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Perfect Christmas Gifts for Crime & Thriller Lovers 📚🎄

Written by: Laura

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Time to read 22 min

Are you on the hunt for the perfect Christmas gifts for the crime and thriller lovers in your life? Then look no further! We've curated a list of books that will keep them on the edge of their seats during the holiday season.

 

In this article, we'll introduce you to a selection of 10 thrilling titles, each with their own unique twists and captivating narratives. Whether you're shopping for a seasoned detective novel enthusiast or someone just dipping their toes into the world of mysteries, there's something here for everyone. 

1. Hercule Poirot's Silent Night by Sophie Hannah 🕯

Kickstarting our list of must-reads for crime and thriller lovers is Hercule Poirot's Silent Night by Sophie Hannah. This novel takes the world's greatest detective, Hercule Poirot, originally created by Agatha Christie, and places him in the midst of a baffling Christmas mystery.

 

Set in 1931, just a few days before Christmas, Poirot and Inspector Edward Catchpool are summoned to investigate a murder in a seemingly safe Norfolk hospital ward. But Poirot's festive plans take an unexpected turn when he's urged to stay in a coastal mansion by the persistent Cynthia, who believes another murder is imminent. With less than a week to solve the case and ensure a peaceful Christmas, Poirot faces a relentless and ruthless adversary.

 

Spoiler alert: Expect an ending you won't see coming!


An extract:

"19 December 1931

 

Poirot and I were debating the relative merits of turkey and duck, and which should feature in our Christmas luncheon, when there came a knock at the door of his Whitehaven Mansions drawing room. ‘Enter!’ he said.

 

I was grateful for the pause. It would give me time to consider whether I had done all I could and might now reasonably concede defeat. I had been making the case for turkey, but the truth was that I preferred duck. A strong belief in the importance of tradition had compelled me to argue against my own personal taste. Since Poirot was the one who would be hosting our Christmas festivities, he should probably be allowed to have his way—this was the conclusion I reached as George, Poirot’s valet, leaned somewhat awkwardly into the room.

 

‘I apologize for the interruption, sir, but a lady is here to see you. She has no appointment but says it is a matter of the utmost importance. She believes it cannot wait, not even until tomorrow.’

 

‘I can leave—’ I said, half out of my chair.

 

‘No, no, Catchpool. Stay. I am not inclined to receive an unexpected visitor this afternoon. I have noticed that, since the American stock market unpleasantness, most people are unable to measure accurately the urgency of their predicament.’

 

We at Scotland Yard had noticed the same thing, I told him.

 

‘They come to my door insisting that they must have the help of Hercule Poirot. Eh bien, I listen patiently, and usually there is nothing more than an easily resolvable misunderstanding—a trivial altercation with a business associate or something of that nature. Nothing to confound or delight the little grey cells.’

 

‘Yes. Trifles are magnified and viewed as disasters,’ I said, thinking of the woman who had barged into my office two weeks earlier, demanding that I investigate the ‘robbery’ of her spectacles. She telephoned the next day to tell me that the unknown miscreant had replaced them in the pocket of her gardening coat; in other words, she had deposited them there herself and forgotten all about it. ‘Please consider the matter closed,’ she had said briskly, unaware that this had been my resolution from the moment I first laid eyes upon her.

 

I felt satisfaction swell in my chest as it did each time I reminded myself that I was a mere two days into a two-week holiday from my job at Scotland Yard.

 

‘What shall I tell Mrs Surtees?’ George asked Poirot. ‘That is the name of your visitor: Enid Surtees.’

 

As he repeated the name, I found myself wishing I were elsewhere. Something inside my chest had tightened. Enid Surtees. How extraordinary: I had no idea who she was, but I was absolutely certain that I wanted George to give her her marching orders. Had I heard mention of her somewhere? A feeling of dread had come upon me. It was warm in Poirot’s drawing room as it always was, yet the back of my neck was suddenly cold, as if something had breathed a chill over me."

2. Traitors Gate by Jeffrey Archer 👑

In Jeffrey Archer's gripping thriller, Traitors Gate, readers are plunged into a race against time set against the iconic backdrop of the Tower of London. This impenetrable fortress, home to the world's most valuable jewels, becomes the focal point of a high-stakes operation involving the annual transportation of the Crown Jewels.

