Those we Left Behind

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A RICHARD AND JUDY BOOK CLUB PICK

DCI Serena Flanagan is forced to confront a disturbing case from her past- the murder conviction of a 12-year-old-boy who has just been released from prison

DCI Serena Flanagan hasn't heard the boy's name in years.

Not since the blood on the wall and the body in the bedroom.

Not since she listened as he confessed to brutally murdering his foster father.

But now Ciaran Devine is out of prison and back in her life. And so is his brother, Thomas - the brother that Flanagan always suspected of hiding something.

When Ciaran's probation officer comes Flanagan with fresh fears about the Devines, the years of lies begin to unravel, setting a deadly chain of events in motion.

'Deeply chilling, but full of tenderness...utterly compelling... The best book yet from a hugely talented writer '
Sunday Mirror

'A quietly superb , sensitive plot'
The Times

' A must read '
Irish Times

' DCI Serena Flanagan is the hero for whom we've all been waiting '
Megan Abbott

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

1 When Paula Cunningham heard the news about the boy's release, she knew the case would fall to her. She had felt no surprise when Edward Hughes called her to his office. The file had been waiting for her on the boss's desk, half an inch of reports, assessments and evaluations. It pulled a bitter curse from her throat.       City centre traffic hummed and rattled beneath Hughes's window, car horns sounding, someone whistling for a taxi. She turned the pages while Hughes chewed a pen at the other side of the desk.      A single photograph of Ciaran Devine at the front, hollow eyes and blank face, a little boy long gone.      They'd used the same picture in the Sunday red top she'd read at the weekend. Schoolboy Killer to Be Released , the headline had screamed above a half-page story.      She knew as soon as she saw it. Just knew.      "Any way out of this?" she asked.      Hughes shook his head. "None at all. The young fella needs your experience."      "What about Terry Grimes?"      "Terry's tied up. It's your case, and that's all there is to it. You can handle him. He's been good as gold on his temporary releases. Tom Wheatley at the hostel says he was no bother at all when he stayed over."      The boy would have had excursions accompanied by one of his case managers. Shopping trips, a meal at McDonald's, a walk in the park. Finally, they would have allowed him a night in the hostel off the Saintfield Road, in the south of the city.      She pictured him sitting in the small, clean room, perhaps counting coins in the palm of his hand, trying to grasp the simple acts other people took for granted. Going to a shop counter, asking for what he wanted, saying please and thank you.      Cunningham remembered taking a lifer called Brian to a newsagent's. He had mumbled, "Polo mints, please." The shopkeeper had set the sweets on the counter. Brian, who had strangled his girlfriend to death after a drinking binge, had grabbed the packet, dropped a twenty-pound note in its place, and walked out of the shop.      When she'd caught up with him, his change in her hand, Cunningham asked why.      Brian had stood there on the pavement, blinking tears from his eyes, before he said, "Cause I don't know what they cost."      Remove a man from the world for years then drop him back into it, expecting him to simply pick up where he left off. It doesn't work. He'll be lost. And Ciaran Devine would be no different.      Cunningham had entered the Probation Service twelve years ago, not long after gaining her MSc in clinical psychology. As a postgraduate student, she had spent summers working on the wards of psychiatric units, then a year in Maghaberry prison, counselling inmates. She had learned things in those days that would stay with her until her last breath, like the terrible cost of casual violence, and how poorly the system dealt with those who inflicted it.      In all those dozen years, Cunningham wasn't sure if she'd ever done any good.      She let the air out of her lungs, wished for a cigarette. "All right," she said. "When's the ADR?"      "He gets out Wednesday. That gives you a week to prepare."      "Jesus, how am I supposed to prepare for this?"      Hughes put his forearms on the desk. "In a thorough, diligent and professional manner."      Cunningham glanced at him over the open file. He probably thought he was giving her his serious face, but he looked more like a prissy matron. Edward Hughes was on the large side, yet he had a countenance more like that of a schoolboy than a man well into middle age.      "What about the brother?" Cunningham asked.      "Thomas? He's kept out of trouble since his release. He's not supervised anymore."      The newspaper had also carried a picture of Thomas Devine, smaller than that of Ciaran, tucked away on the second page. Older, leaner, darker. Handsome like his brother, but in a sharper, more jagged way.      