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87th Precinct #26
87° distretto: l'assassino ha confessato
Di fronte al cadavere della moglie morta ammazzata, sotto gli occhi della polizia, un marito esclama: "Sono contento!" Gli agenti investigativi dell'87° Distretto si chiedono ovviamente il perché di quella frase e cominciano a sospettare che il marito non abbia detto la verità quando ha dichiarato di aver trovato la moglie già morta. Ma una pioggia di indizi devia i sospetti. Dagli indizi poi si passa alle prove, alle testimonianze, a un nome. Per finire con la confessione di un giovane tossicomane. Ma quelli dell'87° Distretto non sono convinti fino in fondo e quando addentano qualcosa sono restii a lasciare la presa. Per loro il caso non è affatto chiuso. E la vittoria finale avrà un amarissimo sapore.
175 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1972
107 people are currently reading
604 people want to read
About the author
Ed McBain
715 books671 followers"Ed McBain" is one of the pen names of American author and screenwriter Salvatore Albert Lombino (1926-2005), who legally adopted the name
Evan Hunter
in 1952.
While successful and well known as Evan Hunter, he was even better known as Ed McBain, a name he used for most of his crime fiction, beginning in 1956.
He also used the pen names John Abbott, Curt Cannon, Hunt Collins, Ezra Hannon, Dean Hudson, Evan Hunter, and Richard Marsten.
While successful and well known as Evan Hunter, he was even better known as Ed McBain, a name he used for most of his crime fiction, beginning in 1956.
He also used the pen names John Abbott, Curt Cannon, Hunt Collins, Ezra Hannon, Dean Hudson, Evan Hunter, and Richard Marsten.
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July 28, 2022
". . . my wife was a no-good bitch, and I'm delighted someone killed her."
I know! The HUSBAND DID IT! Right?
Things are usually never that open and shut for the guys of the 87th Precinct, and true to form, it's gonna take some investigating to find the "real killer." This is not a bad entry in the series, with Carella laser focused on the aforementioned extreme domestic dispute problem, and perpetually unlucky-in-love, Bert Kling, solving his own little crime. It's a pretty well-paced police procedural from the early seventies.
Groovy!
December 5, 2014
It's the Christmas season and in sharp contrast to the joyful tidings attendant to this time of year, the detectives of the 87th Precinct are called to an apartment occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Fletcher. Mr. Fletcher greets them by announcing that he's just returned from a business trip. Mrs. Fletcher is lying dead on the floor, having been savagely stabbed to death.
The kitchen window is open on a twelve-degree night and there are muddy footprints leading from the window to the bedroom. The bedroom window is broken and it appears that someone has gone out of the window in a big hurry. There's plenty of other evidence to suggest that a burglar has broken in and killed Mrs. Fletcher and that Mr. Fletcher walked into the scene just as it was playing out.
The lead detective, Steve Carella, offers his sympathies to Mr. Fletcher who replies by saying, "My wife was a no-good bitch and I'm glad that someone killed her."
Fletcher is a lawyer who certainly knows his rights, but his attitude leads Carella to suspect that he may have been involved in his wife's untimely demise. But early on, the detectives turn up a suspect who confesses to burglarizing the apartment in the hope of finding something to sell so that he could buy drugs. Mrs. Fletcher interrupted him, he says, and he wound up stabbing her.
Case closed. Or is it? Carella still has his nagging suspicions and refuses to let go of the investigation. The case takes a number of turns and in the end, this is one of the better books in this long-running series. Fans of the 87th Precinct will not be disappointed.
The kitchen window is open on a twelve-degree night and there are muddy footprints leading from the window to the bedroom. The bedroom window is broken and it appears that someone has gone out of the window in a big hurry. There's plenty of other evidence to suggest that a burglar has broken in and killed Mrs. Fletcher and that Mr. Fletcher walked into the scene just as it was playing out.
The lead detective, Steve Carella, offers his sympathies to Mr. Fletcher who replies by saying, "My wife was a no-good bitch and I'm glad that someone killed her."
Fletcher is a lawyer who certainly knows his rights, but his attitude leads Carella to suspect that he may have been involved in his wife's untimely demise. But early on, the detectives turn up a suspect who confesses to burglarizing the apartment in the hope of finding something to sell so that he could buy drugs. Mrs. Fletcher interrupted him, he says, and he wound up stabbing her.
Case closed. Or is it? Carella still has his nagging suspicions and refuses to let go of the investigation. The case takes a number of turns and in the end, this is one of the better books in this long-running series. Fans of the 87th Precinct will not be disappointed.
May 10, 2019
I don't think anyone has ever written better dialogue than Ed McBain. Maybe Elmore Leonard, Lucia Berlin, AM Homes, Thom Jones, George Saunders, Nicola Barker, Chandler et al are on a par, but McBain's is so good that you never have a single moment's opportunity to question whether his characters are real or not - they're realer than most people I know. A master.
'Phil was the doorman. He was very good on times and things like that. He was also a garrulous lonely old man who welcomed the opportunity to be in a cops-and-robbers documentary film. Kling could not disabuse Phil of the notion that this was a real investigation; there was a dead lady upstairs and someone had brought about her present condition, and it was the desire of the police to bring that person to justice, ta-ra.