 

For four years, Chief Superintendent William Warwick, along with Inspector Ross Hogan, has masterminded this operation smoothly. However, this year, everything changes. Master criminal Miles Faulkner has his sights set on pulling off the most audacious theft in history, and he has an insider to help. The odds are in his favour, unless Warwick and Hogan can thwart him before it's too late. Prepare for a thrilling heist and an adrenaline-fueled battle of wits!


An extract:

Tuesday 22 October 1996

 

Commander Hawksby pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and took out two dice, although he was not a gambling man.

 

Superintendent William Warwick and Inspector Ross Hogan remained standing as the Hawk, like a Vegas croupier, shook the dice vigorously in his right hand before tossing them onto his desk and waiting for them to settle.

 

‘Five and two,’ said William. The Hawk raised an eyebrow as he waited for William and Ross to confirm the relevance of the two numbers. ‘Five, sir,’ said William, ‘means that when we leave the palace, we’ll be taking the longer Embankment route.’

 

‘And the two, Inspector?’ demanded Commander Hawksby, switching his attention to Ross.

 

‘The password is “Traitors Gate”.’

 

The Hawk nodded before checking his watch. ‘Better get moving,’ he said. ‘Can’t afford to keep the Lord Chamberlain waiting.’ He bent down and put the dice back in the bottom drawer of his desk for another year.

 

William and Ross quickly left the office as the commander picked up his phone and dialled a number that wasn’t in any phone book. It was answered after one ring. ‘Five and two,’ he said.

 

‘Five and two,’ repeated the voice on the other end of the line before the phone went dead.

 

William and Ross marched along the corridor, past the lift, and jogged down two sets of stairs to the ground floor of Scotland Yard. They didn’t stop moving until they’d reached the entrance, where they saw Constable Danny Ives seated behind the wheel of a dark grey Land Rover, not their usual mode of transport, but appropriate for the occasion.

 

‘Good morning, sir,’ said Danny as William climbed into the back of the car.

 

‘Morning, Danny,’ William replied as Ross joined him.

 

Superintendent Warwick and Constable Ives had joined the force a decade before, in the same intake as fledgling recruits, and it had taken the perpetual constable some time to stop calling his boss by his old nickname ‘choirboy’, and call him ‘sir’ instead. It had taken considerably longer for him to mean it.

 

Danny switched on the engine and eased the unfamiliar vehicle into first gear before moving off. He didn’t need to be told where they were going. After all, it wasn’t every day they visited Buckingham Palace."

3. The Killer's Christmas List by Chris Frost 📜

In The Killer's Christmas List, DI Tom Stonem anticipates a peaceful Christmas, but a sinister twist awaits. A lifeless body is discovered by the Angel of the North, clutching a child's Christmas list. The first item, ominously crossed off, reads "No angel."

 

As a snowstorm blankets the Tyne & Wear countryside, the body count steadily rises. Stonem can't help but sense a grim connection between the murders and the Christmas list. Could it be a coded message from the murderer? With a blizzard raging, Stonem races against the clock to unravel this cryptic puzzle before more innocent lives are claimed. Don’t miss this anti-cosy Christmas crime novel that will keep you on the edge of your seat.


4. The Tudor Deception by Scott Mariani 🏰

Ben Hope, a former military man turned rescuer of missing children, is drawn into a mind-bending case in The Tudor Deception. Asked to investigate the disappearance of two boys who vanished centuries ago, Ben reluctantly accepts. Little does he know that this seemingly innocent request will ignite a chain reaction of events that will imperil not only his loved ones, but also lead him on a perilous journey across Europe.

 

As the death toll rises, Ben must untangle the enigmatic connection between a murdered history professor, an English lord, and a pretender to the Tudor throne. Will he unearth the truth in time, or become the next victim of these unrelenting killers? Explore this high-intensity thriller where old secrets come at a modern-day price.


An extract:

Co. Galway, Ireland 2005

 

While they’d been inside the pub a veil of clouds had drawn over to blot out the stars, and now a heavy downpour was lashing the pavements of the small fishing village. Aurora looked up at the sky, pulled a face and said, ‘Ugh.’