An image flashed in her mind: the boys escorted towards the side entrance of the courthouse, blankets over their heads, a uniformed policeman at each arm, followed by the detectives who got the confession, brilliant camera flashes, screams of hatred from the onlookers.      No one knew the boys' names then, the press ordered to keep quiet.      "He didn't go for a Mary Bell order?" Cunningham asked. A new identity, a lifetime of secrets, named after a little English girl who did two unspeakable things almost half a century before.      "Thomas gave it a go," Hughes said. "The judge threw it out. He didn't reckon they were under sufficient threat."      The names had appeared in the papers more than a year and a half ago when Ciaran had turned eighteen. His minimum tariff of six years had expired, but he continued to be held at the Secretary of State's Pleasure. The local Belfast journalists salivated over a potential release, stored up their bile and outrage. Politicians gave stiff-lipped opinions that amounted to nothing.      "God help him," Cunningham whispered.      She hadn't meant to say it out loud. She glanced up at Hughes, expecting a reproach.      He said, "God help the both of you." 2 Detective Chief Inspector Serena Flanagan punched in her key code and entered the station's core. A walled compound containing a cluster of redbrick buildings, small windows, a fortress in the heart of Lisburn, built to shield its occupants from bullets and bombs. Flanagan avoided all stares, averted her eyes, as she made her way to the second floor and the office she hadn't seen in four months. Whispers followed her through the corridors and stairwells.      "Ma'am," a voice called.      Flanagan pretended she hadn't heard it, kept walking, her door only a few yards away now.      "Ma'am."      She stopped, gave a silent curse, and turned.      Detective Inspector John Hoey, a coffee in one hand, a sheaf of papers in the other. Flanagan offered a smile, a nod.      "Good to see you back," he said as he approached. "How are you feeling?"      "Not bad," she said. "Looking forward to getting to work."      "I see your hair grew back."      Flanagan had turned to leave, but his words stopped her. "Excuse me?"      "From your treatment." He raised his coffee cup, pointing a finger at her head. His face dropped. "Oh. Is it a wig?"      Flanagan took a breath. Gave him a patient smile. "I didn't have chemotherapy," she said. "Just radiotherapy. So I didn't lose my hair."      "Oh," he said. "Oh, good. I was wondering, will you be getting your team back together?"      "Yes," she said. "As soon as I get caught up, see who's still available."      "I'd like to be considered," Hoey said. "Just so you know. If you need the numbers made up."      "I'll bear it in mind," she said. "Thanks."      Flanagan turned, left him there, and headed for her office. She let herself in, closed the door behind her, leaned her back against it.      Aside from Hoey's crass stupidity, she thought, that wasn't so bad. She'd been dreading the return for weeks. The looks of pity. The expressions of sympathy. They would come, that much was certain, but she felt that perhaps she could at least be gracious in response.      Six weeks after her surgery, she had been in Tesco browsing loaves of bread. She had nudged her trolley against another shopper, turned to apologise, and recognised a work colleague of her husband's. Heather Foyle, she was called, a maths teacher.      Heather had stared at Flanagan, eyes and mouth agape, visibly struggling to find a few words.      "For Christ's sake, I didn't die," Flanagan said before wheeling her trolley to the checkouts, her face burning, regret already souring her stomach.      She had called Heather later that evening to apologise, battled through the no-don't-mention-its, tried to explain herself against the tide of condescension. Even then, when she knew she was entirely in the wrong, aware that Heather Foyle was simply being a good person, Flanagan had to stamp on her own anger. She had never experienced the pity of others until her breast cancer diagnosis, and it was more unpalatable than she had ever imagined.      So far, only Hoey, his clumsy words and his expedient sympathy as he fished for opportunities. She could take that. There would be more to come, and she would smile and say, I'm fine, thank you, and ask after the enquirer's well-being, and most definitely not shout at him or her to shut up, just leave her alone, let her get on with living.      Flanagan's office remained as dim as she remembered, sunlight muted by the tinted glass in a window so small it served little purpose. And hot, too. She crossed the room, opened the window to its full extent, which was no more than a couple of inches. For her own protection, her superiors would have said. This building looked like a small prison from the outside, and often felt like one within. Across the rooftops, she could just see the spires of Christ Church. Flanagan counted herself lucky; most of the views from this station were of walls and wire fences.      She took off her jacket, slung it over the back of her chair, and sat down. The quiet of the room seemed to press on her, a physical sensation, as if the silence hardened the air.      