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Nine-year-old Emily Anne Toussaint is shot dead on a Montreal street. A North Carolina teenager disappears from her home and parts of what may be her skeleton are found hundreds of miles away. For Dr. Temperance Brennan, a forensic anthropologist in both Montreal and North Carolina, the deaths kindle deep emotions that propel her on a harrowing journey into the world of outlaw motorcycle gangs.
As a scientist, Tempe should remain dispassionate. As a caring individual, she yearns to take the killers off the streets. Emily Anne was cut down in a biker crossfire. The North Carolina victim, Savannah Osprey, was last seen hitching a ride with a transient biker. Tempe's nephew, Kit, is intrigued by motorcycles. Does he understand the difference between legitimate riders and gangs, or is he too mesmerized to comprehend that outlaw bikers are big trouble?
With her boss Pierre LaManche in the hospital, and her friend Andrew Ryan disturbingly unavailable, Tempe begins a perilous investigation into a culture where evil often wears a mask. From blood-splatter patterns and ground-penetrating radar to bone-sample analysis, Deadly Décisions triumphantly combines the authenticity of a world-class forensic professional with the narrative power of a brilliant new crime-writing star. This richly nuanced thriller is sure to catapult a uniquely gifted author to even greater heights.
Rival outlaw motorcycle gangs, the Heathens and the Vipers, are embroiled in a -- quite literally -- explosive battle for control of the drug trade in the streets of Montreal, and Tempe Brennan is left to sort out the remains of les motards who are targeted in the outbreak of bombings and shootings. The pompous officers she's working with, Quickwater and Claudel, are no picnic, and her love life is in a blowout, as well -- Andrew Ryan, the homicide detective she's been seeing, has just been busted on drug charges. But when a nine-year-old girl, Emily Anne Toussant, is caught in the crossfire, Brennan puts her personal troubles aside making it her mission to find the murderers and bring an end to the killing.
The case takes a dark turn, however, when a grave on Viper turf turns up not only murdered bikers but also the partial remains of a teenage girl missing for years from North Carolina as well. And while Tempe's investigation has her face splashed across the front pages of the Montreal newspapers, she soon discovers that someone sinister is watching her even more closely; she knows that if she doesn't step carefully, her body may be next on the table.
Kathy Reichs's own expertise as a forensic anthropologist is invaluable, for as always, her latest shines with razor-sharp scientific authenticity. Whether combing the soil for bodies with a radar that detects disturbances in the earth's density, comparing bone samples for growth defects, or running DNA sequencing on skeletons that have been hidden in the earth for more than a decade, Brennan is not only an authoritative medical expert, she's downright fascinating. And while the tale outside the office is a deeply moving one, Reichs pulls no punches in the autopsy room, where death is a reality, and with bodies that are more often than not sorted out in plastic bags -- well, it ain't always pretty.
She won't be giving you nightmares, however, because you won't be able to put this one down long enough to sleep. Brennan is smart-mouthed, sarcastic, and street-savvy -- but with every step she's treading deeper and deeper into the dark underworld of the outlaw bikers, and the stakes couldn't be higher. Reichs handles the narrative magnificently, with short chapters that keep the story cruising and hairpin plot turns that keep the suspense roaring like a Harley. Taking you from Quebec to North Carolina and back again, Deadly Décisions is Kathy Reichs at her most bone-chilling, and it's a guaranteed thrill ride.
--Elise Vogel
Elise Vogel is a freelance writer living in New York City.
Reichs mulled over those experiences for about seven years before deciding to apply her ideas to fiction. Out came Déjà Dead in 1997, introducing mystery fans to a new but, more likely than not, recognizable heroine: forensics expert Temperance Brennan, a fortyish, recovering alcoholic on the run from a wobbling marriage. Brennan—a sort of mix between Nancy Drew and Quincy—is also something of a hothead, prone to marching off on her own when she runs afoul of a sexist male cop. This is the kind of woman who would sit down to brunch with Vic Warshawski, Kay Scarpetta, or Jane Tennison, if any of them did brunch.
