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When Hollywood invades New Iberia Parish to film a Civil War epic, restless specters waiting in the shadows for Louisiana detective Dave Robicheaux are reawakened—ghosts of a history best left undisturbed. Hunting a serial killer preying on ...
When Hollywood invades New Iberia Parish to film a Civil War epic, restless specters waiting in the shadows for Louisiana detective Dave Robicheaux are reawakened—ghosts of a history best left undisturbed. Hunting a serial killer preying on the lawless young, Robicheaux comes face-to-face with the elusive guardians of his darkest torments— who hold the key to his ultimate salvation . . . or a final, fatal downfall.
Edgar Award-winner James Lee Burke returns with another riveting Dave Robicheaux novel. Robicheaux has his hands full in New Iberia, Louisiana, what with a film crew shooting a Civil War movie, the return of a local mobster, and the brutal murder of a young woman. With the help of a supposedly psychic actor, Robicheaux tracks a twisted killer. Author signings.
The sky had gone black at sunset, and the storm had churned inland from the Gulf and drenched New Iberia and littered East Main with leaves and tree branches from the long canopy of oaks that covered the street from the old brick post office to the drawbridge over Bayou Teche at the edge of town. The air was cool now, laced with light rain, heavy with the fecund smell of wet humus, night-blooming jasmine, roses, and new bamboo. I was about to stop my truck at Del's and pick up three crawfish dinners to go when a lavender Cadillac fishtailed out of a side street, caromed off a curb, bounced a hubcap up on a sidewalk, and left long serpentine lines of tire prints through the glazed pools of yellow light from the street lamps.
I was off duty, fired, used up after a day of searching for a nineteen-year-old girl in the woods, then finding her where she had been left in the bottom of a coulee, her month and wrists wrapped with electrician's tape. Already I had tried to stop thinking about the rest of it. The medical examiner was a kind man. He bagged the body before any news people or family members got there.
I don't like to bust drunk drivers. I don't like to listen to their explanations, watch their pitiful attempts to affect sobriety, or see the sheen of fear break out in their eyes when they realize they're headed for the drunk tank with little to look forward to in the morning except the appearance of their names in the newspaper. Or maybe in truth I just don't like to see myself when I look into their faces.
But I didn't believe this particular driver could make it another block without ripping the side off a parked car orplowing the Cadillac deep into someone's shrubbery. I plugged my portable bubble into the cigarette lighter, clamped the magnets on the truck's roof, and pulled him to the curb in front of the Shadows, a huge brick, whitecolumned antebellum home built on Bayou Teche in 1831.
I had my Iberia Parish Sheriff's Department badge opened in my palm when I walked up to his window.
"Can I see your driver's license, please?"
He had rugged good looks, a Roman profile, square shoulders, and broad hands. When he smiled I saw that his teeth were capped. 'Me woman next to him wore her hair in blond ringlets and her body was as lithe, tanned, and supplelooking as an Olympic swimmer's. Her mouth looked as red and vulnerable as a rose. She also looked like she was seasick.
',You want driver's what?" he said, trying to focus evenly on my face. Inside the car I could smell a drowsy, warm odor, like the smell of smoke risking from a smoldering pile of wet leaves.
"Your driver's license," I repeated. "Please take it out of your billfold and hand it to me."
"Oh, yeah, sure, wow," he said. "I was really careless back there. I'm sorry about that. I really am."
He got his license out of his wallet, dropped it in his lap, found it again, then handed it to me, trying to keep his eyes from drifting off my face. His breath smelled like fermented fruit that had been corked up for a long time in a stone jug.
I looked at the license under the street lamp.
"You're Elrod T. Sykes?" I asked.
"Yes, sir, that's who I am."
"Would you step out of the car, Mr. Sykes?"
"Yes, sir, anything you say."
He was perhaps forty, but in good shape. He wore a light-blue golf shirt, loafers, and gray slacks that hung loosely on his flat stomach and narrow hips. He swayed slightly and propped one hand on the door to steady himself.
"We have a problem here, Mr. Sykes. I think you've been smoking marijuana in your automobile."
"Marijuana ... Boy, that'd be bad, wouldn't it?"
"I think your lady friend just ate the roach, too."
"That wouldn't be good, no, sir, not at all." He shook hi: head profoundly.
"Well, we're going to let the reefer business slide to now. But I'm afraid you're under arrest for driving while intoxicated."
"That's very bad news. This definitely was not on my agenda this evening," He widened his eyes and opened and closed his mouth as though he were trying to clear an obstruction in his ear canals. "Say, do you recognize me? What I mean is, there're news people who'd really like to put my ham hocks in the frying pan. Believe me, sir, I don't need this. I cain't say that enough."
"I'm going to drive you just down the street to the city jail, Mr. Sykes. Then I'll send a car to take Ms. Drummond to wherever she's staying. But your Cadillac will be towed to the pound."
He let out his breath ni a long sigh. I turned my face away.
"You go to the movies, huh?" he said.
"Yeah, I always enjoyed your films. Ms. Drummond's, too. Take your car keys out of the ignition, please."
"Yeah, sure," he said, despondently.
He leaned into the window and pulled the keys out of the ignition.
"El, do something," the woman said,
He straightened his back and looked at me.
"I feel real bad about this," he said. "Can I make a contribution to Mothers Against Drunk Driving, or something like that?"
In the lights from the city park, I could see the rain denting the surface of Bayou Teche.
"Mr. Sykes, you're under arrest. You can remain silent if you wish, or if you wish to speak, anything you say can be used against you," I said. "As a long-time fan...
Posted September 20, 2013
I really liked the side element he included in the story, it added to the enjoyment of the book. But this one was a little different from his other books because of that interesting element.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 8, 2011
Been gradually reading the entire series in order and this one does not disappoint...AGAIN. Burke is just a great writer and Robicheaux is someone we ALL will pull for continuously. Imperfect yet always fighting for what is just, this character has real depth. In fact, all of Burke's characters are real and this lends itself to a much higher level of believability throughout his tales. Can't wait to keep reading!!Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted March 1, 2008
I started reading the Dave Robicheaux series from the beginning at the suggestion of a friend and I'm now up to this one.....I love Rocicheaux's character and with each book, he becomes more profound - he's a cop that may tend to go over the line, but in his heart, you know he's about doing the right thing. And its just not his character...Burke's writing style is just absolute prose, be it the description of the scenery around the characters and he always speaks of whats in Robicheaux's heart. This was, as usual, an outstanding drama. Burke drives home the gritty feeling you get when you read about the 'dark side' of human nature and what happens in that world. I'm ready to move on into reading the rest of the series.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted November 13, 2007
Posted July 5, 2002
If you read no other book by James Lee Burke, make sure you read this one. I love the Dave Robicheaux novels, every one of them is a treat, but this was by far his greatest work! Beautiful and poetic.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted October 27, 2008
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Posted August 21, 2011
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