"Oh, yeah, yeah," Phil said, "terrible the way things are getting in this city, ain't it? Even when I was a kid, things wasn't this terrible. I was born over on the South Side, you know, in a neighborhood where if you wore shoes you were considered a sissy. We were all the time fighting with the wop gangs, you know? We used to drop things down on them from the rooftops. Bricks, eggs, scrap iron, a toaster one time--yeah, I swear to God, we once threw my mother's old toaster off the roof, bang, it hit one of them wops right on the head, bad place to hit a wop, of course, never does him no damage there. What I'm saying, though, is it never was so bad like it is now. Even when we were beating up the wops all the time, and them vice versa, it was fun, you know what I mean? I mean, it was fun in those days. Nowadays, what happens? Nowadays, you step in the elevator, there's some crazy dope fiend, he shoves a gun under your nose and says he'll blow your head off it you don't give him all your money. That happened to Dr. Haskins, you think I'm kidding? He's coming home three o'clock in the morning, he goes in the elevator and Max is out taking a leak, so it's on self-service. Only there's a guy in the elevator, God knows how he even got in the building, probably came down from the roof, they jump rooftops like mountain goats, them dope fiends, and he sticks the gun right up under Dr. Haskins' nose, right here, right pointing up his nostrils, for Christ's sake, and he says, Give me all your money and also whatever dope you got in that bag. So Dr. Haskins figures What the hell, I'm going to get killed here for a lousy forty dollars and two vials of cocaine, here take it, good riddance. So he gives the guy what he wants, and you know what the guy does, anyway? He beats up Dr. Haskins. They had to take him to the hospital with seven stitches, the son of a bitch split his forehead open with the butt of the pistol, he pistol-whipped him, you know? What kind of thing is that, huh? This city stinks, and especially this neighborhood. I can remember this neighborhood when you could come home three, four, five, even six o'clock in the morning, who cared what time you came home; you could be wearing a tuxedo and a mink coat, who cared what you were wearing, your jewels, your diamond cuff links, nobody bothered you. Try that today. Try walking down the street after dark without a Doberman pinscher on a leash, see how far you get. They smell you coming, these dope fiends, they leap out at you from doorways. We had a lot of burglaries in this building, all dope fiends. They come down from the roof, you know? We must've fixed that lock on the roof door a hundred times, what difference does it make? They're all experts, as soon as we fix it, boom, it's busted open again. Or they come up the fire escapes, who can stop them? Next thing you know, they're in some apartment stealing the whole place, you're lucky if they leave your false teeth in the glass. I don't know what this city's coming to, I swear to God. It's disgraceful."
"What about Mr. Fletcher?" Kling asked.
"What about him? He's a decent man, a lawyer. He comes home, and what does he find? He finds his wife dead on the floor, probably killed by some crazy dope fiend. Is that a way to live? Who needs it? You can't even go in your own bedroom without somebody jumping on you? What kind of thing is that?"
"When did Mr. Fletcher come home tonight?"
"About ten-thirty," Phil said.
"Are you sure of the time?"
"Positive. You know how I remember? There's Mrs. Horowitz, she lives in 12C, she either doesn't have an alarm clock, or else she doesn't know how to set the alarm since her husband passed away two years ago. So every night she calls down to ask me the correct time, and to say would the day-man please call her at such and such a time in the morning, to wake her up. This ain't a hotel, but what the hell, an old woman asks a simple favor, you're supposed to refuse it? Besides, she's very generous at Christmas, which ain't too far away, huh? So tonight, she calls down and says, 'What's the correct time, Phil?' and I look at my watch and tell her it's ten-thirty, and just then Mr. Fletcher pulls up in a taxicab. Mrs. Horowitz says will I please ask the day-man to wake her up at seven-thirty, and I tell her I will and then go to the curb to carry Mr. Fletcher's bag in. That's how I remember exactly what time it was."
"Did Mr. Fletcher go directly upstairs?"
"Directly," Phil said. "Why? Where would he go? For a walk in this neighborhood at ten-thirty in the night? That's like taking a walk off a gangplank."
"Well, thanks a lot," Kling said.
"Don't mention it," Phil said. "They shot another movie around here one time."'
'Phil was the doorman. He was very good on times and things like that. He was also a garrulous lonely old man who welcomed the opportunity to be in a cops-and-robbers documentary film. Kling could not disabuse Phil of the notion that this was a real investigation; there was a dead lady upstairs and someone had brought about her present condition, and it was the desire of the police to bring that person to justice, ta-ra.
