Not Dead Yet (Roy Grace Series #8) by Peter James | Hardcover | Barnes & Noble
Not Dead Yet (Roy Grace Series #8)

Not Dead Yet (Roy Grace Series #8)

4.6 9
by Peter James
     
 

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In the latest from #1 international bestselling author Peter James, Not Dead Yet, Roy Grace tracks a stalker obsessed with a Hollywood starlet.

Days before one of Hollywood's hottest stars, Gaia Lafayette, leaves home for a movie role on location in Brighton, England, there is a bungled attempt on her life. The whole city of Brighton awaits Gaia's arrival,

Overview

In the latest from #1 international bestselling author Peter James, Not Dead Yet, Roy Grace tracks a stalker obsessed with a Hollywood starlet.

Days before one of Hollywood's hottest stars, Gaia Lafayette, leaves home for a movie role on location in Brighton, England, there is a bungled attempt on her life. The whole city of Brighton awaits Gaia's arrival, including her dangerously obsessive Number One fan looking for revenge and an anxious Detective Superintendent Roy Grace, charged with protecting Gaia.

When a mutilated torso is found on a chicken farm miles away in the countryside, Roy Grace has no reason at all to connect this to the star's visit to the county. But as events rapidly begin to unfold, Roy Grace and his police team find themselves in a desperate race against time to save Gaia's life from a clever maniac who will stop at nothing to kill her.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Two cases preoccupy Roy Grace in James’s unnecessarily complicated eighth crime novel featuring the Brighton detective superintendent (after 2011’s Dead Man’s Grip). When a torso turns up in a vat of chicken excrement at a Sussex farm, Grace and his team know that the most important thing is to identify the victim, which proves difficult. Meanwhile, Grace eagerly awaits the birth of his first child (by his fiancée), though the memory of his first wife, who disappeared nearly a decade earlier, dampens his enthusiasm for fatherhood at times. Grace must also oversee the protection of pop superstar Gaia, who’s in Brighton to film her first serious movie, the story of George IV’s relationship with his secret mistress. That so many people wish the Lady GaGa-esque Gaia harm—including an obsessed Internet fan, whose love turns to rage when her idol ignores her—may strike some readers as implausible. Several side stories serve to confuse the main action. Agent: Carole Blake, Blake Friedmann Literary. (Dec.)
Library Journal
Hollywood comes to Brighton in James's eighth thriller with DS Roy Grace at the helm (after his Barry Award-winning Dead Man's Grip). [See Prepub Alert, 7/2/12.]
Kirkus Reviews
The return of a Brighton girl who made it big spells nothing but trouble for Detective Superintendent Roy Grace and his colleagues in the Sussex Police (Dead Man's Grip, 2011, etc.). Now that she's returned to her birthplace to star as George IV's mistress in The King's Lover, everyone, it seems, wants a piece of rocker-turned-thespian Gaia Lafayette. An anonymous sender of emails who thinks the role should have gone to a more established actress has already shot Gaia's assistant to death in LA. Failed playwright Drayton Wheeler, convinced that producer Larry Brooker stole the film's idea from him, is plotting revenge. So is Anna Galicia, the fan who's spent £275,000 on Gaia memorabilia only to be spurned when she tried to talk herself into a face-to-face with her idol. Kevin Spinella, chief crime reporter for the Brighton Argus, demands details on the latest threats to Gaia even though he's on his honeymoon in the Maldives. Clearly, protecting a superstar who doesn't want to surrender her freedom of movement in a nation where practically no one, including the police, carries firearms will be a tall order for the Sussex Police. Roy Grace, who's in charge of the detail, has troubles of his own. An unidentifiable torso has turned up on Keith Winter's chicken farm, and vicious gangster Amis Smallbone, whom Grace put away 12 years ago, has been released from prison bent on vengeance. And that doesn't even exhaust the list of miscreants, who are so thick on the ground that there's even a darkly humorous scene in which two of Gaia's stalkers, unknown to each other, briefly meet James keeps the whole caravan lumbering efficiently along, though he never quite dispels the suspicion that not even a rock star could possibly have so many enemies independently determined to do her harm.
From the Publisher

“James really knows how to plot a procedural thriller, and he enjoys a sly joke.” —The New York Times Book Review

“James writes his books in crisp, short chapters that hop in and out of myriad characters' minds . . . Convuluted plots and wildly inventive homicidal setups in rich supply.” —Houston Chronicle