Three framed photographs sat on her desk, one portrait of each of her children, and another picture of the family. One of those terrible posed studio shots that she disliked, but Alistair had insisted. She'd turned the frames face down the last time she left the office. To keep the dust off them, she'd told herself, but part of her believed it was to shield her family from the goings on here.      Flanagan set each of them upright and was startled by how young Ruth and Eli looked, how much they had changed, and she felt a strange sadness for the smaller children they'd left behind in these images.      A sharp rap of knuckle on wood made her jump. She exhaled and said, "Come."      Detective Superintendent Stephen Purdy opened the door. A stocky bespectacled man with a shock of pure black hair that some speculated was a wig. Flanagan had inspected it as closely as she could and found no evidence to back up the claim, though she suspected he dyed it.      "It's good to see you back," he said. "How are you feeling?"      "I'm fine, sir, thank you," she said, hoping he wouldn't ask her to elaborate.      DSI Stephen Purdy was not an idiot like Hoey. He lacked emotional intelligence, found casual conversation difficult, but he was not stupid. He would know not to push her on her illness.      "Good, good," he said.      She indicated the seat in front of her desk as she sat down.      "No, I'm not stopping." He hovered there, looking as comfortable as a mouse in a cattery.      It was up to Flanagan to set him free. "What can I do for you?"      "Ah, well, first of all I wanted to welcome you back." He dipped his head and waved a hand in a bowing gesture. "And to get you started on some work."      Flanagan had noticed the file under Purdy's arm when he first entered her office. He placed the manila folder on the desk and tapped it with his index finger.      "This was sent over from B District. You know DCI Thompson's retiring in a few weeks? He's leaving a lot of unfinished business behind him. Between you and me, his MIT had become a bit of a shambles. These are the loose ends from the last few cases he's left open. The ACC wants you to work through them, see what's still worth following up, what's better off dropped, that kind of thing. He thought it might keep you occupied while you get settled in again. I can let you have a few DCs if you need the help. There's a new DS, Ballantine, she's very capable. Now that Calvin's abandoned us, she might make a good starting point for a team."      Detective Sergeant Calvin had been Flanagan's assistant on her Major Investigation Team. He'd suffered a shoulder wound before she had taken leave for her surgery, and that had been enough for him. The Police Federation had helped him push for a medical pension, and then he was off.      "I don't imagine she'll want to start off pushing paper around for you," Purdy said, "but we all have to do it sometimes."      Flanagan felt a growing weight inside. A file full of busywork and drudgery, sweeping up someone else's mess.      Purdy saw the disappointment on her. "Come on," he said. "You've been out of action for weeks. You can't expect just to land back here and dive into a hot case. It'll be a month or more until you've got a proper team established again. I can't have you twiddling your thumbs for all that time."      She waved at the file. "I know, but this . . ."      Purdy gave her his sternest look, usually reserved for the lower ranks. "It's not exciting work, I know, but there are victims in those pages that still need someone to speak for them."      "Of course," Flanagan said, feeling like an admonished child. "You're right. I'll get working."      Purdy nodded and said, "I'll leave you to it." He stopped at the door. "Oh, I meant to say. You heard about the Devine boy?"      "That he's due for release, yes."      "Wednesday," Purdy said.      "That soon?"      "I'm not supposed to know that. They're keeping it quiet to stop the press going after him. A call came in last week from the probation officer who's been assigned to him. She wants a word with you. I told her to come by today, late morning. All right?"      She remembered Ciaran Devine, a child then, a young man now. A little over seven years ago, the first awkward signs of puberty about him, sitting across the table from her in an interview room. She was the only one he talked to. He called her by her first name. Even when he confessed, she struggled to picture this small boy doing that terrible thing.      She had voiced her doubts, but the boy had confessed, and that was enough.      Ciaran had sent her a letter after his and his brother's convictions. It came via the station. She had blushed when she read it. It still lay at the back of a drawer in her bedroom at home, even though she should have destroyed it.      "All right," Flanagan said.      "Good. Here's hoping he stays out of trouble." Excerpted from Those We Left Behind by Stuart Neville All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

