书名：The Thursday Murder Club (A Thursday Murder Club Mystery)

作者：Richard Osman

出版社名称：Penguin Books

出版时间：2021

语种：英语

ISBN：9781984880987

商品尺寸：14 x 2 x 20.8 cm

包装：平装

页数：384（以实物为准）

在一个宁静的养老村里，四个性格迥异的朋友伊丽莎白，乔伊斯，易卜拉欣和罗恩年近古稀，但仍然有一些绝招。每周四他们在拼图室开会，讨论未解决的犯罪；他们一起称自己为“星期四谋杀俱乐部”。一名当地开发商死于非命，尸体旁留下一张神秘照片，“星期四谋杀俱乐部”突然被卷入这场案件中。随着命案越来越多，这帮不太正统，但才华过人的业余侦探可以在为时已晚之前抓住凶手吗？Four septuagenarians with a few tricks up their sleevesA female cop with her first big caseA brutal murderWelcome to...THE THURSDAY MURDER CLUBIn a peaceful retirement village, four unlikely friends meet weekly in the Jigsaw Room to discuss unsolved crimes; together they call themselves the Thursday Murder Club.When a local developer is found dead with a mysterious photograph left next to the body, the Thursday Murder Club suddenly find themselves in the middle of their first live case.As the bodies begin to pile up, can our unorthodox but brilliant gang catch the killer, before it's too late袖手旁观的四位七十多岁的老人一位女警察带着她的第 一个大案子一场残忍的谋杀欢迎来到...星期四谋杀俱乐部在一个和平的退休村里，四个不太可能的朋友每周在拼图室碰面，讨论悬而未决的罪行； 他们一起称自己为星期四谋杀俱乐部。当一名当地开发商被发现死亡，尸体旁边留下了一张神秘的照片，星期四谋杀俱乐部突然发现自己置身于他们的第 一个活生生的案件之中。随着尸体开始增加，我们这个非正统但才华横溢的团伙能否在为时已晚之前抓住凶手？

Richard Osman is an author, producer and television presenter. The Thursday Murder Club is his first novel. He is well known for TV shows including Pointless and Richard Osman's House of Games. As the creative director of Endemol UK, Richard has worked as an executive producer on numerous shows including Deal Or No Deal and 8 Out of 10 Cats. He is also a regular on panel and game shows such as Have I Got News For You, Would I Lie To You and Taskmaster.

理查德·奥斯曼是一位作家、制片人和电视节目主持人。《星期四谋杀俱乐部》是他的第 一部小说。他以电视节目《毫无意义》和理查德·奥斯曼的《游戏之家》而闻名。作为Endemol UK的创意总监，理查德曾担任多个节目的执行制片人，包括Deal Or No Deal和8 Out of 10 Cats。他还经常参加小组讨论和游戏节目，如《我有消息要告诉你》、《我会对你撒谎吗》等。

“Osman mixes mirth and murder in his exceptional debut. . . witty.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)“奥斯曼在他出色的处女作中融合了欢笑和谋杀……机智的。”-《出版人周刊》(加星评论)“So smart, so funny, so warm, and such a wonderful mystery. If we're lucky Richard Osman will keep these characters alive forever.”—Caroline Kepnes, New York Times bestselling author of You“那么聪明，那么有趣，那么温暖，那么神秘。如果我们幸运的话，理查德·奥斯曼会让这些角色永远活着。”——《纽约时报》畅销书《你》的作者卡洛琳·凯普内斯“By turns hilarious and poignant, The Thursday Murder Club offers up a brilliant concept that’s flawlessly executed and told in a unique, captivating voice. These are rare qualities in any novel, let alone a debut. I read the first page, then put all else on hold to devour this pitch-perfect book in one sitting. Bravo!"—Jeffery Deaver, #1 international bestselling author of The Goodbye Man《星期四谋杀俱乐部》时而搞笑，时而凄美，很好地诠释了一个绝妙的概念，并用独特迷人的声音讲述故事。这些品质在任何小说中都是罕见的，更不用说处女作了。我读了第 一页，然后把其他的都搁置一边，一口气读完了这本很好的书。万岁!”——杰弗里·迪弗，《再见的人》的世界畅销作家

Contributor Bio:

1.