“James continues to impress with his great imagination, conjuring up grisly murders and improbable crime scenes.” —RT Book Reviews

“A finish you'll never see coming . . . Recommended.” —Midwest Book Review

“Peter James always gives double value in his elegant police procedurals. . . . The methodical investigation is always authentically detailed . . . [and] James's inspired villains are also worthy of lead roles in mad-dog-killer thrillers.” —The New York Times on Dead Man's Grip

“Fans will love this latest Roy Grace thriller, and newcomers will find Dead Man's Grip the perfect place to start.” —The Associated Press on Dead Man's Grip

“Readers will come back begging for more after this exciting one. For fans of Lee Child and Jeffery Deaver.” —Library Journal on Dead Man's Grip

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780312642846
Publisher:
St. Martin's Press
Publication date:
11/27/2012
Series:
Roy Grace Series, #8
Pages:
448
Product dimensions:
6.50(w) x 9.30(h) x 1.50(d)

Read an Excerpt

NOT DEAD YET (Chapter 1)

I am warning you, and I won't repeat this warning. Don't take the part. You'd better believe me. Take the part and you are dead. Bitch.

Gaia Lafayette was unaware of the man out in the dark, in the station wagon, who had come to kill her. And she was unaware of the email he had sent. She got hate mail all the time, mostly from religious nutters or folk upset by her swearing or her provocative costumes in some of her stage acts and music videos. Those emails were screened and kept from bothering her by her trusted head of security, Detroit-born Andrew Gulli, a tough ex-cop who'd spent most of his career on close protection work for vulnerable political figures.

He knew when to be worried enough to tell his boss, and this piece of trash that had come in, on an anonymous Hotmail account, was not something he figured had any substance. His employer got a dozen like this every week.

It was 10 p.m. and Gaia was trying to focus on the script she was reading, but she couldn't concentrate. She was focused even more on the fact that she had run out of cigarettes. The sweet, but oh so dim-witted Pratap, who did all her shopping, and who she hadn't the heart to fire because his wife had a brain tumour, had bought the wrong brand. She had her limit of four cigarettes a day, and didn't actually need any more, but old habits die hard. She used to mainline the damned things, claiming they were essential for her famed gravelly voice. Not so many years back she'd have one before she got out of bed, followed by one burning in the ashtray while she showered. Every action accompanied by a cigarette. Now she was kicking free, but she had to know they were in the house. Just in case she needed them.

Like so much else she needed in life. Starting with her adoring public. Checking the count of Twitter followers and Facebook likes. Both were substantially up again today, each nearly a million up in the past month alone, still keeping her well ahead of both the performers she viewed as her rivals, Madonna and Lady Gaga. And she now had nearly ten million subscribers to her monthly e-newsletter. And then there were her seven homes, of which this copy of a Tuscan palazzo, built five years ago to her specification on a three-acre lot, was the largest.

The walls, mirrored full length floor-to-ceiling to create the illusion of infinite space, were decorated with Aztec art interspersed with larger-than-life posters of herself. The house, like all her others, was a catalogue of her different incarnations. Gaia had reinvented herself constantly throughout her career as a rock star, and more recently, two years ago at thirty-five, had started reinventing herself again, this time as a movie actor.

Above her head was a huge, framed monochrome signed photo of herself in a black negligee, titled WORLD TOUR GAIA SAVING THE PLANET. Another, with her wearing a tank top and leather jeans, was captioned, GAIA REVELATIONS TOUR. Above the fireplace, in dramatic green was a close-up of her lips, nose and eyes - GAIA UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL.

Her agent and her manager phoned her daily, both men reassuring her just how much the world needed her. Just the way that her growing social networking base - all outsourced by her management company - reassured her, too. And at this moment, the one person in the world she cared about most - Roan, her six-year-old son - needed her just as much. He padded barefoot across the marble floor, in his Armani Junior pyjamas, his brown hair all mussed up, his face scrunched in a frown, and tapped her on the arm as she lay on the white sofa, propped against the purple velvet cushions. 'Mama, you didn't come and read me a story.'

She stretched out a hand and mussed up his hair some more. Then she put down the script and took him in her arms, hugging him. 'I'm sorry, sweetie. It's late, way past your bedtime, and Mama's really busy tonight, learning her lines. She has a really big part - see? Mama's playing Maria Fitzherbert, the mistress of an English king! King George the Fourth.'

