Лучшие произведения Бена Аароновича

Для своего отца я был «ответственным за винил»: менял пластинки, пока тот расслаблялся, попивая чай. По этой причине мне не сложно отличить Argo от Tempo*. И именно поэтому, когда доктор Валид вызвал меня в морг, чтобы послушать труп, я узнал мелодию, которую тот исполнял. С жертвой произошло что-то сверхъестественное, достаточно сильное, чтобы оставить на ней оттиск как на цилиндре фонографа. Кирус Уилкинсон, работавший бухгалтером, но бывший по призванию джазовым саксофонистом, внезапно скончался от сердечного приступа сразу по завершению выступления в одном из клубов в Сохо. Его случай не был первым. Эксгумировать его предшественников, чтобы послушать их мелодии, мне не дали, поэтому пришлось по-старомодному работать ногами, начав в Сохо — основной сцене этого действа. Восхитительной Симоне, девушке Кируса, профессиональной джаз-кошечке и откровенно манящей, как полотна Рубенса, я доверять не мог, но мне нужна была её помощь: по Сохо бродят чудовища, которые наделены особым даром отделять великих музыкантов от тех, кто всего лишь может выдавать пристойный звук. Они забирают красоту. Они оставляют за собой боль, несчастье и поломанные жизни. Во время охоты за ними в моё следствие оказался вовлечён великолепный трубач Ричард «Господь» Грант — мой отец, которого хотят вынудить разрушить свою карьеру, во второй раз. Такова полицейская работа: большую часть времени вы выполняете её, чтобы уберечь общественный порядок. Порой вы выполняете её для торжества правосудия. Но иногда, может быть раз за свою службу, вы выполняете её, чтобы отомстить.

Меня зовут Питер Грант и до января я был на испытательном сроке в должности констебля в этой могущественной силовой армии правосудия, которую все благовоспитанные люди знают под названием Лондонской полиции (для всех остальных – Грязь). И вот однажды ночью, следуя инструкции по расследованию убийств, я пытался допросить некоего субъекта, который был мертв, но тревожно разговорчив, и это привлекло к моей особе внимание инспектора Найтингейла, последнего волшебника в Англии. И тут, как говорится, всё и началось. Теперь я детектив-констебль и ученик волшебника, первый за последние пятьдесят лет и мой мир стал намного сложнее: гнезда…

Теперь будьте вдвойне осторожны при выходе из метро!
В дальнем конце станции Бейкер-стрит обнаружен труп - все, что осталось от Джеймса Галлахера, американского студента, приехавшего на учебу по обмену. Родственники жертвы - богатые, облеченные властью, - естественно, жаждут докопаться до истинной подоплеки этого жестокого убийства. Вот только никто даже и представить не может, как глубоко нужно будет копать и с чем ТАМ придется столкнуться. Никто - кроме Питера Гранта, лондонского констебля и начинающего волшебника. Старший инспектор Найтингейл, последний официальный волшебник Англии, очень занят охотой на преступника-мага, известного как Безликий. Так что Питеру придется самому спускаться в тайные, зачарованные глубины самой старой, самой большой, и, как оказалось, самой опасной подземки в мире. Но он будет не один! ФБР направит ему в помощь первоклассного агента. Она молода, прекрасна, уверена в себе - и, совсем недавно уверовав в Бога, она склонна видеть в магии лишь козни дьявола. Но что может пойти не так?

A mutilated body in Crawley. Another killer on the loose. The prime suspect is one Robert Weil; an associate of the twisted magician known as the Faceless Man? Or just a common or garden serial killer?
Before PC Peter Grant can get his head round the case a town planner going under a tube train and a stolen grimoire are adding to his case-load.
So far so London.
But then Peter gets word of something very odd happening in Elephant and Castle, on a housing estate designed by a nutter, built by charlatans and inhabited by the truly desperate.
Is there a connection?
And if there is, why oh why did it have to be South of the River?

In the fifth of his bestselling series Ben Aaronovitch takes Peter Grant out of whatever comfort zone he might have found and takes him out of London - to a small village in Herefordshire where the local police are reluctant to admit that there might be a supernatural element to the disappearance of some local children. But while you can take the London copper out of London you can't take the London out of the copper. Travelling west with Beverley Brook, Peter soon finds himself caught up in a deep mystery and having to tackle local cops and local gods. And what's more all the shops are closed by 4pm...

Another gripping and hilarious adventure through the secret streets of London. A tour of what remains and an insight into what once was with a liberal sprinkling of folklore, myth and violent crime. Each of Ben Aaronovitch's previous Peter Grant novels have been Sunday Times Top Ten HB bestsellers and The Hanging Tree looks set to repeat the feat. The Hanging Tree was the Tyburn gallows which stood where Marble Arch stands today. Oxford Street was the last trip of the condemned. Somethings don't change. The place has a bloody and haunted legacy and now blood has returned to the empty Mayfair mansions of the world's super-rich. And blood mixed with magic is a job for Peter Grant. Peter Grant is back as are Nightingale et al at the Folly and the various river gods, ghosts and spirits who attach themselves to England's last wizard and the Met's reluctant investigator of all things supernatural.