As a forensic anthropologist for the state of North Carolina, as well as the province of Québec, Reichs draws heavily from her own experiences standing over the autopsy table. Her novels—Death du Jour, Deadly Decisions, Grave Secrets and the like—are packed with the kind of well informed clinical details that make critics take notice. "The doctor clearly knows a hawk from a handsaw," wrote The New York Times about one of her books.
She also built some parallels to her own biography when creating Tempe Brennan. Both women are forensic anthropologists with the unlikely dual addresses of North Carolina and Canada. But Reichs rolls her eyes when asked about the comparisons. "Personally, she's completely her own person," Reichs told USA Today in 1997. "She gets physically involved. She takes risks I've never been tempted to take."
Reichs was editing forensics textbooks when she began toying with writing a novel. The initial result, she said, was a dud: slow, boring, and in the third person. But it picked up steam when she came up with the Brennan character. Inspired by friend and medical examiner Bill Maples, author of Dead Men Do Tell Tales, she sat down to write, meticulously drafting an outline of her story and getting up early to write before teaching classes at the University of North Carolina. It took her two years.
The effort paid off when her manuscript made the rounds of the Frankfurt Book Fair. A heated auction won Reichs a million-dollar, two-book deal.
Critics and readers alike loved Tempe. Wrote the Library Journal, "Despite her ability to work among fetid, putrefying smells that 'leap out and grab' and her 'go-to-hell attitude' with seasoned cops, Tempe is as vulnerable as a soft Carolina morning." And People magazine said, "Reichs not only serves up a delicious plot, she also brings a new recipe to hard-boiled cop talk."
Over chicken salad lunches with newspaper reporters, Reichs will casually talk about dismembered bodies, maggots, and concerns for her children's security in light of some of the unsavory characters she'd testified against. But then she'll confess her true idea of a waking nightmare. "[My] idea of horror would be to sit in a little gray office all day and add up columns of numbers," she told USA Today. "I say to people, 'How do you do that?"'
One of the reasons she is Québec's forensics anthropologist is because she is one of the few in the profession who is fluent in French.
Among her favorite books are the science fiction series the Hitchhiker's Guide Douglas Adams. "It's one of the few things I re-read because it's just nothing to do with anything I do," she has said.
She avoided college literature courses to concentrate on science.
In 2005, Fox TV launched Bones, a forensics/police procedural inspired by Reichs's life and writing. In a neat twist, the main character, Temperance Brennan, is a forensic anthropologist who, as a sideline, writes thrillers about a fictional anthropologist named Kathy Reichs!
Kathy's daughter, Kerry Reichs, made her literary debut in 2008 with the romantic comedy The Best Day of Someone Else's Life.
Her name was Emily Anne. She was nine years old, with black ringlets, long lashes, and caramel-colored skin. Her ears were pierced with tiny gold loops. Her forehead was pierced by two slugs from a Cobra 9-mm semiautomatic.
It was a Saturday, and I was working by special request of my boss, Pierre LaManche. I'd been at the lab for four hours, sorting badly mangled tissue, when the door to the large autopsy room opened and Sergeant-Detective Luc Claudel came striding in.
Claudel and I had worked together in the past, and though he'd come to tolerate, perhaps even appreciate me, one would not infer that from his brusque manner.
"Where's LaManche?" he demanded, glancing at the gurney in front of me, then quickly away.
I said nothing. When Claudel was in one of his moods, I ignored him.
"Has Dr. LaManche arrived?" The detective avoided looking at my greasy gloves.
"It's Saturday, Monsieur Claudel. He doesn't wo -- "
At that moment Michel Charbonneau stuck his head into the room. Through the opening I could hear the whir and clank of the electric door at the back of the building.
"Le cadavre est arrivé," Charbonneau told his partner.
What cadaver? Why were two homicide detectives at the morgue on a Saturday afternoon?
Charbonneau greeted me in English. He was a large man, with spiky hair that resembled a hedgehog's.
"Hey, Doc."
"What's going on?" I asked, pulling off my gloves and lowering my mask.
