Finding Sophie A novel

Harry and Zara King are struggling with the disappearance of their 17-year-old daughter, Sophie, who went missing six weeks ago. They have talked to all their South London neighbors except for one older man who is rarely seen. The couple has also received support from their fellow teachers, the school administration, and Sophie's classmates as they conduct their self-directed investigation. Discovering what they believe to be a critical clue, the Kings decide to take action. But were they correct in their assumptions, or was it grief that prompted their irrevocable actions? Told from Harry and Zara's points of view, Mahmood's novel immerses readers in the protagonists' inner turmoil and will induce them to seek justifications for even their most questionable decisions. Harry and Zara are not always likable, but they are increasingly sympathetic. Their legal maneuvering is complex and fascinating to puzzle out as the current storyline moves forward in contrast to reclaimed memories of the family's past. Dark, suspenseful, and smart, this will appeal to fans of Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn, or A Twisted Love Story, by Samantha Downing.

Two South London parents take the search for their missing daughter into their own hands. Six weeks ago, 17-year-old Sophie King went missing. Her parents, Zara and Harry, have lost confidence in the police investigation, especially since one of their neighbors, Herman in number 210, has refused all questioning. The Kings begin their own separate investigations, each in their own way: Harry patrolling the area and quick to anger, Zara subtly infiltrating Sophie's social circle. Both are rash but make significant discoveries. Meanwhile, a year later, a murder trial is about to commence. As the novel jumps between the two timelines and Zara's and Harry's points of view, the truth of what happened to Sophie slowly comes into view. Though the novel is about a missing girl, the focus is less on the search for her than on how her disappearance affects her parents; it doesn't quite have the breakneck pace of a thriller but feels more like a slow unraveling. While having only so much information keeps the reader happily guessing, the switching between time periods and between days within those periods can become confusing when events that had seemed to take place on the same day suddenly diverge. The novel hits its stride in the back half, when the focus becomes the trial and the small tricks and maneuvering of the plaintiffs bring surprise after surprise. The last 30 pages have more to say than the first 80, perhaps, but it's worth it to get there. A slow but steady burn. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Now Old Bailey Courtroom Three I've been waiting six months for my trial but now that I'm here I can't contain the panic blooming in my gut. I am in the glass-­walled dock of Court Three of the Old Bailey. The courtroom, paneled in satinwood, is cavernous. The desks in front of me cascade gently down four rows, narrow and impractical looking. In the distance the judge's bench is attended by a pair of empty red leather chairs. The room brims with decades-­old scents. I am drowning. My barrister, Stan Stevens, is middle-­aged with streaks of silver in his otherwise black hair. He is small but he bristles with energy as if permanently plugged into a power source. His voice is shrill and sometimes he shouts, even at me, his client. But I like him. There's always a gleam in his eye as if he knows things nobody else does. He barrels toward me and slaps his hand on the glass wall. "Jailer. Can I speak to my client? Just in here is fine." The security guard opens the door to let him in and then locks it again. Stevens sits next to me, eyes flashing. "Okay. I don't want you to react to the prosecution speech. I know this prosecutor. He's a tit but he's not stupid. I mean, he's not as clever as me but he is cleverer than you. Don't give him an excuse to stitch you up. And when the jury comes in: don't look at them." "Why?" "Because if you're looking at them, they'll think you're trying to get their sympathy. Juries don't like being played." I nod but can't help noticing the slimness of the black file in his hand as I do. It seems almost empty. "Have we got any more from Braintree?" I ask him. "Braintree, the OIC? I thought he was called Brown or something." I've had to learn this new language. OIC--­officer in the case. "No, the cell-­site expert," I say slowly. He riffles through the few pages in his file. "Don't worry about the cell-­site stuff yet. That's days away. We'll get a witness batting order soon and I'll see when he's on. We can talk about cell-­site the day before he's due to give evidence against you. No point doing it sooner." "She," I say pointedly. "Braintree is a woman." "That's what I said. She. The judge will be in soon, so I better get back," he says, and exits the dock. The door behind me opens, but before I can turn to see what's going on, Stevens returns. "And don't object to any of the jury when they are being sworn in. They'll ask if you want to object but you're not allowed to. It's just a convention. It's stupid, I know." I agree quickly so that I can finally turn and see the commotion behind me. My heart stops. This is only the second time in my life that this has happened. A loud bang from deep inside the courtroom starts my heart again. There is a collective scrape as everyone shuffles to their feet. The judge, a small woman with the face of an owl, takes up the central red chair. The usher shouts, "Would all persons having business in the Central Criminal Court this day draw near and give your attention. God save the king." I can't believe it's come to this. Excerpted from Finding Sophie: A Novel by Imran Mahmood 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.