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Joe Lassiter, big shot private
investigator based in Washington, D.C., discovers that his only sister and her toddler
son were murdered. Overkill, they called it. Why? And what does that have to do with
the confession in a small Italian church that begins the novel?
Soon
Lassiter is off on his own private investigation. This is a relentless story. Not really
a roller coaster ride, it’s more like one of those long slides with burlap bags; you’re
either busy climbing stairs or whooshing down to the bottom on a thrill
ride.
But what a ride. I had this book done in two days flat. The
paperback version is 467 pages, including epilogue. Is everything a complete surprise?
Well, no. Do people come and go very quickly here? Well, yes. Is it worth the time to
read it? Absolutely. Get beyond the first couple of pages and the story grabs you, not
the other way around.
The characters are fun even if they feel rather
disposable, because most do not hang around for long. Lassiter makes for a fine hero,
but he’s rather dispassionate about his job and the people around him. This felt
appropriate though. There just isn’t much time for emotional entanglements in this
story.
According to the flyleaf, John Case is a pseudonym for an
investigative reporter/author who also owns his own investigations firm. So the book is
packed with tips about how to get information on complete strangers, and how easy it is
to get that information, especially if price is no object and you have an investigative
firm at your disposal, like Lassiter.
Anyway, the writing is top notch.
Here’s how he describes a church, for instance. “…none of the architectural angles were
plumb. It was sandwiched between two much larger and newer buildings, and the crooked
set of the church made it look as if its neighbors were trying to shoulder it out of the
way for good.” Great stuff.