Claudel answered, his face tense, his eyes cheerless in the harsh fluorescent light.
"Dr. LaManche will be here shortly. He can explain."
Already sweat glistened on his forehead, and his mouth was compressed into a thin, tight line. Claudel detested autopsies and avoided the morgue as much as possible. Without another word he pulled the door wide and brushed past his partner. Charbonneau watched him walk down the corridor, then turned back to me.
"This is hard for him. He has kids."
"Kids?" I felt something cold in my chest.
"The Heathens struck this morning. Ever hear of Richard Marcotte?"
The name was vaguely familiar.
"Maybe you know him as Araignée. Spider." He curled his fingers like a child doing the waterspout rhyme. "Great guy. And an elected official in the outlaw biker set. Spider is the Vipers sergeant at arms, but he had a real bad day today. When he set out for the gym around eight this morning the Heathens blasted him in a drive-by while his ole lady dove for cover in a lilac bush."
Charbonneau ran a hand backward through his hair, swallowed.
I waited.
"In the process they also killed a child."
"Oh, God." My fingers tightened around the gloves.
"A little girl. They took her to the Montréal Children's Hospital, but she didn't make it. They're bringing her here now. Marcotte was DOA. He's out back."
"LaManche is coming in?"
Charbonneau nodded.
The five pathologists at the lab take turns being on call. Rarely does it happen, but if an off-hours autopsy or visit to a death scene is deemed necessary, someone is always available. Today that was LaManche.
A child. I could feel the familiar surge of emotions and needed to get away.
My watch said twelve-forty. I tore off my plastic apron, balled it together with the mask and latex gloves, and threw everything into a biological waste container. Then I washed my hands and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor.
I don't know how long I sat in my office, staring at the St. Lawrence and ignoring my carton of yogurt. At one point I thought I heard LaManche's door, then the swish of the glass security doors that separate portions of our wing.
Being a forensic anthropologist, I've developed some immunity to violent death. Since the medical examiner turns to me to derive information from the bones of the mutilated, burned, or decomposed, I've seen the worst. My workplaces are the morgue and autopsy room, so I know how a corpse looks and smells, how it feels when handled or cut with a scalpel. I'm accustomed to bloody clothing drying on racks, to the sound of a Stryker saw cutting through bone, to the sight of organs floating in numbered specimen jars.
But I have always been unsettled by the sight of dead children. The shaken baby, the battered toddler, the emaciated child of religious zealots, the preteen victim of a violent pedophile. The violation of young innocents has never failed to agitate and distress me.
Not long ago I had worked a case involving infants, twin boys killed and mutilated. It had been one of the most difficult encounters of my career, and I didn't want to reboard that emotional merry-go-round.
Then again that case had been a source of satisfaction. When the fanatic responsible was locked up and could order no more executions, I felt a genuine sense of having accomplished something good.
I peeled back the cover and stirred the yogurt.
Images of those babies hovered in my mind. I remembered my feelings in the morgue that day, the flashbacks to my infant daughter.
Dear God, why such insanity? The mutilated men I had left downstairs had also died as a result of the current biker war.
Don't get despondent, Brennan. Get angry. Get coldly, resolutely angry. Then apply your science to help nail the bastards.
"Yep," I agreed with myself aloud.
I finished the yogurt, drained my drink, and headed downstairs.
Charbonneau was in the anteroom of one of the small autopsy suites, flipping pages in a spiral notebook. His large frame overflowed a vinyl chair opposite the desk. Claudel was nowhere to be seen.
"What's her name?" I asked.
"Emily Anne Toussaint. She was on her way to dance class."
"Where?"
"Verdun." He tipped his head toward the adjoining room. "LaManche has begun the post."
I slipped past the detective into the autopsy room.
A photographer was taking pictures while the pathologist made notes and shot Polaroid backups.
I watched LaManche grasp a camera by its side handles, then raise and lower it above the body. As the lens moved in and out of focus a small dot blurred then condensed over one of the wounds in the child's forehead. When the perimeter of the dot grew sharp, LaManche depressed the shutter release. A white square slid out and he pulled it free and added it to a collection on the side counter.