"Oh, yeah, yeah," Phil said, "terrible the way things are getting in this city, ain't it? Even when I was a kid, things wasn't this terrible. I was born over on the South Side, you know, in a neighborhood where if you wore shoes you were considered a sissy. We were all the time fighting with the wop gangs, you know? We used to drop things down on them from the rooftops. Bricks, eggs, scrap iron, a toaster one time--yeah, I swear to God, we once threw my mother's old toaster off the roof, bang, it hit one of them wops right on the head, bad place to hit a wop, of course, never does him no damage there. What I'm saying, though, is it never was so bad like it is now. Even when we were beating up the wops all the time, and them vice versa, it was fun, you know what I mean? I mean, it was fun in those days. Nowadays, what happens? Nowadays, you step in the elevator, there's some crazy dope fiend, he shoves a gun under your nose and says he'll blow your head off it you don't give him all your money. That happened to Dr. Haskins, you think I'm kidding? He's coming home three o'clock in the morning, he goes in the elevator and Max is out taking a leak, so it's on self-service. Only there's a guy in the elevator, God knows how he even got in the building, probably came down from the roof, they jump rooftops like mountain goats, them dope fiends, and he sticks the gun right up under Dr. Haskins' nose, right here, right pointing up his nostrils, for Christ's sake, and he says, Give me all your money and also whatever dope you got in that bag. So Dr. Haskins figures What the hell, I'm going to get killed here for a lousy forty dollars and two vials of cocaine, here take it, good riddance. So he gives the guy what he wants, and you know what the guy does, anyway? He beats up Dr. Haskins. They had to take him to the hospital with seven stitches, the son of a bitch split his forehead open with the butt of the pistol, he pistol-whipped him, you know? What kind of thing is that, huh? This city stinks, and especially this neighborhood. I can remember this neighborhood when you could come home three, four, five, even six o'clock in the morning, who cared what time you came home; you could be wearing a tuxedo and a mink coat, who cared what you were wearing, your jewels, your diamond cuff links, nobody bothered you. Try that today. Try walking down the street after dark without a Doberman pinscher on a leash, see how far you get. They smell you coming, these dope fiends, they leap out at you from doorways. We had a lot of burglaries in this building, all dope fiends. They come down from the roof, you know? We must've fixed that lock on the roof door a hundred times, what difference does it make? They're all experts, as soon as we fix it, boom, it's busted open again. Or they come up the fire escapes, who can stop them? Next thing you know, they're in some apartment stealing the whole place, you're lucky if they leave your false teeth in the glass. I don't know what this city's coming to, I swear to God. It's disgraceful."
"What about Mr. Fletcher?" Kling asked.
"What about him? He's a decent man, a lawyer. He comes home, and what does he find? He finds his wife dead on the floor, probably killed by some crazy dope fiend. Is that a way to live? Who needs it? You can't even go in your own bedroom without somebody jumping on you? What kind of thing is that?"
"When did Mr. Fletcher come home tonight?"
"About ten-thirty," Phil said.
"Are you sure of the time?"
"Positive. You know how I remember? There's Mrs. Horowitz, she lives in 12C, she either doesn't have an alarm clock, or else she doesn't know how to set the alarm since her husband passed away two years ago. So every night she calls down to ask me the correct time, and to say would the day-man please call her at such and such a time in the morning, to wake her up. This ain't a hotel, but what the hell, an old woman asks a simple favor, you're supposed to refuse it? Besides, she's very generous at Christmas, which ain't too far away, huh? So tonight, she calls down and says, 'What's the correct time, Phil?' and I look at my watch and tell her it's ten-thirty, and just then Mr. Fletcher pulls up in a taxicab. Mrs. Horowitz says will I please ask the day-man to wake her up at seven-thirty, and I tell her I will and then go to the curb to carry Mr. Fletcher's bag in. That's how I remember exactly what time it was."
"Did Mr. Fletcher go directly upstairs?"
"Directly," Phil said. "Why? Where would he go? For a walk in this neighborhood at ten-thirty in the night? That's like taking a walk off a gangplank."
"Well, thanks a lot," Kling said.
"Don't mention it," Phil said. "They shot another movie around here one time."'
January 20, 2013
You may remember me giving up on the 87th Precinct books because they were predictable and ALWAYS had an element of the case that involved a friend or relative of the detectives investigating, sadly this one was no different. So why did I read another one? I had a good enough reasons.
1) H.R.F. Keating picked it as his favourite of all the 87th Precinct books in his Crime and Mystery: The 100 Best Books.
2) Of all the Ed McBain novels I sold recently this was the one they wouldn't take because the glue had come loose causing the pages to fall out.
I took the second fact as fate and determined to read one last Ed McBain novel.
And I'm glad I did, this one was marginally more enjoyable than the previous two episodes I've read through. McBain's strength is in his attention to details, the way you are walked through the procedures cops take (its not called a police procedural for nothing,) and the everyday behaviour of cops and criminals, their meaningless conversations only serve to heighten the interest (and tension at times) in the more important matters.
Yes the plot was predictable, but then again Steve Carella tells you what's going to happen in the opening chapter so who can complain about it? And yes once more Bert Kling gets involved with a girl/criminals tangentially involved with the case; happily it's not as eye-rollingly awful as it could be and provides a few nice moments alongside the entrapment of a murderer.
This is officially enough of the 87th Precinct for me now, they're not bad and are actually quite enjoyable but I need to aim higher, to find more pleasure in my reading and it seems Ed McBain found his plateau early on and coasted for another 50 or so books.
1) H.R.F. Keating picked it as his favourite of all the 87th Precinct books in his Crime and Mystery: The 100 Best Books.
2) Of all the Ed McBain novels I sold recently this was the one they wouldn't take because the glue had come loose causing the pages to fall out.
I took the second fact as fate and determined to read one last Ed McBain novel.
And I'm glad I did, this one was marginally more enjoyable than the previous two episodes I've read through. McBain's strength is in his attention to details, the way you are walked through the procedures cops take (its not called a police procedural for nothing,) and the everyday behaviour of cops and criminals, their meaningless conversations only serve to heighten the interest (and tension at times) in the more important matters.
Yes the plot was predictable, but then again Steve Carella tells you what's going to happen in the opening chapter so who can complain about it? And yes once more Bert Kling gets involved with a girl/criminals tangentially involved with the case; happily it's not as eye-rollingly awful as it could be and provides a few nice moments alongside the entrapment of a murderer.