Maria Fitzherbert was the diva of her day, in Regency England. Just like she herself was the diva of her day now, and they had something profound in common. Maria Fitzherbert spent most of her life in Brighton, in England. And she, Gaia, had been born in Brighton! She felt a connection to this woman, across time. She was born to play this role!

Her agent said this was the new King's Speech. An Oscar role, no question. And she wanted an Oscar oh so badly. The first two movies she had made were okay, but had not set the world on fire. In hindsight, she realized, it was because she hadn't chosen well and the scripts were - frankly - weak. This movie now could give her the critical acclaim she craved. She'd fought hard for this role. And she'd succeeded.

Hell, you had to fight in life. Fortune favoured the brave. Some people were born with silver spoons so far up their assholes they stuck in their gullets, and some, like herself, were born on the wrong side of the tracks. It had been a long journey to here, through her early days of waiting tables, and two husbands, to the place she was now at, and where she felt comfortable. Just herself, Roan and Todd, the fitness instructor who gave her great sex when she needed it and kept out of her face when she didn't, and her trusted entourage, Team Gaia.

She picked up the script and showed him the white and the blue pages. 'Mama has to learn all this before she flies to England.'

'You promised.'

'Didn't Steffie read to you tonight?' Steffie was the nanny.

He looked forlorn. 'You read better. I like it when you read.'

She looked at her watch. 'It's after ten o'clock. Way past your bedtime!'

'I can't sleep. I can't sleep unless you read to me, Mama.'

She tossed the script on to the glass coffee table, lifted him down and stood up. 'Okay, one quick story. Okay?'

His face brightened. He nodded vigorously.

'Marla!' she shouted. 'Marla!'

Her assistant came into the room, cellphone pressed to her ear, arguing furiously with someone about what sounded like the seating arrangements on a plane. The one extravagance Gaia refused to have was a private jet, because of her concerns over her carbon footprint.

Marla was shouting. Didn't the fuckwit airline know who Gaia was? That she could fucking make or break them? She was wearing glittery Versace jeans tucked into black alligator boots, a thin black roll-neck and a gold neck chain carrying the flat gold globe engraved Planet Gaia. It was exactly the same way her boss was dressed tonight. Her hair mirrored her boss's, too: blonde, shoulder length, layered in a sharp razor cut with a carefully spaced and waxed fringe.

Gaia Lafayette insisted that all her staff had to dress the same way - following the daily emailed instructions of what she would be wearing, how her hair would be. They had, at all times, to be an inferior copy of herself.

Marla ended the call. 'Sorted!' she said. 'They've agreed to bump some people off the flight.' She gave Gaia an angelic smile. 'Because it's you!'

'I need cigarettes,' Gaia said. 'Wanna be an angel and go get me some?'

Marla shot a surreptitious glance at her watch. She had a date tonight and was already two hours late for him, thanks to Gaia's demands - nothing unusual. No previous personal assistant had lasted more than eighteen months before being fired, yet, amazingly, she was entering her third year. It was hard work and long hours, and the pay wasn't great, but the work experience was to die for, and although her boss was tough, she was kind. One day she'd be free of the chains, but not yet. 'Sure, no problem,' she said.

'Take the Merc.'

It was a balmy hot night. Gaia was smart enough to understand the small perks that went a long way.

'Cool! I'll be right back. Anything else?'

Gaia shook her head. 'You can keep the car for the night.'

'I can?'

'Sure, I'm not going anywhere.'

Marla coveted the silver SL55 AMG. She looked forward to driving the fast bends along Sunset to the convenience store. Then to picking up Jay in it afterwards. Who knew how the night might turn out? Every day working for Gaia was an adventure. Just as every night recently, since she had met Jay, was too! He was a budding actor, and she was determined to find a way, through her connection with Gaia, to help him get a break.

She did not know it, but as she walked out to the Mercedes, she was making a grave mistake.

NOT DEAD YET Copyright © 2012 by Really Scary Books / Peter James.

Meet the Author

PETER JAMES is the #1 international bestselling author of the Roy Grace series with more than 13 million copies sold all over the world. His novels have been translated into thirty-five languages; three have been filmed and two are currently in development. All of his novels reflect his deep interest in the world of the police, with whom he does in-depth research. He has produced numerous films, including The Merchant of Venice, starring Al Pacino, Jeremy Irons, and Joseph Fiennes. He lives in England.

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