Emily Anne's body bore evidence of the intensive effort to save her life. Her head was partly bandaged, but I could see a clear tube protruding from her scalp, inserted to monitor intracranial pressure. An endotracheal tube ran down her throat and into her trachea and esophagus, placed in order to oxygenate the lungs and to block regurgitation from the stomach. Catheters for IV infusion remained in her subclavian, inguinal, and femoral vessels, and the circular white patches for EKG electrodes were still pasted to her chest.
Such a frantic intervention, almost like an assault. I closed my eyes and felt tears burn the backs of my lids.
I dragged my eyes back to the small body. Emily Anne wore nothing but a plastic hospital bracelet. Next to her lay a pale green hospital gown, bundled clothing, a pink backpack, and a pair of high-top red sneakers.
The harsh fluorescent light. The shining steel and tile. The cold, sterile surgical instruments. A little girl did not belong here.
When I looked up, LaManche's sad eyes met mine. Though neither of us made reference to what lay on the stainless steel, I knew his thoughts. Another child. Another autopsy in this same room.
Putting a choke hold on my emotions, I described the progress I was making with my own cases, reassembling the corpses of two bikers who'd been blown apart by their own folly, and asked when antemortem medical records would be available. LaManche told me that the files had been requested and should arrive on Monday.
I thanked him and went to resume my own grim task. As I sorted tissue, I remembered my previous day's conversation with LaManche, and wished I were still in the Virginia woods. Was it only yesterday LaManche had called me there? Emily Anne was alive then.
So much can change in twenty-four hours.
Copyright © 2000 by Temperance Brennan, L.P.
Chapter One
Her name was Emily Anne. She was nine years old, with black ringlets, long lashes, and caramel-colored skin. Her ears were pierced with tiny gold loops. Her forehead was pierced by two slugs from a Cobra 9-mm semiautomatic.
It was a Saturday, and I was working by special request of my boss, Pierre LaManche. I'd been at the lab for four hours, sorting badly mangled tissue, when the door to the large autopsy room opened and Sergeant-Detective Luc Claudel came striding in.
Claudel and I had worked together in the past, and though he'd come to tolerate, perhaps even appreciate me, one would not infer that from his brusque manner.
"Where's LaManche?" he demanded, glancing at the gurney in front of me, then quickly away.
I said nothing. When Claudel was in one of his moods, I ignored him.
"Has Dr. LaManche arrived?" The detective avoided looking at my greasy gloves.
"It's Saturday, Monsieur Claudel. He doesn't wo -- "
At that moment Michel Charbonneau stuck his head into the room. Through the opening I could hear the whir and clank of the electric door at the back of the building.
"Le cadavre est arrivé," Charbonneau told his partner.
What cadaver? Why were two homicide detectives at the morgue on a Saturday afternoon?
Charbonneau greeted me in English. He was a large man, with spiky hair that resembled a hedgehog's.
"Hey, Doc."
"What's going on?" I asked, pulling off my gloves and lowering my mask.
Claudel answered, his face tense, his eyes cheerless in the harsh fluorescent light.
"Dr. LaManche will be here shortly. He can explain."
Already sweat glistened on his forehead, and his mouth was compressed into a thin, tight line. Claudel detested autopsies and avoided the morgue as much as possible. Without another word he pulled the door wide and brushed past his partner. Charbonneau watched him walk down the corridor, then turned back to me.
"This is hard for him. He has kids."
"Kids?" I felt something cold in my chest.
"The Heathens struck this morning. Ever hear of Richard Marcotte?"
The name was vaguely familiar.
"Maybe you know him as Araignée. Spider." He curled his fingers like a child doing the waterspout rhyme. "Great guy. And an elected official in the outlaw biker set. Spider is the Vipers sergeant at arms, but he had a real bad day today. When he set out for the gym around eight this morning the Heathens blasted him in a drive-by while his ole lady dove for cover in a lilac bush."
Charbonneau ran a hand backward through his hair, swallowed.
I waited.