DCI Serena Flanagan is back at work on the Belfast police force after battling breast cancer. Earlier in her career, Flanagan worked the case of the schoolboy Devine brothers, who were arrested for viciously beating their foster father to death. The younger, Ciaran, confessed, but Flanagan was convinced it was actually the older brother, Thomas, who was guilty. Eight years later, the brothers are released and together again, making Ciaran's parole officer Paula Cunningham uneasy. Both women recognize the danger present and attempt to prevent what seem to be the inevitable consequences of the brothers' reunion. Verdict Through a sympathetic portrayal of his characters' motivations and feelings, award-winning Northern Irish crime writer Neville (The Ghosts of Belfast; Ratlines) has the gift of making us care about the fate of each of his creations, whether they are convicted killers, cops, or innocent bystanders. Another winner, this is fast-paced and intriguing to the very end. [Previewed in Kristi Chadwick's mystery spotlight feature "Not Your Usual Suspects," LJ 4/15/15.]-Lisa O'Hara, Univ. of Manitoba Libs., Winnipeg © Copyright 2015. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

At the start of this searing, deeply affecting psychological thriller set in Belfast from Edgar-finalist Neville (Ratlines), 19-year-old Ciaran Devine (aka the schoolboy killer) is released from prison after serving seven years for the murder of his foster father, David Rolston. Det. Chief Insp. Serena Flanagan always believed that Ciaran, then 12, confessed in order to protect his two-year-older brother, Thomas, who was convicted as an accessory and alleged that their foster father sexually abused Ciaran. Try as she might, Serena couldn't break Thomas's powerful hold on Ciaran. Now Thomas is also free, and Serena hopes she can put the case behind her once and for all. Meanwhile, Paula Cunningham, Ciaran's probation officer, is concerned with the media's rabid obsession with her new charge, as well as Ciaran's utter devotion to Thomas. Lurking on the sidelines is Daniel Rolston, David's biological son, who is set on revenge, certain that the wrong Devine brother confessed. Paula and Serena are soon comparing notes as violence escalates around the brothers and secrets from the past come to light. Neville demonstrates once again that he's a literary force to be reckoned with. Agent: Nat Sobel, Sobel Weber Associates. (Sept.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

School Library Journal Review

Irish writer Neville brings Detective Chief Inspector Serena Flanagan back on the job after she has recovered from breast cancer. Her first case involves 20-year-old Ciaran Devine, who, seven years prior, at age 12, confessed to the murder of his stepfather. He is released to a group home and will be under the care of probation officer Paula Cunningham. Flanagan-the officer in Ciaran's original case-is sure that it was Thomas, Ciaran's older brother, who committed the murder, and when a skirmish in the group home brings Flanagan back into Ciaran's life, she reflects on what might have gone wrong in the initial investigation and how to bring Thomas to light as the true murderer. But Ciaran, deeply tied to his sibling, refuses to answer any questions and sticks by his confession. The young men have a stepbrother, Daniel, who has been following their movements from afar and now waits for the right moment to confront them for killing his father. He has been slowly unraveling since his father's death and unknowingly sets into motion the series of events that force Flanagan to work even harder to release Ciaran from the bounds that Thomas has tied. She is thwarted at every corner by stifling rules, as well as the determination of three young men to be left alone with their secrets and their dreams of revenge. VERDICT Teen fans of mystery and psychological thrillers will root for Ciaran, hoping that he can overcome his circumstances.-Connie Williams, Petaluma High School, CA © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Booklist Review

At age 12, Ciaran Devine confessed to bludgeoning to death his foster father, but Belfast Detective Sergeant Serena Flanagan didn't believe him. She thought that Thomas, Ciaran's older brother, committed the murder and convinced Ciaran to take the blame. Now, seven years later, Ciaran is released, and probation officer Paula Cunningham must oversee his reentry into society. But the dead man's biological son, who also believes the timorous Ciaran to be innocent, has become obsessed and erratic. Serena, who has just returned to work following surgery for breast cancer, still remains convinced Ciaran is innocent, prompting a clash with her superior, who accepted Ciaran's confession. Further tragedy is imminent. Neville (The Final Silence, 2014) always develops richly complex characters, and Serena, Paula, and the Devines certainly qualify. But Belfast itself, full of violence and tragedy, is also a primary character in his novels. This time, however, Neville devotes most of his attention to a surprisingly compassionate juvenile justice system. Those We Left Behind is psychologically astute, but many of Neville's fans may find themselves looking forward to the next deep dive into gritty, dangerous Belfast.--Gaughan, Thomas Copyright 2015 Booklist

Kirkus Book Review

Two brothers bound by love and need repeat the deadly pattern of a past crime. Ciaran Devine was only 12 when he was convicted of killing his foster father. Seven years later, he's being released from the Young Offenders Centre into a world he's ill equipped to handle. Paula Cunningham, the probation officer assigned to his case, consults with DCI Serena Flanagan, who established a rapport with the boy after the murder. At the time, Flanagan had her doubts about his confession and about the allegations his older brother, Thomas, had made about David Rolston, a prosperous married man with a good home on the outskirts of Belfast, one child of his own, and the willingness to take care of children without familiesor perhaps exploit them. Flanagan was never sure who was actually being exploited. She had an inkling of the hold Thomas had over Ciaran and suspected that the younger boy took the fall for the older one. Although Thomas was convicted as an accessory, he drew a shorter sentence, has been out of prison for two years, and is waiting for his brother's release. Flanagan knows Ciaran needs someone to look after him; he's still a child in a man's body, unable to cope with even the simplest tasks on his own. She's not convinced, however, that Thomas is the best choice. Cunningham is trying to help him, though personal issues are keeping her from helping herself. And Flanagan, a cancer survivor, is supposed to be easing back into her job again, not being pulled back into an old crime. But it's not in her nature to take the easy way, especially when Rolston's son decides to make the Devine brothers sufferand sets off a nightmare that threatens to trap both Cunningham and Flanagan. Flanagan, who had a secondary role in The Final Silence (2014), takes center stage in a grim tale of dependence and obsession. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.