This is officially enough of the 87th Precinct for me now, they're not bad and are actually quite enjoyable but I need to aim higher, to find more pleasure in my reading and it seems Ed McBain found his plateau early on and coasted for another 50 or so books.
February 28, 2017
Another strong Precinct story, set just before Christmas, with Carella pursuing a case for murder and Kling having a hard time in the sub-plot
December 14, 2017
I'm a fan of Ed McBain's 87th Precinct series, and must have read about two-thirds of them over the decades since being introduced to them at the age of maybe 14. Some of them, of course, I read so very long ago that nowadays, when I pick them up, I have little or no memory of them beyond at most a vague recollection that I perhaps especially liked this one or that one. I remember quite enjoying Sadie When She Died back in the day, and from time to time as I read it a few days ago I'd have a flash of recollection of some particular scene or situation.
The reason I picked up the book was a recent ranking by my blogger friend Sergio Angelini of what he regards as the best novels in the 87th Precinct series. He's something of an expert, having spent the past several years reading the entirety of the series from front to back, and reviewing each novel on his website as he's completed it. I take his opinion on McBain very seriously, so when I read that he ranked Sadie When She Died in the #1 position I naturally decided I must revisit it.
Later I discovered that it was the favorite 87th Precinct novel of H.R.F. Keating, too, but I must confess that was a less important opinion to me than Sergio's. I have disagreed with Keating's judgements in the past.
As I am doing now (and sorry as well to Sergio). Sadie When She Died is a damn' fine novella and a credit to the series, etc., but I don't regard it by any means as the best. (To be honest, I don't regard any of them as the "best," because I don't really think that way, but I trust you'll understand my thrust.)
So, what's the tale about?
Sarah Fletcher, wife of a successful criminal attorney, has been horribly murdered -- disembowelled in the middle of her bedroom floor. The window beyond the corpse has been smashed as if the intruder who killed her broke through it in desperation and dropped twenty feet or more to the alley behind the house in order to escape. The obvious conclusion is that the killer had just committed the attack when alarmed by the return home of Sarah's husband, Gerald. When a junkie is arrested a day or two later and admits to breaking into the Fletcher apartment and stabbing Sarah in the gut when she caught him burgling, the case seems open and shut.
But Steve Carella of the 87th isn't so sure. Husband Gerald is not only curiously unruffled by the death of his wife, he's admitted to Carella that he's overjoyed she's gone.
Over the next couple of weeks Gerald makes several efforts to reach out to Carella, as if he's trying to confess to the crime but in such a way that Carella will be unable to do anything about it. Soon the boys of the 87th know that Gerald has been maintaining a mistress for some while, a woman whom he might well now marry -- so he has a motive for killing Sarah. But there's more than that. After a curious pub crawl that Gerald insists the two men take together, Carella learns that Sarah, as Sadie Collins, went out cruising to pick up lovers on those nights when Gerald was away "on business" -- i.e., with his mistress.
The question thus arises: who was the woman who was murdered? Was it respectable wife Sarah or the promiscuous Sadie? Was she Sarah or Sadie when she died?
If Carella can answer that question, chances are he'll solve the case.
That's the setup for the main plot. As always with this series, though, the main plot is only a part of it. There's also in this instance a major subplot involving Bert Kling's turbulent love life.
And there's also padding -- quite a lot of it, in fact.
Don't get me wrong about this. So far as I'm concerned one of the great joys of McBain's fiction is the padding: it's one of the leading reasons why he was such an entertaining storyteller. (Think of it, oral storytellers use padding all the time.) But here, even though there was nothing at all wrong with the digressions, I noticed them. I was ettling to get back to the story proper.
So that's why I called the book a novella a few paragraphs ago. It's a pretty short novel anyway, but stripped of the discursions it'd have been a decent-length novella -- and an absolutely splendid one at that. As published, however, it's just a very good novel.
On the other hand, most crime-fiction writers would give their right arm to be able to produce a very good McBain novel, just one, so what am I complaining about?
The reason I picked up the book was a recent ranking by my blogger friend Sergio Angelini of what he regards as the best novels in the 87th Precinct series. He's something of an expert, having spent the past several years reading the entirety of the series from front to back, and reviewing each novel on his website as he's completed it. I take his opinion on McBain very seriously, so when I read that he ranked Sadie When She Died in the #1 position I naturally decided I must revisit it.
Later I discovered that it was the favorite 87th Precinct novel of H.R.F. Keating, too, but I must confess that was a less important opinion to me than Sergio's. I have disagreed with Keating's judgements in the past.
As I am doing now (and sorry as well to Sergio). Sadie When She Died is a damn' fine novella and a credit to the series, etc., but I don't regard it by any means as the best. (To be honest, I don't regard any of them as the "best," because I don't really think that way, but I trust you'll understand my thrust.)
So, what's the tale about?
Sarah Fletcher, wife of a successful criminal attorney, has been horribly murdered -- disembowelled in the middle of her bedroom floor. The window beyond the corpse has been smashed as if the intruder who killed her broke through it in desperation and dropped twenty feet or more to the alley behind the house in order to escape. The obvious conclusion is that the killer had just committed the attack when alarmed by the return home of Sarah's husband, Gerald. When a junkie is arrested a day or two later and admits to breaking into the Fletcher apartment and stabbing Sarah in the gut when she caught him burgling, the case seems open and shut.