"In the process they also killed a child."
"Oh, God." My fingers tightened around the gloves.
"A little girl. They took her to the Montréal Children's Hospital, but she didn't make it. They're bringing her here now. Marcotte was DOA. He's out back."
"LaManche is coming in?"
Charbonneau nodded.
The five pathologists at the lab take turns being on call. Rarely does it happen, but if an off-hours autopsy or visit to a death scene is deemed necessary, someone is always available. Today that was LaManche.
A child. I could feel the familiar surge of emotions and needed to get away.
My watch said twelve-forty. I tore off my plastic apron, balled it together with the mask and latex gloves, and threw everything into a biological waste container. Then I washed my hands and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor.
I don't know how long I sat in my office, staring at the St. Lawrence and ignoring my carton of yogurt. At one point I thought I heard LaManche's door, then the swish of the glass security doors that separate portions of our wing.
Being a forensic anthropologist, I've developed some immunity to violent death. Since the medical examiner turns to me to derive information from the bones of the mutilated, burned, or decomposed, I've seen the worst. My workplaces are the morgue and autopsy room, so I know how a corpse looks and smells, how it feels when handled or cut with a scalpel. I'm accustomed to bloody clothing drying on racks, to the sound of a Stryker saw cutting through bone, to the sight of organs floating in numbered specimen jars.
But I have always been unsettled by the sight of dead children. The shaken baby, the battered toddler, the emaciated child of religious zealots, the preteen victim of a violent pedophile. The violation of young innocents has never failed to agitate and distress me.
Not long ago I had worked a case involving infants, twin boys killed and mutilated. It had been one of the most difficult encounters of my career, and I didn't want to reboard that emotional merry-go-round.
Then again that case had been a source of satisfaction. When the fanatic responsible was locked up and could order no more executions, I felt a genuine sense of having accomplished something good.
I peeled back the cover and stirred the yogurt.
Images of those babies hovered in my mind. I remembered my feelings in the morgue that day, the flashbacks to my infant daughter.
Dear God, why such insanity? The mutilated men I had left downstairs had also died as a result of the current biker war.
Don't get despondent, Brennan. Get angry. Get coldly, resolutely angry. Then apply your science to help nail the bastards.
"Yep," I agreed with myself aloud.
I finished the yogurt, drained my drink, and headed downstairs.
Charbonneau was in the anteroom of one of the small autopsy suites, flipping pages in a spiral notebook. His large frame overflowed a vinyl chair opposite the desk. Claudel was nowhere to be seen.
"What's her name?" I asked.
"Emily Anne Toussaint. She was on her way to dance class."
"Where?"
"Verdun." He tipped his head toward the adjoining room. "LaManche has begun the post."
I slipped past the detective into the autopsy room.
A photographer was taking pictures while the pathologist made notes and shot Polaroid backups.
I watched LaManche grasp a camera by its side handles, then raise and lower it above the body. As the lens moved in and out of focus a small dot blurred then condensed over one of the wounds in the child's forehead. When the perimeter of the dot grew sharp, LaManche depressed the shutter release. A white square slid out and he pulled it free and added it to a collection on the side counter.
Emily Anne's body bore evidence of the intensive effort to save her life. Her head was partly bandaged, but I could see a clear tube protruding from her scalp, inserted to monitor intracranial pressure. An endotracheal tube ran down her throat and into her trachea and esophagus, placed in order to oxygenate the lungs and to block regurgitation from the stomach. Catheters for IV infusion remained in her subclavian, inguinal, and femoral vessels, and the circular white patches for EKG electrodes were still pasted to her chest.
Such a frantic intervention, almost like an assault. I closed my eyes and felt tears burn the backs of my lids.
I dragged my eyes back to the small body. Emily Anne wore nothing but a plastic hospital bracelet. Next to her lay a pale green hospital gown, bundled clothing, a pink backpack, and a pair of high-top red sneakers.
The harsh fluorescent light. The shining steel and tile. The cold, sterile surgical instruments. A little girl did not belong here.
