By Jonathan Kellerman
L.A. psychologist-detective Alex Delaware has got a wierd, nameless package deal within the mail. inside of is an album jam-packed with grotesque crime-scene images. while his previous pal and colleague, murder detective Milo Sturgis, perspectives the compendium of demise, he's instantly shaken via one of many photographs: a tender girl tortured, strangled, and dumped close to a highway ramp. The homicide used to be considered one of Milo’s first situations as a rookie murder cop: a vicious killing that he didn't solve—and has haunted him ever for the reason that. Now, 20 years later, an individual has selected to fan the flames of the earlier. As Alex and Milo got down to discover what fairly occurred 20 years in the past, their relentless research reaches deep into L.A.’s nerve facilities of energy and wealth—past and current. whereas peeling again layer after layer of gruesome secrets and techniques, they realize that the homicide of 1 forgotten lady has chilling ramifications that reach some distance past the tragic lack of a unmarried existence.
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Additional resources for The Murder Book (Alex Delaware, Book 16)
One fist clutched a telephone; with the other hand he was jotting additions to a long list of items. He had an odd, glazed expression, and his glance flicked over Chris without seeing her. After what seemed a very long time, he mumbled a good-bye and hung up. "Liberated women," he snarled into the air above Chris's head. " She took one step closer to the counter. " the man snapped. " Chris looked over her shoulder, ready to run if necessary. "I suppose when you grow up you're going to want a career," the man jeered.
Uncle Ralph seemed pleased to have a job. He hurried off, and Grandma patted the bed beside her. "Sit here, Chrissy," she invited. "Now, how are things going? " The words spilled out. "Uncle Ralph doesn't want me with him. Oh, we get along okay"—she wanted to chase away Grandma's worried frown—"but he'll be glad when I'm gone. And so will I," she added. Grandma hugged her. "My Ralph is a loner, I'm afraid. He's lived by himself for a long time, and he's used to it. But I'm sure he's glad to have you with him, dear.
Time passed, and her muscles ached, but she stayed in her sheet-tent. When she peered out at last, the first gray light of morning was touching the windows. She stayed in bed another half-hour, listening to the world wake itself up. A cardinal sang. A squirrel scolded. The lake made its soft, lapping sounds. When she opened her bedroom door, the house was very still. Uncle Ralph's door was closed. The attic door was closed, too. There was nothing unusual to see, except for the chest. It stood out from the attic door at an angle, as if it had been roughly thrust aside.