Bøger af Michael Shane

At a place where variety came to mingle, On the eve of a not-unlike-tonight kind of night, I met him. Met him by a rock overlooking a bay. A cool, calypso voice and graying temples¿¿. Gingerbread Man is a story told by a man who has walked through a life incident, and seen his share of violence. Thomas has life¿life filled with coffee and cigarettes ¿.. not quite a policeman, a not-quite-private detective¿.. a freelance investigator. Working for police force on problem crimes, a troubleshooter, perhaps? A Criminalist. There have been killings through the South. Killings bizarre in nature, some violent, some quietly horrific. The thread which ties them all together is a letter, left at the scene of each crime, signed "GBM" and numbered¿¿ The police forces affected set up a joint operations center in Atlanta. To avoid Federal interference in "their" case, they hire Thomas as investigative coordinator. Thomas realizes that he has a take on the murders, an idea of an inking¿. but he wants another voice in his head. So he packs up his bag of files, and takes the crimes on the road to Charleston, where he has a friend called Claire: I needed to go fish for answers where I knew I would find them. Clair would know¿. Clair long-boned and beautiful¿.. Clair, like Thomas, is ex-FBI, and she is the very best mind that Thomas can fathom. Through Clair's readings of the crime files, we re-visit the crimes along with Thomas. And along the way, we meet people of add interest: Clair, Michael, Bugsy, Dixie, Frenchy and we meet some bald people too. There is blood flowing through the veins of the people you read: you can taste the flavor of Clair's lips¿ imagine the texture of Thomas voice¿. there is a smell to Bugsy that is all her own. Frenchy: a short, fat Oriental with a Southern twang and a preference for snuff. From crime number four, tension escalates, as Thomas begins to realize what he is really up against, and drives toward confrontation. And¿ then we circle back to crime number 11 and Clair and Thomas realize what they've got by the tail: there is no serial killer¿.