a devout Roman Catholic and the hotel is convenient for Westminster Cathedral. They know him and are very tolerant.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTolerant of what? wondered Dalgliesh. And was Ackroyd referring to the hotel, the Cathedral, or both? He said, ‘I didn’t know you had a brother, Conrad.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘I hardly know it myself, we meet so seldom. He’s something of a recluse.’ He added, ‘He lives in Kidderminster,’ as if that fact explained all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDalgliesh was on the point of making tactful murmurings of imminent departure when his companion said, ‘I suppose, dear boy, I couldn’t bend you to my will? I want to spend a couple of hours at the Dupayne Museum in Hampstead. Why not join me? You know the Dupayne of course?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘I’ve heard of it but never visited.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘But you should, you should. It’s a fascinating place. Dedicated to the inter-war years, 1919—1938. Small but comprehensive. They have some good pictures: Nash, Wyndham Lewis, Ivon Hitchens, Ben Nicholson. You’d be particularly interested in the library. First editions and some holographs and, of course, the inter-war poets. Do come.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Another time, perhaps.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘You never manage another time, do you? But now I’ve caught you, regard it as fate. I’m sure you have your Jag tucked up somewhere in the Met’s underground garage. We can drive.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘You mean I can drive.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘And you’ll come back to Swiss Cottage for tea, won’t you? Nellie will never forgive me if you don’t.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘How is Nellie?’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Bonny, thank you. Our doctor retired last month. After twenty years together it was a sad parting. Still, his successor seems to understand our constitutions and it might be as well to have a younger man.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eConrad and Nellie Ackroyd’s marriage was so well established that few people now bothered to wonder at its incongruity or to indulge in prurient speculation about its possible consummation. Physically they could hardly have been more different. Conrad was plump, short and dark with inquisitive bright eyes and moved as sprightly as a dancer on small nimble feet. Nellie was at least three inches taller, pale-skinned and flat-chested, and wore her fading blonde hair curled in plaits on each side of her head like earphones. Her hobby was collecting first editions of 1920s and 1930s girls’ school stories. Her collection of Angela Brazils was regarded as unique. Conrad and Nellie’s enthusiasms were their house and garden, meals -- Nellie was a superb cook -- their two Siamese cats and the indulgence of Conrad’s mild hypochondria. Conrad still owned and edited \u003ci\u003eThe Paternoster Review\u003c\/i\u003e, notable for the virulence of its unsigned reviews and articles. In private life he was the kindest of Jekylls, in his editorial role an unrepentant Hyde.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA number of his friends whose wilfully overburdened lives inhibited the enjoyment of all but necessary pleasures somehow found time to take afternoon tea with the Ackroyds in their neat Edwardian villa in Swiss Cottage with its comfortable sitting-room and atmosphere of timeless indulgence. Dalgliesh was occasionally among them. The meal was a nostalgic and unhurried ritual. The delicate cups with their handles aligned, the thin brown bread and butter, bite-size cucumber sandwiches and homemade sponge and fruit cakes made their expected appearance, brought in by an elderly maid who would have been a gift to a casting agent recruiting actors for an Edwardian soap opera. To older visitors the tea brought back  memories of a more leisurely age and, to all, the temporary illusion that the dangerous world was as susceptible as was this domesticity to order, reason, comfort and peace. To spend the early evening gossiping with the Ackroyds would, today, be unduly self-indulgent. All the same, Dalgliesh could see that it wouldn’t be easy to find a valid excuse for refusing to drive his friend to Hampstead. He said, ‘I’ll drive you to the Dupayne with pleasure, but I might not be able to stay if you plan a long visit.’\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘Don’t worry, dear boy. I’ll get a cab back.’","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301696327909,"sku":"NP9781400076093","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781400076093.jpg?v=1767740595","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-murder-room-isbn-9781400076093","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}