Joyce

Well, let's start with Elizabeth, shall we And see where that gets us

I knew who she was, of course; everybody here knows Elizabeth. She has one of the three-bedroom flats in Larkin Court. It's the one on the corner, with the decking Also, I was once on a quiz team with Stephen, who, for a number of reasons, is Elizabeth's third husband.

I was at lunch, this is two or three months ago, and it must have been a Monday, because we were having shepherd's pie. Elizabeth said she could see that I was eating, but she wanted to ask me a question about knife wounds, if it wasn't inconvenient

I said, "Not at all, of course, please," or words to that effect. I won't always remember everything exactly, I might as well tell you that now. So she opened a manila folder, and I saw some typed sheets and the edges of what looked like old photographs. Then she was straight into it.

Elizabeth asked me to imagine that a girl had been stabbed with a knife. I asked what sort of knife she had been stabbed with, and Elizabeth said probably just a normal kitchen knife. John Lewis or somesuch. She didn't say that, but that was what I pictured. Then she asked me to imagine this girl had been stabbed three or four times, just under the breastbone. In and out, in and out, very nasty, but without severing an artery. She was fairly quiet about the whole thing, because people were eating, and she does have some boundaries.

So there I was, imagining stab wounds, and Elizabeth asked me how long it would take the girl to bleed to death.

By the way, I realize I should have mentioned that I was a nurse for many years; otherwise none of this will make sense to you. Elizabeth would have known that from somewhere, because Elizabeth knows everything. Anyway, that's why she was asking me. You must have wondered what I was on about. I will get the hang of writing this, I promise.

I remember dabbing at my mouth before I answered, like you see on television sometimes. It makes you look clever, try it. I asked what the girl had weighed.

Elizabeth found the information in her folder, followed her finger, and read out that the girl had been forty-six kilos. Which threw us both, because neither of us was sure what forty-six kilos was in real money. In my head I was thinking it must be about twenty-three stone Two to one was my thinking. Even as I thought that, though, I suspected I was getting mixed up with inches and centimeters.

Elizabeth let me know the girl definitely wasn't twenty-three stone, as she had a picture of her corpse in the folder. She tapped the folder at me, then turned her attention back to the room and said, "Will somebody ask Bernard what forty-six kilos is"

Bernard always sits by himself, at one of the smaller tables nearest the patio. Table 8. You don't need to know that, but I will tell you a bit about Bernard.

Bernard Cottle was very kind to me when I first arrived at Coopers Chase. He bought me a clematis cutting and explained the recycling timetable. They have four different colored bins here. Four! Thanks to Bernard, I know that green is for glass and blue is cardboard and paper. As for red and black, though, your guess is still as good as mine. I've seen all sorts as I've wandered about. Someone once put a fax machine in one.

Bernard had been a professor, something in science, and had worked all around the world, including going to Dubai before anyone had heard of it. True to form, he was wearing a suit and tie to lunch, but was nevertheless reading the Daily Express. Mary from Ruskin Court was at the next table; she got his attention and asked how much forty-six kilos was when it was at home.

Bernard nodded and called over to Elizabeth, "seven stone three and a bit."

And that's Bernard for you.

Elizabeth thanked him and said that sounded about right, and Bernard returned to his crossword. I looked up centimeters and inches afterward, and at least I was right about that.

Elizabeth went back to her question. How long would the girl stabbed with the kitchen knife have to live I guessed that unattended she would probably die in about forty-five minutes.

"Well, quite, Joyce," she said, and then had another question. What if the girl had had medical assistance Not a doctor, but someone who could patch up a wound. Someone who'd been in the army, perhaps. Someone like that.

I have seen a lot of stab wounds in my time. My job wasn't all sprained ankles. So I said then, well, she wouldn't die at all. Which she wouldn't. It wouldn't have been fun for her, but it would have been easy to patch up.