Martin Chorley, aka the Faceless Man, wanted for multiple counts of murder, fraud and crimes against humanity, has been unmasked and is on the run. Peter Grant, Detective Constable and apprentice wizard, now plays a key role in an unprecedented joint operation to bring Chorley to justice. But even as the unwieldy might of the Metropolitan Police bears down on its foe, Peter uncovers clues that Chorley, far from being finished, is executing the final stages of a long term plan. A plan that has its roots in London's two thousand bloody years of history, and could literally bring the city to its knees. To save his beloved city…

There have been ghosts on the London Underground, sad, harmless spectres whose presence does little more than give a frisson to travelling and boost tourism. But now there's a rash of sightings on the Metropolitan Line and these ghosts are frightening, aggressive and seem to be looking for something. Enter PC Peter Grant junior member of the Metropolitan Police's Special Assessment unit a.k.a. The Folly a.k.a. the only police officers whose official duties include ghost hunting. Together with Jaget Kumar, his counterpart at the British Transport Police, he must brave the terrifying the crush of London's rush hour to find the source of the ghosts. Joined by Peter's wannabe wizard cousin, a preschool river god and Toby the ghost hunting dog their investigation takes a darker tone as they realise that a real person's life might just be on the line. And time is running out to save them.

Peter Grant is facing fatherhood, and an uncertain future, with equal amounts of panic and enthusiasm. Rather than sit around, he takes a job with émigré Silicon Valley tech genius Terrence Skinner's brand new London start up - the Serious Cybernetics Company. Drawn into the orbit of Old Street's famous 'silicon roundabout', Peter must learn how to blend in with people who are both civilians and geekier than he is. Compared to his last job, Peter thinks it should be a doddle. But magic is not finished with Mama Grant's favourite son. Because Terrence Skinner has a secret hidden in the bowels of the SCC. A technology that stretches back to Ada Lovelace and Charles Babbage, and forward to the future of artificial intelligence. A secret that is just as magical as it technological - and just as dangerous.

Trier is famous for wine, Romans and for being Germany’s oldest city. So when a man is found dead with, his body impossibly covered in a fungal rot, the local authorities know they are out of their depth. Fortunately this is Germany, where there are procedures for everything. Enter Investigator Tobias Winter, whose aim is to get in, deal with the problem, and get out with the minimum of fuss, personal danger and paperwork. With the help of frighteningly enthusiastic local cop, Vanessa Sommer, he’s quick to link the first victim to a group of ordinary middle aged men – and to realise they may have accidentally reawakened a bloody conflict from a previous century. But the rot is still spreading, literally and with the suspect list extending to people born before Frederick the Great solving the case may mean unearthing the city’s secret magical history. ...so long as that history doesn’t kill them first.

There is a world hidden underneath this great city. The London Silver Vaults–for well over a century, the largest collection of silver for sale in the world. It has more locks than the Bank of England and more cameras than a celebrity punch-up. Not somewhere you can murder someone and vanish without a trace–only that’s what happened. The disappearing act, the reports of a blinding flash of light and memory loss amongst the witnesses all make this a case for Detective Constable Peter Grant and the Special Assessment Unit. Alongside their boss DCI Thomas Nightingale, the SAU find themselves embroiled in a mystery that encompasses London’s tangled history, foreign lands and, most terrifying of all, the North! And Peter must solve this case soon because back home his partner Beverley is expecting twins any day now. But what he doesn’t know is that he’s about to encounter something–and somebody–that nobody ever expects…

Somewhere amongst the shadowy stacks and the many basements of the British library, something is very much amiss - and we're not talking late returns here. Is it a ghost, or something much worse? PC Peter Grant really isn't looking forward to finding out....

It takes place during the Olympic Games in London, 2012. Peter gets a call about a magical situation near an Olympic stadium that has turned into a standoff, so he rushes over to see if he can contain it by himself since Nightingale is out of town.

"The tricky thing about architectural fashion is that it’s never as demarcated as the textbooks make out. The terrace mid-way up Prince of Wales Road was doing its best to pretend it was Regency, but the sash windows, slapdash stucco and half basement all said mid-Victorian at the earliest. I gave it the once over. The paint was grubby rather than dirty and the iron railings had been maintained free of rust. First wave right-to-buy property owner, I thought, from back in the days when Camden Council still had terrace flat conversions on its books."

The Cockpit in the special Waterstones edition of Broken Homes.