When I looked up, LaManche's sad eyes met mine. Though neither of us made reference to what lay on the stainless steel, I knew his thoughts. Another child. Another autopsy in this same room.
Putting a choke hold on my emotions, I described the progress I was making with my own cases, reassembling the corpses of two bikers who'd been blown apart by their own folly, and asked when antemortem medical records would be available. LaManche told me that the files had been requested and should arrive on Monday.
I thanked him and went to resume my own grim task. As I sorted tissue, I remembered my previous day's conversation with LaManche, and wished I were still in the Virginia woods. Was it only yesterday LaManche had called me there? Emily Anne was alive then.
So much can change in twenty-four hours.
Copyright © 2000 by Temperance Brennan, L.P.
Anonymous
Posted March 27, 2008
Kathy Reichs is an amazing author! First she stunned us all with Deja Dead, then made us all do double takes with Death Du Jour, and now has amazed us all with Deadly Decisions. You learn an extreme amount about Biker Gang Warfare and again one of Tempe's relatives is involved. So if I were you I'd read this series because it is EXCELLENT!!! Happy Reading!
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted November 29, 2002
Her book is an amazing book that gets you hooked and you never want to put it down... EVER! Its a great thriller and things that you never suspected to hapen actually happen. I only have one word: WOW! It was a perfect story.
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
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Posted September 22, 2003
This book was great it had tons of suspense and keeps you on your toes, wants to make you read up on gangs and other events.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted January 31, 2002
Ms. Reichs does it again, I couldn't put it down. IN short this book is just a great read and if you liked any of her other books you won't be dissapointed!!! I can't wait for the next book to see what Tempe will run into next!
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted November 23, 2011
Enjoyed the book. Reichs does a great job of developing the story and getting the reader excited about what comes next. Book starts a little slow, but picks up speed.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.ds_sweet
Posted August 21, 2011
I recommend starting with Deja Dead (#1) and reading right on through all 14! You won't regret it!
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Posted July 8, 2011
As usual Kathy Reichs did not dissapoint
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Posted January 6, 2011
Another good read from the Temperance Brennan series.
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Posted May 15, 2010
Though I enjoyed the first two books in this series, the third book has been my favorite. In the first book some of the scenes tended to carry on, in this one I felt that she explained the necessary things but did not go into such great detail as to completely loose the reader. The characters keep developing and I can hardly wait to read the next in this series.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.The death of a young girl causes Brennan to investigate the rivalry of local biker gangs. Along with trying to figure a way to stop the gang wars, Brennan must confront the possibility that her lover, Ryan, is not what he seems. Along with her devistation, Brennan must watch Harry's son, Kit, and make sure he does not get tangled with the wrong crowd. This book is fast-paced and keeps fans on the edge of their sets.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.A friend got me hooked on watching the show Bones on TV. After I had been watching the show for awhile, I discovered that Kathy Reichs had written several books based on the same premise as the show. I bought the first one and really enjoyed the suspense. To date, I have read the first two and about 1/2 through this one and haven't been disappointed yet. I am an avid reader and have already had a couple friends borrow the first two books in the series. If you enjoy the show, the books are as good.
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Posted August 4, 2009
I Also Recommend:
This is a fantastic book from the start. This book will keep you wondering and reading under the covers!
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Posted February 23, 2009
This book made me think about changing my major!
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted May 12, 2008
The book I choose was DEADLY DECISIONS by Kathy Reichs. She is a bestseller author and a anthropologist who has made a series out these books. The main character of the story is named Temperance Brennan. She is anthropologist and works in Montreal, Canada. She is American though so she speaks both French and English. She works on murders and recoveries. She has a relationship with a detective named Andrew Ryan. He works for CUM, the Montreal police. But when Ryan gets in trouble, Dr. Brennan has no one to turn to. Dr. Brennan must now find out what is the cause of all new crime. Biker gangs have come in Montreal and have been killing one another. First it was a little girl, then three bodies found at a biker hangout. The third body is a mystery. Where could have possibly come from? To make matters worse, Brennan¿s nephew, Kit comes and takes an interest in a certain reporter who doesn¿t seem to be all he seems. Now Brennan has to find out it is not all what it seems as she finds the truth about Ryan, this reporter, and this mysterious body. To find out, read DEADLY DECISIONS.