Elizabeth was nodding away, and said that was precisely what she had told Ibrahim, although I didn't know Ibrahim at that time. As I say, this was a couple of months ago.

It hadn't seemed at all right to Elizabeth, and her view was that the boyfriend had killed her. I know this is still often the case. You read about it.

I think before I moved in I might have found this whole conversation unusual, but it is pretty par for the course once you get to know everyone here. Last week I met the man who invented mint choc chip ice cream, or so he tells it. I don't really have any way of checking.

I was glad to have helped Elizabeth in my small way, so I decided I might ask a favor. I asked if there was any way I could take a look at the picture of the corpse. Just out of professional interest.

Elizabeth beamed, the way people around here beam when you ask to look at pictures of their grandchildren graduating. She slipped a letter-size photocopy out of her folder, laid it facedown in front of me, and told me to keep it, as they all had copies.

I told her that was very kind of her, and she said not at all, but she wondered if she could ask me one final question.

"Of course," I said.

Then she said, "Are you ever free on Thursdays"

And, that, believe it or not, was the first I had heard of Thursdays.

2.

PC Donna De Freitas would like to have a gun. She would like to be chasing serial killers into abandoned warehouses, grimly getting the job done despite a fresh bullet wound in her shoulder. Perhaps developing a taste for whisky and having an affair with her partner.

But for now, twenty-six years old, and sitting down for lunch at eleven forty-five in the morning, with four pensioners she has only just met, Donna understands that she will have to work her way up to all that. And besides, she has to admit that the past hour or so has been rather fun.

Donna has given her talk, "Practical Tips for Home Security," many times. And today there was the usual audience of older people, blankets across knees, free biscuits, and a few happy snoozers at the back. She gives the same advice each time. The absolute, paramount importance of installing window locks, checking ID cards, and never giving out personal information to cold-callers. More than anything, she is supposed to be a reassuring presence in a terrifying world. Donna understands that; also, it gets her out of the station and gets her out of paperwork, so she volunteers. Fairhaven's police station is sleepier than Donna is used to.

Today, however, she found herself at the Coopers Chase Retirement Village. It seemed innocuous enough. Lush, untroubled, sedate, and on her drive in she spotted a nice pub for lunch on the way home. So getting serial killers in headlocks on speedboats would have to wait.

"Security," Donna began, though she was really thinking about whether she should get a tattoo. A dolphin on her lower back Or would that be too cliche "What do we mean when we say the word security Well, I think that word means different things to different . . ."

A hand shot up in the front row. Which was not normally how this went, but in for a penny. An immaculately dressed woman in her eighties had a point to make.

"Dear, I think we're all hoping this won't be a talk about window locks." The woman looked around her and picked up murmured support.

A gentleman hemmed in by a walking frame in the second row was next. "And no ID cards, please; we know about ID cards. 'Are you really from the gas board, or are you a burglar' We've got it, I promise."

A free-for-all had commenced.

"It's not the gas board anymore. It's Centrica," said a man in a very smart three-piece suit.

The man sitting next to him, wearing shorts, flip-flops, and a West Ham United shirt, took this opportunity to stand up and stab a finger in no particular direction. "It's thanks to Thatcher that, Ibrahim. We used to own it."

"Oh, do sit down, Ron," the well-dressed woman had said. Then she looked at Donna and added, "Sorry about Ron," with a slow shake of her head. The comments had continued to fly.

"And what criminal wouldn't be able to forge an ID document"

"I've got cataracts. You could show me a library card and I'd let you in."

"They don't even check the meter now, dear. It's all on the web."

"It's on the cloud, dear."

"I'd welcome a burglar. It would be nice to have a visitor."

There had been the briefest of lulls. An atonal symphony of whistles began as some hearing aids were turned up, while others were switched off. The woman in the front row had taken charge again.

"So . . . and I'm Elizabeth, by the way . . . no window locks, please, and no ID cards, and no need to tell us we mustn't give our PIN to Nigerians over the phone. If I am still allowed to say Nigerians."