 

‘Doesn’t look like it’s about to let up any time soon,’ Ben said, hunting for his car keys. ‘We’ll have to make a run for it.’ The Interceptor was parked fifty yards down the rain-slicked street. He was glad he hadn’t left the top down.

 

Aurora pointed at the keys in his hand. ‘So are you going to let me drive back?’ she asked, smiling at him. He couldn’t tell if she was being serious, or just teasing. Her eyes flashed in the lights of the pub doorway. Inside, the band had started up another number, a rousing rendition of the old tune Whiskey in the Jar.

 

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ he replied. Ben was liking Aurora much more than he’d been initially willing to admit to himself.

 

She giggled and nudged him with her elbow. ‘You promised you’d let me have a go of your speed machine. And you’ve had too many pints of Guinness anyway.’

 

Maybe she had a point there. Even though he felt perfectly sober and it was extremely unlikely they’d encounter any Garda patrol cars in the few miles of quiet country lanes between here and Ben’s remote house up the coast, it probably wasn’t worth taking the risk of a drink-driving charge. Relenting, he handed her the keys and said with a show of reluctance, ‘Fine, all right, then. You win.’

 

Aurora’s smile widened to a beaming grin. ‘Excellent. Come on. I’ll race you to the car.’

 

The rain was coming down even harder. Just then, Ben realised that he’d left his jacket inside the pub, slung over the seat of the cosy little corner where they’d spent the evening. ‘Shit. Hold on. Tell you what, you get the engine warmed up and I’ll be there in a minute.’

 

Aurora nodded eagerly, pulled her own jacket up over her head and made a run for the car, moving with that long-limbed dancer’s stride he was getting to know well, though they’d met only so recently. Ben hurried back inside the pub and pushed his way through thethrong to their alcove. Up on the stage the band were belting out, ‘I first produced me pistol and I then produced me rapier / saying “Stand and Deliver” for he were a bold deceiver …’

 

Ben got back to their seats to find that another couple had occupied them – but his old brown leather jacket was still where he’d left it, unmolested. He grabbed it and pushed his way back towards the entrance. As he emerged from the doorway he could see Aurora down the street, unlocking the car door. The rain was lashing more heavily than ever, hitting the pavements with such force that the drops bounced on impact. So much for a beautiful May night. He shrugged on his jacket and went to go running down the street after her.

 

That was when Ben saw him again. The tall thin man with the thick glasses and the widow’s peak. The same man he’d seen outside the Dublin hotel the day he’d gone to meet Mortimer. Watching him, or so it had seemed at the time."

5. Those People Next Door by Kia Abdullah 🏘

Welcome to your dream home, and let the nightmare begin… Journey to the suburban sanctuary of Blenheim, where Salma Khatun and her family have relocated to seek a fresh start. But soon after moving in, tensions erupt when Salma's neighbour, Tom Hutton, initiates a battle over an anti-racist banner. As hostilities escalate a reckoning looms, and the quiet neighbourhood transforms into a terror.

 

In Those People Next Door, Kia Abdullah explores the loss of innocence and the lengths we'll go to, to protect ourselves and our loved ones. Dive into a tale of neighbours turned adversaries, where harmony unravels, and threats lurk behind closed doors.


An extract:

Salma had always sworn that she would never end up in a place like this. ‘It’s a bit like purgatory,’ she had joked when they first came to see the house in a harried half-hour before work one morning. The estate agent, a hawkish woman with a watchful gaze, had herded them from room to room and Salma had murmured politely, even commenting on this or that ‘lovely feature’ as she and Bilal locked eyes, amusement passing between them.

 

They had agreed to view it only because there was a gap between their other bookings and the agent had pushed this property. It was in a neat cul-de-sac on the eastern reaches of the Central line. It was built seven years ago, said the agent, and still had the bright, bland feel of a new development. There was a dizzying amount of brickwork and even its name, the mononymous ‘Blenheim’, felt like an artless attempt at class, like petrol stop perfume or ‘Guccci’ shades. Upstairs, out of the agent’s earshot, they had giggled about the perfect lawn.

 

‘Do you think Neighbourhood Watch will knock down your door if it grows above two inches?’ said Bilal.