But Steve Carella of the 87th isn't so sure. Husband Gerald is not only curiously unruffled by the death of his wife, he's admitted to Carella that he's overjoyed she's gone.
Over the next couple of weeks Gerald makes several efforts to reach out to Carella, as if he's trying to confess to the crime but in such a way that Carella will be unable to do anything about it. Soon the boys of the 87th know that Gerald has been maintaining a mistress for some while, a woman whom he might well now marry -- so he has a motive for killing Sarah. But there's more than that. After a curious pub crawl that Gerald insists the two men take together, Carella learns that Sarah, as Sadie Collins, went out cruising to pick up lovers on those nights when Gerald was away "on business" -- i.e., with his mistress.
The question thus arises: who was the woman who was murdered? Was it respectable wife Sarah or the promiscuous Sadie? Was she Sarah or Sadie when she died?
If Carella can answer that question, chances are he'll solve the case.
That's the setup for the main plot. As always with this series, though, the main plot is only a part of it. There's also in this instance a major subplot involving Bert Kling's turbulent love life.
And there's also padding -- quite a lot of it, in fact.
Don't get me wrong about this. So far as I'm concerned one of the great joys of McBain's fiction is the padding: it's one of the leading reasons why he was such an entertaining storyteller. (Think of it, oral storytellers use padding all the time.) But here, even though there was nothing at all wrong with the digressions, I noticed them. I was ettling to get back to the story proper.
So that's why I called the book a novella a few paragraphs ago. It's a pretty short novel anyway, but stripped of the discursions it'd have been a decent-length novella -- and an absolutely splendid one at that. As published, however, it's just a very good novel.
On the other hand, most crime-fiction writers would give their right arm to be able to produce a very good McBain novel, just one, so what am I complaining about?
June 8, 2025
★★★★
"Sadie When She Died" is a sharp, neatly paced entry in the "87th Precinct" series, offering a slightly different flavour to some of its predecessors. Often described as an inverted mystery, where the detective knows the killer’s identity but must gather the proof, this one leans heavily on the cat and mouse dynamic between Carella and his suspect, and it’s handled with real skill.
The investigation kept me interested throughout. McBain gets the balance right here, keeping the story moving while still allowing room for atmosphere, character moments, and the dry, knowing humour that runs through the series. One of the things I always enjoy about these books is when several members of the precinct get involved in a case, and this one delivers on that, adding a bit of extra texture and giving some familiar faces their moments. I particularly appreciated the attention given to Bert Kling and Cindy Forrest’s relationship, a subplot that continues to evolve and gives the book some quieter, more personal moments alongside the central mystery.
As ever, one of the great strengths of the "87th Precinct" books is McBain’s depiction of the city. It’s more than a setting, it’s a living, breathing character of its own, with its seedy backstreets, bustling police squad rooms, and oppressive winter gloom. He evokes the tension of urban life superbly, and here, against the backdrop of a bleak December, it feels especially claustrophobic.
Another strong instalment, and one I’d happily recommend to anyone working through the series.
"Sadie When She Died" is a sharp, neatly paced entry in the "87th Precinct" series, offering a slightly different flavour to some of its predecessors. Often described as an inverted mystery, where the detective knows the killer’s identity but must gather the proof, this one leans heavily on the cat and mouse dynamic between Carella and his suspect, and it’s handled with real skill.
The investigation kept me interested throughout. McBain gets the balance right here, keeping the story moving while still allowing room for atmosphere, character moments, and the dry, knowing humour that runs through the series. One of the things I always enjoy about these books is when several members of the precinct get involved in a case, and this one delivers on that, adding a bit of extra texture and giving some familiar faces their moments. I particularly appreciated the attention given to Bert Kling and Cindy Forrest’s relationship, a subplot that continues to evolve and gives the book some quieter, more personal moments alongside the central mystery.
As ever, one of the great strengths of the "87th Precinct" books is McBain’s depiction of the city. It’s more than a setting, it’s a living, breathing character of its own, with its seedy backstreets, bustling police squad rooms, and oppressive winter gloom. He evokes the tension of urban life superbly, and here, against the backdrop of a bleak December, it feels especially claustrophobic.
Another strong instalment, and one I’d happily recommend to anyone working through the series.
July 1, 2019
COUNTDOWN: Mid-20th Century North American Crime
BOOK/Novella 135 (of 250)
I like to include at least 2 types of work by authors having a large output. This is the only novella-length work I could find by Ed McBain.
HOOK - 4: "I'm very glad she's dead," the man said. He wore a homburg, muffler...His eyes were clear....distinctly free of pain or grief. Detective Steve Carella wasn't sure he had heard the man correctly. "Sir," Carella said, I'm sure I don't have to tell you-"...the man said "My wife was no good, and I'm delighted someone killed her." This is my favorite type of opening: AFTER the crime has been committed. McBain puts us right into the middle of the story.
PACE - 3: Just right for a novella.
PLOT - 3: A thief, desperate for drug money, breaks into a house he thinks empty. A woman awakes and begins screaming and the thief stabs her. She dies. The husband is glad someone killed her. She had kept a list of men she'd had affairs with as a type of revenge: the husband had a lover and she knew it. Oh, what a hateful game. But beside the names of her lovers in her little black book, she'd used single letters, a code of some kind. Carella must solve the code while the husband blatantly continues his affair and teases the cops. Solid police procedural.