Donna De Freitas had regrouped. She was aware she was no longer contemplating pub lunches or tattoos, but was instead thinking about a riot training course back in the good old days in South London.

"Well, what shall we talk about, then" Donna asked. "I have to do at least forty-five minutes, or I don't get the time off in lieu."

"Institutional sexism in the police force" said Elizabeth.

"I'd like to talk about the illegal shooting of Mark Duggan, sanctioned by the state and-"

"Sit down, Ron!"

So it went on, enjoyably and agreeably, until the hour was up, whereupon Donna was warmly thanked, shown pictures of grandchildren, and then invited to stay for lunch.

And so here she is, picking at her salad, in what the menu describes as a "contemporary upscale restaurant." Eleven forty-five is a little early for her to have lunch, but it wouldn't have been polite to refuse the invitation. She notes that her four hosts are not only tucking in to full lunches but have also cracked open a bottle of red wine.

"That really was wonderful, Donna," says Elizabeth. "We enjoyed it tremendously." Elizabeth looks to Donna like the sort of teacher who terrifies you all year but then gives you a grade A and cries when you leave. Perhaps it's the tweed jacket.

"It was blinding, Donna," says Ron. "Can I call you Donna, love"

"You can call me Donna, but maybe don't call me love," says Donna.

"Quite right, darling," agrees Ron. "Noted. That story about the Ukrainian with the parking ticket and the chainsaw, though You should do after-dinner speaking; there's money in it. I know someone, if you'd like a number"

The salad is delicious, thinks Donna, and it's not often she thinks that.

"I would have made a terrific heroin smuggler, I think." This was Ibrahim, who earlier raised the point about Centrica. "It's just logistics, isn't it There's all the weighing too, which I would enjoy, very precise. And they have machines to count money. All the mod cons. Have you ever captured a heroin dealer, PC De Freitas"

"No," admits Donna. "It's on my list, though."

"But I'm right that they have machines to count money" asks Ibrahim.

"They do, yes," says Donna.

"Wonderful," says Ibrahim, and downs his glass of wine.

"We bore easily," adds Elizabeth, also polishing off a glass. "God save us from window locks, WPC De Freitas."

"It's just PC now," says Donna.

"I see," says Elizabeth, lips pursing. "And what happens if I still choose to say WPC Will there be a warrant for my arrest"

"No, but I'll think a bit less of you," says Donna. "Because it's a really simple thing to do, and it's more respectful to me."

"Damn, checkmate, okay," says Elizabeth, unpursing her lips.

"Thank you," says Donna.

"Guess how old I am," challenges Ibrahim.

Donna hesitates. Ibrahim has a nice suit, and he has great skin. He smells wonderful. A handkerchief is artfully folded in his breast pocket. Hair thinning but still there. No paunch, and just the one chin. And yet underneath it all Hmmm. Donna looks at Ibrahim's hands. Always the giveaway.

"Eighty" she ventures.

She sees the wind depart Ibrahim's sails. "Yes, spot-on, but I look younger. I look about seventy-four. Everyone agrees. The secret is Pilates."

"And what's your story, Joyce" Donna asks the fourth member of the group, a small white-haired woman in a lavender blouse and mauve cardigan. She is sitting very happily, taking it all in. Mouth closed but eyes bright. Like a quiet bird, constantly on the lookout for something sparkling in the sunshine.

"Me" says Joyce. "No story at all. I was a nurse, and then a mum, and then a nurse again. Nothing to see here, I'm afraid."

Elizabeth gives a short snort. "Don't be taken in by Joyce, PC De Freitas. She is the type who 'gets things done.'"

"I'm just organized," says Joyce. "It's out of fashion. If I say I'm going to Zumba, I go to Zumba. That's just me. My daughter is the interesting one in the family. She runs a hedge fund, if you know what one is"

"Not really," admits Donna.

"No," agrees Joyce.

"Zumba is before Pilates," says Ibrahim. "I don't like to do both. It's counterintuitive to your major muscle groups."

A question has been nagging at Donna throughout lunch. "So, if you don't mind me asking, I know you all live at Coopers Chase, but how did the four of you become friends"