 

Salma fought a smile. ‘We’re being snobby,’ she said but with laughter in her voice.

 

The agent walked in and the two of them sprang apart like children caught red-handed. She nodded at the window, her silver-brown bob swaying with the motion. ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’

 

‘Lovely,’ Salma agreed.

 

That was six months ago and after close to forty viewings, they had both grown weary. Nothing else matched Blenheim for price, condition, space and safety and so they talked each other into it. Four double bedrooms, said Bilal. And it’s still on the Central line, said Salma. The neat streets and quiet neighbours. If they could set aside their vanity, they could be happy at Blenheim and so they had put in an offer – and here they were, their first week in their new home."

6. Just Between Us by Adele Parks 🤫

Lost. Missing. Murdered? The nation is obsessed with the mysterious disappearance of Kylie Gillingham in Just Between Us. Married to two men at the same time, she vanishes, and both her husbands become prime suspects. DC Clements is tasked with unravelling this scandalous case of love and deception

 

As secrets surface and tragedy strikes, the lives of these intertwined families are forever altered. Adele Parks crafts an unmissable thriller filled with treacherous twists and the dark side of human nature. Immerse yourself in a case where nothing is as it seems, and where the search for the truth might be more dangerous than anticipated.


An extract:

"There is no body. A fact DC Clements finds both a problem and a tremulous, tantalising possibility. She’s not a woman inclined to irrational hope, or even excessive hope. Any damned hope, really. At least, not usually.

 

Kylie Gillingham is probably dead.

 

Statistically speaking, it’s not looking good for her. The forty-three-year-old woman has been missing nearly two weeks. Ninety-seven per cent of the 180,000 people a year who are reported missing are found within a week, dead or alive. She hasn’t been spotted by members of the public, or picked up on CCTV; her bank, phone and email accounts haven’t been touched. She has social media registered under her married name, Kai Janssen; they’ve lain dormant. No perky pictures of carefully arranged books, lattes, Negronis or peonies. Kylie Gillingham hasn’t returned to either of her homes. Statistically, it’s looking very bad.

 

Experience would also suggest this sort of situation has to end terribly. When a wife disappears, all eyes turn on the husband. In this case, there is not one but two raging husbands left behind. Both men once loved the missing woman very much. Love is just a shiver away from hate."

7. A Cornish Christmas Murder by Fiona Leitch ❄

In A Cornish Christmas Murder, Jodie 'Nosey' Parker, a detective turned chef, is about to cater a charity event at a 13th-century abbey on Bodmin Moor. However, a snowstorm traps the guests, and the next morning reveals a gruesome murder in their midst. As secrets simmer and paranoia grows, Jodie must untangle the web of lies to unveil the killer. A Cornish Christmas Murder is a mystery filled with heart and humour, perfect for fans of Richard Osman. Will Jodie solve the case before the murderer strikes again, or will the mistletoe bring more than just holiday cheer?


An extract:

“'Wow!’

 

‘Bloomin’ ’eck!’

 

‘Holy guacamole!’

 

‘Woof!’

 

The exclamations of my companions as we drove through the wrought-iron gates and chugged painfully up the snow-covered driveway echoed my own thoughts. The house that was still some way ahead of us, framed by an avenue of bare, skeletal trees silhouetted blackly against a pale sky, was undoubtedly impressive.

 

‘Yeah, it’s all right, innit?’ I said calmly, as if I was used to working in great big, fancy country mansions. But, truth be told, I was hugely excited about this job. This one was going to be fun.

 

The gears on the Gimpmobile, my ancient but well-loved (and inappropriately decorated) catering van, ground nastily as I shifted down to second, slowing down as we approached the front of the house. I assumed my employers for the day would not want my knackered old Transit parked there, where their guests would see it, but in this weather I wasn’t wholly convinced that, once parked, the van would start again. I leaned on the horn, hoping for a jaunty Toot! Toot! to alert the inhabitants that we’d arrived, and was rewarded with a sort of strangled whine that reminded me of the year I’d had to sit next to Colin ‘Thunderpants’ Dobson in Maths. The combination of the school’s hard plastic chairs and the weird diet that his mother fed him had resulted in many similar noises, and had left me unable to attempt any type of mathematical equation without my eyes involuntarily watering.