CHARACTERS - 4: I know Steve Carella from previous novels in this 87th precinct series. Meyer and other known characters are here. The boyfriends and girlfriends are numerous: just one of the girls is of interest as the dead wife had switched sides once to experiment. The standout is the thief, a drug addict who is arrested early in the story and admits to all he stabbed the woman. It's odd that the husband has pity for the thief.
ATMOSPHERE - 2: Very little as the focus is on the plot. But the final 2 lines are good. "It was Christmas day." "Sometimes none of it made any sense at all."
SUMMARY - 3.2. McBain's work is massive but uneven; however, this is on the good side of his output.
BOOK/Novella 135 (of 250)
I like to include at least 2 types of work by authors having a large output. This is the only novella-length work I could find by Ed McBain.
HOOK - 4: "I'm very glad she's dead," the man said. He wore a homburg, muffler...His eyes were clear....distinctly free of pain or grief. Detective Steve Carella wasn't sure he had heard the man correctly. "Sir," Carella said, I'm sure I don't have to tell you-"...the man said "My wife was no good, and I'm delighted someone killed her." This is my favorite type of opening: AFTER the crime has been committed. McBain puts us right into the middle of the story.
PACE - 3: Just right for a novella.
PLOT - 3: A thief, desperate for drug money, breaks into a house he thinks empty. A woman awakes and begins screaming and the thief stabs her. She dies. The husband is glad someone killed her. She had kept a list of men she'd had affairs with as a type of revenge: the husband had a lover and she knew it. Oh, what a hateful game. But beside the names of her lovers in her little black book, she'd used single letters, a code of some kind. Carella must solve the code while the husband blatantly continues his affair and teases the cops. Solid police procedural.
CHARACTERS - 4: I know Steve Carella from previous novels in this 87th precinct series. Meyer and other known characters are here. The boyfriends and girlfriends are numerous: just one of the girls is of interest as the dead wife had switched sides once to experiment. The standout is the thief, a drug addict who is arrested early in the story and admits to all he stabbed the woman. It's odd that the husband has pity for the thief.
ATMOSPHERE - 2: Very little as the focus is on the plot. But the final 2 lines are good. "It was Christmas day." "Sometimes none of it made any sense at all."
SUMMARY - 3.2. McBain's work is massive but uneven; however, this is on the good side of his output.
December 20, 2017
A woman is murdered and her husband is glad, and glad to tell the police that he didn't do it, even though he discovered the body.
A good read, although I think I'm just always going to find McBain plots unfocused--so many characters rotating through plots and subplots that never quite connect, more about the life and times of the precinct than anything else.
A good read, although I think I'm just always going to find McBain plots unfocused--so many characters rotating through plots and subplots that never quite connect, more about the life and times of the precinct than anything else.
March 31, 2020
È il periodo di Natale , ma per i ragazzi dell'87 ° distretto non c'è tempo per sentire lo spirito natalizio e abbandonarsi ai festeggiamenti.
Una donna è stata assassinata e sebbene abbiano una confessione al distretto, Steve Carella non è convinto di avere l'assassino e, forse, ha ragione.
Polizieschi d'altri tempi, dove mancano indagini scientifiche sofisticate, dove le battaglie si combattono ancora per strada fra inseguimenti e interrogatori, dove ancora è il cervello a trovare le intuizioni e a risolvere casi.
Una donna è stata assassinata e sebbene abbiano una confessione al distretto, Steve Carella non è convinto di avere l'assassino e, forse, ha ragione.
Polizieschi d'altri tempi, dove mancano indagini scientifiche sofisticate, dove le battaglie si combattono ancora per strada fra inseguimenti e interrogatori, dove ancora è il cervello a trovare le intuizioni e a risolvere casi.
February 18, 2020
Somehow I read this book out of out of order, reading #27 first. Still, this marks the half way point for me, having now read 27 of the 54 books in the series.
A murder and a quickly caught perpetrator makes it look like an open and shut case. But as always, things are not as simple as they at first seem. Several interesting characters surrounding the victim muddy the waters even further. There is also some new developments in the ongoing saga of Det. Burt Kling's romantic life.
A pretty good book in the series. The title of the book doesn't make any sense until very near the end, which I though was quite clever.
A murder and a quickly caught perpetrator makes it look like an open and shut case. But as always, things are not as simple as they at first seem. Several interesting characters surrounding the victim muddy the waters even further. There is also some new developments in the ongoing saga of Det. Burt Kling's romantic life.
A pretty good book in the series. The title of the book doesn't make any sense until very near the end, which I though was quite clever.
January 21, 2023
Mr. Fletcher hated his wife's guts and then her guts were found spilling onto a rug. Sounds like a routine investigation for Detective Carella.
"In the land of supersell, the understatement--'routine investigation'--was more powerful than trumpets and kettledrums."I usually prefer bad-cop stories, but McBain's understated mystery-telling style kept me interested. Being #26 in the series, you figure that Carella will get his man. But thankfully, McBain doesn't give us a heart-warming ending.
November 30, 2021
No crime writer will ever do it better
December 24, 2022
The series returns to the format that makes it so good. Added bonus: the word "fuck" finally makes an appearance 😏
May 28, 2019
When feeling disappointed with my last read I often turn to the 87th. Again they have not let me down. Short easy read with no nonsense tell it as it is style.
