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Isle of Dogs (Andy Brazil Series #3)

Isle of Dogs (Andy Brazil Series #3)

by Patricia Cornwell

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Overview

Patricia Cornwell’s novels of big-city police have taken this classic genre to a new level. Now, with this #1 New York Times bestselling novel, she outdoes herself, with a wry tale of life and turmoil behind the blue wall.

Chaos breaks loose when the governor of Virginia orders that speed traps be painted on all streets and highways, and warns that speeders will be caught by monitoring aircraft flying overhead. But the eccentric island of Tangier, fourteen miles off the coast of Virginia in Chesapeake Bay, responds by declaring war on its own state. Judy Hammer, newly installed as the superintendent of the Virginia State Police, and Andy Brazil, a state trooper and Hammer’s right hand and confidant, find themselves at their wits’ end as they try to protect the public from the politicians—and vice versa—in this pitch-perfect, darkly comic romp.



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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781101204023
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Publication date: 10/01/2002
Series: Andy Brazil Series , #3
Sold by: Penguin Group
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 432
Sales rank: 100,145
File size: 894 KB
Age Range: 18 Years

About the Author

Patricia Cornwell is considered one of the world's bestselling crime writers. Her intrepid medical examiner Kay Scarpetta first appeared on the scene in 1990 with Postmortem—the only novel to win the Edgar, Creasey, Anthony, and Macavity awards and the French Prix du Roman d'Aventure in a single year—and Cruel and Unusual, which won Britain's prestigious Gold Dagger Award for the best crime novel of 1993. Dr. Kay Scarpetta herself won the 1999 Sherlock Award for the best detective created by an American author. Ms. Cornwell's work is translated into 36 languages across more than 50 countries.

Hometown:

Boston, MA and New York, NY

Date of Birth:

June 9, 1956

Place of Birth:

Miami, Florida

Education:

B.A. in English, Davidson College, 1979; King College

Read an Excerpt

Unique First fit her name like a glove, or at least this

was how her mother always put it. Unique came first

and was one of a kind. There was no one else like

her—and this was a damn good thing, to quote her

father, Dr. Ulysses First, who had never understood what genetic

malignancy blighted his only child.

Unique was a petite eighteen-year-old with long, shimmering

hair that was as black as ebony, and her skin was translucent

like milk glass, her lips full and pink. She believed that

her pale blue eyes could mesmerize whoever looked into them

and that by casting as little as a glance at someone she could

bend that person’s mind to fit her Purpose. Unique could

haunt someone for weeks, building up unbearable anticipation

until the final act, which was a necessary and frenzied release,

usually followed by a blackout.

“Hey, wake up, my car’s broke down.” She knocked on the

window of the Peterbilt eighteen-wheeler that was parked all

by itself at the Farmers’ Market on the fringes of downtown

Richmond. “I’m wondering if you got a phone?”

It was 4:00 A.M., pitch dark, and the parking lot was poorly

lit. Although Moses Custer knew very well that it wasn’t safe

to be out here alone at this hour, he had ignored his usual good

judgment after fighting with his wife and storming off in his

truck, where he intended to spend the night, alone and missing

in action, out by the vegetable stands. That would sure show

her, he always thought when their marital routine turned ugly.

He opened the door of his cab as the knocking on the glass

continued.

“Lordy, what’s a sweet little thing like you doing out here at

this hour?” Moses asked, confused and drunk, as he stared at

the creamy, delicate face smiling at him like an angel.

“You’re about to have a unique experience.” Unique said

the same thing she always did right before she moved in for

her Purpose.

“What’chu mean?” Moses puzzled. “What unique ’sperience?”

The answer came in a legion of demons that kicked and

pounded Moses and ripped at his hair and clothes. Explosions

and obscenities erupted from hell, and fire seared his muscles

and bones as savage forces beat and tore him to shreds and left

him dead and drove off in his truck. Moses hovered above his

dead self for a while, watching his mauled, lifeless body on

the tarmac. Blood streamed out from under his head as rain

smacked down, and one of his boots was off and his left arm

was at an angle that wasn’t natural. As Moses gazed down on

himself, a part of him was worn out and ready for Eternity

while another part of him regretted his life and grieved.

“My head’s ruined,” he moaned and began to sob as everything

went black. “Ohhh, my head’s ruined. Lord, I ain’t

ready! It ain’t my time yet!”

Complete darkness dissolved to a floating airspace from which

Moses watched pulsing emergency lights and urgent firemen,

paramedics, and police in yellow rain slickers with reflective tape

that glared like white fire. Flares hissed on wet pavement as a

heavy cold rain fell, and voices were excited and loud and made

no sense. It seemed people were yelling at him and it frightened

Moses and made him feel small and ashamed. He tried to open

his eyes, but it was as if they had been sewn shut.

“What happened to the angel?” he kept muttering. “She

said her car broke down.”

What People are Saying About This

From the Publisher

“Move over Carl Hiaasen, you’ve got company. Patricia Cornwell has switched to Hiaasen’s world of black humor and nearly conquers it.”—San Francisco Examiner
 
“Cornwell has coined a new penny.”—USA Today

 

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