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À quoi bon tenter de résoudre un meurtre quand tout le monde va mour
Concord, New Hamsphire. Hank Palace est ce qu'on appelle un flic obstiné. Confronté à une banale affaire de suicide, il refuse de s'en tenir à l'évidence et, certain qu'il a affaire à un meurtre, poursuit inlassablement son enquête. Hank sait pourtant qu'elle n'a pas grand intérêt puisque, dans six mois il sera mort. Comme tous les habitants de Concord. Et comme tout le monde aux États-Unis et sur Terre. Dans six mois en effet, notre planète aura cessé d'exister, percutée de plein fouet par 2011GV1, un astéroïde de six kilomètres de long qui la réduira en cendres.
Aussi chacun, désormais, se prépare-t-il au pire à sa façon.
Dans cette ambiance pré-apocalyptique, où les marchés financiers se sont écroulés, où la plupart des employés ont abandonné leur travail, où des dizaines de personnes se livrent à tous les excès possibles alors que d'autres mettent fin à leurs jours, Hank, envers et contre tous, s'accroche. Il a un boulot à terminer. Et rien, même l'apocalypse, ne pourra l'empêcher de résoudre son affaire.
Sans jamais se départir d'un prodigieux sens de l'intrigue et du suspens, Ben H Winters nous y propose une vision douloureusement convaincante d'un monde proche de l'agonie. Le lecteur est tiraillé par cette interrogation lancinante : que ferions nous, que ferions nous réellement si nos jours étaient comptés.
344 pages, Paperback
First published July 10, 2012

The use of marijuana has been decriminalized, in a so-far-unsuccessful effort to dampen demand for the harder and more societally destabilizing drugs. And the amount of marijuana I found on Victor France’s person was five grams, small enough that it could easily have been for his personal use, except that the way I discovered it was that he tried to sell it to me as I was walking home from the Somerset Diner on a Saturday afternoon. Whether to make an arrest, under those ambiguous circumstances, is at the discretion of the officer, and I have decided in France’s case not to exercise that discretion—conditionally.... The condition being that he be your slave... excuse me, bitch. Sorry! Informant. You bullied a guy selling 5 fucking GRAMS into doing your work for you to avoid a possession charge that was at your discretion to file in the first place. A charge that would carry a 6-month term, which, given the pending apocalypse, would be a life sentence. You're a saint, letting him work off his debt to you for not chucking his hard drug-trafficking ass into jail for the rest of the time anyone has on the planet. Very magnanimous of you. 5 grams. Man... What did he expect?? A warning? Pfft.
I could lock Victor France up for six months on Title VI, and he knows it...
"I recognize that you have made a sacrifice. But this is a murder investigation. It’s important."Almost... But you don't do either, do you? You don't because you only care about your need to finish the job, and more importantly, to be RIGHT... I bet you even patted yourself on the back, after. No thought of the people you've hurt while you ran around half-blind (literally) wielding that flaming sword of self-righteousness called "investigation". You're the "last policeman" - you're the last one doing the job right. Well. Good job. You're doing just wonderful things for your community.
"You have no idea, young man," he says morosely, "You have no idea what’s important."
He hangs up, and I almost call him back. I swear to God, with all that’s going on, I almost get up and go over there. Because he’s not—he’s not going to make it.