Steve Carella and Bert Kling are the featured pairing when a lawyer Gerry Fletcher reports arriving home to find his wife stabbed to death and his silverware taken. This looks an open and shut case when a drug addict is seized and admits to the killing. Steve is not satisfied and sets about find out exactly what had happened. Meanwhile Kling has girl troubles and is beaten up and ends in hospital before the case is resolved.
Good stuff this. 4 stars.
Steve Carella and Bert Kling are the featured pairing when a lawyer Gerry Fletcher reports arriving home to find his wife stabbed to death and his silverware taken. This looks an open and shut case when a drug addict is seized and admits to the killing. Steve is not satisfied and sets about find out exactly what had happened. Meanwhile Kling has girl troubles and is beaten up and ends in hospital before the case is resolved.
Good stuff this. 4 stars.
January 4, 2019
Some of the 87th Precinct books have a whodunnit aspect to them. This didn't. The team are pretty sure they know who it is early on so this is more of a 'will they get their man or not'? Unless, of course, McBain throws in one of his curveballs.
If you like this series, then this one is definitely recommended. Very readable!
If you like this series, then this one is definitely recommended. Very readable!
October 17, 2022
Sadie When She Died (1972) by Ed McBain is one of the better 87th Precinct mysteries IMHO. A nasty murder of an attorney's wife...was it the thief, or, the husband? Many satisfying sub-plots along with the Christmas setting in the Big City. If you're an 87th fan and haven't read Sadie put it on you're list...4.0 outta 5.0....
December 16, 2018
It’s Christmas time in the city but for the boys of the 87th Precinct there is no time to celebrate. A woman has been murdered and though they have a confession from a junkie, Steve Carella is not convinced they have the killer. A solid entry in master Ed McBain’s series.
July 30, 2018
Steve Carella and Bert Kling catch a murder case that seems cut and dried during the run up to Christmas. An enjoyable quick read.
March 28, 2019
From the master of police procedurals, one of his absolute best.
July 31, 2020
Pokračuju dál v projektu přečtení kompletního McBaina. Kniha Zemřela jako Sadie vyšla v autorově nejlepším období... a možná i proto působí, ve srovnání s ostatními knihami, spíše narychlo spíchnutým dojmem. Základem je smrt promiskuitní manželky, a je docela možné, že to, na čem kniha měla stát, byla právě psychologická stránka, popis destruktivního vztahu. Což je dnes už v podstatě pohodička, nikdo nikomu netráví psy, nevěra se řeší nevěrou. Proč ne, jen to dneska fakt nijak neohromí. Detektivní rovina je tu hodně upozaděná. I když mají pachatele za mřížemi, Carella je přesvědčený, že ve skutečnosti je vinný manžel, tak ho nechává sledovat a nakonec se, dost neefektně odhalí skutečnost (v podstatě tím, že se vrah sám přizná). Dokonce v té knize není ani žádný obrázek ze spisů!
Taky má knížka jen nějakých sto třicet stran, což je i na tu dobu docela málo. Spíš bych to považoval za povídku, která se vymkla z rukou.
Taky má knížka jen nějakých sto třicet stran, což je i na tu dobu docela málo. Spíš bych to považoval za povídku, která se vymkla z rukou.
January 27, 2025
A woman is murdered in her home, and the husband couldn't be happier. He also couldn't happen to have a tighter alibi, but one detective is sure there's more to it than meets the eye. Plus, another detective falls for an attractive witness, and gets a beating for his troubles. And it all takes place right around Christmas in the big city.
"Sadie When She Died" is my first trip to Ed McBain's 87th Precinct, and it won't be my last. I've become a big reader of crime fiction over the last few years, and "Sadie" is a lean, fast-paced, darkly humorous tale of marital infidelity, thwarted lust, and cops following hunches. It's very entertaining, and I really dug the interplay between the cops as they work to figure out if a woman's death is really as cut and dry as it appears. I would highly recommend this to folks who love their crime fiction with just a dash of sardonic humor, because "Sadie When She Died" delivers that in spades.
"Sadie When She Died" is my first trip to Ed McBain's 87th Precinct, and it won't be my last. I've become a big reader of crime fiction over the last few years, and "Sadie" is a lean, fast-paced, darkly humorous tale of marital infidelity, thwarted lust, and cops following hunches. It's very entertaining, and I really dug the interplay between the cops as they work to figure out if a woman's death is really as cut and dry as it appears. I would highly recommend this to folks who love their crime fiction with just a dash of sardonic humor, because "Sadie When She Died" delivers that in spades.
March 26, 2020
What McBain does so well is create a vibe for the city and the police station. Easy to say, but hard to do. So good when he talks about all of those arrested on Christmas Eve, from professional shoplifters to the father who killed his teen daughter for having sex. Just super nice touches. And the main plot centers on a defense attorney who allegedly finds his wife murdered. The husband setups up a type of cat and mouse game with Carella regarding his true role. Fast paced with great dialogue. McBain again captures the exhaustion and fatigue of the relentlessness of crime.
