Hark

«Depuis que je suis à la retraite, je continue à exercer mon métier de flic, à titre privé. Ce dont je rêve, c'est du crime parfait, du mystère que je ne réussirai pas à résoudre. Cette fois, j'ai bien cru que je la tenais, l'affaire idéale. Pensez donc : voilà qu'on se mettait à dévaliser les entreprises de Pompes Funèbres de la ville, qu'on volait des morts bien propres et qu'on allait ensuite les jeter dans des dépôts d'ordures ! Alors je me suis mis au boulot.»

Envoyez la fumée !

"Stan Gifford was a funny man. So funny that every Wednesday night millions of people lowered their lights and raised his TV rating to unparalleled heights -- until the night he lost his sense of humor, and his life. Everyone watching thought it was a heart attack. Everyone except Detectives Carella and Meyer, who had a hunch that even forty million witnesses could be wrong...and brilliantly conceived a plan to prove it.Meanwhile, at the 87th Precinct, Detective Kling had his hands full with a black-and-blue blonde. She'd been attacked and sadistically beaten as a warning to stay away from the police, but evidently had been in no mood to listen. Detective Kling took a very close look at the facts, a very long look at the blonde, and accepted the case -- going far beyond the line of duty to solve it.Eighty Million Eyes is one of the most icily explicit expositions of police procedure any reader will ever encounter -- a double-edged thriller dealing with two cases whose histories run concurrently. There is plenty of fascinating lab work, tough action and typical McBain irony before the 87th ties up the loose ends of this unique, twin-sized surprise shocker. It's an absolute spellbinder." -- Book Jacket of the Book Club Edition.

80 Millions De Voyeurs (87th Precinct, #21)

By day the city works. By night it plays, and everyone is invited to the game: the rich the poor, the adventurous and the tame. Sometimes, the playground turns deadly. Sometimes, the homicide detectives from the 87th Precinct are invited, too...Sadie When She DiedThe victim had a knife plunged in her chest. The husband was glad, and didn't hide it. From the beginning, Detective Carella is sure someone was hired to make the murder look like an interrupted robbery. Then the dead woman's secrets begin to come out of the closet. Now happily married, Steve Carella and unhappily single Bert Kling are entering a city's sexual underground to find out which is more dangerous: a world where anything goes or a husband with secrets of his own.Page Numbers Source ISBN: 1477805613

Après Le Trépas (87th Precinct, #26)

They never saw their executioner. Because each victim had this in common: they were blind. Steve Carella, a weary detective very much in love with his deaf wife, is stymied in a hunt that began when a Vietnam veteran, his sight taken in war, was found with his head nearly separated from his body. But as the bizarre killing spree goes on, Carella begins to look into the first victim's dreams. And what he sees is a panorama of war, sexuality, secrets, and torment -- and one man's pure, blind rage...

Ça Fait Une Paye! (87th Precinct, #34)

Un temps poisseux, débilitant, accablant.Carella et ses potes, les flics du 87e, poursuivent leur boulot sans trop se plaindre. Dans la ville , un ex-truand cherche le flic qui l'a arrêté jadis. Pour le tuer. Ce policier cherche l'amant supposé de sa femme. Et Carella cherche à comprendre pourquoi l'homme qui a la phobie des médicaments s'est tué en avalant un flacon entier de somnifères.Et le soleil n'arrange rien...

Coup de Chaleur

"Bloody palmprints. He would always remember seeing first the bloody prints, one on each side of the glass-paneled doors. And then the doors swinging open and the girl spilling into the room. Arms wide, hands imploring . . . blue dress torn open over white blood-smeared bra, she lurched toward the muster desk, beseeching Kling to help, for God's sake, help."The girl was Patricia Lowery, fifteen years old. She was the lucky one. Soon after, they found her cousin, Muriel Stark, seventeen, lying in a doorway, her body ripped with knife wounds. Hysterically, Patricia talked to Detectives Steve Carella and Bert Kling of the 87th Precinct, telling her brutal story of molestation and murder. The man was tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, she said; he had a knife blade four inches long, she would never forget what he looked like, what he made them do.Immediately, Kling and Carella set out to find the killer, launching interrogations, file searches, laboratory analyses -- all the weapons of investigation at their command. The twisting, blood-spotted trail leads them deep into the warped world of the sex offender. Then, click. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, phony alibi. And a positive identification from Patricia: "I said I'd never forget."There's only one problem. He's the wrong man.

Adieu Cousine... (87th Precinct, #32)

On n'imagine pas tout ce qui se passe dans le sous-sol d'un immeuble, pour peu que le gardien soit un peu débrouillard, même si c'est un petit vieux qui sucre les fraises. C'était peut-être pour oublier sa femme, complètement folle, et son fils, passablement dérangé lui aussi, que le vieux avait monté toutes ses combines louches.L'oubli, le vrai, il l'avait enfin trouvé:une hache plantée dans le crâne, c'est encore ce qu'on fait de mieux comme tranquilisant.

Hark

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