Deadly Dreams is billed as “a gripping suspense novel” but the only gripping part for me was me gripping the book in my hands while I struggled to read it, and the only suspense was wondering whether the boring story and bland characters would put me to sleep. If the author had honestly marketed her book as a soporific instead of a murder mystery, I might have awarded her five stars — when I woke up.
In Deadly Dreams, two NYPD detectives are investigating the mysterious death of a guest in the Upper East Side apartment of a wealthy woman and her husband, a Manhattan lawyer.
I have so many favorite bad parts of this book that picking the worst is a challenge. Our two aforementioned NYPD detectives, male and female, are on patrol and have as their guest passenger a troubled teenager who the female detective is sponsoring as a sort of Big Sister. Evidently the City of New York has no liability issues letting their cops drive civilians around town watching them in action.
Anyway, the teenager needs them to stop at a gas station in Brooklyn so he can use the bathroom. In an impossible coincidence in this city of 9 million people, precisely at that place and time inside this totally random gas station in Brooklyn, the teenager bumps into the aforementioned Manhattan lawyer, who had never seen him before, and impresses the teenager as a “bad hombre” (his words).
The teenager mentions the casual encounter to the cops who recognize the lawyer as he’s driving away by the back of his head (you read that correctly: the back of his head), the cops tail the lawyer and catch him buying drugs on the street he would later use to commit a crime. I won’t say anything more about the crime in case you decide to make my mistake and read the book.
That said, it’s not as entertaining as it sounds. This book is a very good example of some very bad writing.