 

As I’d hoped, the grand wooden door opened and Lily Swann, an old friend of mine from the same school (but with a better digestive system), rushed out, waving me on and pointing around the back of the house. The Gimpmobile groaned but made it around the corner of the house before I took pity on it and parked up, leaping out as soon as the engine was off.

 

Mum climbed creakily out of the van on the passenger side, stopping to stretch and trapping my teenage daughter, Daisy, who was trying to follow her out.

 

‘Hurry up, Nana,’ said Daisy. ‘Germaine’s been crossing her paws since Launceston.’

 

‘She’s not the only one,’ muttered Mum, jigging about. ‘It’s the cold weather.’"

8. Notes on a Murder by BP Walter 🖋

Imagine attending a dinner party where the host presents you with a chilling proposition: one of the guests has committed a heinous crime, and you have the power to end their life, putting a stop to their reign of terror. He assures you there will be no consequences. Would you believe him? In Notes on a Murder, every choice leads down a different path, with no turning back. Are you capable of making the ultimate decision that will change your life forever? Pick up this absorbing psychological thriller and prepare for a moral dilemma that will keep you questioning until the very end.


An extract:

I’m sitting by the window when I see you. I had been enjoying a quiet moment of early morning reading with my breakfast, but one of the other guests here – a young woman – got a bit too chatty for my liking, so I decided to relocate. I’m not an unfriendly person, as you know – at least, I don’t think I am – but I do like my own company. I’ve always been good by myself. Good at coping with things, making decisions, sorting out problems. Or I was, until things became difficult and I ended up here.

 

It’s another cold, misty October day and I’ve gravitated towards the foyer after breakfast for a view of the impressive front lawn and drive. Although I prefer summer, I enjoy the look of the deep, dense mist lying low over the grounds. The scattered dark-brown carpet of leaves across the grass. It’s both haunting and beautiful, in its own way. I’m on a comfortably padded window seat and move my gaze to the well-manicured signage marking the entrance: Wood View Wellness Centre. I’ve found focusing my attention on little things – like nature, the view, the weather – a good way to keep my urges at bay. My addiction. The pills I’d purposefully left at home when I came here, locked in a desk drawer, hopefully never to be opened again.

 

The building is curved, so from my position at the end of the foyer, I can see both the front of the building and down the gravel drive, which disappears into the mist as if there is nothing beyond. Complete oblivion. That’s where the car comes from. Oblivion. One moment there’s nothing to disturb the view, then shining headlights are breaking through the darkness. It’s a taxi, with stickers on the back windows, and I notice it has a dent in the side. It looks rather shabby and ordinary, in contrast to the luxury of this place.

 

But the person who gets out is anything but shabby and ordinary. Despite the distance, it’s clear that your beauty is still there, ready to be appreciated. It’s nearly twenty years since I first saw you. Back when we were both twenty-one. Blonde hair, lighter than mine, not curly but not straight either, framing your face – a picture of precise, sculpted perfection.

 

I almost fall off my seat, and clutch the corner of one of the open curtains, feeling every muscle in my body tense. I hear a ripping sound as I pull on the material, but I don’t look up. I don’t care.

 

It can’t be you.

 

You can’t be here."

9. Lucky by Rachel Edwards 🎲

Etta's life takes an unsettling turn as she spirals into the dark world of online gambling in Lucky. Desperate to win enough money to convince her boyfriend to marry her, she becomes entangled in a risky game of chance. As her losses mount, paranoia grips her—footsteps outside her window, strange lights in the night. Is it just nosy neighbours, or something more sinister? With her financial future on the line, Etta is teetering on the edge of ruin – until a friend who wins the jackpot offers to solve her problems, if she plays her cards right... Lucky is a riveting tale that delves into the dangers of addiction and the high-stakes world of virtual betting, where winning can be everything, but losing can cost you your life.


An extract:

Today, Easter Sunday, was going to blow their lives wide open. She felt the pressure building, sweet, acidulous and fizzing like fine French wine: the moment she had been waiting for, ready to pop.

 

‘Did you hear me, Etta? Come down here to me, my love.’