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Posted July 24, 2001
I was disappointed in this latest book. I got bogged down in all the technical detail, it seemed more like a text book, than an mystery novel. I finally set it aside and picked up another book, something I rarely do.
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Posted August 28, 2000
There are too many obvious coincidences in Deadly Décisions. The coincidence makes the ending more predictable, some of the suspenseful chapter endings seemed forced, and Tempe gets herself into situations most smart women would avoid. In spite of these flaws, it's a page turner. The plot is fast-paced, Tempe Brennan is an intelligent, appealing heroine (more likable than Scarpetta), and Montreal is an interesting setting: familiar, yet foreign. If you enjoyed her two previous books, Déja Death and Death du Jour, you'll enjoy Deadly Décisions.
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Posted August 21, 2000
This book is fantastic. The plot is creative and driven, and keeps you guessing throughout. Tempe is quick and a very interesting character. It's hard to put down! It's a fast plot interwoven with events that make it a masterpiece. The pieces fit together just right to bring you a great story, and Reich's expertise is an added bonus to this great novel. I highly recommend this to all who love a great mystery and appreciate Kathy Reich's talent!
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Posted July 26, 2000
Forensic anthropologist, Tempe Brennan, has always been able to keep personal feelings out of her work, this case is different. The death of a nine year-old girl, caught in the crossfire of rival biker gangs, sends her on a mission...bring the killers to justice. As the case takes shape she will find the skeleton of a young runaway, and be thrust into the dark world of biker gangs, a world where every truth is masked by a lie. Using her forensic skill, and some of the latest technology, Tempe, must solve this puzzle before the next death is her own. 'Deadly Decisions' is a first rate forensic's thriller. The pace is fast, the plot is interesting and the writing, top-notch. In Tempe Brennan, Kathy Reichs has created a character who stomps on 'Scarpetta' territory, and more than gets away with it. Fans of fast-paced, well written thrillers should dive into this one. A MUST read! Nick Gonnella
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Posted July 25, 2000
this is a great read...even better than her first two novels. Reichs pulls you into a world of dark intrigue while dealing with real issues of family and self. with Tempe around now, i'd say kay scarpetta is down for the count!
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Forensic anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan handles the case that coroners cannot handle. She provides consulting services to the Laboratoire de Sciences Judiciaires et de Medecine Legale and to the North Carolina Chief Medical Examiner. She also teaches body recovery workshops at the FBI academy.
Currently, Temperance is looking at the remains of two identical twins killed in an explosion. Due to the genetic match of the siblings DNA testing cannot help her. Temperance joins a multiagency task force investigating this case. Law enforcement official arrest a biker, who in exchange for a lighter sentence leads the group to other buried members including a teenage girl. As Temperance gets closer to he truth her about the latest biker wars, her own life is placed in jeopardy from the killers who prefers to remain in the cold murdering targeted bikers.
On any reader test scale, Kelly Reichs¿ latest work, DEADLY DECISIONS, matches up well with the best of Cornwell. The tale centers on biker gangs that engage in criminal activities rather than the hobbyist enjoying their motorcycle. The frightening story line focuses on a fascinating depraved world that is a thrill a page as the terrific Temperance tries to solve an impossible case without becoming a coroner¿s next evaluation.
Harriet Klausner
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Overview
Nobody tells a chilling story like international bestselling author Kathy Reichs, whose "most valuable tool is her expertise...she's the real thing" (New York Newsday). Drawing on her years as a top forensic anthropologist, Reichs brings her cutting-edge scientific know-how to this poignant, terrifying new tour de force.
Nine-year-old Emily Anne Toussaint is shot dead on a Montreal street. A North Carolina teenager disappears from her home and parts of what may be her skeleton are found hundreds of miles away. For Dr. Temperance Brennan, a forensic anthropologist in both Montreal and North Carolina, the deaths kindle ...