Ungekürzte Ausgabe

Autorentext

Jonathan Kellerman

Klappentext

Psychologist Alex Delaware and detective Milo Sturgis search for answers to a brutal, decades-old crime in this electrifying psychological thriller from the #1 New York Times bestselling master of suspense.

LAPD homicide lieutenant Milo Sturgis is a master detective. He has a near-perfect solve rate and he's written his own rule book. Some of those successes-the toughest ones-have involved his best friend, the brilliant psychologist Alex Delaware. But Milo doesn't call Alex in unless cases are "different."
This murder warrants an immediate call. Milo's independence has been compromised as never before, as the department pressures him to cater to the demands of a mogul: a hard-to-fathom, megarich young woman who is obsessed with reopening the coldest of cases-the decades-old death of the mother she never knew.

The facts describe a likely loser: a mysterious woman found with a bullet in her head in a torched Cadillac that has overturned on infamously treacherous Mulholland Drive. No physical evidence, no witnesses, no apparent motive. And a slew of detectives have already worked the case and failed. But as Delaware and Sturgis begin digging, the mist begins to lift. Too many coincidences. Facts turn out to be anything but. And as they soon discover, very real threats lurking in the present.

This is Delaware/Sturgis at their best: traversing the beautiful but forbidding place known as Los Angeles and exhuming the past in order to bring a vicious killer to justice.

Zusammenfassung
**NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • Psychologist Alex Delaware and detective Milo Sturgis search for answers to a brutal, decades-old crime in this electrifying psychological thriller from the master of suspense.
**
LAPD homicide lieutenant Milo Sturgis is a master detective. He has a near-perfect solve rate and he’s written his own rule book. Some of those successes—the toughest ones—have involved his best friend, the brilliant psychologist Alex Delaware. But Milo doesn’t call Alex in unless cases are “different.”
This murder warrants an immediate call. Milo’s independence has been compromised as never before, as the department pressures him to cater to the demands of a mogul: a hard-to-fathom, megarich young woman who is obsessed with reopening the coldest of cases—the decades-old death of the mother she never knew.

The facts describe a likely loser: a mysterious woman found with a bullet in her head in a torched Cadillac that has overturned on infamously treacherous Mulholland Drive. No physical evidence, no witnesses, no apparent motive. And a slew of detectives have already worked the case and failed. But as Delaware and Sturgis begin digging, the mist begins to lift. Too many coincidences. Facts turn out to be anything but. And as they soon discover, very real threats lurking in the present.

This is Delaware/Sturgis at their best: traversing the beautiful but forbidding place known as Los Angeles and exhuming the past in order to bring a vicious killer to justice.

Leseprobe
CHAPTER 1

My best friend, a seasoned homicide detective, is a master of discontent.

Some say Milo Sturgis enjoys the cold comfort of a sour mood.

Grumbling, grimacing, and mumbled curses peak during the muddled middle of murder investigations, when promising leads break their promises. He always gets past it; his solve rate is near-perfect. Which is why his bosses tolerate the biliousness, messages ignored, memos tossed in the trash unread.

I ve come to think of Milo as allergic to obedience, wonder if it s rooted in his rookie days when gay cops didn t exist in the department and he had to look over his shoulder and write his own rulebook.

But I could be wrong. Temperament s a strong factor in determining personality so it could just be the way he is. I wonder what his baby pictures look like. Imagine him as one of those infants who look as though they ve been weaned on sour pickles.

Like a lot of things, we don t talk about it.

He doesn t call me in on all of his cases, just the ones he terms different once he s gotten his bearings. This time, he didn t wait.

I picked up his phone message when I returned from an eight a.m. run up Beverly Glen. Misery lusts for company, I m coming over. If it s a problem, text me.

I left the door unlocked and headed for the shower. Before I took two steps, the bell rang.

He d called from the road.

Open.

He barreled through, convex gut leading the way, head lowered, bulky shoulders piled up around his neck like a muscular shawl.

A charging bull if a bull could find an aloha shirt that fit.

He took a moment to stoop and pat the head of my little French bulldog, Blanche, murmured, At least someone s smiling, and continued toward the kitchen.

Blanche cocked her head and looked up at me, expecting clarification. When I shrugged and followed him in, she gave a world-weary sigh and padded along.

Milo s usual thing is to raid the fridge and assemble snacks worthy of construction permits. This time he filled a coffee cup, sat down heavily at the table, and tugged at the aloha shirt as if aerating his torso. The shirt was sky-blue polyester patterned inexplicably with cellos and bagels. He wore it tucked into baggy khaki cargo pants that puddled over scuffed desert boots.

My true love is a master artisan. She d designed the kitchen to be sunlit from the south, and this morning s glow was kind to Milo s pallid, pockmarked face. But nothing could mask the cherry-sized lumps rolling up and down his jawline.

I filled a mug and settled across from him. Now I m scared.

By what?

I pointed to his cup. No food.

Sorry for defying your expectations. His lips curled but the end product wasn t a smile. Maybe I had a big breakfast? Maybe I m showing discretion?

Okay.

That was a shrink okay if I ve ever heard one which is fine, I need therapy.

I said nothing.

He said, There it is, the old strategic-silence bit . . . sorry, I ll dial it down. He breathed in and out. Pressed mitt-like palms together. Namaste or whatever. Glad I caught you. Sip. Hoping you re free today. Sip. Are you?

Appointments from two to five.

That ll work. He picked up his cup, put it down. I plead guilty to acute petulance. But it s called for.

Tough case.

It should be so simple. Sausage fingers drummed the table. Another long inhale exhale. Okay, here&rsq