December 31, 2012
Victim Sarah Fletcher has a knife in her chest, and her husband lawyer Gerald tells Steve Carella that he is glad she is dead. Despite a confession in Chapter 2, Carella is sure that the husband is guilty and starts to investigate further, discovering that Sarah is acutally a precursor to Looking for Mr. Goodbar, published a few years later. Meanwhile, Bert Kling is having relationship problems with Cindy and dating a witness from this case. Probably 2.5 stars.
August 1, 2018
They don't write books like this anymore. It's not what I would call great literature, or anything approaching that, but that's not what I was looking for. I wanted entertainment, and that's what I got. The prose was lively. It carried me along. There were interesting and unexpected turns of events. I got this book out of the freebie bin at the local library. I'm going to go looking for more.
June 3, 2016
Entertaining stuff from the venerable McBain, who wrote something like 4 million books featuring his 87th precinct, though the ending was kind of flat and telegraphed from the beginning. Will definitely revisit this series.
December 26, 2016
Seasonally appropriate procedural with some mixed up notions of love and addiction and the things that drive men to murder.
Poor Bert Kling, so unlucky in love.
Poor Bert Kling, so unlucky in love.
November 1, 2021
I think I may have a very early edition of this, Pan 1974. A friend bought it from the Lincoln Cat Care shop to cheer me up when I was unwell. I have to say that Ed McBain is not a writer I know well nor is this a genre I would necessarily dip into on a frequent basis but I did thoroughly enjoy it although I found the ending a bit of a rush job. Sentences tend to be a little long and rambling for my taste but there is plenty of action and I found it an entertaining read. Favourite part for a giggle:
'Silliest damn section in the book,' Fletcher said, still laughing. 'It says, and I quote "Although suicide is deemed a grave public wrong, yet from the impossibility of reaching the successful perpetrator, no forfeiture is imposed." How do you like that for legal nonsense?'
It is, I do, and thanks for the laugh!
3.5 rounded up to 4 because it was an easy and enjoyable read.
'Silliest damn section in the book,' Fletcher said, still laughing. 'It says, and I quote "Although suicide is deemed a grave public wrong, yet from the impossibility of reaching the successful perpetrator, no forfeiture is imposed." How do you like that for legal nonsense?'
It is, I do, and thanks for the laugh!
3.5 rounded up to 4 because it was an easy and enjoyable read.
November 30, 2023
I’ve been rather underwhelmed by McBain. But this is the first one that pretty much works without any false notes or gimmicks. Better and more serious than any of the earlier volumes I read, and a good place to start — and maybe end — with McBain. For police procedurals, Hillary Waugh (Last Seen Wearing), Maj Sjöwall and Seichō Matsumoto are still much better. I will read one more McBain and then quit
August 24, 2018
Anyone writing a police procedural, or a crime novel more generally, ought to be required to study Ed McBain's (aka Evan Hunter, aka, Salvatore Albert Lombino- his birth name) 87th Precinct series, with special emphasis on dialogue. The natural flow between characters encourages the reader to become completely immersed in the story and serves to hasten one along to its conclusion.
Sadie When She Died is a bit different from many of the excellent issues within this series in that it involves primarily only one case. Typically, the ensemble cast of the 87 wrestles with several open cases throughout a novel, with one taking on primary status perhaps, but always demonstrating the complex nature of a police detective squad's daily routine. In this book, however, we're really just focused on the murder of a criminal defense lawyer's wife and protagonist Det. Steve Carella's conviction that the husband is guilty, despite solid evidence and confession of a drug addict to the contrary.
This is a story vaguely reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe's, The Telltale Heart. In that classic, the murderer is driven to confession through his own psychological trauma and guilt, despite having the opportunity to get away with it. McBain artfully designs a complex interpersonal exchange between the husband and Carella, which eventually leads to the story's conclusion.
Along the way, we have an interesting bit of human interest in the form of Det. Burt Kling's personal life as his longtime paramour breaks off their relationship and he strives to reassure himself that his love life is not on life support. I find these side trips into the personal lives of the detectives in the squad very engaging and adding a richness to the stories.
Finally, despite this being a very quick read, it was complete in plot and pace. I wish other authors would study this master of his craft and strive to emulate his skillful brevity. 4.5 stars, rounded down due to the absence of some collateral crime solving by the other members of the 87th squad.
Sadie When She Died is a bit different from many of the excellent issues within this series in that it involves primarily only one case. Typically, the ensemble cast of the 87 wrestles with several open cases throughout a novel, with one taking on primary status perhaps, but always demonstrating the complex nature of a police detective squad's daily routine. In this book, however, we're really just focused on the murder of a criminal defense lawyer's wife and protagonist Det. Steve Carella's conviction that the husband is guilty, despite solid evidence and confession of a drug addict to the contrary.
This is a story vaguely reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe's, The Telltale Heart. In that classic, the murderer is driven to confession through his own psychological trauma and guilt, despite having the opportunity to get away with it. McBain artfully designs a complex interpersonal exchange between the husband and Carella, which eventually leads to the story's conclusion.
Along the way, we have an interesting bit of human interest in the form of Det. Burt Kling's personal life as his longtime paramour breaks off their relationship and he strives to reassure himself that his love life is not on life support. I find these side trips into the personal lives of the detectives in the squad very engaging and adding a richness to the stories.
Finally, despite this being a very quick read, it was complete in plot and pace. I wish other authors would study this master of his craft and strive to emulate his skillful brevity. 4.5 stars, rounded down due to the absence of some collateral crime solving by the other members of the 87th squad.
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