Every Dead Thing: A Charlie Parker Thriller: 1
Every Dead Thing: A Charlie Parker Thriller: 1 @ Amazon UK Deals
John Connolly, twenty-nine, is a journalist for the Irish Times. He lives in Dublin, Ireland. –This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. Homicide cop Charlie “Bird” Parker was drunk when the killer known as the Travelling Man dissected his wife and his daughter. Parker’s guilt and obsession with revenge have taken him well beyond the law, causing him to beat a pimp to death and accept the friendship of a notable hitman. Yet his old colleagues know that any one of them might have gone down the same path, in the same circumstances, and they and FBI man Woolrich still find him and his obsessions useful. Leaving mayhem and destruction in his wake, Parker finds every private investigation he takes leading him back to his family’s killer–is this an obsession, or is he treading a maze of murder built just for him? And can the obsessed Parker accept the love of a bright woman pathologist without wrecking her life as well? Small Virginia towns with guilty secrets, the drugs deals that unite smart New York society with the madness of a decadent Mafia dynasty, the very different gang wars of New Orleans and the mysteries of the Louisiana swampland–this is an intelligent book packed with puzzles, characters and brilliantly visualised locations that most thriller-writers would have spun out for a series. –Roz Kaveney –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. ‘An ambitious, moral, disturbing tale with a stunning climax.’ –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. ‘Fantastic – he has raised the standard of modern crime writing’ –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. Stunning literary serial killer thriller that pushes back the boundaries of the genre –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. ‘Buy it and be scared’ –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. Tormented and racked with guilt over the brutal slaying of his wife and daughter, Charlie Parker, ex-cop with the NYPD, agrees to track down a missing girl. It is a search that will lead him into an abyss of evil. At the same time, he is warned by an old black woman in Louisiana that ‘The Travelling Man’ is about to strike again. Multiple strands converge with a horrific confrontation in which hunter and hunted are intimately connected by guilt. –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. ‘Buy it and be scared’ –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. Hailed internationally as a page-turner in a league with the fiction of Thomas Harris, this lyrical and terrifying bestseller is the stunning achievement of an “extravagantly gifted” (Kirkus Reviews) new novelist. John Connolly superbly taps into the tortured mind and gritty world of former NYPD detective Charlie “Bird” Parker, tormented by the brutal, unsolved murders of his wife and young daughter. Driven by visions of the dead, Parker tracks a serial killer from New York City to the American South, and finds his buried instincts — for love, survival, and, ultimately, for killing — awakening as he confronts a monster beyond imagining…. –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. A genuine, gripping page-turner which shreds the nerves. (Daily Telegraph)An ambitious, moral, disturbing tale with a stunning climax. (The Times)A stunning debut . . . EVERY DEAD THING ensnares us in its very first pages and speeds us through a harrowing plot to a riveting climax. (Jeffery Deaver) –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. The waitress was in her fifties, dressed in a tight black mini-skirt, a white blouse and black high heels. Parts of her spilled out of every item of clothing she wore, making her look as if she had swollen mysteriously some time between dressing and arriving for work. She called me ‘darlin’ each time she filled my coffee cup. She didn’t say anything else, which was fine by me.I had been sitting at the window for over ninety minutes now, watching the brownstone across the street, and the waitress must have been wondering exactly how long I was planning to stay and if I was ever going to pay the check.Outside, the streets of Astoria buzzed with bargain-hunters. I had even read The New York Times from start to finish without nodding off in-between as I passed the time waiting for Fat Ollie Watts to emerge from hiding. My patience was wearing thin.In moments of weakness, I sometimes considered ditching the New York Times on weekdays and limiting my purchase to the Sunday edition, when I could at least justify buying it on the grounds ofbulk. The other option was to begin reading the Post, although then r d have to start clipping coupons and walking to the store in my bedroom slippers.I remembered a story I heard about the media tycoon Rupert Murdoch and how he approached Bloomingdale’s in the hope of getting its management to advertise in the Post after he took it over in the 198os. In response, the head of Bloomingdale’s had arched an eyebrow and told him: ‘The problem, Mr Murdoch, is that your readers are our shoplifters.’I wasn’t a big fan of Bloomingdale’s, but it was a persuasive argument against a subscription to the Post. Maybe in reacting so badly to the Times that morning I was simply killing the messenger. It had been announced that Hansel McGee, a state Supreme Court judge and, according to some, one of the worst judges in New York, was retiring in December and might be nominated to the board of the city’s Health and Hospitals Corporation.Even seeing McGee’s name in print made me ill. In the 1980s, he had presided over the case of a woman who had been raped when she was nine years old by a fifty-four-year-old man named James Johnson, an attendant in Pelham Bay Park who had convictions for robbery, assault and rape.McGee overturned a jury award of $3.5 million to the woman with the following words: ‘ An innocent child was heinously raped for no reason at all; yet that is one of the risks of living in a modern society.’ At the time, his judgment had seemed callous and an absurd justification for overturning the ruling. Now, seeing his name before me again after what had happened to my family, his views seemed so much more abhorrent, a symptom of the collapse of goodness in the face of evil.Erasing McGee from my mind, I folded the newspaper neatly, tapped a number on my cellphone and turned my eyes to an upper window of the slightly run-down apartment building opposite. The phone was picked up after three rings and a woman’s voice whispered a cautious hello. It had a sound of cigarettes and booze to it, like a bar door scraping across a dusty floor.’Tell your fat asshole boyfriend that I’m on my way to pick him up and he’d better not make me chase him,’ I told her. ‘I’m real tired and I don’t plan on running around in this heat.’Succinct, that was me. I hung up, left five dollars on the table and stepped out on to the street to wait for Fat Ollie Watts to panic. –This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition. Read more
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