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Schauplatz Chicago: Vic Warshawski in ihrem fünften Fall bei der Arbeit, ihr Markenzeichen: Allein gegen den Rest der Welt mit einer scharfen Zunge.
Die Privatdetektivin Vic Warshawski ermittelt in einem privaten Routinefall. Die Nachbarstochter Caroline bittet sie um Nachforschungen. Sie will endlich wissen, wer ihr Vater ist. Doch Vic stößt auf undurchdringliches Schweigen. Gleichzeitig wird eine Freundin tot im Sumpf aufgefunden. Als auch Vic im Sumpf landet und sich retten kann, muss sie feststellen, dass hinter dem Rätsel dieser Vaterschaft eine ganz andere, wesentlich brisantere Affäre steckt.
»Ein Spitzenkrimi: Mit scharfem Schritt, immer einen flotten Spruch auf den Lippen, geht Vic ran an die Sache und riskiert dabei Kopf und Kragen« Brigitte
416 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1988
“Caroline, I’m mad enough to beat the shit out of you. But I’m not so mad I can’t think. You fingered me to the cops because there’s something you know that you’re scared to talk about. I want to know what it is.”
I should go to McGonnigal, tell him what I knew, or rather whet I suspected. But. But. I really didn’t have anything concrete. Maybe I’d give the kid twenty-four hours to show up. If he was already dead, it wouldn’t matter.
“You know, Victoria, in your search for the truth you often force people to face things about themselves that they are better off not knowing. I can forgive you for doing it with Lotty – she’s tough, she can take it. And you don’t spare yourself. But because you are very strong you don’t see that other people cannot deal with these truths.
“Look, Max, I don’t know why Chigwell tried to kill himself. … But if it was because of the questions I was asking, I don’t feel one minute of remorse. … If – and it’s a mighty big if – if I’d known two weeks ago that my seeing him would make him turn on the gas, you’d better believe I’d do it again.”
He frowned. “You really are a cold-blooded bitch, aren’t you? Near death one day and hot on the trail the next. Sherlock Holmes didn’t have anything on you.”
“I would ask that you not be reckless, Victoria. I would ask it except you seem to be in love with danger and death. You make life very hard for those who love you.”
I drank some of the milk and lay down on the daybed with my boots off, but I couldn’t relax. All I could think was that I had run scared from my problems, had turned to the police, and now I was waiting like some good old-fashioned damsel in distress for rescue.
It was too much. A little after midnight I pulled my boots back on.