 

This had to be it, at last. They had already exchanged ostentatious chocolate eggs and now she thought about it, Ola had, for some days, seemed on edge, over-excited, secretive. She scooped the contents of their laundry basket up into her arms and edged downstairs, peering over the clothes heap, the musk of him right under her nose.

 

‘Etta!’ Ola called again.

 

‘I’m here, what is it?’

 

‘Abeg! Oya, come down, woman!’

 

‘Ah! Abeg! Oga, I dey come now!’

 

Each one’s laughter reached the other.

 

‘Come down please, my dearest dear. Please. Come through to the sitting room for a minute. I want to talk to you.’

 

Yes, a pressing matter. A joyful matter.

 

A snatch of Ola’s melodic mumbling, his ‘happy’ tune, drifted through the door. Hm-mm, do-di-do.

 

Etta had felt a stirring, then that old horse-kick of hope. Could this be it, this time? Now, as she stood clutching soiled cotton? It would be their ‘anniversary’ in two weeks’ time. The upcoming sham celebration had slammed into her thoughts over and over in recent days: All that fake rubbish again. Nonsense! But now …

 

The lounge, vacuumed that morning, was ideal for planned kneeling, better than a cold restaurant floor. He just might.

 

‘I’m coming!’ She dumped their dirty clothes against the newel post.

 

Ola looked up at her from the sofa and gave his trademark dazzle. The impact of his bone-white teeth bared from the dark sateen of his face never failed to impress her. She did not smile back with equal confidence. Instead she sat down next to him and adopted the expression of someone you could ask anything at all; someone who was more than ready to swallow any doubts and acquiesce.

 

‘I’ve decided, Etta. We need something to look forward to.’

 

This was it. ‘OK.’

 

‘I thought we might start to think ahead, make a few plans.’

 

‘Go on.’

 

‘I wanted to ask you.’

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘Well, it’s just … OK. Where would you like to go most, if we could go away?’

 

That throb, right at the base of her throat."

10. The Institution by Helen Fields 🔐

Welcome to a world of high security in The Institution, where the most dangerous criminals are held. When a nurse is murdered and her daughter kidnapped within the world's most secure prison hospital, Dr. Connie Woolwine is thrust into a race against time. With only five days to find the missing girl, she must navigate the minds of killers and uncover a murderer hidden in plain sight. Helen Fields weaves a gripping locked-room thriller, filled with tension and suspense that will keep you on the edge of your seat. In this high-stakes game, escaping is not an option, and survival depends on finding a murderer among killers.


An extract:

The dead often made more compelling company than the living. That had been Connie’s experience. They told their story plainly, without subterfuge or hyperbole, and they asked for remarkably little in return. Justice, perhaps, or to protect others who might follow the same path, though this particular body was going to make greater demands on her, and rightly so.

 

Dr Connie Woolwine gripped the corpse’s hand with her own. In life, the two of them might have been friends, bonded through a mutual love of medicine and helping the hopeless. In death, the common denominator was the baby one of them had carried and whom the other had been engaged to find.

 

‘Who took her from you, Tara?’ Connie asked. ‘How could they have been so cruel?’ She ran gloved fingers over the dead woman’s hair, admiring the silken mass, bobby pins still stuck randomly here and there, where a struggle had loosened her bun. ‘Do you mind if I look at what they did to you? I’ll be gentle. You can trust me.’

 

Connie gave it a moment before folding down a section of the sheet that covered Nurse Tara Cameron’s body, and was reminded of a childhood game played in a group. Each player had a piece of paper and a pencil. One person drew feet, folded the paper over and passed it on, the next drew the legs and folded it again and so on until there was a whole body waiting to be revealed in all its ridiculous, hilarious jollity. Not so the picture unfolding before her eyes now. Connie let the injuries – the brushstrokes of murder – tell their story."

This holiday season, delight the crime and thriller lovers in your life with these gasp-inducing reads. From the legendary Hercule Poirot's festive mystery to chilling tales of murder, deception and secrets, there's a book for every taste. Whether you're into classic whodunits or contemporary thrills, these novels promise to keep you entertained. Don't wait; add these captivating titles to your Christmas gift list and treat your loved ones (or yourself) this festive season!